I’m Getting Dumber. It Must Be the Pandemic. Right?

I swear I’m not a frivolous asshat whining about having to wear a mask and social distancing during the pandemic. Believe me, with more than a 300,000 Americans dead, masking up and maintaining space is the least I can do to help keep people safe.

But there is one issue that is grating on me. I’ve never exactly been a genius, but I swear, the longer this pandemic lockdown goes on, the dumber I’m becoming. It’s getting embarrassing.

(I’m not as stupid as the man screaming, “Wearing a mask is a muzzle.” Hey dickwad, I can hear you. You are not muzzled. Unfortunately.)

I haven’t descended into complete that jerk’s level of dumb yet, but I can see it coming. For instance, let’s look at a purely fictional situation. Let’s just say Jasper is being particularly annoying by barking at Talen to try and get him to snark back. The barking goes on. The horse’s ears pin and he shakes his head at the dog. This continues for a while. I honestly think this is how they play with each other, since either of them could easily walk away.

It would be cute, but it gets loud and I have neighbors. So I yell at Jasper.

Nothing makes a dog shut up faster than someone yelling at them, said no dog trainer on the earth. But it does make me feel better. And quite obviously, I’m not a dog trainer.

What doesn’t make me happy is that I run through a list of names, many of them belonging to long-dead dogs, before I remember the dog’s name.

Jasper: Bark! Bark! Bark!

Talen: Snort! Stomp!

Sharon: Damn it Murray, Rocky, Fiona, Poppy, Dalai! God Damnit Jasper! Yes, Jasper! Shut Up!

Naturally the dog keeps barking and the horse keeps snorting. However, I’m so mortified that my neighbors may hear this insanity, that I go silent.

It isn’t just names that are disappearing.

I have driven past the freeway exit to my house three times in recent memory. I like to believe that this is because I have BIG, IMPORTANT THOUGHTS happening. That would be a lie.

It’s because I’m trying to recall something really vital, like the last time I saw the Rolling Stones. (The only thing I do know it that it wasn’t at the Geezerfest in the Desert a few years back. So maybe it was Dodger Stadium? Or one of the club dates? Who knows? Damn it. But I do believe the opening act was Lukas Nelson and the Promise of the Real. Or not.)

I admit I do have one huge fear about my memory. I envision that I’m old and stashed in some old people’s home and visited by absolutely no one. It will be my own fault because I won’t be able to place anyone’s name. I’ll recognize (maybe) my nephews, but their names will be gone.

Instead, all of the circuits in my head will be clogged with minutiae about bands, like the line-up for the initial line-up for the Hothouse Flowers. (Liam O Maonlai, Fiachna O Braonain, Peter O’Toole), the lyrics for “Angel From Montgomery,” and every song ever recorded by The Replacements (not including bootlegs- no one except maybe Bill Holdship knows that.). I’ll also remember names of Grand Prix riders of the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s and of course their horses (Rodney Jenkins, Anthony D’Ambrosia, Frank Chapot, Idle Dice, Sympatico and Good Twist.) There are also major racehorses and riders from decades past as well (Cigar, Ruffian, Zenyatta, Shoemaker, Jerry Bailey and Julie Krone.) filling the empty gray matter.

As I consider this, it’s not all that surprising that I have to go into the house three times to grab my mask before going out, and that I rarely know my right from my left. There is an almost limitless amount of useless knowledge filling my head.

I may not remember any of my passwords, but the stuff I do know is highly entertaining. At least to me.

 And, since in the days of Covid-19, I’m my main audience. So I guess I’m good.