I read a news article recently in which Pope Francis lamented the fact that he can no longer walk around the streets of Rome unnoticed like he used to. Just the other night, a paparazzi snapped a photo of His Holiness leaving a record store.
Well, duh. The guy is dressed from head to toe in a white robe and hat that anybody would recognize as the official outfit of the Pope. Pro tip: if you’re trying to blend in with the commoners, maybe ditch the cassock and pellegrina and fringed white fascia and cross. Wanna go incognito? Slip into a nondescript pair of khakis, match ‘em with a button-down shirt (black or grey) and comfy loafers. Oh, and don’t forget the sunglasses. Voila! You’re now persona non grata.
Or papal non grata, as it were.
By the way, how cool is it that the Pope went record shopping? The article said he left without buying anything. Funny they would use those words, because it looks to me like Francis has something approximately the size and shape of a record tucked beneath his left arm and hidden under the robe.
I don’t want to accuse the Pope of shoplifting, because I’d rather not spend an eternity in fire and brimstone, but…well…
I dunno. I’m suspicious.
As if the Vatican needs another scandal!
Now that we’ve binged our way through almost everything interesting, we were looking for something new to watch. Preferably a critically acclaimed TV series we hadn’t caught the first time around, like Mad Men, Deadwood, and The Sopranos — shows we binged years after they’d entered the pop culture zeitgeist. A friend of mine had been prodding me to watch The West Wing for years. It’s streaming on HBO Max, so last night, we fired it up.
And were instantly hooked.
I’m a sucker for good writing, and the snappy dialogue hits the mark for me. Not to mention the fast pace, superb acting, perfectly balanced humor, and tantalizing plotlines.
“Hey, this show’s pretty good!” Tara said after the pilot.
“I’m not surprised,” I replied. “It won something like six million Emmys.”
Three episodes down, 153 to go. I guess we’d better start hoping for excuses to stay inside. Can’t use Covid anymore, but maybe we’ll get lucky and end up with six-foot snowdrifts or a marauding pack of man-eating wolves. Something fun like that.
On the other hand, I’ve had my fill of staying home. Tara went back to work for the first time in a week today, and I’ll be heading back to the office tomorrow.
Just in the nick of time apparently. Stir-craziness is nothing to be taken lightly. This morning, I was blasting Christmas music in the basement. This made me worry about my mental health a little bit, so I consulted the American Journal of Psychiatry. They say warning signs that you’re losing your mind include:
- Too much/too little sleep
- Changes in appetite
- Mood swings
- Brain fog
- Listening to Bing Crosby 25 days after Christmas
This scared me, so I did some quick math. Turns out Christmas was only 24 days ago. Whew! Dodged a bullet there, I guess.
Back to reality (and sanity) tomorrow.
Mark My Words 
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