The political pandemic

Unseen Moon contributing editor Simon Webb takes a look at Kung Flu deaths in England/Wales, one of the places that reacted particularly hysterically to the current pandemic. Masks, lockdowns, arrests, public shaming, etc.

He provides a link to government statistics stretching back to 1990 that show the death rate in many earlier years was even higher than that of 2020, the first year of the pandemic when, if you believed the media and government, dead bodies were all over the place.

However, in those previous years the population did not collapse into bug-eyed horror. Life went on as usual. Well, if you weren’t one of those who died, something we all do in time.

Though the figures he cites are from England and Wales, I suspect the stats in other nations are similar. As Webb says in the video’s conclusion, what caused the air of terror and hysteria?

Is this a political pandemic? Are dark forces at play?

Women are weird

That’s not a white booger dangling from my nose. It’s something on the mask.

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One would think that after three wives, I would have women down pat, but I don’t because they are really weird critters. Take mine, for instance, the most recent. She bought this thing.

It claims to improve your facial skin. She paid the peso equivalent of $30 U.S. bucks. The mask is made of plastic that’s similar to those face shields hysterical people wear nowadays atop the usual mask over the nose and mouth to ward off Kung Flu cooties.

But this mask has light filaments embedded, and you have three options to “improve” your skin, the blue you see here but also orange and red. It comes with a cable to plug into the wall for charging.

If there were a problem with her facial skin, it would be one thing, but there is no problem as I see it. Quite the contrary.

She begs to differ. She says the whole thing is falling down to her boobs. The truth is that she doesn’t look much different than she did 20 years ago when we met. She was lovely then and continues so today.

I took this photo on my first visit to her Mexico City apartment in 2002. We had met just three months earlier, and we got married two months later. If you get this sort of chance in your late 50s, you take it.

Smartest move I ever made.

The partial panda

I walked into the bedroom today and saw this, a partial panda. As I’ve mentioned many times, my child bride crochets, a hobby she started with the kickoff of the Kung Flu hysteria last year.

As a result, we have yarn and crochet gear spread about the bedroom and sometimes other rooms too. Here is an example. She is a woman of incessant motion, and this keeps her hands occupied.

She sells her stuff — though not often — on the website Etsy. Due to its being not often, the merchandise is accumulating here at the Hacienda. The beasts reside in one of two places, atop the living room loveseat or in a suitcase under the stairwell.

Some will be moving out, however, for Three King’s Day in early January, gifts to our numerous nieces and nephews, perhaps some other relatives too. Those under the stairwell will be most delighted to move elsewhere, one imagines. It’s dark in there.

The nieces will love the plushy beasts, but the nephews will prefer something else, I suspect, because boys and girls are different. Perhaps some crocheted rocket-launchers.

Day of the Dead

Pigtail girls wait for their tacos on the main plaza yesterday.

The Day of the Dead came and went. The main cemetery night is that between November 1 and 2.

The pandemic hysteria threw a monkey wrench into some aspects of the event, particularly one. The cemetery scene on the island of Janitzio in our big lake is traditionally the main tourist draw. The No. 2 position is held by the cemetery in the nearby town of Tzintzuntzan.

But this year, the community that lives on Janitzio, nervous about covid, said tourists would not be allowed, and since the only way to get there is on a motor launch, this was fairly easy to enforce.

So what happened then? The tourist mob turned toward Tzintzuntzan, creating a traffic jam of spectacular dimensions.

From what I read, some tourists simply debarked from tour buses about halfway there, and continued on foot in the dark. Tzintzuntzan is about 12 miles distant from my mountaintop town.

Here is the humorous part. In order to get to Tzintzuntzan, you have to drive directly by my hardscrabble neighborhood, which has its own cemetery, and our graveyard does Los Muertos in a lovely way. It’s just a short walk from our Hacienda.

So most of the tourists simply drove by here, missing our spectacular cemetery scene, to continue up the highway into a traffic jam.

Actually, there are quite a few villages in the area that do the cemetery event, but Tzintzuntzan has turned the old tradition into a tourist trap. The grave decorations constructed there are over the top, spectacular but phony, in my view.

We spent the night at home watching Netflix before heading to bed. We did not visit our cemetery, and we haven’t for three or four years. Plus, for some reason, my child bride did not build her usual Muertos altar in the living room. Yesterday morning I asked why, and she muttered some reason that made little sense.

I think she just got a tad lazy. It’s her first year of missing it.

The photo at the top was taken across the street from the family coffee shop downtown. I also took the bottom photo. Nothing like paramilitary cops with truck-mounted machine guns to add color — or bullet-riddled bystanders — to any festivity.

Protecting us from the bad guys.