Saturday, February 19, 2022

Mobile, Alabama: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 8888: I Got Caught

 

Coronavirus image. Credit: WHO
Coronavirus image. Credit: WHO

 

I caught COVID.


Backstory

In the wee hours of Monday morning, I felt it. A scratchy throat. A bit of a sniffly nose. A hint of a headache. Later, when I arose, it was definitive. I clearly I had sumthin'-sumthin'.

Well, I rationalized, there are still plain ol' colds out there. Nevertheless, this is the time of COVID ......... AND ........ even if I had caught "just" a cold, it meant that my routine safety protocols had failed. 

In retrospect, I think there were earlier signs. On Sunday, I'd felt sleepy. A tickle in my nose had prompted several sneezes late Sunday afternoon. I'd noticed puffy bags under my eyes which I'd felt curious about when I saw them, as I usually don't get these unless I've indulged in richer-than-usual foods. But none of these early presentations, alone or as a group, sounded any COVID alarms to me. 


Testing: A cautionary tale

In an unbelievable stroke of bad luck, I expected a Tucson friend to visit Mobile for two nights, arriving that very afternoon. I also had a dentist appointment scheduled, which I hated to have to cancel.

I informed my friend of the possibility of my COVID infection and then I set about getting tested. 

By 1:15 p.m. on Monday I had taken three tests: 

  1. Rapid response administered via CVS pharmacy drive-through
  2. PCR administered via Walgreen's pharmacy drive-through
  3. At-home rapid test bought at CVS

Both of the rapid response tests came back negative. Yay! 

It was not until Wednesday afternoon that I received the results of the PCR: Positive

My current understanding of the rapid tests is that:

  • If the results are positive, then you can be confident you are positive
  • If the results are negative, well, who the fuck knows [my own interpretation]

Thus, in my mind, the only purpose of having folks get a same-day COVID test before being allowed entry to an event is to weed out the folks who test positive. That is helpful. 

But it's just security theater for all of the rapid test takers who test negative. The negatives don't signify a goddamn thing. 

And remember, I had already exhibited symptoms, so it wasn't as if I were only getting tested because I had been exposed to an infected person, and I hadn't yet presented any symptoms.

 

How I'm doing

My presenting symptoms are mild. Tuesday was my most uncomfortable day, but even then, it was limited to feeling a little draggy, with that scratchy throat, an occasional cough that wasn't dry, yet wasn't wet, either. 

Today, five days after the onset of the cold-like symptoms (versus the possible precursor symptoms), there is a bit of a tickle in my throat on occasion, with a responding small cough + a bit of stuffiness in my nose, and that's it. If we were in normal times, I wouldn't hesitate to get out and about as usual. 


How's my visiting friend doing? 

My Tucson friend left on Wednesday morning. I just checked in with her. So far, no sign of infection from exposure to me. 

But as with negative rapid tests, this may signify nothing. She could be infected, but asymptomatic. Or tomorrow will be the day her symptoms appear. She could have been left unscathed by me, but infected yesterday by a passerby, and the symptoms won't appear until .... when? 

I've asked her to let me know if she does present with symptoms so that I can note the number of days that have passed between our last contact and the onset of symptoms. 

Note: She is fully vaxxed and wears a mask. Obviously, these are not magic shields, but I note this to identify her as a prudent person who gives COVID its due respect.

 

How did I get infected? 

My best guess is that I got too close to a COVID carrier at last weekend's Mardi Gras parades. Having said that, my symptoms would have appeared awfully fast if that's the case: Within 48-72 hours. 

Although I invariably wear a mask at indoor venues, except on the extremely rare occasions when I dine indoors, I don't typically wear a mask outdoors unless I'm in a crowded situation. About that crowded situation. I got complacent last weekend. I did not wear a mask while watching the parades, even when I snaked my way through a crush of humanity. 

Since my diagnosis, I've been looking at Mobile's new-case rates to see if there's been a spike following the first full Mardi Gras parade weekend. A spike is not yet evident in the stats. There is, however, a 30% positive test result rate. 

But maybe that wasn't it. 

Maybe I entered my building's elevator too soon after an infected person had occupied it, and their droplets hadn't had time to sink to the floor. 

Maybe I didn't sanitize my hands carefully enough after touching the door knobs in my building's entrances. 

To a large extent, I surrender to Dr. Fauci's recent statement that COVID is going to find most of us. 


Concerns

I'm grateful that my presenting symptoms are mild, as I write this. 

I have concerns about future effects, however, as heightened risks for cardio-vascular and neurological troubles exist for up to a year following a bout with COVID, irrespective of its severity. 

I don't assume that just because my thus-far mild symptoms are on a waning trajectory today, there won't suddenly be a plot twist in which things go to hell tomorrow (Sunday). I'll feel more confident if tomorrow is another good day.


 

Monday, February 14, 2022

Mobile, Alabama: An Addition to the Carcass Gallery

 

 

Cedar waxwing, dead. Mobile, Alabama. February 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
Cedar waxwing, dead. Mobile, Alabama. February 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

Although I didn't touch the body, it emitted an essence of still-warm plumpness. 

I found a small stick and I gently moved it off the sidewalk pavement so as to save it from the indignity of an unintentional crush by a pedestrian's footfall. 

How did it die? There was no evidence of injury. Note the small berry in the upper right corner of the photo. If it is a nandina berry, this can kill cedar waxwings that binge on them. But is it a nandina? I don't know.

The cedar waxwing is the newest addition to the We Stop for Carcasses collection:

We Stop For Carcasses


 

Tuesday, February 8, 2022

Alabama: This Thing Called Buc-ee's

 

Wall of Buc-ee's shoes in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
Wall of Buc-ee's shoes in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

OK, so Buc-Ee's isn't just in Alabama, but it certainly seems to be a bigger thing here than other places I've encountered it. [NOTE: Although upon further investigation, I suspect Texans might be highly offended by this remark, and perhaps rightly so. Mea culpa.]

And if you see a wall of finite marketing real estate devoted to loafers emblazoned with the Buc-ee's logo, then you know you are in a place that is a thing.

The first time I entered an Alabama Buc-ee's was on the way to Pensacola with a long-time Alabaman friend, in Octoberish 2021. I think I gaped behind my mask when I crossed the threshold. This was because I may have been the only masked customer in the entire, cavernous store. When I rejoined my companion outside, I said in some wonder, not entirely tongue-in-cheek: Is it possible they don't know there is a pandemic going on? Should we warn them? 

There's a call-and-response thing there, too, which adds to the vibe. On a recent stop at the Buc-ee's in Loxley (en route to Foley from Mobile), this meat chopper seemed to be the caller; the cashiers responded. 

Beef chopper at Buc-ee's in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
Beef chopper at Buc-ee's in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

Beef chopper at Buc-ee's in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
Beef chopper at Buc-ee's in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

Beef chopper at Buc-ee's in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
Beef chopper at Buc-ee's in Loxley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

I liked that he wore a mask. 

5 Reasons Why Texans Love Buc-ee's [and probably Alabamans, too]

10 Things You Shouldn't Miss at Buc-ee's

And then there's this: Viral video causes internet to uproar after woman mispronounces ‘Buc-ee’s’

 

 

Friday, February 4, 2022

Foley, Alabama: The Park at OWA

 

OWA in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
OWA in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

Since nesting in Mobile, I'd seen references to OWA this and OWA that on my newsfeeds. I was unclear what it was. Theme park? State park? Entertainment venue? And was OWA an acronym? How did one pronounce it? 

On a recent chilly but sunny Saturday, I checked it out. There was to be an arts and crafts festival there. 

My pre-landing intel told me good things: 

  • Free parking
  • Free admittance to OWA's "downtown"
  • About an hour from Mobile
  • A tribal dance performance would kick off the festival

I also felt excited about the possibility, albeit faint based on my experience thus far on Mobile Bay, that there'd be real kettle corn.  But I already had a Plan B for my on-site snacking: a pillowy, warm, buttery, salted soft pretzel.

I packed my lunch and set out on my expedition, planning to eat in my Pree before entering the park to take in the tribal dance performance. 

About that tribal dance. I never heard it or found it. Apparently, the performance may have occurred on The Island, where there is a small stage and amphitheater seating alongside the lake. Eventually, I had to ask someone where it was. The signage at the park was unhelpful. 

OWA island amphitheater in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
OWA island amphitheater in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

 No kettle corn. Unsurprising, nevertheless disappointing. However, I had my pretzel Plan B, and I walked up to Auntie Anne's cramped space, only to find it crowded with waiting customers. Oooh, no, was I really going to wait in a line for a pretzel? I walked away. ........ Only to return half an hour later to stand in line for that pretzel. (Ha. Standing in line reminds me of this.)

 

OWA pretzel in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
OWA pretzel in Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.


Now having checked out several arts and crafts festivals along the Gulf Coast, I feel equipped to say that this one at OWA was a bit dull. Having said that, I liked that there was, perhaps, a stronger than usual representation of Black vendors there. By stronger than usual, I mean stronger than usual than what I've seen thus far at similar events on the Eastern Shore of Mobile Bay. This suggests to me that the OWA festival organizers have taken thoughtful actions to be inclusive.

However, this vendor presence was in stark contrast to the dearth of Black visitors to OWA on the day I visited. 

OWA is seven miles from the Gulf Coast beaches, but this pseudo beach charmed me:

OWA pseudo beach, Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.
OWA pseudo beach, Foley, Alabama. January 2022. Credit: Mzuriana.

 

On the whole, my trip to OWA was a good way to spend a sunny, chilly Saturday, and it satisfied my curiosity about the park. 

That peek I had into the rides part of the park also gave me a thrill-shiver  - the future prospect of a whole day of endorphin-infusion on ride after ride after ride.

I am remembering my day at Silver Dollar City a few years back: Missouri: Roller Coasters, the Swamp, and the People I Didn't See. Kettle corn was there. 

 

What I've learned about OWA since my visit

 

Wednesday, February 2, 2022

10 Years Ago: Dubai: Eating a Camel and Sleeping on a Table

 

The original post is here

 

Monday, January 23, 2012

Dubai: Eating a Camel and Sleeping on a Table

Exterior view of my flat building, Dubai, 21 Sikka Road
Exterior view of my flat building, Dubai, 21 Sikka Road


I'd booked my airbnb flat for just three nights, so had to move on. Via booking.com, I found the Al Uruba, a hotel hidden within the Gold Souk. Rate was 160 dirham per night (plus taxes), which came to ~ $43 USD. Breakfast included.

Yura, the flat manager, called the hotel to get walking directions. The hotel doesn't open up onto a street, so one must walk through the Souk to get there in an off-alley.

A map to the Al Uruba Hotel in the Souk. Dubai. January 2012.
A map to the Al Uruba Hotel in the Souk. Dubai. January 2012.

A gregarious Somali man is the manager. He is the guy who calls women "my sister" and men "my brother" and assures you that everything will be perfect for you. He will eat his meal, talk on the phone, and check in customers and talk to friends all at once. Well, try. We chatted briefly about Harar (which is close to Somalia) and how maybe they're a little crazy there (in the best possible sense). His wife and child live in Boston. I had a look at the first room he offered me, and when I sat on the bed, I laughed out loud. This is because I almost hurt myself, it was so hard. I mean, Jesus, it was hard! But the room was, in the main, just fine. .. until I fired up the laptop to check out the internet connection. (Free wifi was one of the hotel amenities.)  Not good, so I went back downstairs and he gave me a different room. Beds (now two twins) just as hard as in the first room. A mini fridge in the room, a desk, the beds, a coat rack, and a small carpet for praying.

My Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.
My Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.
Al Uruba Hotel bathroom. Dubai. January 2012.
Al Uruba Hotel bathroom. Dubai. January 2012.



View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.
View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.


View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.
View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.



View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.
View from my Al Uruba hotel room. Dubai. January 2012.



I walked up to the sixth-floor restaurant for lunch, where I learned there is a room for men to eat and a room for women to eat. I had the women's room to myself.

I also learned there were no menus, but the restaurant manager (I presume) recited the specials of the day for me and when he said, "camel," the deal was done. Camel! I was supposed to have camel in Harar, but I got sick and couldn't make that appointment.

The waiter brought out broth and salad as first courses. Then came camel and a plate of pasta and a delicious, dark, piquant sauce.

Camel for lunch

With a side of pasta and sauce

and tea afterward


The camel tasted good. Less chewy than most goat I've eaten. But I didn't get any sense of its "camelness," if you know what I mean. Lunch cost 16 dirham (~ $4.36 USD).

 

Tuesday, February 1, 2022

Word of the Year 2022: Disciplines 2: Showers

 

Space capsule shower, Motel 6, Tucumcari, New Mexico. July 2017.
Space capsule shower, Motel 6, Tucumcari, New Mexico. July 2017.

 

Beginning some time in December 2021, I implemented a discipline: 

Take a shower every other day. 

 In years past, when I worked in an office, I showered every morning. 

Once I began working remotely, which has now been for some 10 years, I routinely showered every other morning. 

But then COVID came, and I had nowhere to go, much.

So the time lapse between showers stretched to three days, often. Sometimes four

I cleansed my face and lady bits every day, of course, but a full-on shower, no.

A couple of months ago, I determined to move back toward normalcy and to a regimen. 

A couple of times, when shower day fell on a cold and rainy Sunday, I've engaged in lawyerly arguments against showering. Why shower today? You're going to stay home, anyway, right? Stay in your pajamas! Be warm and cozy! Take your shower tomorrow instead!

But thus far, I've responded thusly: 

  1. You wanted a discipline, a regimen. 
  2. Small maintenance routines matter. They are things you can control in an uncontrollable world.
  3. They are a return to normalcy. 
  4. Besides, if you wait til tomorrow, you'll just have to take that shower tomorrow. Instead, you can take it today and have tomorrow off! 


Speaking of showers .... 

August 2017: Missouri Flash Trip, Part 2: The Space Capsule Shower

November 2017: Ferguson, Missouri: My Shower

April 2013: Cuba, New Mexico: Shower Moon

March 2011: Harar, Ethiopia: Camels and Osama in Babile, Harar, Day 7, Thursday

August 2011: An excerpt from Me Ver Gavige [I Don't Understand] about a not-quite-shower in Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia, and the challenges of language: 

I was taking my customary bucket bath this morning, enjoying the pleasure of hot water. I turned on the water, wetted my washcloth, turned off the tap, did my thing, then turned on the tap to soap up the cloth, turned off the tap ... etc. 

Presently Nino [my hostess] starts talking to me outside the bathroom. It was kind of early in the morning, which meant my brain wasn't completely engaged anyway. Nino seemed to require some sort of response from me. I said, "Me ver gavige. (I don't understand)" More talk. I said, "Budishi (I'm sorry), me ver gavige." Nino said more, adding a sound that was similar to a hoarse dog barking. And I'm thinking, "I don't understand what you're saying or what you want. And I'm naked here, OK? Why are you making me talk to you while I'm standing naked in a wash basin with three inches of water in it? What do you want me to do in this moment?" But I say, "Budishi, me ver gavige. I don't understand." Eventually, my brain plucks out the word "gasi" from Nino's statements, which it puts together with the hoarse-dog-barking sound effect, and I realize Nino is talking about the gas water heater, which evidently she wants me to stop engaging when I use the hot water for my bath. So I switch to cold water only, feeling very grumpy indeed.

Once I'm out of the bathroom and getting dressed, we revisit this issue, and I come to understand that Nino didn't want me to turn the water on/off, as it kicked on the gas pilot each time, which might wake up Giorgi. Instead, I can just leave the water run. OK, now I've got it.

Language lesson learned: Sometimes a hoarse-dog-barking sound means gas, and sometimes, as it did a week or so ago, it means the sound of a hoarse dog barking, which kept Nino awake one night. It's all in the context.  

Thank God Nino doesn't seem to hold a grudge.


Bathroom in New Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. July 2011.
Bathroom in New Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia. July 2011.