During our most recent move, we took advantage of the unpacking service. This is an option that was always available but we never used because I wasn’t too keen on people touching all my stuff. I must admit that was a mistake because, honestly, it was awesome.

Mainly, they just unwrap everything in the boxes and make massive piles of stuff on every available surface. This gave me the shits but, ultimately, it was much easier to simply put things away without having to deal with the paper and boxes.

Two guys showed up and I put them in the office to unpack those boxes while John and I put the kitchen together. I resisted the urge to micromanage their every move while I heard them chatting and opening the boxes that contained mementos of my whole life. Suddenly, one of the unpackers poked his head around the corner with a mischievous smile on his face. John and I looked up as he held up my old Grease vinyl and asked if we could play it. These kids were in their 20s so I was pleasantly surprised they even knew it at all. Luckily, I had just seen the record player so I pulled it out and placed the needle to the spinning disc.

My mind flashed to a memory from long ago. I was babysitting my two nephews and had allowed them to play video games for far too much of the day. I unplugged the game and told them that were going to watch a movie instead. They pissed and moaned while I set up the VCR and sat their little asses down to watch Grease. They were not happy but they complied because they didn’t have a choice. 110 minutes later I waited for the inevitable request to get back to their games. Instead, they both looked at me and one asked “Can we watch it again, Titi?” SCORE! Hell, yeah, you can watch it again!

During this pandemic that has killed 100,000 Americans so far – we are stir crazy but not stupid. I’m not inclined to believe that 100,000 people died from a hoax. People on Twitter and Facebook post stats that show the Covid-19 fatality rate is somewhere around .3 percent like that is something to celebrate. Point 3 percent of 7.8 billion is still a whole lot of fucking deaths and nothing to get cocky about. It’s almost as if they don’t comprehend that THEY could very well be one of the .3 percent. And, because none of these dumbasses will agree to die in my place, we rarely leave the house and, when we do, we have our masks.

What does this have to do with Grease?

Guess who has tickets to see this iconic movie?! It will be playing at a pop up drive-in, a needed diversion in the new world of self isolation and social distancing. Of course, we are dragging our marooned daughter with us because, what the hell else is she going to do and because it is our duty to make sure that Grease remains…the word!

Just stay 6 feet away from me.

UPDATE: My nephews had the following conversation when I posted this blahg link on my Facebook page and, honestly, my heart just can’t take it!