Seems like everyone is playing the “Stage I Restrictions” game lately.
The Pagosa water district recently emailed a press release to our Daily Post editor (which you can read here) announcing “Level I Watering Restrictions.”
Apparently, we can still drink as much water as we want — anytime we want — but we can’t give our plants any water between 9am and 6pm, even if they have their tongues are hanging out. (That actually happened to me last week, during our unseasonable heatwave. The tomatoes had their tongues hanging out. Who knew tomatoes had tongues? Just had to get hot enough, I guess.)
Not to be outdone by the water industry, all the regional bureaucrats have instituted “Stage I Fire Restrictions”, out in the national forest and even here in my residential neighborhood. I am not allowed to shoot off fireworks, or make a bonfire.
First of all, those are not things I would normally do, anyway. I find fireworks irritatingly noisy, and as for bonfires, don’t we have enough global warming already? I mean… like, duh.
So we can’t use water, and we can’t use fire. What’s next on the menu? Can’t breathe the air?
Anyway, it pisses me off, that bureaucrats feel like they can tell me what I can and can’t do. It’s either in the Declaration or the Constitution, that I have the right to ‘the pursuit of happiness.’ If fire makes you happy, I say: Go for it. It’s a constitutional right, or something like it.
Regarding the watering restrictions, if your tomatoes are tormented, I say: relieve their suffering. (I believe that advice is also in 1 Thessalonians, along with the “Pray for Rain” admonition illustrated above.)
I just need to say, if we go back into “Stage I COVID Restrictions”, and the public health Nazis shut down all the bars again, I swear I’m going to… well, I better not say what I’m going to do, because it’s probably against the law.
Thing is, since everyone is getting on the “Stage I Restrictions” bandwagon, I’ve decided to institute my own, personal Stage I Restrictions. Why should the bureaucrats have all the fun?
To make my restrictions meaningful, they need to cause pain, or at least emotional distress. There’s no point in having restrictions unless they make you mutter and curse.
And they’re going to be slightly complicated. Restrictions should always be at least a little bit complicated, just because.
1. No drinking beer between the hours of 12 noon and 12 midnight, except on odd-numbered Fridays. Does not apply to non-alcoholic beer.
(I hate non-alcoholic beer, so I’m not sure why I included that stipulation. Maybe I will get desperate?)
2. Public prayer is prohibited, even if you are praying for rain. Prayers may be offered up from within a closet or other private space, but may not include requests for money or romantic partners.
(Please note: this restriction applies only to ‘public prayer’. Prayer was highly recommended by Paul, Silvanus, and Timotheus in their first letter to the Thessalonians, but the Roman bureaucrats, in those days, generally looked the other way. I am somewhat less merciful.)
3. White socks are not allowed on weekdays (M-F) unless worn with white shoes.
(No explanation needed.)
4. Visits to my Facebook account are prohibited until further notice.
(This is my favorite restriction, and I don’t know what I didn’t think of it a few years ago. Sure, it’s unconstitutional, but so are so many things nowadays.)
These are only the Stage I Restrictions, of course. No doubt the limitations will get more restrictive, as the problem progresses.
Underrated writer Louis Cannon grew up in the vast American West, although his ex-wife, given the slightest opportunity, will deny that he ever grew up at all.