Miso soup with bonito/kombu dashi, wakame and tofu

That doesn't even look appetizing. What is it?

Usually you would have a paper-thin slice of raw mushroom and a few slivers of scallion floating around, cilantro perhaps, but I don't have those things to doll it up.

Here, lookit.

Wakame seaweed. A small amount of this in your hand swells up to a bowlful. It's quite remarkable stuff.

The first time I bought it I didn't know what it was. When I saw how it swelled I threw it away. It was too much. I didn't understand it can be eaten as a salad.

Kombu seaweed is dried and rolled into tubes. These tubes unroll when they're wet and they thicken as they cook. It's a premium type. They're usually in flat sheets similar to paper. 

The flamingo-colored stuff is dried-smoked tuna flakes. 

Those two things together bring the ocean into your bowl.

I am out of fresh vegetables and fruit and dairy. That means I must go out and explore. 

Or maybe I'll just have it delivered again. 

I love the kids who deliver things. I could just gobble them up. Their world is serious. 

Sear-ee-us. 

So far they've delivered groceries, restaurant meals, and medication, and every one of them hustles. They thrive. In chaos. In uncertainty. They work their butts off to keep going. They exploit the situation and work through the cracks. They move their bodies, they organize, they travel, they go into new and uncertain situations each day. They communicate. 

Contrast that with state government and the businesses associated solely with state government.

I drive an old truck; a 91 Ford. 

Because it's so old it must be tested for emissions every other year. 

That time of year is right now for me and several thousand other Colorado citizens. 

My dad used to love this. My two brothers love this, but I hate it. I despise having the truck checked. I despise the entire procedure, the drive to the places, always very long lines, the waiting, the arbitrary shuffling of vehicles in front, the uncertainty of passing. 

I woke up very early. I waited at home to be near first in line at the place. I drove all the way over there. Checked the website again. "OPEN". That means they're in business. The gate is closed and cars are parked in a line. I get in line behind them. I'm in the middle of the road but I don't care. We're way out there in the boondox and the city is in quarantine, still there are a lot of trucks moving around in this area. It's 8:15. 

Two men approach opposite windows of my truck at the same time. One is speaking Japanese and his sign language is deplorable. The other man is speaking Spanish and his sign language is equally deplorable. They're both waving their arms and indicating vehicles parked along the road. 

Holy crap! There are people in all those cars. The row of cars behind me and in front of me on the opposite side of the road. Both sides of the road packed with people up early waiting for them to open. 

I use proper sign that satisfied both men at once. Thumbs up, and Chef Boyardee "fine." Both men smiled and retracted. They didn't like telling a white guy he's way out of line. I drove to the corner. Parked and checked the website again. It says open. I can see that the bays are all closed. I drove around the block and entered the parking for offices. A note on the door says "Closed for pandemic. Check our website for more information." 

We did that you assholes. Your jackassery f'ed up all these people's morning.

All those other people and I took their information from their website and showed up early to pass our vehicles and register them. The end of the month will run out for all of us and none of us can get our vehicles inspected. That doesn't really matter to me because I don't drive that much and I'd rather be driven anyway and the state will do something reasonable for us. And I'm fine paying for rides. But all those other people must use their vehicles. 

Except the old guy with the white Mustang convertible. He's just jacking around.