My latest assignment was learning how to make tiki drinks. For once, I nailed it.

I jumped from practice mode to pro level, a rapid leap demanded by my deadline and my self-imposed rule to not dawdle all day on these projects but rather to hurry up and become an expert in the given area by, say, noon.

The video basically detailed what I’m doing at home to kill COVID time. So it’s a little light on content and semi-heavy on effects. That’s a perfect description of TikTok.

Don’t let numbers push you around. Be your own painting boss. Step on the snake’s head. Paint free or die.

With immediately likable vocals and melodies and some great guitar work, the oxymoronically titled “Simple Math” goes into my Georgia-rock Hall of Fame.

Many of us had our first Spanish lesson at the then-new Taco Bells, which began popping up in the mid-1960s with their helpful pronunciation guides on their menus: Buh-REE-Toe, Toe-STAH-da, and the tongue-twister TAH-co.

Maybe if I practiced this for a few months I’d get good at it, too. I might almost paralyze myself. I’m going to err on the side of caution.

It was delicious in its own mutant, blunder-riddled way. Ah, the sweet taste of failure!

Active yeast, excited gluten. I was throwing a Gymboree party for fungus and wheat.

Every morning my phone alerts me to the fact that I have no scheduled events today. The last scheduled event I had was on St. Patrick’s Day and that turned out to be just another early casualty to COVID.