Dispatches from Arm's Length, Part 9

 A new school year dawns.

Two weeks ago, I sat though a 35-minute "orientation" for substitutes on COVID protocols and how things will be done differently this year. This past Friday, I witnessed the protocols executed first-hand. This particular district is doing hybrid learning; that is to say, they are attempting distance learning and in-person classes simultaneously, using Microsoft Teams. The students that are in the school are kept in consorts no larger than 14 or 15, and they stay in the same room almost all day while the teachers circulate around the building. (I was just a floater.) It was wonky in the execution, but if I sub there again this year I'm curious to see how the system evolves. Otherwise, I begrudgingly attest without personal benefit that remote learning is probably the best way to go.

It agonizes me that people are fighting over masks. I was blocked by one Facebook friend because she won't wear because she doesn't believe COVID-19 really exists. (Good riddance.) Another friend, a woman I met when we were 10 years old, went on the latest in a series of tyranny/liberty rant about wearing masks, which are mandatory in public in Illinois. Her posts laid bare her greatest character flaw: she has no concern for anyone but herself. She was called out by others for being self-centered and short-sighted, and all it did was make her double down. I didn't unfriend or block, but for now she's unfollowed. You can't fight crazy.

On the flip side of the debate, remember that gender non-binary person that was kicked out of a charity improv organization? They told someone who admitted to being inconsistent about wearing a mask that he should go commit suicide. Not only that, other people in the Chicago improv community took the person's side. A sociopath with anger issues was being validated. It was not a pretty sight. 

Finally, I've only watched highlights of the the national conventions. Where the Democrats balanced inclusion and critical thinking, the GOP has opted for a weird mix of bombast and face value. I've been trying to write jokes about it, but the late night talk shows are running laps around my ideas. The election is 10 weeks away, but it's going to feel like an eternity. 

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Dispatches from Arm's Length, Part 6

Public opinion is starting to sway toward reopening. That's not to say we're ready by any means; the United States is collectively fatigued after 10 weeks at home. The threat of COVID-19 hasn't gone away --I'm going to keep repeating that-- and states that have reopened have all seen spikes in cases and deaths. People are fighting on social media and in real life over wearing masks. These bold and brazen folks are calling us fraidy-cats. We're only thinking about ourselves, not others, and especially not the immuno-compromised. Illinois still has stay in place, but the governor is buckling.

Admittedly, I'm getting rather bold myself. At first, I was limiting driving for Lyft and Postmates to two, maybe three nights a week. With my unemployment benefits lapsing in two weeks, I'm hesitant to keep dipping into rainy day money. I'm waking up a little earlier, trying to get more stuff done around the apartment in daylight, then go out driving just in time for rush hour. Unless businesses completely reopen (that is to say, are safe to reopen) this is pretty much my life for the next three months.

My latest concern is whether I can afford to stay in my apartment. I'm 6 1/2 months into a one-year lease. Unemployment benefits from the state would help somewhat, but I don't want to face that ordeal again. My roommate is a furloughed cook; he leaves the apartment maybe once a week, and he's practically paying rent as a loan shark. (More on that later.) My sister's best friend and tenant is mostly back at her parents' house; her father died suddenly in early May, and her mother is immuno-compromised. Whether she stays at my sister's house remains to be seen. I still drive out once a week to pick up mail, see the dogs, and soldier on with our never-ending cleaning project. I feel guilty, as if making the 40-minute drive is a wasteful luxury.

Next Week: my annual mindset list.

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Dispatches from Arm's Length, Part 5

I had a particularly strange Lyft ride last Friday night. I picked up this passenger less than half a mile from my apartment; he wasn't wearing a mask, and almost immediately after he got into the car, he asked about "Plandemic." For the unfamiliar, "Plandemic" was a documentary uploaded to YouTube that reinforced several unfounded conspiracy theories about COVID-19. It's been removed and uploaded back to YouTube multiple times in the last week, citing misinformation rules. I saw the video, I know it's nonsense, but he thought it "made you think." I asked politely if he could change the subject, but he persisted. I hate that I had to snap at him, but I did what I could to avoid a more heated argument.

People are getting restless, but there's little we can do. That notorious curve isn't flattening. The death totals aren't tapering off, either.  The health experts aren't giving any indicators that the US as a whole is making progress in the COVID-19 fight. Misinformation is spreading as fast as the virus. The federal government's response has been (to put it mildly) slow, feckless, and unhelpful. Other countries have recovered while the U.S. population bickers over haircuts. Theaters of any kind likely won't open until late in 2020, which puts my weekend job on the kibosh.  Wisconsin reopened, probably too soon. There's no timetable for anything else.

There's a sliver of hope, though: baseball will be back. Two-plus months without this sort of diversion has been rough. I'm acclimated to going to a bunch of games during the spring and summer, but I can handle only watching baseball on TV. (I've haven't bothered to stay up to watch Korean ball, an ESPN "exclusive.") Otherwise, it looks like the rest of our summer has been cancelled. Fatigue has undoubtedly kicked in, but there's little we can do. We just have to persist.

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Dispatches from Arm's Length, Part 4

The quarantine was supposed to last a couple of weeks. Two weeks became three, then a month, then seven weeks, and now likely about three months. Each one of my optimistic predictions has come and gone, and my most recent prognostication --my aforementioned loosening of stay in place around May 22nd-- is likely to be for naught. Whatever plans I had for May, including the now postponed Omaha Comedy Festival, have been scuttled.

The rest of the 2019-20 school year in Illinois has been officially left to E-learning, which leaves me out of steady work until the third week in August. I've applied for temp jobs but haven't heard back. I had been depending on Lyft and Postmates, but the hacking of Instacart, an apparent Google Maps glitch, and an ensuing domino effect has thwarted any real source of income for the moment.

Also during week six, I accidentally stumbled into an argument with a conservative college acquaintance and a friend of his on Facebook. (Rest assured, on the rare occasion I get into a Facebook argument, you will hear about it here.) I believed that the extended stay in place order was hardly desired but necessary; we can't ease ourselves into anything remotely normal until COVID-19 is eradicated. My friend of a friend lived in a rural area in central Illinois, and was frustrated that she and her family can't go fishing. Both made a valid point about how this is destroying small businesses, though that has been a problem everywhere.  I kind of wanted to know more about she was getting by in a less densely populated part of the state, but her condescending attitude about Chicago turned me off. I failed to articulate that everyone is struggling right now. At least neither of them spit out any Trump rhetoric.

Besides unexpected petty squabbles on social media, how am I entertaining myself? I'm catching up on magazines and the Sunday papers. I downloaded a Sudoku app on my phone, something I haven't done in maybe four years. I've struck up conversations on OkCupid and participated in an online (Zoom) dating event. My barprov show is doing one hour remote (again, Zoom) shows twice a week. It may seem like a lot, but it's barely enough. I treated the first round of the NFL Draft like appointment television; otherwise, I feel too distracted to binge on any TV shows. Obviously, I'm still writing.

In the meantime, I will continue to update this blog as things progress and regress. We've all seen a lot of crazy together, and like a certain curve that has barely flattened, it's probably going to get worse. I've never had much interaction through my blog --well, not since the TV.com days-- but if you're reading this, don't be afraid to comment or drop a line. I want to make sure you're okay, too.

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Dispatches from Arm's Length, Part 3

Warren G. Harding is largely considered one of our worst presidents. His legacy, beyond being corrupt and a philanderer, was the word he unintentionally invented while campaigning in 1920. In the wake of the Great War and popular support for American isolationism, he promised a "return to normalcy."

Normalcy, whether or not you think its a real word, has lingered all over the news and on social media as the quarantine ends week five. Even when businesses and public places re-open, things won't go to normal immediately. There's no timetable yet, and the most educated guesses aren't optimistic. (Incidentally, I told a friend that I was hoping for May 22nd, and she winced. So much for hoping against hope.) As optimistic as some people are, you can't force the machine to run normally in a matter of seconds.

The executive branch knew about a potential pandemic in January, then swept it under the rug. I'm just as furious and frustrated as anyone else, but luckily the late night talk shows are still around to make articulate, witty commentaries about the Trump administration's epic blunder. COVID-19 news may be exhausting for some, but I find satire to be a welcome distraction.

When (and if) everything reopens, everything will have to be eased in. Events of no more than two people will give way to groups of five, then ten, perhaps fifty. Social distancing will be "normalcy" for a while yet. Rushing ourselves out into the open (like what President Trump implied in his "LIBERATE" tweets) will only make things worse.

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