I won’t do what you tell me

My friend Grant Chastain is on a roll and unleashing his honest emotion. I’m reprinting his Facebook post for those who don’t follow him or care to be on Facebook anymore.

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It’s temporarily quiet, and I’m talking in terms of milliseconds, when Zack de la Rocha whispers four words in my ears — ‘Anger is a gift’ — and I pull my truck out into the already-sparse traffic of Chandler, Arizona, with music blaring as loudly as the speakers will allow. Music that, incidentally, no one but myself is around to hear.

There’s hardly anyone on the streets right now, at 7:30pm. Arizona Governor Ducey has declared a curfew that will begin at 8:00. People are shuffling off to their homes, unsure of what that means. Specific language in the edict has basically ensured that anyone with a basic need can still be out — unless, of course, you plan to protest. Those Americans will no longer be allowed on the streets in a half-hour. It’s hot at this hour, still over 110 degrees, and relatively tranquil-looking at first glance.

Calm like a bomb, Rage Against the Machine would (and did) once say.

It’s 7:30pm and I am heading back to the grocery store, which I will soon discover has been picked over very thoroughly — as bad as it was during the initial days of COVID-19. But this time, it’s not a pandemic or a fear of missing out on essential goods that has caused the shortage. It’s a fear, and a deep-seated one — and a reasonable goddamn one — that things are going to continue to get worse before they get better.

If you were one of the ones that cleaned out the Fry’s grocery store at Rural & Ray Road on Sunday night… congratulations. You may be an asshole, or you may be an ally, but you’ve at least grasped that this situation is a little different this time around.

Phoenix, Arizona is about a zillion miles away from the depiction of Bedford-Stuyvesant we remember in Spike Lee’s “Do The Right Thing,” but there’s one lesson we all took away from that film when we came here, and that is this:

Anger plus injustice plus high temperatures is a recipe for a DEEP BOIL. It rages, just underneath everyone’s skin, and doesn’t easily recede. We are all angrier when it’s 110 degrees. And it’s not helped by the sneaking notion that — again, in the words of Zack — “some of those that work forces, are the same that burn crosses.”

I’m not black, or Latin, or any color that is most commonly on the end of direct police attention. I’m in very little danger of being profiled. But I am angry. And anger, as Zack told me in 1992 in the song “Freedom,” is a gift.

It’s a gift, because it means you can still differentiate right from wrong, even when the people on the receiving end of oppression don’t look like you.

It’s a gift, because you can think back to the first time you heard those words, that song, and realize that very little has changed from a systemic standpoint in the nearly 30 years since you heard it.

It’s a gift, because it means you have an outlet to scream from the street corners and rooftops that shit needs to change. That you won’t accept white supremacy in any form, fashion, venue or occupation. That you will demand more from the people in charge of our safety and security, by demanding that those principles be upheld for ALL PEOPLE, regardless of their color. Even if our President does nothing about it, and calls the tiki-torch KKK from Charlotteville “fine people.” Even as he classifies anti-fascism — a tenet that everyone from your great-grandfathers, who went to war to put an end to that ethos — a “domestic terrorism entity.”

Anger is a gift… but like all gifts? It has a price tag.

The price you will pay is that you’ll be forced to come to some uncomfortable truths about the situation. That the reason we are in this situation right now doesn’t begin and end with George Floyd. Not really.

It’s not about Armaud Arbery being shot by two vigilante good-ol-boys, who were simply dispatching some good-old-fashioned-Southern-justice on the poor guy. It’s also not about the fact that none of us might have never known about the situation unless video evidence was released, after the district attorney had initially decided not to file charges against his murderers.

It’s not about Breonna Taylor, a dedicated award-winning EMT who was shot and killed while sleeping in her home in the commission of a no-knock botched police raid meant to be sent to a completely different home, and of a man that was (at the time) already in police custody. It’s also not about her live-in boyfriend, who now faces charges for shooting at the policemen that invaded their space in the dead of night without warning.

It’s not about Freddie Gray, or Sam Dubose, or Philando Castile. Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Trayvon Martin. It’s not about any one of those men. It’s not about Ferguson, or Minneapolis, or Cleveland, or Charlottesville, or Atlanta.

It’s not about NWA telling us about it in 1988, and again in an award-winning film in 2015. It’s not about Jay Z telling us about getting pulled over for doing 55 in a 54. It’s not about Ice T getting more static over a song called “Cop Killer” than actual COPS that are KILLERS get 25 years later. It’s not about KRS-One telling us that there’s a lot of similarity between overseers and officers.

It’s not about police agencies feeding you the same old horseshit about how body-cameras aren’t feasible since “the NFL has cameras on every angle of a game and there are still uncertainties,” as one Texas sheriff good-ol’-boy was quoted.

It’s about all of it. Every last bit.

This country has been built on a rock-solid bed of “let’s move on” when the answers are multi-faceted, or we can’t seem to agree on a single answer to solve the problem. We love it when the answers to the Jeopardy questions are easy. We don’t listen to men like Colin Kaepernick when he suggests that, hey, maybe it might be nice to stop policemen from killing people, and maybe kneeling during the anthem might be a way to bring some attention to the larger problem. Instead, our President calls him a bum on Twitter, and we decide that maybe since we haven’t seen any black men getting profiled as we’ve been intently paying attention during the Bears/Packers commercial break, maybe Kaepernick isn’t 100% correct. So we do nothing, until the next tragedy occurs.

I’m imploring you to keep your anger warm. It’s a fragile flame, but if we are to demand more… we need to surround it with our hands, and keep it crackling. Your anger will keep you motivated to require more from those you entrusted to keep you safe. Your protest will keep the microscope on the situation. This is the gift that we have, but we will only have it for as long as the motivation for change lasts.

Participate in this if you can. Donate if you cannot. If you cannot donate money… donate your visibility so others can keep their own flames going. Demand more. Do not let your attention recede.

Anger is your gift.

Use it.

The pathology is the point

Never once have I spent my time going over and reading the tweets Donald Trump puts out on his account. The ones that have crept up into the news are always shocking and stupid, and mostly just frightening. I would never subscribe to get his tweets delivered to me. Why would I want to subject myself to such horror?

I’ve done what most sane people have done: I don’t read them at all. If you value your sanity, I’d say no one should read them.

I aggressively unfollow idiots and stupid people on social media. Trump is not only an idiot, willfully ignorant, a racist, a rapist, and a manbaby, he’s also unworthy of my time. Twitter is a time suck. It is designed, like Facebook, to keep you on the platform and engaging with others. I choose not to have those engagements.

There is nothing someone like Trump can tweet that will be insightful, interesting, or illuminating. We already know who he is and what he is. Everything he does when not on Twitter emphasizes his acute horribleness. Twitter is just another platform for him to espouse his horribleness. I choose not to engage.

Jack Shafer writing for Politico says this:

Why must we fetch every bone that Trump hurls into the high, prickly brush? Well, he’s the president, and he wouldn’t make such an extreme charge if it weren’t true, would he? But he does, and he does all the time. This tidy list from Business Insider demonstrates his historic capacity for making baseless but grotesque claims of criminality and deception: implicating Ted Cruz’s father in the Kennedy assassination; claiming that Obama wasn’t born in the United States; surmising that Justice Antonin Scalia did not die of natural causes; accusing Joe Scarborough of complicity in the death of an intern; asserting massive voter fraud in the 2016 presidential election; saying windmills cause cancer; connecting the Clintons to Jeffrey Epstein’s death; and the Bidens-in-Ukraine baloney.

His tweeting is all about deflecting from his very real political problems. Guess what? I don’t have to pay attention, and neither do you.

Frankly, Twitter should delete his account. They will not do that. Twitter should delete the bots populating their site too, but they won’t do that either. Part-time CEO Jack Dorsey has chosen not to make moderating his platform a priority. This is wrong, and this is the inherent problem with social media in general.

Interacting with Trump is a fool’s errand. It has no real effect other than amplifying his horribleness to people who either don’t understand or relish in his horribleness. These are also people I don’t want to engage with or spend any time thinking about. I don’t need to raise my Twitter profile by “pwning” the MAGA crowd. I just ignore them. Unhinged rants don’t need any oxygen, so I don’t feed the animals.

Make no mistake, he’s unhinged. Trump is clearly deranged and has successfully removed himself from reality. 

Kevin Drum on Mother Jones posted the following:

In the past few days Donald Trump has:

• Cranked up the volume on his pointless cold wars with China and Iran

• Turned mask wearing into a culture war campaign issue

• Accused a TV host of murdering an intern

• Declared war on voting by mail

• Insisted that James Comey and a variety of others should be in jail

• Pushed an absurd “unmasking” non-scandal

• Insisted that Barack Obama personally led a spying campaign against him

• Retweeted a video saying “the only good Democrat is a dead Democrat”

• Retweeted QAnon conspiracy theories

 

All of this has happened during an enormous pandemic which should be occupying all his time. Instead, he’s virtually ignoring it because he can’t figure out what to do aside from handing it over to his son-in-law and then hauling out his iPhone to tweet about something he heard on Fox & Friends.

 

Is Trump mentally unstable? I don’t know. But he’s sure not mentally all there, is he? 

Andrew Sullivan writing about Trump last week thinks he’s “completely bonkers.”

Yesterday, at a Ford plant in Michigan, the president reiterated that he was once named “Man of the Year” in Michigan, something that never happened and an honor that doesn’t exist. He insisted that Obama had left no pandemic preparation behind — “we took over empty cupboards. The cupboards were bare” — which is untrue. He said he owned a lot of Lincolns but then he said he didn’t. When referring to the anti-Semite and Nazi-supporter Henry Ford, he ad-libbed, “Good bloodlines, if you believe in that stuff. Good blood.” In a factory where mask-wearing is legally mandatory and where every other executive was wearing a mask — and one who spoke with a Perspex visor on as well — Trump refused to wear one in public, though he apparently put one on behind the curtain. When asked why he wasn’t wearing one, he said: “I don’t want to give the press the pleasure of seeing it.” The official taxpayer-funded White House trip was also used to give an overtly partisan campaign speech, breaking the law. Just one completely bonkers day from a president who has effectively refused to do the job.

Later in his piece he says Trump is suffering from a delusional pathology.

I know we’re used to it, but there is no rational or coherent explanation for any of this. There is no strategy, or political genius. There is just a delusional pathology in which he says whatever comes into his head at any moment, determined entirely by his mood, which is usually bad. His attention span is so tiny and his memory so occluded that he can say two contradictory things with equal conviction repeatedly, and have no idea there might be any inconsistency at all.

This pathology is also why no one should spend any time at all following Trump’s vomiting on social media. It nearly always is incoherent, a lie, a projection, or a panicked attack on something he saw on Fox News. His supporters eat it up because they, too, want to live in the President’s imaginary reality. However, the problem with imaginary realities is that the real world doesn’t go away because it’s inconvenient. COVID-19 is not going away. Hundreds of thousands of people are dead and dying because reality finally smacked the orange manbaby in the face. He is desperately trying to change the narrative, but again reality has its own narrative, and it’s one a vast majority of people are seeing for the first time. No amount of spin, pivoting, or “other blaming” is going to work when more than 100,000 Americans are dead, millions are out of work, and a vote to remove this cancer is a few short months away. 

Of course, who knows what will happen over the summer. Unfortunately, one thing you can be sure about is that Trump will say something ridiculously stupid. And I’ll be doing my best not to pay attention.

Email is still the killer app

Robin Rendle on newsletters versus blog posts:

I think the weird thing about newsletters is that they’re so…formal. It would make for a cruel and unusual punishment if I sent an email out to a bunch of people that was nonsensical, doesn’t conclude properly, doesn’t have some sense of progress or I-don’t-know-what. But with a blog post? I don’t care!

 

In fact, that’s the graceful thing about blogs and personal sites. They can be just for you; scribbling down notes in a public but non-important way. It doesn’t have to lead anywhere, and there doesn’t have to be this big pretense that you’re the smartest person in the room.

 

A blog post can start in the middle of nothing, go nowhere, and then just…

Ha.

There’s a real point here in that a blog or a personal site can be just for you. This site is pretty much just for me. If someone else likes what I’m writing, I appreciate it. However, I’m not writing for any other audience than myself. 

I never could figure out a newsletter format that felt natural and entertaining. Doing a newsletter has been a joy, but it also can be a hassle and a chore. I don’t want to do anything that’s a chore, especially if I’m doing it voluntarily. Writing should never be a chore. For me, doing a regular newsletter is a chore, and that’s why I completely revamped this website to be the be-all, end-all of me online^.

On the other hand, I love reading formal newsletters from people I find fascinating and interesting. Here are a few of my favorites:

Warren Ellis’ Orbital Operations
Dave Winer’s Scripting News
Kai Brach’s Dense Discovery
Heather Cox Richardson’s Letters from an American
Will Leitch’s This Here Newsletter

Michael Moore was not the only person who predicted Trump would win in 2016, but he gets so much credit for going on Real Time With Bill Maher and saying it. If he would have been wrong everyone would say, he overreacted. Since he was right, now he’s some sort of futurist. He is not. 

Personally, I think Moore has a pretty good idea of the electorate especially in the midwest. He’s got his finger on the pulse. This insight is even more important as we get going this summer. Still, he’s doing the whole, “Imma gonna say crazy stuff is gonna to happen and let’s see where that goes” again schtick and it’s annoying.

For example in a recent interview with Tom Kludt in Vanity Fair he says the only thing anyone will care about:

He isn’t so sure any votes will be cast at all. “There will be no November 3 election if things keep going the way they’re going right now,” Moore said. “I think he would have figured out a way, even without the coronavirus, but this is a gift to him because I think he never really intended on leaving in the first place. He admires dictators. He admires strongmen, wishes he was one. I think the writing is on the wall right now that he is in deep electoral trouble.”

Legal experts say Trump doesn’t have the authority to delay or cancel the election, but Biden has predicted he may try. Son-in-law Jared Kushner only helped fuel speculation last week that there could be some kind of election holdup, and on the morning after we spoke, Trump threatened to to withhold federal funding to1 Michigan and Nevada over their plans for mail-in ballots. Even if the election does happen in November, Moore isn’t convinced that Biden will be on the Democratic ticket. “This has been a crazy year, a crazy election year, a crazy year on so many levels. Anything you would have predicted back in December or January is out the window. The year we thought we were going to have on any level is out the window. So if it’s all out the window, what else is out the window?” Moore said. “Nothing is lined up right this year. Just because he’s got the most delegates and everybody’s conceded, it doesn’t mean he’s going to be the nominee. They’re not even going to have a real convention. Anything can happen.”

Sure, anything can happen, but seriously none of this is going to happen. If anything can happen, why not convince Barack Obama to run again? He’d win in a landslide and he wouldn’t even have to campaign. What’s that you say? The constitution forbids him running? Who cares? No one voting would care. It’s like saying Trump is going to delay or cancel the November 3 election. It won’t happen. 

The only thing I can say for sure is that Trump, win or lose, will contest the results of the election.

Finally, we will have a Star Trek show that sounds like what I’ve been hoping we’d get for quite some time.

CBS All Access has ordered a full series of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, based on the years where Captain Christopher Pike (Anson Mount) helms the U.S.S. Enterprise.

The series will feature Star Trek: Discovery Season 2 fan favorites Anson Mount as Captain Christopher Pike, Rebecca Romijn as Number One, and Ethan Peck as Science Officer Spock.

The series will follow the trio in the decade before Captain Kirk boarded the U.S.S. Enterprise, as they explore new worlds around the galaxy. 

I wrote a modest proposal way back in 2001 that asked for several things.

1. The new Star Trek should take place in the future onboard a starship named Enterprise.

2. The new Star Trek probably needs to go back to basics and have a maverick, white, Americanized, male captain

3. The new Star Trek can kill two birds with one stone with a black woman first officer.

4. The doctor/counselor should be a race we have seen before, but not on a Federation ship.

5. The engineer should have an ability unheard of before

6. The head of security should be what Tasha Yar aspired to be.

7. The young fresh-faced ensign is an integral part of the cast.

8. The science officer — See _Real Genius_

9. Something that hasn’t been done before that can connect this series with the previous.

10. Stories, Stories, Stories.

I got the first two in spades, except it’s not set in the future of the Star Trek timeline. I did not anticipate a series focused on Captain Pike, so #3 and #8 don’t really work, but the solution to #9 is interesting. Plus, #4 — #7 hold some intriguing ideas. Lastly, #10 goes without saying. For this series, I might make the idea I had for the science officer part of the engineer’s character.

No air date has been announced, but depending on the timing, but what with Discovery and Picard, Short Treks and the forthcoming Star Trek: Lower Decks all in some stage of production, it’s possible that Trek enthusiasts could wind up with an unprecedented four five different series airing concurrently to geek out over argue about.

I’m looking forward to learning more and casting.

Will Wheaton, writing on his site, presents a gentle reminder to everyone who isn’t lazy or selfish out there.

This whole thing we are living through is a lot, and it’s really understandable to want to get back to normal. The thing is, science and virology don’t care about your timetable, and until science and virology have a vaccine for Covid19, this is our reality. Wishing it would go away, and acting accordingly, is only going to make this worse. Refusing to follow medical guidelines, because you’re pissed off and frustrated is only going to make this worse. Ignoring medical advice because you’re bored and want to go to the beach is only going to make this worse.

Selfish, ignorant people are going to make this worse. Don’t be one of them. 

He goes on to ask everyone to be mindful and self-aware. He asks everyone to be patient and make the best of the situation. He asks everyone to choose to be kind. 

He’s asking nicely and simply. Will is a better man than I am. 

When I went out last weekend in my mask, I was shocked at the idiocy of those I encountered who were not wearing masks. The arrogance. The holier-than-thou attitude. These men, nearly all of them were men, would not be caught dead in a mask. Keep it up, and they’ll just be caught dead, I thought to myself. 

I wanted to glare at them and mentally shame them into protecting themselves and others around them. An employee at the nursery where I was shopping for flowers insisted a gentleman wear a mask. After the third time, he finally pulled a mask out of his pocket and put it on. Of course, it was off his nose and mostly around his chin after two minutes. My blood began to boil because this asshole would not wear a mask in public. 

The stress of everything came crashing around me. Causing a scene was not going to help the situation. So, I did what I could and hyper-focused on my wife and what we were doing and did my level best to ignore the idiots around us.

Later, I found Michelle Goldberg’s story in The New York Times about social shaming.

The only tool ordinary people have to try to combat this deadly entropy is public shame, and so there’s been an enormous amount of it, both online and off. “The Social Media Shame Machine Is In Overdrive Right Now,” said a BuzzFeed headline. Indignant people are posting photographs of neighbors violating social distancing guidelines and flooding the police with tips. The mayor of Providence has urged residents to “socially shame” anyone not wearing a mask or gathering in large groups. “What is clear is that people across Tampa Bay are watching each other in ways that range from vigilant to possibly obsessive,” said a piece in the Tampa Bay Times.

Donald Trump has polarized the response to the coronavirus so that compliance with public health directives is coded as progressive, and defiance is conservative. But people on the left used to know that when it comes to public health, shaming is generally an ineffective strategy. “Shaming people is, I think, like ‘Just Say No to Drugs,’” Gregg Gonsalves, an epidemiologist at the Yale School of Public Health, told me. “It doesn’t deal with people’s psychology, with people’s economic circumstances, their own fears and anxieties, and so it just seems wrong to me.” 

It all seems so infuriating.

When I told my wife about my internal dialogue and feelings post-nursery visit, she reminded me that everyone is going through their own emotional problems with wearing a mask. People are just scared. Everyone is waging their own private war right now, and those battles are not straight lines of black and white.

Most of the time, I don’t get worked up about what’s happening outside these four walls. Other times, I think we are all going to die. It’s a roller coaster of emotions and fear. Plus, it’s not always a wave to ride, but a slow roll.

I believe everyone is doing the best they can. Some people are idiots, and some are just struggling. Me shaming anyone isn’t going to help. It doesn’t do them any good, and it won’t make me feel any better. Those shoppers without a mask aren’t evil or stupid. They are just trying to manage this terrible situation the way they think is best. They might be wrong. I think they probably are wrong because I listen to the scientists and the experts, but the bottom line is I can’t change them. 

My responsibility is to myself and my family. I want my friends to be safe and healthy. I want everyone to do the right thing and pay attention to the scientists and healthcare workers who know what’s going on. This is a crazy situation, and nobody knows what’s going to happen next. 

Everyone just wants this thing to be over and finished. I believe following the proper guidelines will accelerate the end to social distancing and mask-wearing in public. More importantly, it will save lives. I hope you do too. Some day in the future, this will all be over, and the anxiety, fear, and stress will be focused elsewhere. We can still do our best now. We can always keep on keeping on.

And me being angry about the maskless dudebros is wasted energy. 

Photographer, writer, editor, and publisher, Rick LePage , wrote an essay a few days ago that I’m just getting around to reading. He starts off this way:

Good sleep is a questionable endeavor these days. It is understandable, given the pandemic, with the lockdowns and quarantines, and its associated fears and anxieties. Drinking is up, exercise is down, and anger and frustration are often at the forefront of my brain. Add to that the raw polarization of our society today, and it is altogether far too wearying, but not in a way that helps sleep. It is, quite honestly, hard to fight it all. There is a reason that Monday seems like Tuesday, which seems like last Thursday, or Sunday. I can’t — and don’t care to — remember what happened then.

I have not been sleeping all that great. I bet you haven’t either. Even though my life has not been completely turned upside down, it has changed.

The information overload is almost too much to bear, and I’ve had to pull back from the news considerably. Beyond the basics that people are dying, so stay inside and stay safe, I can hardly process the rest, nor should I have to do so. I don’t work in healthcare or the government. I’m not an expert on anything that would be worthy during this time. Honestly, there is nothing I can do to help fight this pandemic other than stay inside, wash my hands, and stay safe. I’m not going to fact check everyone’s opinion or spend time researching credentials.

There is no amount of news I could watch, read or research that would change the basics of “people are dying, so stay inside and stay safe.” It is the only way I can make an impact. There is nothing else I can do. I decided instead of drowning in information; I’m drowning it out.

While we may be more connected as a society, my impact on the world is small. I do what I can: stay home, socially distance if I have to go out, wear a mask, and be there for friends and family who are feeling scared or sad. My family limits the time outdoors for food or other supplies. I can walk the dog and get fresh air without putting myself or others at risk.

Spending time on the news of the day outside of headlines is a waste of time and energy. If something is important enough, it will bubble up past these self-imposed barriers.

It is mentally exhausting to follow the constant stream of announcements, advice, memes, news stories, blog posts, and social media swamp. I try to stay calm, find distractions, find the new, and be. Spending time doing practically anything else is wasted time.

To rest my brain and not feel so overloaded, I take time to enjoy the things I like. I realized early in this political landscape that I could not take in the tsunami of constant bullshit. I stopped paying attention to social media. I reactivated my Instagram and started to follow photographers and artists unconnected to the news and the world. I curated my Twitter feed, and I unfollowed many, many people across the board. It’s quieter.

I found blogs and newsletters that are creating amazing things. It inspired me to reengineer this site and make it something worthwhile and representative of me. I cut down on the noise and found a bit more peace.

Of course, I’m just as worried and anxious about the coronavirus as anyone who’s paying attention. I think about what I want to happen over the summer so that some sense of revised normalcy might happen. If and when the world comes back to some semblance of the “before times,” what do I want to do? Where shall I sit and enjoy a meal? Who will I hug first?

I dream of St. Louis Cardinals baseball games and Fighting Illini football and basketball. I think about traveling again to Arizona, California, and Florida. Eating my mom’s cooking and hanging out with my brother’s family and my wife’s family and… and…

And then I remember The Wizard of Oz and Dorothy, who said, “If I ever go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it, to begin with.”

My backyard is looking better and better every day.

The family is approaching 60 days, staying at home and staying safe. We binge watch new shows, we read, we find new creative projects. Staying at home has not been a burden for my family, and we are incredibly lucky in that respect.

Despite this pandemic and everything that has happened since, life does not stop. We might be calling this The Great Pause, but pressing the pause button on many of the things that make life enjoyable like movies, concerts, dining out, and sports, life goes on. We keep going on, and so does everyone else. Spouses, kids, the family dog, mother’s in law, and friends, all need us. Some need us to make them dinner or listen to them rant and rave about our messed up politics. Some need diapers changed, and water bowls filled.

Nothing is over. Life finds a way to quote Jurassic Park. We have to keep going.

Even if you want to scream into the void or at that asshole not wearing a mask at the grocery store, we have to remember everyone has invisible burdens and pressures. Be kind. Don’t be so hard on yourself or others. We will get through this together.

This pandemic is like a slow-motion 9/11. I mean, you can make the argument that this presidency has been one too, but with COVID-19, we are seeing actual numbers and deaths equalling one 9/11 every day is… checks notes … not good. We are all trapped in quicksand trying to move forward. We are inching our way, wondering when we will find solid ground. It will end someday. We just have no idea when that day will be.

You probably just want some peace and quiet and a good night’s sleep.

One of the best things to come out of this crazy time is the ability to try something new. Of course, everyone can try something new at any time-no need for a global pandemic as an excuse to get started. That is factually correct. However, this stay-at-home to flatten the curve life we now lead has created, at least in me, a heightened sense of finding the new. And “finding the new” lead my family to Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, which, for of its highs and lows, was 12 hours of entertainment that made me laugh out loud multiple times, made me cry, and made me choose between Team Max or Team Simon. The best part is it allowed my wife and I to binge-watch something other than old episodes of Law and Order: SVU (“ Yo! Are you telling me this guy gets off on little girls with pigtails? “!).

It was awesome.

I was tangentially aware there was a new show with a musical-type thing happening starring that one guy from Pitch Perfect and, I think, someone who used to be on Glee. I had never seen the lead actress before and had generally dismissed the show as one of the many I would never watch.

When my wife said casually, “Wanna try that Zoey show?” I agreed. I was a bit fuzzy on the high concept of the show and was completely blindsided by how delightful, funny, witty, and heart-felt the show was. The first episode caught me completely off guard, and I was hooked.

Basically, the premise is after a freak accident, Zoey can hear people’s thoughts and feelings manifested usually has an elaborate song-and-dance that only she can see. With this newfound power that she conveniently has little control over and with ill-defined rules, she is compelled to help her friends while navigating a sitcom-style love triangle, new responsibilities at her job, and her family’s dying father.

In most of the episodes, Zoey hears someone sing a song that hints at their troubles or lends insight into their character. Sometimes it’s a whole city singing to her “Help” by the Beatles. Sometimes it’s a co-worker revealing that he’s angling for the same promotion by singing, “All I Do Is Win” by DJ Khaled. Of course, her friend-zoned male friend has a secret crush on her, and it’s revealed with him singing “I Think I Love You” by David Cassidy. All of this happens because of her new “power.” The singing and the dance routines are pretty great, and the song choices made me laugh as they fit into each storyline.

It would have been easy for the show to go full sitcom with occasional touches upon more serious issues, but ZEP is a dramedy and as the name implies walks a thin line between drama and comedy.

The first time Zoey sees her father’s feelings in song comes with the caveat that he’s afflicted with Progressive Supranuclear Palsy. The disease has mostly silenced him and keeps him catatonic, but when he breaks into a song, it is both magical and heartbreaking. Played by Peter Gallagher, his songs let us see Zoey’s father as she remembers him and makes the return to his current state ever more difficult.

The show could have been made without the drama part and been successful. However, adding in more profound issues such as dealing with the suicide of a parent or what it means to be gender-fluid and sing in the church choir, ZEP transcends the superficiality of its high concept. The balance is not perfect, but creator Austin Winsberg made a sharp 12 episodes of television. The show, which has not yet been picked up for a second season, stands on its own as a perfect microcosm.

I’m reminded of the first season of Dawson’s Creek. The show’s creator, Kevin Williamson, had no idea if it was going to be picked up for a second season, and just like Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist created a perfect season with a beginning, middle, and an end that could be the last we see of these characters.

There are a million directions the show could go after this season, but part of me wishes it stays preserved in amber just like this.

David Roth, writing for The New Republic, is just at the top of his game. The descriptions here are delightful.

In close up, on television, at a glance, with the volume down, Donald Trump can from time to time look like a president. That effect becomes less convincing the more you pay attention, though. Even under professional lighting, Trump reliably looks like a photographic negative of himself; on his worse and wetter days, he has the tone and texture of those lacquered roast ducks that hang from hooks in Chinatown restaurant windows. The passing presidentiality of the man dissipates utterly in longer shots, where Trump can be seen standing tipped oddly forward like a jowly ski jumper in midair, or mincing forward to bum-rush an expert’s inconvenient answer with an incoherent one of his own, or just making faces intended to signal that he is listening very strongly to what someone else is saying. (These slapdash performances of executive seriousness tend to have the effect, as the comedian Stewart Lee once said of James Corden, of making Trump look like “a dog listening to classical music.”) Seen from this long-shot vantage, the man at the podium is unmistakably Donald Trump — uncanny, unknowing, upset about various things that he can’t quite understand or express.

Roth is a master at describing Trump and this time we are all in with clarity and perfect prose.

This line about the “tipped oddly forward” reminded me of a Tweet I saw.

Trump standing always makes me think of Bugs Bunny nemesis Giovanni Jones. pic.twitter.com/x36rJDxS3W

— ben schwartz (@benschwartz_) April 28, 2020

Some call it the happiest place on earth

My friend Grant has posted another fantastic Facebook post about losing his happy place, at least for a little while. I’ve reposted it here because I know not everyone wants to access Facebook and I think it deserves an audience outside of the walled garden.

==

Here’s the thing about Disneyland, Disney World, and Disney parks all over the world —

You either get it, buy in to it, and have strong associations with it… or you don’t.  You either love it… or you don’t.  And it’s okay if you don’t.  Missy, my dear wife, doesn’t at all.  She dislikes the crowdedness, the bustle.  She dislikes the sense of frenetic movement.  Her relaxation place is a lot more… well, relaxing.

But I’ve seen Disney parks at many stages of my life, at many times, and with many people, and I *get it*.  I love it.  The memories I’ve made at these places are indelible.  The feeling I get walking into Disneyland is like a life-shaped weight being lifted from my chest.  I know that when I’m there, I’m going to have a great day.

And yes, we can talk endlessly about whether or not Disneyland is a constantly-overflowing cash register.  (It is.)  Or whether it’s designed to take advantage of your wants and desires in a somewhat insidious way.  (It is.)  And whether it is designed to prey on one’s nostalgia and carefree youthful days to wring dollars out of one’s wallet.  (It *so* is.)

But let’s also say that that doesn’t matter.  At least, to me.

The word has come down that the Disney parks are unlikely to reopen until 2021, or at very least as soon as a vaccine has been developed and rolled out.  I suppose I knew that, on an analytical and rational level.  But knowing that this place that’s been responsible for so many of my favorite memories won’t be open for guests for so long… it hurts.  It gives me a lot less to look forward to each day when things are tough and every day feels identical.  I always knew that when things were especially rough, I could always jump in my car, spend 5 hours driving, and find myself in the one place where responsibility didn’t exist.  Knowing that that aspect of life is gone for the foreseeable future has removed a small measure of my hopefulness.  And I know that that’s just silly, but again — I know that on an analytical, rational level.  And emotions aren’t necessarily rational.

Anyway, I know that what we face as a society is a bazillion times more crucial than piddly little OMG CAN’T GET A DOLE WHIP lamentations.  Further, I know that the sacrifices we’re all making now are necessary, and just, and right.  I know all those things.  At an analytical, rational level.  It’s not worth breaking a quarantine to get this back if it puts even ONE life in the path of harm, and it would be undoubtedly much more devastating than that for both the patrons and the cast members.  But I hope you can forgive me for lamenting the loss of a place that made me profoundly happy.  Disney was a respite for me when times got difficult, and I hate not having that refuge in my back pocket as we move forward into the rest of an uncertain 2020.

I hope you can also find some commonality in the sense that the only thing keeping us moving forward as a society is faith in the return of Better Days, however that looks in your mind’s eye.  Even if Disney isn’t your thing.  And personally?  I hope you can get a taste of your own Happy Place again, wherever that is, very soon.

Keep the faith and the hope.

At a press conference on Thursday, Trump pondered out loud in a sort of free associative way that bringing “light inside the body” and injecting or consuming disinfectant are ways to stop the coronavirus.

So supposing we hit the body with a tremendous — whether it’s ultraviolet or just a very powerful light — and I think you said that hasn’t been checked because of the testing. And then I said, supposing you brought the light inside the body, which you can do either through the skin or some other way, and I think you said you’re going to test that, too.

I see the disinfectant that knocks it out in a minute, one minute. And is there a way we can do something like that by injection inside or almost a cleaning? As you see, it gets in the lungs, it does a tremendous number on the lungs, so it would be interesting to check that.

As a friendly reminder, disinfectants are poisonous and will likely kill you if you inject them. It says so right on the bottles. As for the light idea, no one has any idea what he was talking about. He is the stupidest person ever to occupy the White House.

Reckitt Benckiser, the United Kingdom-based owner of Lysol, had to issue a statement about not administering disinfectants internally.

Due to recent speculation and social media activity, RB (the makers of Lysol and Dettol) has been asked whether internal administration of disinfectants may be appropriate for investigation or use as a treatment for coronavirus (SARS-CoV-2).

As a global leader in health and hygiene products, we must be clear that under no circumstance should our disinfectant products be administered into the human body (through injection, ingestion or any other route). As with all products, our disinfectant and hygiene products should only be used as intended and in line with usage guidelines. Please read the label and safety information.

We have a responsibility in providing consumers with access to accurate, up-to-date information as advised by leading public health experts. For this and other myth-busting facts, please visit Covid-19facts.com.

News media… please stop airing these press conferences live. He’s going to get people killed.

This is an occasion where we might’ve had a party, found some appropriate treats, and baked a cake (for the humans). As it stands with this cursed pandemic, none of those things are happening. Still, I wanted to mark the day for posterity.

Rocco, our wonder-pup, has been an incredible member of the family. When he came to our newly-minted, happy home, he was just six-weeks-old and definitely a welcome addition. Today, he is completely entrenched in everyone’s lives.

I am the one who walks him 100% of the time. I take him out at about the same clip, but my step-daughter, who Rocco spends his nights with, does take him out during the wee hours of the morning when he whines loud enough and persistent enough to wake her. Since my step-daughter is about to go off to college, the walking and taking him out at 3 am will fall on my shoulders. Actually, I don’t mind.

Rocco barks when someone darkens our sidewalk. He’s at the window letting the whole household know someone who isn’t one of the four humans who feed and snuggle with him is nearby. I can’t imagine anyone trying to sneak into our house with Rocco on guard.

He also barks in a growly sort of way when chasing a Wiffle ball around the house. It’s a combination of Wicket the Ewok’s growl and a full-throated bark. It is endearing and annoying at the same time. I love it.

Belly rubs and ear scratches always make him happy. The few times he’s had to sleep with me, he’s found the warm crook of my knee and hunkered down for a night’s rest.

I can’t imagine my life now without him. In fact, one evening he was staying with someone else because we were leaving early in the morning and we didn’t want him to be home alone. I had to go outside and do our typical walk because it didn’t feel right not doing it. That sounds so odd, but it wasn’t at the time at all.

Our baby boy is two and he has brightened our days ever since he’s joined our family. What a blessing.

In 2013, my wife Maria was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis, which, if you don’t know, is a chronic inflammatory disease where the bones in the spine start to fuse. It is an autoimmune type of arthritis. People who have autoimmune disorders have an immune system that attacks healthy cells. Maria uses Enbrel to mitigate her symptoms and to fight back the ankylosing spondylitis. Without it, she would be in significant pain, have a hard time doing just about anything outside of the house, and basically not be able to lead a normal life.

Unfortunately, Enbrel generally weakens your immune system. It makes it harder to fight infections, and my wife can get sicker far easier. Our health insurance allows us to be able to afford such a medication. We are incredibly lucky.

Before the outbreak of the novel coronavirus, our lives were pretty ordinary. My wife self-administered her injections, and while they are not as simple as a Star Trek-style hypospray, they are pretty straightforward, albeit painful. She’d have a flare-up occasionally, but nothing too major. It was easy to forget the ankylosing spondylitis was even affecting her. It was, of course, but she doesn’t let it bother her. She does not complain.

Now we face Covid-19, which can cause flu-like symptoms and can lead to death in high-risk patients. The entire time Maria has used Enbrel, I worried it would start to not work as well. My worry now is her contracting Covid-19.

We have decided not to cancel a planned trip to Florida by commercial jet airliner. Plus, we are doing all the right things that seem about as practical as possible: hand-washing for 30 seconds, buying over-the-counter medications, gathering up the hand sanitizer and other supplies. Maria confessed she’s worried about the trip but is taking all the precautions. I’m worried but not showing it as best I can. I have the worry gene. She has the plan for every eventuality gene.

If she were to encounter someone with the novel coronavirus, I’m not sure what we would do. I want her to be as healthy as possible when stepping on the plane and dealing with the airport crowds. I worry about being exposed and unwittingly exposing her. The complications of a quarantine or hospital stay are terrifying. Everyone is fine now. If it changes, there’s not much I can do to protect her.

Being concerned about this potential pandemic is making me continuously turn down the panic knob. I’ve read people who are seriously worried and preparing for the end days and others not being concerned enough. I hope I’m somewhere in the middle.

It’s frustrating to me to hear people with influential voices downplay the risk. The federal government, news organizations, and others have caused the spread of the virus to worsen. When they dismiss the more than 700 people who have tested positive for the virus and the 26 people who have died, it makes me feel like my wife is not “worth the effort.” Nothing could be further from the truth.

The worry I have regarding my family is not unfounded. It should not be waved away. There are high-risk people everywhere. Doing the basics like hand-washing and staying home when you’re sick is important.

I recently went to a sold-out college basketball game and did not encounter one masked person. How soon before that changes? How soon before everything is canceled?

Covid-19 isn’t just the same as the flu. Besides, the flu does kill people. Sure, a relatively healthy person likely won’t die from exposure to Covid-19. Still, the reason all these events like South by Southwest and Boston’s St. Patrick’s Day parade are being canceled is that the organizers are trying to minimize the exposure across the board. It’s absolutely the people with the “underlying health condition” that are at risk.

Like my wife.

My family left for a Florida vacation on Friday, March 13. When we came back a few days later, the world turned upside down, and we were all working from home and self-isolating.

It’s not quite yet been a month, but everyone is finding some sort of new normal. None of us like it. All of us miss our friends, co-workers, sports, movies, restaurants, and so much more.

The last few days were bright, sunny warm and cold, rainy, and overcast. Today, it’s sunny and cold, which feels about right. I was able to take a walk with my wife when it was nice and sneak in a walk with the dog right before the weather turned.

I’ve tried to make the most of this time. I’m still trying to find a proper morning ritual and be as positive as possible during the day to do the kind of work I want to put out into the world.

I thought it might be a good idea to mark down a couple of moments early on that have helped me not be as crazy as I could be during this crazy pandemic:

• Spending time with my wife during the day. We’ve taken a couple of walks and spent time watching things we might not have watched otherwise (Tiger King, I’m looking right at you).
• Cleaning up the basement and my home office to be better for all-day working and video meetings.
• Staying mostly away from the news because the rabbit hole of 24 hours of a shitshow would not do my brain any good.
• Watching all the new YouTube content pop up from a variety of sources. The mini-concerts are the best.
• Drinking more water all day
• Silly text messages from my friends that have now devolved into a fictional story about the Chupacabra King.

Be well, everyone. Stay safe.

Jennifer Senior, writing for The New York Times, explains what everyone with a brain knew before 2016.

And most relevant, as far as history is concerned: Narcissistic personalities are weak.

What that means, during this pandemic: Trump is genuinely afraid to lead. He can’t bring himself to make robust use of the Defense Production Act, because the buck would stop with him. (To this day, he insists states should be acquiring their own ventilators.) When asked about delays in testing, he said, “I don’t take responsibility at all.” During Friday’s news conference, he added the tests “we inherited were “broken, were obsolete,” when this form of coronavirus didn’t even exist under his predecessor.

This sounds an awful lot like one of the three sentences that Homer Simpson swears will get you through life: “It was like that when I got here.”

I’ve stopped watching anything he says or does. I’ll read accounts. Maybe I’ll watch a recap, but not without real context, fact-checking, and a large dose of reality. Look, he isn’t taking charge because he can’t be bothered. The only crisis for him is the fact that he can’t campaign for re-election the way he wants.

Josh Topolsky, writing at Input, has some smart thoughts on how the internet has completely made a difference during our new Work from Home situation.

But thank god for the internet. What the hell would we do right now without the internet? How would so many of us work, stay connected, stay informed, stay entertained? For all of its failings and flops, all of its breeches and blunders, the internet has become the digital town square that we always believed it could and should be. At a time when politicians and many corporations have exhibited the worst instincts, we’re seeing some of the best of what humanity has to offer — and we’re seeing it because the internet exists.

Now, I’m not letting Mark Zuckerberg or Jeff Bezos off the hook, but we also can’t deny that there is still good, still utility, still humanity present here — and it’s saving us in huge ways and little ones, too. In the shadow of the coronavirus, the sum of the “good” internet has dwarfed its bad parts. The din of a connected humanity that needs the internet has all but drowned out its worst parts. Oh, they’re still there, but it’s clear they aren’t what the internet is; they’re merely the runoff, the waste product.

Now I can imagine what sheltering at home in, say, 1986 would be like because I remember that time. What I think about is my 17-year-old stepdaughter, who is now probably not going to have a real high school graduation and might even have to start her collegiate career e-learning instead of meeting her roommate, classmates, and professors in person.

At least we have the internet… and it’s working about as beautifully as possible.

It occurs to me that one of the most important aspects of staying home is the ability to access and create art. I’m seeing it every day.

The joke is our forefathers were asked to go to war, and we are asked to sit on the couch… we can do this! Of course, we can. It’s even easier with a million shows to watch and movies to stream. The internet has billions of places to go to see the northern lights, museums, and more.

I’m lucky enough to be able to work from home. I sit in my basement and take care of the things I used to do in the office. I write my articles, my box art copy, my magazine ads, and interact with my co-workers via Microsoft Team and Zoom. It’s different, but it works, and I know we are all going to get through this stronger and more together than ever before.

One of my simple joys is walking the dog in my neighborhood. This week I found chalk art on the sidewalks, and it made me happy. I was inspired. It made me want to do some chalk art in our little neck of the woods.

My daughter is a few hours away, dealing with not being able to teach her middle schoolers and finding ways to cope with the new normal. Her solution was to go outside in the sun and draw. She’s able to do that because where she lives is a seriously small town, and she can walk out her door and be downtown in minutes. She’s grabbing a few pencils and a sketchpad, finding a nice bench or a patch of grass and drawing.

Being creative is vitally important. Viewing art keeps us sane, and making it brings joy to ourselves and others.

How are you being creative? What art will you bring into the world?

Adam Schlesinger passed away from coronavirus-related issues, and I’m shaken.

You may not know the name, but you know the songs. So many perfect pop songs were written by the co-founder of Fountains of Wayne. Sure, you know “Stacy’s Mom,” but that isn’t even the best song on that album.

Spenser Kornhaber, writing in The Atlantic, outlined just a few of his credits.

Schlesinger had other smashes, and many were just as good as the real thing. The 1996 Tom Hanks film That Thing You Do! portrayed a band rocketing to fame on the strength of one irresistible tune, which Schlesinger wrote for the movie. He created the songs for the 2007 Hugh Grant rom-com, Music and Lyrics, about a middle-aged pop star trying to revive his career. In the 2010s TV comedy Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, characters regularly belted Schlesinger’s madcap words to audiences that often existed only in those characters’ heads.

My favorite songs of his are on the Tinted Windows album.

Stay inside, people. Stay safe.

I’m so drained.

Of course, I’m not alone.

My family is safe. My extended family is safe. My wife and I can work from home and have been doing as best as possible. It has not been easy, nor has it been ideal.

But we are getting through this.

Feeling fortunate gives way to feelings of uncertainty and fear.

None of this is ending soon1.

When schools closed or switched to Google Classroom, I knew the school year was done. When professional sports “postponed” their seasons, I knew the seasons were done. Same with college sports, concert tours, movies, the list goes on and on. These things are over and done with, and they aren’t coming back in April, May, or June. They just aren’t.

As soon as Major League Baseball starts up and a player tests positive for the virus, it will be over. The same will happen with Fall sports starting up. As soon as a player or coach tests positive, the season will be done. Movies pushed out further into the year hope something changes, but chances are they will be postponed indefinitely.

We aren’t going back to the way things were after six, eight, or even twelve weeks.

We aren’t going back to a semblance of the normal way things used to be until at last 2021, and for damn sure not until there’s a vaccine, which is, maybe, coming in early 2021.

Sure, no one really knows what happens next, but let’s be real. The epidemic is not slowing down. Every graph on the growth has it moving up. It isn’t changing. We are still climbing, and the trajectory is terrible.

So, how long is this going to go? A long time. Months. If you think academic institutions will start up in September, I think that’s hopeful but not realistic. Of course, some real effort by governors and business leaders may lead to more testing and quarantining, and everything will get under some control. Perhaps we can flatten that trajectory. I’m not holding my breath.

The best-case scenario is that nothing changes until there’s a vaccine. Everything else feels like magical thinking, and I’m tired of magical thinking and wishing it all away.

What will it be like in November when there’s an election of global consequences? Think there’s going to be a Federal push for mail-in voting? It will never happen. I’m not hopeful an honest election is even going to happen.

So, here we are, stuck inside with the economy tanking and people continually risking their lives to save everyone from this pandemic. No one can plan for the future.

It’s all just one day at a time.

Below was a Facebook post by my friend, Grant Chastain. It is heartbreaking and inspiring all at the same time. I’ve reprinted it here for those who can’t see Facebook or choose not to visit the site.

It’s 6:57am on a Tuesday, and I’m just arriving at work, to do a job I’ve loved more than most of the ones I’ve had.

There are days when I’m reminded of past jobs. My last job, in particular. A soul-crushing grind of a place with bad management and worse prospects. I remember that the happiest moments I would have were at 4:01 on Friday afternoons, when I was the furthest away from returning to it. The nagging sorrow of Saturday afternoons, when I realized that time was inexorably marching like Death towards going back. The anxiety filled Sundays when the clock taunted my every effort to make the day last a little longer.

This job isn’t like that. This employer values me and my ideas. This place’s employees are happy, and genuinely want to help our customers. Help each other. I like them.

It’s 2:59pm on a Tuesday. I’m being informed I will need to work from home for the foreseeable future. I say goodbye to my coworkers with a joke about seeing them again in a few weeks when “we’re all dressed like Mad Max and using bottle caps as currency.” Mild laughs. This sucks. These are good people making the best of a bad situation. Hard workers. Good friends.

It’s 3:35pm on a Tuesday, and I’m replying to my wife via text. She is concerned because businesses are closing their doors to outlast this, and the Cafe is among them. We discuss ideas, but small businesses are difficult to maintain in the most ideal conditions. I want to help, but I feel helpless, like so many others must.

It’s 4:15pm on a Tuesday and I’m stopping at a local church to vote. The man inside helps me correct my address because I’ve moved since the last election cycle. I pull up my last bank statement to corroborate the address that’s now on my driver’s license, and he marvels at the young man in the picture. “Been awhile, eh? Eeehhh, you’re still looking like a million bucks!” He laughs. I chuckle. He asks if I’d be interested in volunteering for a future election, but I decline, saying I’m not as heroic as he is. He laughs again. “Definitely don’t need any heroes. But if you change your mind, we could use good people.” I’m not sure if I’m one of them either. I cast my preference for a Blue candidate in a very Red state, insert my ballot into a machine, and pick up a silly little sticker on the way outside the door.

It’s 4:45pm on a Tuesday, and I’m walking into my neighborhood Wal-Mart to pick up groceries. I am doing this because I know how bad it will be, and I don’t want Missy to have to do it. To see how bad it has become.

It’s 4:56pm on a Tuesday, and a voice carries through the aisles that they are selling six packs of toilet paper and double rolls of paper towels, one per family. I stand in a line to get them that takes me the better part of 15 minutes. By the time I get to the end, the paper towels are gone. I grab a sixer of Cottonelle and think to myself that this is what passes for lucky.

It’s 5:11pm on a Tuesday, and I take stock of what I’ve managed to find. A gallon of milk and cereal. Chicken strips. Bagels. Cheese. Sugar snap peas. Ice cream. I missed on more items than I hit, but I’m nonetheless grateful. As I make my way to checkout, I gaze across aisles at disappointed faces, all looking furtively for the necessities that will feed, clothe, wash, and disinfect a family. There’s a sense of quiet desperation there. This place that is so symbolic of The American Fucking Dream. It’s a mausoleum for the very idea of achievement.

It’s 5:45pm on a Tuesday, and I’m checking out. My ice cream has some melted chocolate on top, so I ask the cashier for a wipe so I can make it less sticky. She apologizes that all she has is a paper towel, ad if that would be a dealbreaker. I tell her that that’s not only fine… It’s ideal. She says I have a good outlook on things. It’s not an easy compliment to take, considering I know how sad I feel inside about it all.

It’s 5:51 on a Tuesday, and I’m crying in the car. Wal-Mart isn’t Disneyland — for one thing, it’s still open — but the sorrow I’ve seen in that store will not leave me. The faces of people who are simply trying to soldier onward. Put food on their tables. Buy medicine for their children. Care for their babies and elderly. This country — this sick, and sickened, country — trying to deal with conditions that could have been prepared for by the people we trusted to lead us. Less than two hours ago, I put the name of an individual into a machine because I trust that this candidate won’t put reelection ahead of humanity. I trust that they will have strong words, and swift responses. I trust that they will defer to those with more knowledge on topics they know little about. I trust that this individual wouldn’t make secret deals to secure a vaccine to a terrible virus so it could be solely used by — and profited on — by he and his family. I trust these things because I must. I have to believe that there are better men and women to lead us. And in the meantime, I will weather this storm, like so many others are. And I will cry when I must, like now. But it breaks my heart sometimes.

It’s 6:23pm on a Tuesday, and I’m driving down Alma School blaring Rise Against’s “Satellite” at much louder volumes than is necessary, tears stinging my cheeks. I pull into a Boston Market to get dinner for us on the way back. When it comes time to get drinks, my favorite lemonade is gone. I catch the attention of the manager, and ask if she has more. She returns three minutes later and replaces the cartridge. While she’s replacing the nozzle, we share this exchange:

“I can’t tell you what this means to me. I had kind of a crappy day today. I don’t always know what I’m gonna get when I come here, but I always know what I want to drink. You made my day just now.”

“Well I’m glad! It’s the least we can do. Look out for one another. And that lemonade IS good!”

It’s 6:52pm on a Tuesday. I’m going home now to deliver my bounty and see my wife.

Look out for one another tomorrow. And hopefully, the next day. And the day after that.

That’s how we’ll all get through this.