Week 6 of the new reality.
This goes back a ways, obviously. I may or may not get more caught up soon, but (on the one hand) there's so much else to write about and do — I have more Portland Walking Tour stories, more hilarious editing typos to share, and ideas for potential photo essays to compile about life under pandemic lockdown — and (on the other hand) it’s not as if conditions are shifting wildly from week to week, so many of the thoughts that crossed my mind in mid April will likely be worthwhile for weeks and even months to come. . . .
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 15
11:51 a.m. — I just sat down to read and ran across the following:
“. . . an epidemic of unprecedented proportions struck the city of thirty thousand. Though fairly common in the tropics, yellow fever had not been visited upon Philadelphia for some thirty years. Nearly half the city fled to the uninfected countryside, among them the president of the United States. Government was at a standstill. By the time the contagion has passed, several thousand were dead. . . .
“Death on so large a scale produced scenes of daily horror, with many more rotting corpses in sight than there were brave nurses. Approximately half of those who exhibited symptoms eventually died from the yellow fever….”
You have to be sharp enough on your U.S. history to put together the clues and recognize this had to have occurred during the brief period when Philly was the temporary capital of the United States: 1790 to 1800. I certainly didn’t expect to read about a serious plague when I picked up the dual biography, Madison and Jefferson by Andrew Burstein and Nancy Isenberg, but here it was on page 273.
“Death on so large a scale produced scenes of daily horror, with many more rotting corpses in sight than there were brave nurses. Approximately half of those who exhibited symptoms eventually died from the yellow fever….”
You have to be sharp enough on your U.S. history to put together the clues and recognize this had to have occurred during the brief period when Philly was the temporary capital of the United States: 1790 to 1800. I certainly didn’t expect to read about a serious plague when I picked up the dual biography, Madison and Jefferson by Andrew Burstein and Nancy Isenberg, but here it was on page 273.
2:09 p.m. — Pleasure reading goes on.
The two stacks on the left await the reopening of the library so they can be returned. Two of the volumes are interlibrary loans, from Independence, Oregon and Schaumburg, Illinois!
The two stacks on the left await the reopening of the library so they can be returned. Two of the volumes are interlibrary loans, from Independence, Oregon and Schaumburg, Illinois!
The stack on the left I had pretty much finished by shutdown on March 12, but I had held onto the fattest ones in order to copy reading notes from them.
The middle stack includes books I had begun but not finished before March 12. Some (at least five) have read entirely since. Of the DVDs on top, I watched two episodes of “Chernobyl” before shutdown, the rest after.
The small stack on the right are books I owned and have read since the beginning of self-isolation.
The small stack on the right are books I owned and have read since the beginning of self-isolation.
The single volume standing on end between the two stacks on the left is something Carole had out and read. She does most of her reading on Kindle.
Unlike some of my Facebook friends, I haven’t found it a challenge to concentrate on reading. Still watching very little video, thought I caught the first three eps of “The People v. OJ Simpson” last week.
Unlike some of my Facebook friends, I haven’t found it a challenge to concentrate on reading. Still watching very little video, thought I caught the first three eps of “The People v. OJ Simpson” last week.
On the left, note the totals recorded for my blog on April 10, just five days ago, which I believe was the most recent peak . . . versus this afternoon on the right.
I wish there were some way to eliminate them all, even retroactively, so I could have a better sense of how many people actually visit (and possibly even read) my blog.
THURSDAY, APRIL 16
11:21 a.m. — People who keep coming up with excuses to stop self-isolation and social distancing sooner rather than later (“we’ll all become immune faster, people are going to die anyway so let’s get it over with, the cure is worse than the disease, etc., etc.”) don’t seem to grasp that for most of us, surviving the covid-19 pandemic one way or another is not going to be so wonderful if we lose a loved one prematurely, whether across town or on the other side of the globe.
Moreover, it would be awful to have to live with the knowledge we share the blame for mortally infecting strangers — you know, other people’s loved ones — who don’t make it.
Anyone ever heard of survivor’s guilt? It’s a thing. And unlike the Holocaust or the Titanic or many other disasters in the past, this crisis is both partly survivable by choice and skill rather than mostly luck . . . AND most of us get to choose whether we’ll risk causing the deaths of others. If you infect one super-spreader — knowingly or unknowingly, symptomatic or asymptomatic — you might cut short the lives of human beings you don’t know and never will see.
It’s like a particularly nasty version of that old excuse: Oh, I managed to keep your secret all right, but the people I shared it with didn’t.
Carole commented that the ongoing dry weather must have left the birds fewer places to slake their thirst and wash themselves apart from the Willamette River.
I looked it up, and sure enough, it’s been a very dry April here in Portland. Median rainfall for this month runs more than two and a half inches, and we’re halfway through the month but the city has reported only 0.36 inches so far . . . none in the last five days.
I looked it up, and sure enough, it’s been a very dry April here in Portland. Median rainfall for this month runs more than two and a half inches, and we’re halfway through the month but the city has reported only 0.36 inches so far . . . none in the last five days.
4:17 p.m. — What’s become clear after my book group meeting last night is that I’m finally going to be compelled by circumstances to charge up and learn how to use the extra Amazon Kindle my sister-in-law handed off to us three years ago. It has sat untouched in my bedroom cupboard ever since.
Over the years, I had developed an array of strategies for obtaining hard copies of the books my discussion groups have chosen to read, without having to buy them . . . but there’s no way to do that anymore. The library is closed for the duration. Even borrowing a copy from other book group members has become a much more dicey and baroque proposition.
Dang. I prefer to heft and read actual books . . . clothbound, whenever possible.
FRIDAY, APRIL 17
8:55 p.m. — My net friend at the other end of the country, the excellent and eminently sensible novelist Adam-Troy Castro, observed this morning that fellow citizens (apparent Trump supporters, mostly) who declare they’re “willing to take” one or two percent of the population dying if it means the rest of us can still pick up roof shingles at Home Depot . . . evidently assume neither they nor any of the people they love will be among the two percent we sacrifice.
They do not see themselves in the cross-hairs, Adam commented. Why would they? The arrogance that accompanies the syndrome is the certainty that this is all a movie, and they are the stars. Adam admits that although he enjoys zombie apocalypse tales, he knows he would die on day one; he doesn’t presume he’d be just fine.
I responded that if things got really bad, I’d probably prefer to die, early and quickly, rather than attempt to prevail over everyone else . . . which I’m guessing is what all my fellow citizens who stockpiling firearms are thinking.
Because what does that firepower really get you? When things get that bad, all you’d be winning is a few more days or weeks of survival until either:
A) you get overwhelmed by greater firepower
or
B) you undergo a much longer, slower, and more painful death (alone, if you’re lucky)
I also wouldn’t much relish the prospect of surviving a catastrophe if it meant I’d had to slaughter a bunch of my neighbors. This is pretty much the point I offered two years ago in my blog piece, “The Folly of Guns Versus ‘Government Tyranny.’ ”
SATURDAY, APRIL 18
1:54 p.m. — As I had expected and hoped, a cooler and wetter morning drove down the levels of pedestrian and bicycle traffic, so I took a long walk into the southwest Portland hills between 9:35 a.m. and 12:38 p.m.
The total distance must have been around 8 miles.
4:58 p.m. — I was about to say I’ve seen a dispiriting amount of every-man-for-himself behavior this month . . . except that it’s thoughtless and immature. More like every-kid-for-himself behavior on the part of individuals who are supposedly grown up.
SUNDAY, APRIL 19
10:08 a.m. — Several days ago, I referred to the rationales people raise to end self-isolation and social distancing sooner rather than later as “excuses.”
A friend asked why I called it that, rather than reasons, and I responded:
A friend asked why I called it that, rather than reasons, and I responded:
I believe “reason” has more of a neutral-to-positive or solid connotation (perhaps due to its verb form and connection to “the age of reason,” etc.), whereas “excuse” is often employed more pejoratively, to connote inadequacy — I certainly meant it in that sense — but there are such things as good excuses.
In the end, it’s a matter of perspective or taste. I don’t think there’s an essential substantive difference; an excuse is a reason and a reason can be an excuse. What strikes one side as a reason (that is, an adequate basis for doing something) may strike someone else as an excuse (not acceptably adequate).
I think the basis for my choice of “excuse” here is my suspicion that people who offer these rationales have a predetermined goal in mind. They want to go out again and move freely, they want to return to work and shopping; therefore, they weigh the issues and evidence with that end in mind, instead of studying each question on its own merits, whatever the potential outcome.
They know where they want to go, so they bend everything in that direction. This is not a proper exercise of rational thinking.
Part of the reason I suspect this is the tendency for people to minimize or overlook both contrary evidence and — more often in the current situation — the tremendous array of variables and unknowns. There’s simply too much we don’t yet know to make it suitable for us to arrive at conclusions . . . and yet people express certainties, all too readily.
They did it often in years past, and I see them doing it now, when it would be more intellectually honest and logically rigorous to say “I don’t know . . . we don’t have enough evidence . . . we’ll have to wait and see, although I would LIKE for this to be the case.”
The absence of this is what makes their assertions come across more like excuses than the result of a process of calm and fair reasoning.
[ By the same token, “I don’t know / we don’t have enough evidence” can be deployed as an excuse to avoid or hide the truth, and that definitely happens, as well, though not as often.
[ This was the excuse offered for decades by the tobacco companies to avoid taking action or accept responsibility for cancer deaths, though evidence released much later showed they DID know and DID have the scientific evidence all along; they were simply lying . . . and I’m afraid too many folks are resorting to variations of the “we don’t have enough evidence” excuse to resist the likelihood of human-driven climate change, as well. ]
1:26 p.m. — Just accepted a critical home delivery from Amazon Prime: a twelve-pack of toilet paper and several bottles of red wine.
MONDAY, APRIL 20
10:48 a.m. — Why do people want to “get out”?
Just to wander around and risk getting infected and/or infecting other people? Sounds selfish and inconsiderate to me, not thoughtful and freedom-loving.
Go out to work? A Gallup poll taken the past week found that more than 2/3 of U.S. adults polled said they would not rush out and take advantage of a relaxation of government restrictions, but would prefer to wait and see. Another 10 percent said they intended to limit contact and activities indefinitely.
That leaves only 20 percent — 1 in 5 Americans — who say they’re willing to resume normal activities. What line of work are you in that your business or employment would survive on 20 percent of its former traffic . . . if that?
When customers and clients don’t show up, how much will your “freedom” avail you? “Going to work” would be more like throwing further good money after bad, if the market is not going to be there for your product or service.
It’s not just what you feel like doing that matters; you have to check with your fellow citizens, and work with them.
2:26 p.m. — My friend in Dumfries, Scotland commented today: “If Anne Frank can manage to live in a cramped space for two years, then these dips can stay home for three weeks.”
8:38 p.m. — This afternoon I chose to finish up a commercial job that was shot mostly last October 10. (As you can see above, the “studio” was a bit makeshift: in the videographer’s basement-cum-wine cellar.) I had done on-camera hosting and voiceover narration for animations during the October video shoot, but the latter had to be reworked, and that took a lot longer than expected.
. . . I could swing by Lift Urban Portland’s food distribution pantry to drop off a stack of egg cartons . . .
. . . drop into the main post office to send a donation of books to fundraisers to benefit Lynn Fortheanimals Rescue Squad in North Carolina . . .
. . . and (at left) take a bag of aluminum cans to one of the recycling centers for deposit redemption (which monies Carole sometimes directs toward another favorite animal rescue charity, Lighthouse Farm Sanctuary near Scio, Oregon).
After the voiceover recording session, the videographer, Matt Giraud, handed me a gift of his collective’s “home brew” (or whatever the official title is for wine): Les Garagistes’ 2016 Syrah. Score!
After the voiceover recording session, the videographer, Matt Giraud, handed me a gift of his collective’s “home brew” (or whatever the official title is for wine): Les Garagistes’ 2016 Syrah. Score!
TUESDAY, APRIL 21
9:39 a.m. — This morning I paged past a news video in which some “freedom-loving” protester was informing the camera that “you’re responsible for taking care of yourself—” and I thought:
I’m also responsible for avoiding drunk drivers on the road . . . so we ought to get rid of laws that prohibit inebriation behind the wheel, and that dictate the installation of seat harnesses and air bags.
They’re all impositions on our freedom.
I’m also responsible for avoiding drunk drivers on the road . . . so we ought to get rid of laws that prohibit inebriation behind the wheel, and that dictate the installation of seat harnesses and air bags.
They’re all impositions on our freedom.
* * * * *
Had enough? If not, here’s “A Journal of the Plague Year . . . Week 5”
(which includes long walks through NE and SE Portland, tactics for maneuvering through the streets in mask and gloves, the current plague of faux certainties, and visits to the Rose City Book Pub and Reed College campus)
You could also check out “A Journal of the Plague Year . . . Week 4”
(for my exhausting attempts to obtain unemployment benefits, first long walks about SW and SE Portland and what I learned from them, idiocy from the governor of Georgia, my online reading with the cast of my March play production of a new short play by the lead actor, and how it’s all Obama’s fault)
See “A Journal of the Plague Year . . . Week 3”
(a visit on foot to a remarkably deserted downtown Portland, my analysis of the initial patterns of coronavirus testing and spread in Oregon and major metro counties, several dismissals of the worthless Incumbent,
Go to “A Journal of the Plague Year . . . Week 2”
(the remarkably dry and beautiful weather that has brightened our self-isolation, a library books pile-up, a visit to the Portland Farmers Market after lockdown, the Whole Foods “early elders shopping hour,” a hike up the hills to visit my best friend from grade school, and memories of Nevil Shute’s On the Beach)
See “A Journal of the Plague Year . . . Week 1”
(the weird hand-washing behavior of men, the shutdown of Portland arts events, and the run on guns and toilet paper)
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