Tag: pandemic

Tuesday’s Theme Music

As the coronavirus, economy, and politics dominate the days in negative ways, I thought of Peter Gabriel and Kate Bush performing Peter Gabriel’s quiet and hopeful “Don’t Give Up” (1986).

The song is about struggle, trying, getting beaten, and trying again.

Though I saw it all around
Never thought that I could be affected
Thought that we’d be last to go
It is so strange the way things turn
Drove the night toward my home
The place that I was born, on the lakeside
As daylight broke, I saw the earth
The trees had burned down to the ground

Don’t give up, you still have us
Don’t give up, we don’t need much of anything
Don’t give up, ’cause somewhere there’s a place where we belong

Rest your head, you worry too much
It’s going to be alright
When times get rough, you can fall back on us
Don’t give up, please don’t give up
Got to walk out of here, I can’t take any more
Gonna stand on that bridge, keep my eyes down below
Whatever may come and whatever may go
That river’s flowing, that river’s flowing

h/t to Genius.com

Thought it fit today’s mood well.

 

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Simple Sunday Stuff

  1. Went off script today. Bounced with spouse to store in early A.M. Decided thereafter, screw it, movie. Who doesn’t love Sunday Afternoon at the Movies? Streaming options came through: Palm Springs on Hulu offered an afternoon respite from the daily drone.
  2. Next four months with COVID-19, political campaigns, protests, riots, Feds abducting protesters, and POTUS insanity and lies (along with his administration’s lies, and well, most of the right wing’s offerings) will be a trial. Add to that a heat wave, and now, wildfires (the Badger Fire). My soul is getting stretched pretty thin.
  3. On the COVID lines, cases in my state and county (Oregon, Jackson) are on the rise. No worries; to save our small businesses. the local Chamber of Commerce convinced the town to close some streets and parking so al fresco dining can be expanded. I’ve not checked it out — and won’t — but observers are saying, no masks and no distancing there. Yes, businesses and officials are lip syncing the requirements but enforcement seems to amount to some brief tsk, tsk. Not reassuring.
  4. Had a follow up with my doc. Arm (xrays) looks good but remains in a sling. His wife is friends with my wife and related a brief tale. “I was with Glen when the ER doctor called. They said they had a broken arm. Glen told them they could set it. They replied, no, I’m not touching this. We’re sending you film. Glen took a look and said, I’m on my way. Glen called it quite deformed.”
  5. Six more weeks and my arm will be free again.
  6. I have my writing, though, but limited to one-handed typing. Writing with pen didn’t work as the splinted arm/hand combo failed to keep the notebook from sliding around. I also have time and coffee. Guess I’ll try to write like crazy, at least once more.
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Saturday’s Theme Music

Today’s theme music, “Every Breath You Take” by the Police (1983), was an obvious and unoriginal choice. Coaxed out of the cerebral cortex by images on the TV and net of law enforcement officers watching and attacking protesters, it works on multiple levels about watchers, watching, and being watched. Besides those confrontations, we’re watching COVID-related numbers, election events, and government actions as we gyrate about the best course to kickstart the money machines and normalize life as the case numbers rise.

The Police’s stalking song feels about right on this day in 2020.

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Wednesday’s Theme Music

This is sort of an unusual choice, via a circuitous route.

First, outside, looking for the comet, NEOWISE. About 10:30ish PMish. The sky is og, so clear, and the night is empty church quiet,

Up visiting comes the house pantera, whining, whining, whining for attention as is his way. He gets some head skritches, as is my way. Exception is suddenly taken by him, as is his way. A warning is issued: you’re doing it wrong. Stop, or I’ll bite.

I stopped. He tottered off (as is his way). Now I’m looking at the sky but thinking about him getting ready to bite the hand that feeds you, a stream that conjured Nine Inch Nails and “The Hand That Feeds” (2005).

The song’s lyrics:

[Verse 1]
You’re keeping in step
In the line
Got your chin held high and you feel just fine
Cause you do
What you’re told
But inside your heart it is black and it’s hollow and it’s cold

[Chorus]
Just how deep do you believe?
Will you bite the hand that feeds?
Will you chew until it bleeds?
Can you get up off your knees?
Are you brave enough to see?
Do you want to change it?

h/t to Genius.com

On one side, when thinking of the song, I think of mask slackers. They claim that maskers are sheeple. By stepping out of line, mask slackers believe they are fighting the system. Masks are only useful (to them) as signs of oppression.

Maskers, of course, say, no, this isn’t a symbol of oppression, it’s a willingness to protect and be protected. It’s not about oppression at all.

Addressing another point I see in the song, dropping down to one knee is a protest against the system. But the song — and history — will have you on your knees if you’re being subjugated. This gives taking a knee it’s power; while others stood, Kap dropped to one knee. He did it to make the point, I’m not standing for this anthem. But dropping to a knee reminds us of being subjugated, and also says (in sports), hold up; pause. Take a break. But by taking a knee — especially in the modern NFL, that was interpreted by many as biting the hand that feeds.

Told you it was circuitous. Here’s the music.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

Reading about Florida setting a new record for COVID-19 cases, then a new record for deaths, then the urge to open Disney, and the demand that children return to school. Then there are many other matters churning my stomach and leaving me saying, “I can’t go for that.”

Fortunately, Hall & Oates’ song, “I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do)” (1981) covers it, making it today’s theme music.

 

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A Few Things Friday

  1. Typing with one hand. Broke my radius and ulna on my left arm last Tuesday evening. (Yep, just two days after b-day 64.) Always appreciated having the requisite number of things in good working order. I appreciate two hands and arms afresh.
  2. Was a clean break. None of my wrist bones were damaged, and the wrist cartilage et al looked good. Broke this same wrist back in July, 1988. Required two pins to hold that in place till it healed. Having those pins removed at the end was an ordeal. One pin went through my hand bones, and the pin had become bent while residing in my bod.
  3. Time was passed at the ER by eavesdropping on others’ issues and complaints. Woman next door was 186 pound (hey, that’s what I weigh!), was less than five four (okay, a few inches shorter), and ninety-six years old (got me beat there). She was having problems breathing, her heart was beating too fast and out of rhythm. She also refused to wear a mask. They insisted: “Put it on or we cannot help you.” She was tested for COVID-19. Learned via a friend today that she was negative.
  4. Everyone was masked and social distancing was practiced, but one person wore it wrong. That happened to be my ortho surgeon.
  5. Didn’t require surgery. Lots of pain was involved in this (quoting my attending physician), “Gnarly trauma.” I was sedated, ortho doc reviewed the film, shoved my hand back in place, tweaked it some, splinted it, and put it in a cast. I’m on  a Percocet diet, one every six hours. Didn’t have any the first night, though. Not a comfortable night.
  6. Spent fours at the ER. Actual procedure consumed about four minutes.
  7. How’d it happen? Either it was a rock climbing incident, a doe defending her fawn, or something else. Yeah, it was a poor dismount from a high place at home while effecting a repair. Should be in the cast one to two months.

The curse of 2020 has gotten a little more personal.

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Call It Saturday

Today feels like Saturday.

So did yesterday, and the day before. I suspect that tomorrow will also feel like Saturday.

Lot of reasons exist for my feelings about the days of the week. One, I’m a writer. I write every day. I retired from outside employment a few years ago. My days of the week stopped being labeled work days and non-work days.

Two, I stream, and watch little broadcast television. I’ve been streaming for ten years, and cut the cable nine years ago. That means that I’m not looking at any guides or schedules to see what’s on television, which was always guided by the day of the week. For example, I don’t think, “If this is Thursday, then a new episode of X will be on.” I wait until all episodes are out and then I start streaming them on my schedule when they’re available. When they’re out depends on a date, not a day of the week.

Three, COVID-19, of course. The pandemic and the actions being taken to flatten the curve has dramatically affected social activities. Hence, we’re no longer going out dancing at the lake on Saturday night or heading for beer on Wednesday night, erasing another reason for tracking what day it is.

Four, it feels like Saturday because of my conditioning. Back when I did work, Saturdays were days for doing errands and chores. It was also a day for sleeping in a bit. No need to leap out of bed, do some quick exercises, eat, shower, dress, jump into the car and hurry to work on Saturday. I could catch another twenty minutes.

Everyday in COVID-19 land is like that now. There are chores and writing, but no errands. I can sleep in, if the cats agree.

The cats have never worried about the day of the week. To them, it’s always Caturday.

I get what they mean, now.

 

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Depressing Dream

The highlight of this depressing dream…

My wife and I were in a car’s backseat. A man was driving. We were on what seemed like an unpaved road. Hard to say; it was snow covered.

Suddenly, ahead – a fawn.

The driver was talking and slow to react.

Then, “I think I hit it.”

The car is stopped. We’re all looking back. I’m saying to my wife, “I’m not surprised, he wasn’t paying attention.” The car behind us avoid us.

Then, a big tanker truck arrives.

The fawn did not make it.

The tanker truck didn’t even slow.

Yeah, depressing. Definitely an anxiety dream about the present, about people not caring, not paying attention, and being helpless to do jack about it.

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Sunday’s Theme Music

It’s a classic line: “Why don’t they do what they say, say what they mean?”

First, you have the POTUS backing the CDC, declaring people are supposed to wear masks (and his staff visiting with him are often required to wear masks, and have their temps taken every day), but then declares that he’s not wearing them. Mike Pence, one of the limpest Veeps in history, has been pilloried for not wearing masks when everyone else was wearing one, when told he should be wearing one, etc, while visiting places and making stops.

“Do what they say.”

Video revealings have people saying what they mean, turning on Blacks and other POC, screaming at them, “Go back where you came from, you don’t belong here,” calling them thugs, criminals, monkeys, and generally using the vilest language and deepest levels of hate that they can muster. When their words spread across the net (because we’re in the net age) and they’re ostracized and fired from jobs, they claim that’s not what they meant (they were just angry, afraid, blacked out, etc.). But it’s pretty clear that they mean what they say.

“One thing leads to another.”

And we certainly have seen that in evidence, haven’t we? Folks attend church, sporting events, bars, parties. Social distancing is shunned, masks are mocked, ridiculous claims are made (our air-conditioning filters will save you)…a few days later, people are in isolation, testing rona positive, and heading for hospitals.

Yet, we still have so many claiming that one thing doesn’t lead to another. They’re above the experts. Or, doesn’t matter. Business and the economy — making money — are more important. So the cases keep rising, and the deaths keep rising…

One thing leads to another.

Here’s the song by the Fixx, “One Thing Leads to Another”, from 1984.

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Saturday’s Theme Music

The civic powers have decided there’s gonna a be a youth baseball tournament in our area this weekend. Thirty-two teams are coming from all over California and Oregon.

Gosh, I think this is a great idea. Snark, in case it’s not recognized.

Yes, social distancing rules will be in play. Only a hunnert people on a field at a time. But let’s see, thirty-two teams, say fifteen people to a team including coaches, support, and chaperones, and suddenly an four to five hundred people are running around town. Going to social distance? Hmmm…

Then there are fans…

Hmmm…

So, we went shopping today. Had to be done, Costco and Trader Joe’s, our go-tos. TJ was a blessed sanctuary. Everyone masked, not many people, all observing the SD guidelines and playing nice.

We zipped out to Costco. It wasn’t opening for thirty more minutes. “Should we get in line?” the spouse asked.

What line? I saw people milling. Half weren’t masked. Three fourths weren’t distancing.

“No. We’re not getting in that congregation. Let’s go to Target and get the pet supplies instead.”

Off we went.

Target…jebbus. Most weren’t masked. Social distancing? I don’t think they’d heard the term. My mind recoiled with bitterness. We’re probably looking at walking headlines, I thought. Oh, they went to a ballgame. WEnt shopping. One had symptoms but (fill it in yourself). Gosh, thirty people then tested pos. Gosh, they’re all in isolation, and gosh, some of them are really sick and in the hospital.

Yeah, gosh.

Into all of this came the 1985 Hooters song, “All You Zombies”. I don’t know if these people are unthinking, uncaring, ignorant zombies, a piece of all that, or just rebelling cause ‘Merica, Trump. Don’t know. But they strike me as zombies.

That makes “All You Zombies” today’s theme choice. Zombies come in all shapes, ya know?

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