Home alone (together)

Relatively speaking, we are not all in this together, in the same boat or up the same creek, and brother, if you think that, you may want to reconsider that actually we’re all in the same barrel, like a barrel of fish that covid19 is getting set to shoot into, knocking us off one at a time.  As our esteemed experts have told us, it’s time to duck and cover because, it’s not as if we’re all gonna catch this virus, it’s just a question of when. We will all get it to some degree and as we read and hear, some of us will get it so bad that we wind up as a smiling photo on the obit page. We’ve been hit below the waterline. “Mortality is now the wallpaper in the room” as Tom Piazza would say.

So what do we do? We self quarantine to ‘flatten the curve’; we do this so that we give our overworked healthcare system a chance to get those most immediate cases taken care of so that they’re not overcrowded when our time comes should we get that bad, Lord knows, there’s others in that line ahead of us that need care. If we’re lucky at all we will only experience a mild smack down, a mere medical mugging. If we’re lucky.

We make some semblance of our life in lockdown, we limit our exposure, wear masks, wash our hands constantly, disinfect items that are going to be inside our sanctuaries and then we sit back and wait as if the ‘all clear’ sirens of the planet are going to wail. “Ollie Ollie oxen free!” “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Good self shut-ins do many things similar. We stay up just a little bit later. We sleep in later with some degree of guilt. We make coffee, tea, smoothies, and feed the cat, walk the dog, shower, shave and put on clean underwear. We clean our domiciles to a fault and because there’s not much else we can get away doing early in the day, we sit on our porches with a cup of something, an old newspaper, book or magazine and wait for someone to pass by so that we can wave and say hello; people all over the neighborhood use their dogs as an excuse to get out of the house and walk about, some forget to take the dog.

We wash dishes, make the bed and wonder what we’re gonna do with that ten pound bag of potatoes that we panic shopped; every time we use the bathroom we check our supply of toilet paper, hand soap and no bath towel goes unlaundered. We care about other people and wonder how the less fortunate are making out now that the bills keep coming in. We panic and call the bank to make sure that at least we are still semi-solvent. We check our email, FaceBook and intsagram and wonder what will be on our menu today. Will we finally perfect that grilled cheese sandwich? We try again to get through to the unemployment folks. We wait for word that someone we know hasn’t bought the farm. We don’t use the word ‘Die’. We take naps, baths and disdainfully watch our muscle tone disappear.

Objectively, we’re happy as clams; think, all this time to do whatever we want to do, except what we’ve all been doing before this pandemic struck the world like a plague. Now, we can read, cook, catch up with mail and bills and learn the words to Funky Cold Medina. We can take pictures of inane subjects and post them for the world to see: our cat’s hairballs, our disastrous attempts at cooking, our selfies making funny faces and outdated photos of our families. At times we share a notice of another person’s passing. We’re essentially bored as sh*t. It helps if you’re quarantined with another biped or at the very least a critter, they act as a sounding board, someone to share meals, perspectives, chores and a warm blooded comfort with; it’s reassuring to see more movement in the place besides the desk top and/or the ceiling fan. There are those people that on a good day that professes not to be telly watchers, but I tell you this, without the one in our house we would be a couple of snapping turtles.

We tune in to our daily dose of evening news on three channels drinking coffee and having a homemade cookie or two. We have a ‘Happy Hour’ on the bed with the critters with cold beer and potato chips and we stream entertainment on the smart TV with dinner and drinks. Then it’s time to walk the cur, have a nightcap on the porch, make some hot tea and read until bedtime, we sleep (perchance to dream) wake up and do it all again. Sometimes we plan an outing for the early afternoon. Tomorrow we’re gonna clean under the refrigerator. We don’t mention our phantom symptoms.

At home, social distancing takes on a whole new meaning, double digit days self quarantined together can be exhausting; it’s a thin line between selflessness and selfishness and a fluctuation between hugging and hiding. Know when to seek solace and when to seek solitude. The need for understanding, patience and respect for personal space has never been greater. Do things in tandem but don’t forget to charge your own batteries.

Now here's your motivational mantra: This is a once in a lifetime experience, we’re up against the ropes; we can come out of this chumps or champs, there’s no such thing as “we’ll get ‘em next round” This is the telling round. Let’s collectively bring out the champs within us. Do the right thing.

The rule of roles

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Roll Over

Or

Buttered Roles

In retrospect, one thing that I’ve learned from this whole covid19 pandemic quarantine isolation ‘stay home or die’ occurrence is the fluid shape shifting of my roles in life, this exercise aided my sanity pauses got/getting me through this debacle (de-ba-cle (noun): a sudden disaster, defeat, or humiliating failure); and, debacle is the word that best describes this experience that, by the way, I’m still going through, along with the rest of humanity. For me, that Rubenesque Diva’s (Debacle Aria) song will remain unsung for a long while to come, her role, not mine.

We all have roles that we play, we have the roles that define us to ourselves and they can be mostly complimentary. Or not. Also we have the roles in which other people see us and the roles that define us to the world, again, sometimes complimentary and sometimes not.  Nouns (people, places and things) also are assigned roles. There are labels for roles that we play or assign others to play for us. We define others as well by the relationship that we have with them and how we view their roles: from scumbag to starlet. And then there’s hot cross buns and buttered biscuits.

Well, throw all of us fish in a barrel and all bets are off now; a successful chef is in the bread line; talented musicians are on their front porch, crafty businessmen and investors are left holding the dirty end of the stick and the little guy is still taking it in the shorts. All people in charge are suspect, all official servants are crooked, and everyone we see is a carrier of a virus that not only will kill us but will, in fact, make us suffer without a shred of dignity before we croak. We’re all stuck indoors, trying to remain productive and wrapping our heads around how our previous roles are no longer working; either there is no one to reinforce them or we’ve become suspicious of who we really are.

Actors and actresses take on roles and work to make us believe that’s who they are. So do most of us; of course I’m not talking about you, no, not you. You’re the one who is so secure in their identity that they don’t even need another person, pet or performance to reinforce the role that you’re playing because, of course, you’re the lucky one who is not playing a role. Me? If I don’t wake up in the morning talking to myself and anyone else around me, like the wife or critters, I have to think hard as to who I am. The roles that I have, the identity that I’ve conjured needs prompting like flashcards for the dummy.

First words to Debbie: “good morning, how did you sleep?”  First words to Scout (canine): “Yep, we’re still here!”  First words to the felines that are crowding me: nothing, they don’t listen to me.  First thoughts to me: “okay, what day is it, who am I, where am I, and, what am I supposed to be doing?”  Next thought: “Screw it, I’m going back to sleep.”   Then, when I’ve frightened everyone else out of bed, I stretch out (my full length), grab all the covers and pillows and…I can’t get back to sleep. So I get up.  Morning ablutions are ritualistic, I still shave every day, wash, comb and put on clean clothes. Why? I don’t know, I’m certainly not going anywhere and I’m just as certain that I’m not expecting company; however, I need to get ready for today’s role, whatever that may be.

So tell me, what your role is and how it is going to change once this thing is under control; I say under control because I believe that’s the best we can hope for, this covib is like a sniper (hey nineteen….Steely Dan says we can’t dance together).

Will you change? Will you put on the same suit and tie and expect that there is a corner office in your future? Strap on that apron and get ready for the dinner rush? Call up your agent and see if you can be booked at that club downtown? Get the kids off to school and then off to your part time job telemarketing? I don’t think so.

You might ask your boss now if your job gives you sick and paternity leave; you may want to know if there’s wage equality; you may not retake a job if you are not given health insurance and maybe childcare incentives; you may even not go back to work unless you’re give a decent wage with a workable schedule. Your boss might ask themselves “well, how do I work this?”

There’s a lot of economics in play with these economic recoveries. Many employers are given forgivable, no interest loans on the condition that they will keep their payroll intact, which means keeping you on the job. They might be open to some constructive criticism. Many people on the unemployment dole are expected to get a further bonus check of $600.00 a week and that might be incentive to them NOT to go back to work for $2.13 an hour (waiters) or minimum wage (maintenance) or perhaps even not to be expected to be on call for work or be available for a call from the boss at 9:00 PM just because ‘that’s the way it is and this is what the job requires’. Some folks have even not wanted to work for the people that they’ve been forced by economic pressure to work for. Someone with an art degree might decide that’s the job they need to look for. You may be hearing a lot of “take this job and shove it”; that’s when you can make your move and “yes, I am applying as part time internal sanitation onslaught professional (dishwasher), I can start work at $15.00 an hour with health

Quarantine 2020

Po-Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Free Hugs

Or

Morale Exhaustion

            So, what did you do during quarantine, Maybelline? Did you have a good time, Clementine? Did you drink some fine wine, Caroline? Eat some salami, Tommy? Had a banana, Anna? Go crazy, Miss Daisy? Did you self isolate, medicate, immolate, masticate, insulate, meditate or just get fat? Did you fix lavish meals, use the Waterford, drink some Moet, listen to A Little Night Music or did you pour that can of Hormel chili into that bag of Fritos, pop a tall boy, put on some Little Feat and possibly make a baby?

            We all handle it in our own way. Or not. We stay up later, sleep in, grill meat outdoors, home school the kids, walk the dog, ride the bike, drink and dial, get tanked and text; how did you handle crazy? “Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, try to find Jesus on your own”? Did you binge watch Will and Grace, the Golden Girls and/or rediscover that Everyone (not necessarily) Loves Raymond? Did you (tell the truth) stalk your ex on intsagram?

            Did you go nuts trying to get through to the unemployment office, realize that you’re running out of food and money, wondering if you still have a job, waking up to us all being in the same boat (sans paddle) and concerned that the check is NOT going to be in the mail hard, fast and big enough?  How will I pay rent, mortgage, utilities, child support?  Are my expenses going to become cumulative?  What happens to the poor, the homeless, the children?  Am I really gonna catch it?  Should I get tested? Did you hear about whatshisname? Will I die before this is over?

            Were you part of the panic shopping for water and toilet paper, bread, hand sanitizer and face masks? Did you stock up on dog food, Kitty litter, bottles of booze, disposable gloves and potato chips? Did you call your broker, your brother, your bartender, your banker, your bookie? When will this end?

Did you miss going to work, getting the kids off to school, the farmer’s market, the theater, movies, basketball pick-ups, bars, restaurants, and/or were you afraid to go out in public altogether? Did you become a news junkie? What did you miss while you were sociologically invisible? Did you, like me have a moral breakdown? Did you suffer from tactile withdrawals?  Let my people go!

In my spare time, and I’ve got plenty, I picture the folks that I used to have physical contact with: the hello/goodbye kisses and hugs; the hand shaking; the pat on the back; the chest bump and even being able to count change into a check out person’s hand. New Orleans, as we knew it, is a tactile city; we’re not compatible or comfortable living in a ‘Social Distancing’ environment, we’re just not cut from that cloth. I’m not. It’s just too damn Yankee.

For me, that’s the hardest part, living in what is now the new normal… a demonstrative desert.  Face it; waving at your friends just doesn’t cut the mustard. Do they really know what Social Distancing means to a New Orleanian? Torture.

I picture a dystopia where we’ll all be walking around in facemasks and surgical gloves six feet apart from each other while the shelves of the stores run out of food supplies. Smaller shops are boarded up while rubbish is blowing in the streets because there are no more trash pickups. No more fresh produce, we eat out of cans with government labels. Processed cheese and meat substitutes. Soylent Green and Funistrada; we return home with a bag of peanuts and a loaf of bread substitute. Buttered ermal and braised trake on the menu tonight. Neighbors have set up stills to produce high octane liquids that have caused blindness in some of our youths. Soma is sold in back alleys. Police cars now question groups of three or more. Helicopters whirl overhead and in the distance a lone wolf howls.

The telly is forever playing messages from the state while our Supreme Leader tells us how well we’re doing in black and white images. People disappear from their homes and feral animals prowl the night. The virus has shrunk the population. We retain our social distances; we lose the power of speech and language. Our armies are the greatest…. WAIT! What am I thinking? None of that is happening. Yet. You see how the mind tricks when isolation is the rule of the day?

I test the radio; yep, still on. I still get the news and weather; my computer is working and my phone has a dial tone. The electricity, gas and water flow.  My cats are not going to kill me so that the dog has something to eat. It’s all a dream, right? I rush to the kitchen to make tamales, my go to meditation therapy. The steam of the pots and my hands in the masa calm me.

My theory is that we’ve been bad custodians of the planet and now the Earth wants rid of us. The horsemen of the Apocalypse are riding. The question is this: what have we done, what are we doing that is so great that we deserve to be here?  To inherit this place and to pass it on to our children and grandchildren?

We have raped, pillaged and destroyed. We have polluted, gutted and ruined our habitat. Pestilence, war, famine and death riding their white, red, black and pale horses respectively. We have created gods and then wondered why they have forsaken us. The seeds of our destruction have taken root because we’ve done nothing to respect, honor and protect our mother. The conclusion is that somehow we deserve this.