Pandemic fatigue
As a retired stay-at-home Boomer, I shouldn't complain. I've been sheltering in place for years. I'm reasonably healthy. But I am tired of trying to keep up with this thing. I'd like to dig out my CDs and prepare to celebrate Stephen Sondheim's ninetieth birthday at the end of the month. I'd like to read the second volume of Gary Giddins's monumental biography of Bing Crosby, Swinging On a Star. I'd like to watch silly old movies on TCM (it's Edward Everett Horton day!). But here we are, and I feel like snark-chronicling this unprecedented event is the thing to do. So tray tables in the upright position please.
I put on the cable news this morning and Andrew Cuomo -- is it too soon to start calling him "America's governor"? -- was holding a press conference replete with statistics, executive orders and detailed information about hospital beds, ventilators, extra personnel and the need for testing. He was nice to Trump because you have to be. He brought along a ventilator to show. He shared a story about his niece, who has regular flu. Cuomo is engaged and articulate, things we once took for granted. And he didn't insult reporters, blame his predecessor, or call it "Chinese virus."
That's Trump's job. He came on next, and the DJ instantly fell below 20,000, probably just a coincidence. Apparently we're at war with coronavirus. Tomorrow he will inspect the troops at FEMA, so if you work there and you don't want to spend half the day nodding and smiling and shaking his virus-y hand, work from home. The Navy hospital ship Comfort will be moved to New York from Norfolk, which is good. It isn't set up for infectious disease, but can handle other cases such as trauma. It's undergoing maintenance and won't sail for several weeks, which is not so good. The hospital ship Hope is already based in San Diego. Who told Trump the Navy has hospital ships? I'm not criticizing -- had he known before he might have dry-docked them in 2018, like the pandemic response team, to save money.
John Crace at the Guardian has an essay on coronavirus in the UK and Boris Johnson, Trump Lite, or as Crace calls him, levitas incarnate. They don't even have tough, smart governors who can take up the slack. Much of it will sound eerily familiar. Johnson announced only today that UK schools must close. They were still open? Even the ancient public schools where the boys sleep in bunches and take cold showers together?
Over at the New Yorker, Geoff Dyer is also sick and tired of all these people being sick and tired. Lots of literary references and some unattractive whining. It will perhaps recall the Saul Steinberg cover "View of the World From Ninth Avenue," which is famous enough to have its own Wikipedia entry.
Italy reports 475 deaths yesterday for a total of nearly 3,000. To add to the misery, there was a 4.2 earthquake in Cosenza, in the far south.
A government document leaked to The New York Times says the pandemic could go on for eighteen months. It looks like the Times waited until after the markets closed to put it out.
Of course Trump, who awarded himself a "10" for his superb handling of the crisis so far, is promising "total victory" in the "war" against the "Chinese virus." (Well, we have had some total victories since 1945 -- Grenada, the anti-Allende coup, running Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait.) It seems like a global pandemic requires a global response -- did you see the movie Independence Day, Donzo? Like that. But from the beginning, when he turned down test kits from the World Health Organization because he hates the UN, we've been on this flight from reality. Viruses don't have nationalities. Whether they find us in a Wuhan food market or a Pennsylvania army camp, they find us and we're all in the same lifeboat. It's not the Dow Jones, stupid. It's not the "illegals." We are the goddam world and we'd better start acting like it.
What I fear: The "Commander In Chief" will use this as an excuse to "postpone" the election, especially if the polls favor Biden.
What I want: The House votes fresh articles of impeachment and this time the Senate does its fucking job. Yes, I know, but even Pence is marginally less awful.
And now I have a date with Der Bingle. Where the blue of the night meets the gold of the day...
I put on the cable news this morning and Andrew Cuomo -- is it too soon to start calling him "America's governor"? -- was holding a press conference replete with statistics, executive orders and detailed information about hospital beds, ventilators, extra personnel and the need for testing. He was nice to Trump because you have to be. He brought along a ventilator to show. He shared a story about his niece, who has regular flu. Cuomo is engaged and articulate, things we once took for granted. And he didn't insult reporters, blame his predecessor, or call it "Chinese virus."
That's Trump's job. He came on next, and the DJ instantly fell below 20,000, probably just a coincidence. Apparently we're at war with coronavirus. Tomorrow he will inspect the troops at FEMA, so if you work there and you don't want to spend half the day nodding and smiling and shaking his virus-y hand, work from home. The Navy hospital ship Comfort will be moved to New York from Norfolk, which is good. It isn't set up for infectious disease, but can handle other cases such as trauma. It's undergoing maintenance and won't sail for several weeks, which is not so good. The hospital ship Hope is already based in San Diego. Who told Trump the Navy has hospital ships? I'm not criticizing -- had he known before he might have dry-docked them in 2018, like the pandemic response team, to save money.
John Crace at the Guardian has an essay on coronavirus in the UK and Boris Johnson, Trump Lite, or as Crace calls him, levitas incarnate. They don't even have tough, smart governors who can take up the slack. Much of it will sound eerily familiar. Johnson announced only today that UK schools must close. They were still open? Even the ancient public schools where the boys sleep in bunches and take cold showers together?
Over at the New Yorker, Geoff Dyer is also sick and tired of all these people being sick and tired. Lots of literary references and some unattractive whining. It will perhaps recall the Saul Steinberg cover "View of the World From Ninth Avenue," which is famous enough to have its own Wikipedia entry.
Italy reports 475 deaths yesterday for a total of nearly 3,000. To add to the misery, there was a 4.2 earthquake in Cosenza, in the far south.
A government document leaked to The New York Times says the pandemic could go on for eighteen months. It looks like the Times waited until after the markets closed to put it out.
Of course Trump, who awarded himself a "10" for his superb handling of the crisis so far, is promising "total victory" in the "war" against the "Chinese virus." (Well, we have had some total victories since 1945 -- Grenada, the anti-Allende coup, running Saddam Hussein out of Kuwait.) It seems like a global pandemic requires a global response -- did you see the movie Independence Day, Donzo? Like that. But from the beginning, when he turned down test kits from the World Health Organization because he hates the UN, we've been on this flight from reality. Viruses don't have nationalities. Whether they find us in a Wuhan food market or a Pennsylvania army camp, they find us and we're all in the same lifeboat. It's not the Dow Jones, stupid. It's not the "illegals." We are the goddam world and we'd better start acting like it.
What I fear: The "Commander In Chief" will use this as an excuse to "postpone" the election, especially if the polls favor Biden.
What I want: The House votes fresh articles of impeachment and this time the Senate does its fucking job. Yes, I know, but even Pence is marginally less awful.
And now I have a date with Der Bingle. Where the blue of the night meets the gold of the day...
posted by Buttermilk Sky at 1:45 PM
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