Things remain both weird and oddly normal at the same time. It's weird that I don't have to get up in the morning and go to work. It's weird that I can't go out to eat, can't go to the record store, can't go to the movies or a nightclub. I can't pick up my weekly comics supply at the comic book store; curb service was available for comics pick-ups last week, but now the distributor has shut down, meaning that no new comic books are being shipped to stores for the time being. It's weird, all of it, but it's not horrible. My day to day routine has been altered, but this ain't exactly life during wartime.
I mean, not for me.
And that's why things also seem oddly normal. In the middle of a crisis, a pandemic, I feel disconnected from the actual crisis. The suffering is out there, and it's real, but it's...distant, at least as it's perceived. Even though there have been many confirmed cases of COVID-19 in my county (with at least two deaths), and even though the global pop community has lost both Adam Scheslinger and "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" co-author Alan Merrill to this virus, it somehow still seems farther away from me than it is. It's an illusion of normalcy.
The first direct impact this had on me was several weeks back, when I received word from my mother's nursing home that all visitors were prohibited until further notice. I was still working then. Up to that point, I visited Mom every day, checking in, seeing if she needed anything, chatting for a bit before going home for supper. That was taken away. Her limited hearing and eyesight make telephone calls difficult for her, but I still call her every few days just to touch base. She's okay. I'm okay. The illusion of normalcy continues.
I worked one day at my job last week, filling in on Saturday, but now I am officially furloughed, awaiting my first payment for unemployment. My bills are covered for now, so no immediate worries there. I don't have a mortgage anymore, my next car payment isn't due until mid September, and I have sufficient resources to meet current expenses. My wife Brenda is able to continue working from home. We can't engage in extravagance (even if there were extravagant opportunities available), but the illusion has been adequately funded for the time being.
We did have to replace our computer. Timing stinks, but what can ya do? Our ten-year-old iMac had grown more and more crash-prone, and Brenda's work from home requires something with greater reliability. So: order placed via the store's website, curbside pick-up, and I've spent a lot of my time the past week setting up the new and preparing the old for eventual recycling. It's an expense we didn't need right now, but, well, that's kinda normal, too.
Brenda and I go about our business in this new (and presumably temporary) normal. We share time on the computer, between her work and my writing. We limit our trips to the store. We have supplies. We don't see anyone, not even our daughter, but we retain contact through texts and social media. When weather permits, we try to go for daily walks in our suburban neighborhood, maintaining distance from others, but trying to smile and express a cheery greeting from at least six feet away. We try to do our part to flatten the damned curve. I read and watch TV. Haven't listened to much music, because music reminds me that I can't do my radio show. Distance from music is not normal. I'll fix that. I have to rebuild my digital music library on the new computer anyway.
I've been cleaning out some clutter. As a life-long collector or hoarder--both descriptions fit me--I've accumulated a lot of cool stuff, and it's time to let some of it go. That will probably be the subject of a future blog post. I haven't had time yet to feel any sense of cabin fever. There are things to do, even if the normal things aren't always an option.
The illusion of normalcy is fed by the fact that I'm not undergoing any real hardships. Both Brenda and I are relatively healthy, fighting nothing worse than our normal cold, sinus, and allergy issues. Our friends and loved ones all seem to be doing all right, as far as we're aware. In this time of crisis, real crisis, we can't claim to be enduring anything more than inconvenience, if even that. Our hearts go out to all who are suffering or uncertain, who are subject to sickness, fear, anxiety, frailty, worry. We wish them better things.
And we look forward to things getting back to normal.
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Barring pandemics, This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio with Dana & Carl airs Sunday nights from 9 to Midnight Eastern, on the air in Syracuse at SPARK! WSPJ 103.3 and 93.7 FM, and on the web at http://sparksyracuse.org/ You can read about our history here.
The many fine This Is Rock 'n' Roll Radio compilation albums are still available, each full of that rockin' pop sound you crave. A portion of all sales benefit our perpetually cash-strapped community radio project:
Volume 1: download
Volume 3: download
Hey, Carl's writin' a book! The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1) will contain 124 essays about 124 tracks, each one of 'em THE greatest record ever made. An infinite number of records can each be the greatest record ever made, as long as they take turns. Updated initial information can be seen here: THE GREATEST RECORD EVER MADE! (Volume 1).
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