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Tag Archives: COVID19

The Virus Is Someone Else’s Problem, and Racism Doesn’t Exist

23 Tuesday Jun 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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1990s, 80sRock, Black Lives Matter, COVID19, Freddie Mercury, HIV/AIDS, pandemic, racism, virus, wearthemask, YesItsAboutAllOfUs

The late, late 80s was a time when I was boy crazy and music crazy and doing whatever I could to buttress myself of my family life. The best of times was Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Whitesnake at the Orange County Speedway. The worst of times, going home after the shows. In between was trying to figure out a life post-high school, anchored to my dysfunctional family who “needed” me to save them. I remember Tiananmen square and the Challenger tragedy and grieving. I remember the concert in Germany, a host of galactic stars performing The Wall to commemorate the wall coming down and rejoicing for democracy.

I remember hearing about HIV/AIDS and feeling bad about it and a measure of concern but it didn’t really touch me. It was a problem that needed to be solved and it was sad, but I was too busy thinking about dating and my family and basically, whatever. One afternoon I was joined by a male crush down at the river. He said, “So hey your boy died.” I was like, “What?” He said, “Freddy Mercury.” It felt like a punch to the gut. What the hell? How could this be? And how could he be so callous? Let it be known we weren’t close after that, and it was the first time I felt like an epidemic touched me, by one enth. You see, HIV/AIDS was something I heard about and felt bad about in the most fleeting way. Sounded awful, this is a problem, but I didn’t hear or feel a call to arms to help in any way. This wasn’t an “all of us” problem, it was “one of those” problems, that I hoped someone could figure out how to fix.

I recently watched an episode of “Last Week Tonight,” hosted by John Oliver. He was passionate as always for righteous causes. But as I listened to him advocate for the dilemma of covid-19 and how it affects those in jail and prison all I could think of is “Where was this passion and demand for those suffering HIV/AIDS?” It rather caved me in. A terrible guilt came over me, one that I can only shield myself from by saying “I was too young and too involved with other things to understand,” and that’s still not good enough. Well now I am not too young and too involved with other things to understand that unless we personally are affected by injustice of any kind we rarely do anything about it whether it’s a traffic stop, five-figure hospital bills, inability to pay bail for having some marijuana in your pocket. So too the stigma of contracting novel coronavirus-19. To understand the weak excuses and swatting away of “Well, it doesn’t effect everyone the same. Well, I don’t hang around in areas where I’ll catch it. Well, even if I get it I’m healthy and it’ll be ok. Well, I don’t need a mask because herd immunity will help us. Well, this is a vast left-wing conspiracy to dominate the presidential election”

NO.
NO.
NO.

Stop you all in your tracks before it’s too late and realize the world don’t revolve around you, baby. You’re healthy and employed and educated and prayerful so you’ll never catch a virus or spread one to someone who isn’t so lucky? Oh really. Or you’re not part of a group or a state that might be carriers so you’re not worried? WEAR YOUR FUCKING MASK in public. Do all you can in your power to slow down and stop this virus for the love of people you don’t even know in states you don’t care about. Support social distancing, handwashing, respecting others who do. Support local businesses, mask on, as they work through this pandemic. Love your children and partners as you are sheltered-at-home. Reach out for help when they’re driving you crazy. There are resources to help you during this time … as there were not when our fellow Americans were struggling with the physicality and the stigma of AIDS.

All these very same things can come along with Black Lives Matter. “Oh, I can’t support that, that’s a black thing.” “Oh, I can’t watch that movie, it’s a black thing.” Time and time and over and over again I hear us saying why we can’t be a part of something because it’s not something that has to do with ourselves. Ask our neighbor if they ever read “Between The World and Me,” and they’d probably be like, “I’m not into books, ” or “That’s a black thing, not for me.” I ONE HUNDRED PERCENT GUARANTEE IT. And THAT is why the virus is someone else’s problem, and racism doesn’t exist.

Strange Days Have Found Us (Again)

25 Wednesday Mar 2020

Posted by Kristine in Uncategorized

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9/11, COVID19, death, help others, life, never forget, strange days have found us, the Doors

September 23rd, 2001 was a strange day. Mom-in-Law urged us to go out and celebrate our wedding anniversary. We both felt rather numb and confused by the situation. We felt like this is no time to celebrate. We had a gift card for a place we’d been meaning to try, we heard the food was great, and Ellen was ready to babysit our son. Why the hell not, I guess. It was a most interesting evening at the Lobster Place*, a meal we’d never forget. There’s something wonderful and charming about being dressed to the nines and walking in to what was essentially a cafeteria, the only diners there. We ate fresh fish on plastic plates, tables draped in red and white-checked plastic, drinking coffee from plastic cups. We were out of place, it felt a touch surreal, but it was a good night in a terrible time.

It was hard to know how to behave in those early 9/11 days. Everything was uncertain in ways our Gen X had never seen. We were stricken, wounded, counting our living and dead, wondering “what’s next” and how do you go back to work after something like this? I wandered grocery aisles looking at soup cans like, “What am I even doing here?” It wouldn’t be the first time I felt that way. Every time I lose someone I love, it’s the same thing: Am I really stirring soup? Am I really folding socks? And why the fuck why?

In January I began to worry about COVID-19. I’d heard about it but had no idea how real it was going to be. It is March, and I’m in week two of social distancing which is hilarious because if I get any more socially distant I’d be in a pine box pushing up daisies. I have my books and notebooks and pens. There is an ocean out there that speaks to me endlessly. What more could I want? I don’t want to be bothered and I try not to bother anyone around me. I can be social when I choose but I am not a team player: I’d rather be home watching the game, shouting at your dumb play safely and ignorantly from the comfort of my home. And now all the weird things are happening, like I understand why the young people hit the Florida beach on spring break because there is only One spring break (and graduation) that may happen in our lives. Weird things like people hoarding TP. This isn’t the blizzard of ’77 when nobody could get to the store for a week because the snow was piled ten feet high. Weird things like being asked to stay home with the people we love, the children we brought into the world because we wanted them, and then complain and ridicule them endlessly on social media. Weird things like measuring the worth of our Greatest Generation against a woozy economy. I feel woozy about my place in the world. What I want, what I need. How to worry, when to worry, and dealing with the shock of people who say “I don’t care about Italy’s dead, I am with America first.”* It’s weird trying to manage how to deal with soulless people without losing myself in the abyss. And all that, the weird, the worry, the sorrow, is ok.

So it is March 25th. There are a lot of numbers out there ready to overwhelm. I hope to do more than wander from room to room avoiding social media. I hope to create and help in some small way where I can.
In the meantime, I haven’t forgotten.


*name changed
*trumpist who has 500K viewers

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