Category: Pandemic

Pandemic Thanksgiving

My sister and her family got a jump on the holidays.

They traveled to NC from VA a week prior to Thanksgiving to visit Mom and Dad and to deliver Christmas gifts. Although this group picture doesn’t look too “socially distant,” they kept their masks on and stayed outside during their visit.

My Thanksgiving, on the other hand, began on the morning of, I took an 8 AM yoga class, showered afterwards, complete with washing my hair, then I hopped onto a Zoom call with my family while twisting my locks. The call ended soon after I finished my hair since I had to do my Thanksgiving cooking.

Since my friend was preparing pork chops versus turkey, due to food supply chain concerns, I looked up recipes that would compliment the main dish. I couldn’t decide between “Lemon Ginger Spinach” and “Honey and Balsamic Baked Brussels Sprouts,” so I prepared both of them–after making cornbread, that is. I hadn’t baked cornbread in quite a while. The way I like it is with a cup of butter, hot green chilies, two type of cheeses, whole kernel corn and nearly a cup of sugar. This time around, I used creamed corn and brown sugar.

When I arrived at my friend’s house, the Corgi welcoming crew awaited me.

Those two little sweeties remained calm until I took one step into the house, then the happy barking began. I’m no Dr. Doolittle, but I knew they were excited to see me and wondered why it had been a while since they’d last seen me.

One of my traditions, especially with this friend, is that whenever we’re celebrating something, I bring over a bottle of my favorite speciality wine, Cabernero, which is a full-bodied cabernet infused with habanero peppers. Everyone who hears that description initially thinks the wrong thing, but when I offer them a sip, they admit it’s a delicious spicy red wine. I’ve never taken it to a party and brought a partially filled bottle back home.

So, of course, we started with the wine and a charcuterie board. Her husband joined us briefly before the football game drew him to the sofa.

Two glasses of wine later, we moved the conversation into the kitchen where she prepared an amazing pork chop recipe.

What I had envisioned was fried pork chops, which I would have been perfectly happy with. Yet, what she prepared was a joy to watch as if I were part of a cooking show audience.

She started by frying up pancetta, an Italian bacon that wasn’t smoked. As soon as I tasted it, I knew exactly what that fancy-sounding bacon was: cracklin! My grandmother, Mama Bea, used to serve cracklin for breakfast. When I looked up which part of the pig cracklin came from, the explanation said that it included the skin and underlying fat. The description for pancetta wasn’t that much different. They even included something Mama Bea always joked about: We eat every part of the pig except the oink! I don’t care how fancy other cultures think they are when it comes to pork products, Black people have come up with the same thing. As slaves.

After scooping out the pancetta, she cooked the pork chops, removed them, then fried the yellow apple slices, removed them, then added spices, followed by bourbon and heavy whipping cream. Once the sauce had formed, she reintroduced the chops and apples into the skillet. Quite a beautiful show to behold and wonderful to partake.

Our dinner was rounded out with her delicious mashed potatoes.

My Thanksgiving reflected several cultures coming together.

On Black Friday, my mother’s side of the family had its 79th reunion.

We normally hold our reunion the last full weekend in June, but nothing has been normal in 2020. Everyone who was part of the program logged on 45 minutes early. Since I was the emcee, I logged on and reminded everyone how we had to name ourselves, which was our first and last name, our branch or tribe name, then we indicated which breakout room we wanted to be in.

Our patriarch, Jesse Strange, had 12 children, which we all referred to as the “branches” or “tribes.” Since I descended from my grandfather Floyd B. Strange, I put his first name after mine. The three breakout rooms were “Youth,” “Main,” and “Seasoned.” I put a capital S after my grandfather’s name since that was my age category, 50 and above.

With very few tech glitches, we enjoyed our family,

starting with my opening monologue, then an opening prayer, scripture, a father-daughter gospel song, a brief family history, operational report, achievements, family picture slideshow, a 30-min breakout session, and finally, when we were all back in the main room, a closing prayer.

So many family stories flew around during my breakout session, I wish had recorded that part. Nonetheless, I’m going to follow up with the relatives in my mother’s generation to document as many stories as I can for the Strange Family Folklore podcast. As good as everyone felt at the end of the virtual reunion, I should get a lot of cooperation.

On Friday the 13th

Exactly eight months ago on Friday, March the 13th, 2020, the president finally stopped denying the truth: we were indeed in the midst of a pandemic rather than a hoax. So, I hoped that he’d once again, lift his veil of denial to concede that he’d lost the election. After all, it was Friday, November the 13th.

Sometimes I flirt with being superstitious, but it’s more a result of anxiousness than anything else. I know there’s no reasonable expectation that the president would come to his senses–he’s seldom demonstrated that he experiences such a condition.

Instead, my wishful thinking lie in everyone else’s response. Lawsuit after frivolous lawsuit strengthened my belief that democracy wouldn’t be another casualty during this traumatic year where so many people have died, businesses have gone under, and things in general have gone awry. As a matter of fact, if democracy were to fail, this would’ve been the year to do so. Yet, thank goodness our courts demanded evidence and none of the lawsuits thus far have gone to trial. My favorite flimsy lawsuit motivated a lawyer to state that there was a “nonzero number” of GOP poll watchers. The former math teacher in me just rejoiced as I reflected upon how three different cultures (Sumerians, Mayans, and Southeast Asian Indians) invented the concept of “zero.”

Ten days later, my wish somewhat came true. The president still hadn’t conceded, but at least the president-elect received his transition money and other resources. The stock market increased. Big businesses, those corporate whores, stopped coddling the orange lame duck and embraced the president-elect and his environmental-friendly agenda.

The skies turned a healthy blue. The birds began to sing, the bees started to buzz. Democrats became giddy as the president-elect picked highly qualified, rather than ironic, candidates for his pandemic taskforce and cabinet. I had to temper my overreaction to hearing politicians and appointees speak in full, competent sentences on subjects where they were experts. After all, this was how the office of POTUS had become internationally respected in the first place.

Nonetheless, if I had any lingering superstitious feelings about Friday the 13th, the transformative year of 2020 has obliterated that. Many of the illusions have been necessarily torn down, thanks to Rona.

Unexpected Gifts

Although the plague prevented me from having a destination 50th birthday getaway, I’ve still managed to have a wonderful, protracted celebration, thanks to family and friends.

Besides, going to dinner the Saturday before my birthday, then taking the day off for my actual birthday and a Zoom celebration with fellow Virgos, my mother and a nephew, I received a few delivered birthday gifts.

First up was a care package from one of my cousins.

First up was a care package from one of my cousins. In addition to lounge wear, and a $25 money order, she also included a $25 gift card to Longhorn Steakhouse. The gift card furthered my pursuit to try a different restaurant every week while in quarantine. I’d never dined at this restaurant prior to the plague, so it was truly a treat to pick up for Friday lunch.

Since I believe in leftovers, I only ate a small part of the steak the first day, but I polished off that lobster tail in one sitting. I enjoyed steak and eggs with fries for Saturday and Sunday brunch.

Next, a good friend who I’ve not seen in years sent an essential oil diffuser.

Years ago, I had a diffuser and when I moved, I donated it for lack of use. This time around, I’ve used the diffuser every day. Can’t go wrong using something that adds to self care while Rona’s here.

Then a delivery person came one day during the middle of my live-streamed yoga class.

I called to my roommate, who was on the phone in her room with the door closed, that her delivery had arrived and continued with class. I felt so bad when she received the package and told me that a friend had sent ME a box scones. What a lovely breakfast treat.

My sister had warned that her birthday card to me would be late.

I didn’t realize that she was making it herself. It arrived heavily taped up.

Once I opened the first envelope, there was another envelope inside the card, containing a crisp $20 bill.

Of all things! Against many warnings not to send money through the mail, her card defied the odds and had made it through the ever-worsening USPS.

Again, I got myself another Friday birthday treat. At that point, October had begun.

Nonetheless, it’s always wonderful to celebrate even if it’s a belated birthday or just the end of the week or beginning of a new month.

A truly unexpected gift arrived the day I bought my grapefruit vodka.

One of my Rouletters sent me a box filled with nostalgia and sentiment, mostly from my show. The T-shirt bore the last three words of one of my poems, describing myself, which he stated served as a reminder of who I am as I enter my sixth decade. The book, which wasn’t officially a birthday gift, was full of pictures of me dressed up while hosting the Roulette. He’d meant to give it to me at the last Roulette, but it arrived at his house afterwards.

Then there were the beads. Here’s the explanation he wrote about the beads:

“These beads go by many names. I first learned the name decades after I got them on my 5-year hitchhiking trip after I got out of the Navy. I was in a grocery store and a woman stopped me and asked me about my Job’s Tears necklace. After decades of wearing them that was the first time I ever heard “Job’s Tears.”

Once I got that, I researched them online. It’s binomial name, Coix lacryma-jobi, also known as “Adlay millet.” It is native to Southeast Asia, but is cultivated in warmer climates around the world , including Southern US. Job’s Tears has many uses, including jewelry, rosaries, rattles, teething toys and musical instruments.

It is the only bead created by Nature Herself. The way it grows the hole is natural. The nature color ranges from a deep brown to off white. The colors are all dyed, which takes some effort. I found them for sale in jewelry, but could not find them in bulk.

I finally found a woman in Soweto, South Africa that was selling by the quarter pound. I bought the 11 bags she had. I made this 300-bead necklace for your 50th birthday. Buddhists and Orthodox Christians both have 300-bead prayer ropes. In Tibet, they are called Vaijayanti Malas mostly used by monks or those on years’ long pilgrimages.”

All in all, these gifts helped in some form of self care: good food, relaxation, humor and prayer. Four things I wish to carry forward for the rest of my life, especially when the entire world is undergoing a shared trauma.

Satisfied Mind

I’ve been thinking about drinking lately. Not while working my telecommuting customer service job, but during the down times while sitting on my fabulous red sofa with the TV on and working on some project with either my laptop or iPad. I’m no spring chicken and can’t handle alcohol like I used to. Same goes for copious amounts of sugar.

This increased desire to drink is a response to surviving the coronavirus pandemic for over six months with all the growing pains of rapidly transitioning into a new world that Rona built. She’s like an uninvited guest whose presence has caused me to bleach everything, wear masks more often outside of costuming, and spend far more time grinding my cerebral wheels by myself.

She’s truly overstayed her welcome. I’m so ready to kick her out of this world. But like past colonizers, she’s here to stay as if she has a right. About the only good thing to Rona’s presence is that she’s shined a light on societal inequities.

There’s always been bad shit and some people denouncing it, but now there are more witnesses. Some deny that one of the factors of the inequities is systemic racism because if they acknowledged that they may feel compelled to do something about it, starting with changing themselves.

But back to drinking. At the most, I’ll have two drinks, usually on the weekends. One with lunch and another with dinner. Occasionally, I’ll have an in-person happy hour with a friend at their place or mine. Nonetheless, my belief is if I pair drinking with a meal or socializing, I won’t slip down the lushy rabbit hole into a drinking problem. Awareness is the first step, right?

I’m working on a new angle. One I could have implemented prepandemic, but of course the hamster wheel had to stop spinning before I realized this: take joy in every day things. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I take a deep breath and reflect on what good the present activity brings me. Usually I can find something. Anything to ward off the flood of negative emotions.

Another thing that helps is thinking, “I’ve got all the time in the world.” As much as I like to flit from one project to the next, I’m making progress in due time. My new goal for everything in life is maintaining a satisfied mind.

That doesn’t depend on any form of government or politician. No form of religion nor interpretation of god. It’s free and I don’t have to order it from Amazon. Best of all, no drug, not even the drinkable drugs, satisfy my mind without adverse side effects like discovering positivity.

Now, I’m the pioneer of those treasures called “silver linings.” And it doesn’t matter if my discovery is actually a rediscovery because any bout of depression or anxiety feels brand new during this period where time is syrupy. Whenever negative emotions creep into the present, it’s time to go treasure-hunting. And fortunately for me, I’ve got all the time in the world.

Half a Century Later…

Some people dread birthdays. Not me. Not even during a pandemic. After all, being blessed to spend five decades on this wondrous planet is truly the gift.

Last year, one of my sisters had the bright idea to celebrate the “milestone” Virgo birthdays in 2020 since her youngest child would be 20, I’d turn 50 and Mom would be 80–all within two weeks of one another. Fortunately, none of us had started researching any destination birthday plans since 2020 had ideas of its own.

Even though our birthdays were later in the year, the way The States handled the onset of the plague, cautioned us not to plan anything involving travel. As the weeks ticked by, we jumped on the ever-growing Zoom birthday celebration bandwagon.

Normally, my sister would have bugged me about brainstorming, researching, and planning out such an endeavor, but since I was one of the birthday celebrants, I got off the hook–for the most part. She called me a couple of times to ask technical questions about Power Point.

My only task was make a list of people who I wanted to invite and send an invitation.

In the past, for birthdays that ended in either a zero or five, I’d email an itinerary for at least a 3-day celebration, doing various activities.

That way, people chose which birthday activity they wanted to do. This whole pandemic thing made my milestone celebration MUCH easier to plan, mostly because my sister did the bulk of that heavy lifting.

And yet, I still wanted to celebrate my own individual birthday, especially since it fell on Labor Day like it had when I was born back in 1970 in Okinawa, Japan. My predicted birthday was the 17th instead of the 7th. Let’s just say that Mom ate and drank just like she wanted to since I’d already gestated nine months. On the one day Americans celebrate “labor,” Mom birthed me. Now there’s a Virgo mother for you!

Since the quarantine, I’ve ordered take out from a different restaurant every Saturday. For the Saturday before my birthday, I made reservations for my roommate and I at an upscale sushi restaurant. Even though we were technically still in a pandemic, I felt that people weren’t being as stupid as the months before when there was a rush to reopen without precautions in place.

Two things I hadn’t counted on leading up to my birthday: a trip to the chiropractor and another installment of the leasing office fucking with me.

My 49.9 year old spine had led an adventurous life and needed a little more than daily yoga, CBD and rest. I’d seen this chiropractor for nearly ten years, so the only thing that had kept me away had been the plague. As soon as he adjusted me, my spine smiled.

Another thing I’d done for nearly a decade was reside at my current apartment complex. In that time, the complex name had changed twice, the color scheme had changed more often than that, but even accounting for the pandemic and the revolving door of office employees, this latest iteration of “leasing agents” took the prize.

Out of nowhere, the corporate office emailed, stating that they’d recently audited my renter’s insurance on file. Under the “additional interested party” section, it stated “none,” but should’ve listed the corporate office address, which they provided.

Yet, the part that had me cursing as if I were possessed by demons was this:

“This will need to be updated and sent to us by 9/7/2020 to avoid a lapse fee of $50.00. Please let us know if you have any questions.”

Do I have any questions? On my ACTUAL fucking 50th birthday, I’m going to owe you motherfuckers a $50 fee if I don’t take care of this task, which has NEVER, in the 10 years I’ve lived at this property been required of me? Why the hell would the deadline be on a federal holiday? Did you know that in some cultures, people gift a newly 50 year old $50, not charge them some $50 bullshit fee?

I called the insurer to update the policy. The next day, I called the leasing office. Of course the least competent among them answered. I asked for the most competent, but he told me that she was already talking to someone else. When he gave me the option to wait on hold or discuss my issue with him, I repressed the urge to tell him that he was the reason I had to send a copy of the renter’s insurance policy the second time. I’ll be damned if he fucks this up.

Once on the phone with me, the most competent empathized with my situation. I pressed “send,” so she could open the email that contained my third effort of “sending a copy of my renter’s insurance” to the leasing office since July. She assured me I could enjoy my actual birthday on Monday without worrying about a fee.

“As long as ya’ll don’t turn off the water at the last minute,” I quipped. For some reason, there’s always an emergency water leak that can only be remedied by shutting off the water with very little notice. She agreed barring that, which was beyond her control, I should have a good day. So when, minutes after waking up on my birthday, the electricity blinked out for 30 seconds, I knew the universe had winked at me.

My birthday dinner went over without a hitch.

I only put on lip gloss for this picture, then wiped all of it off before putting on my mask once I parked at the restaurant.

I’m still not sure how to take pictures while wearing a mask.

I know it’s useless to smile, but at the same time, I don’t know how to smile with only my eyes, so I do this weird thing instead. Too much thinking. I should just smile as I normally do, which will reflect in my eyes.

Not that I did much better in this surprise picture my roommate took.

Trust me, by this point, I was still in the throes of a food-gasm. We’d ordered the six course tasting, but as a birthday gift, the chef threw in an extra course.

For dessert, we received what tasted like a luscious Heath candy bar with a dollop of vanilla ice cream rolled in crumbled chocolate along with a glass of champagne.

The last time I had an actual birthday cake was 20 years ago. Yet, my sister wanted me to have a cake with candles because it was part of her “Milestone Birthdays” program. She sent me a link to choose my cake. After looking at all the options, I chose the most beautiful chocolate cake available. When I texted her my choice, she told me that she should’ve set a price limit of $50.

Given the fact that I hadn’t wanted a birthday cake in the first place, this still felt shitty. Nonetheless, I chose a less attractive chocolate cake and kept the grumbling to myself.

Days later, the cake arrived.

My apartment complex had wisely installed a package hub in order to prevent theft. Since the deliverer jammed the package into a compartment that was barely taller than the box, I had to strong arm maneuver it out. Had the deliverer placed the box in the taller adjacent compartment to right, I wouldn’t have had any problem whatsoever. So there I was fighting to get a birthday cake that I hadn’t wanted in the first place, but then had to settle for the second choice and because it was packed in dry ice, appeared to be sweating as if it was doing a lot of work.

After all that, my sister had got me good.

Before I even laid eyes on the actual cake, I’d read the packing list: Red Rose Chocolate cake! I used gloves to place the dry ice into the kitchen sink, which created an eerie effect. Then I took the frozen cake out of its box. Following the instructions, I removed the plastic wrapping, replaced the cake in its box and allowed it to thaw out in the refrigerator for two days until the party.

I called my sister. I’d spoken to her a couple of times between choosing a cake and receiving it.

She was relieved the secret was out. Before ordering anything, she’d found a $15 off coupon. With the cheaper cake, she’d have to pay $35 for shipping, but shipping was free with the more expensive cake. The bottom line: my first choice was only $5 more than my second choice.

Another wonderful surprise: Mom wore a tiara during the Zoom celebration.

We had a pretty good Zoom turn out with around 40 participants although none of my nephew’s friends were on the call.

I properly dressed my cake for the occasion.

Since my nephew had gone to Virginia Beach with his older sisters,

he actually left his birthday cake at home and blew out a candle on a cupcake instead.

One of my candles destroyed itself before I had a chance to blew it out.

Good thing I’m not usually superstitious.

Mom, who’d opted for an ice cream cake, didn’t want to blow out candles,

so she just held hers up as everyone sang three different versions of “Happy Birthday” to us.

This cake was just as sweet and luscious as it looks.

As a child, I loved sweets. As much as I appreciated this cake, I now find it strange to celebrate a birthday with something that may lead to diabetes. Now that’s the half century talking!

Filming at The Crashbox

One of the reactions to George Floyd being choked for 8 minutes and 46 seconds by a former police officer kneeling on his neck,

was a national call for submissions to The Breath Project. The organizers encouraged spoken word artists to record an 8 minute and 46 second performance to be used as a tool for education and activism purposes.

Normally, I would’ve jumped at writing and rehearsing a performance piece. Yet, these days, I’m far more interested in being behind the camera. Since my roommate constantly breaks out into original protest songs and political rants, I challenged her to perform for this project.

Once she was ready, I contacted the local participating theatre, Rude Mechs, which volunteered its space, The Crashbox, where we filmed her performance. A Rude Mechs staffer scheduled our shoot, set the lights and, using my smartphone, shot her performance while I directed.

The shoot only took about an hour. She ran through it several times while he shot it from two different camera angles.

Although we filmed on a Wednesday, I didn’t view the clips until Friday around midnight while lying in bed. I saved myself some grief by deleting unusable footage such as when she had the script in hand.

Then, I watched several YouTube videos about editing with iMovie. I normally wait until the weekend to venture into a new technology because I know the first day will be agonizing. This time around, I found a better approach. By watching a slew videos the night before, I woke up excited about diving into iMovie with a game plan–after yoga and lunch.

Of course, confident plans merely tempt the devil. Straight out of the gates, I clicked the wrong thing and imported many pictures from my photo album along with the video clips I wanted. Rookie mistake. No problem.

Once I got the clips I wanted, the easiest approach was to merge two of them, which wasn’t as straight forward as merging two audio clips with GarageBand, but I understood the process. Again, the devil found an opening.

Despite the confirmation that the merged file had been saved, the clip description showed “zero bytes.” Not believing what I read, I still clicked on it. Sure enough, nothing was there.

Back to Google, my favorite IT entity. I learned that zero bytes meant there wasn’t enough room to save a file. I’d greatly underestimated how much space a less than 10-minute clip consumed. So, I saved it to the infamous Cloud. Again, I got the message that the file had been successfully saved, but when I checked iCloud, it showed zero bytes.

At that point, I took a bathroom break. When I returned, the file actually had a much higher number than zero. A-ha! So, there’s a lag between the file being successfully saved and having it show up.

Then, I was on my happy editing way. I worked on a script page a day because after an hour, apathy creeped in. Once I finished the rough cut, I saved the file again without any devilish drama.

Yet, for all the effort, our video was around two minutes short of the required length. Stretching it was out of the question. Nor was I interested in returning to the theatre to record more.

As a matter of fact, with the exception of the time limit, her performance was solid and I liked the editing choices I’d made. All I needed to do was make some fine tune edits, learn how to create end credits, and how to upload to Vimeo.

And not a moment too soon. I’ve got a screenplay to revamp and a film festival to screen. Plus I need to plan out the second season of my podcast. Then there’s the seemingly never-ending illustrations that I need to finish for my third book.

Yet, all’s not lost. Once I uploaded the video to Vimeo, I shared it with several friends and family. Then, I took the extraordinary step of entering it into three film festivals.

View the completed project on Vimeo.

The Latest Drill in Dentistry

When my part of the world halted in mid-March, I figured the situation wouldn’t be remedied by March 31st, the date of my latest dental appointment. The clinic texted a cancellation a week later. They only accepted dental emergencies at that time.

Months later, I felt a potential dental emergency brewing among my left molars. Could’ve been the occasional lodged food despite nightly flossing. Even with that good habit, one needs a trained professional to pick and scrape at one’s teeth every six months.

Instead, I trained my electric toothbrush on the troubled spot, gave it an extra flossing and rinsed with a “restorative” mouthwash in the hopes that I could triage the situation. All I could think of was dying from some oral abscess because I didn’t want to catch the plague by going to the dentist.

I’ve never hated going to the dentist. So, this feeling was a new thing for me. If anything, I was rather nerdy about regular dentist trips.

I was far too elated when the dentist’s office texted me out of the blue to schedule an appointment. Similar to the excitement I had as a child when the tooth fairy left money under my pillow. Except for this time around, I didn’t want any teeth to fall out. Bad enough seeing blood after brushing. OK, TMI.

Following the new protocol, the receptionist asked me a series of COVID-19 related questions as part of the appointment process. On the day of the appointment, I parked and sat in the car to call the clinic, letting them know I had arrived. I came as close to my appointed time as I could because I didn’t want to wait in the car too long in triple degree heat. Even though I’d parked in the shade with the windows rolled down, nothing beat good ol’ AC, which had apparently gone out at some point while my car sat mostly idle over the past couple of months.

A few minutes later, the receptionist called. She unlocked the front door, stepped out, and pointed the thermometer gun at my head. All I could think was, “Of course the time I don’t have AC, I’m going to blow this appointment.”

Fortunately, she checked my temperature again once we were inside the clinic after their AC had a chance to work its magic. Clearing that hurdle, I learned that they’d charge me a $10 fee for the extra COVID-19 cleaning, which I was assured most dental insurances would cover. (Ha, not my insurance!) At least my dental/vision insurers had lowered the premium by $10/month, so perhaps, in a way, they had covered it.

Although everyone was masked and had a face shield, the appointment went smoothly. Probably the most enjoyable dental visit ever, because in a sad way, it was a social outing. You know you’ve been in quarantine too long when a trip to the dentist counts as a “social outing.”

I was so excited to break the monotony of my weekly routine that I forgot to hand the dental hygienist my night guard for a cleaning. So, there’s another thing that has to wait until 2021.

Condos & Campers

Austin had an unhoused population prior to the pandemic.

Yet like all other inequities, this has become more visible with a growing population of recently unemployed people under the threat of being evicted. Despite this dire situation, new condos, still under construction, loom in the backdrop of these unhoused campers.

There’s a severe disconnect between landlords and tenants. Somehow, the rise in people who could potentially be evicted, unless saved by government assistance or the grace of charity, has not deterred real estate investors from building new condos. This would only make sense if the people who were camping in front of the new condos were the future occupants.

Even though I’m a former math/science teacher, I cannot follow the logic behind building more housing that very few of us can afford at a time when more of us are under constant stress of being evicted. In other words, who are these people, besides other investors, that are going to buy or rent these new condos?

In my elementary understanding of real estate, lucrative cashflow can be made through monthly rent. Now if the current occupants lose their jobs and/or unemployment is insufficient to pay full rent, then there’s less cashflow. By evicting those tenants, the landlord must still pay taxes and utilities until another tenant moves in. How does that work during a pandemic?

Even with my own rent situation, the leasing office offered my roommate and I a deal: if we signed a 10-month lease instead of a 12-month lease, then we could pay the same amount as we’ve paid for the past 14 months. Why 10 months, you ask? Well, in the prepandemic version of our civilization, July and August were the most popular months to move.

Now, I can somewhat understand that logic. The leasing office is gambling that by July 2021, all this shit will be sorted out and people will have their regular income again. This gamble is not apparently taking into account that this pandemic has triggered a recession. So, instead of trying to incentivize current tenants to remain in place without any rent increase, they should DECREASE the rent.

Wait, did I just type that out loud?

Why yes, motherfuckers, I did! Because I’ve read that in places like Manhattan, those landlords have seen a mass exodus. They’re now scrambling to offer a few months rent-free to attract new tenants. To which I say: LOWER THE DAMN RENT.

What tenants are looking for at this point isn’t a shiny new condo, but inexpensive, hopefully safe, accommodations. Those new condos can come with all the bells and whistles as far as amenities are concerned, but without the most attractive feature, affordable rent, then what’s the point? There cannot possibly be positive cashflow if the rent is calculated based on 2019.

Happy Blursday!

It’s been a long time coming, but I’ve finally reached a destination so many have reported: the Blursdays. I believe people with children, and just one child will do it, reached this destination sooner. It’s where one day blurs into the other with very little distinction.

Since my days vary, but the weeks don’t, I’m a relative newcomer to the Blursdays. I’ve cycled through a similar Monday through Sunday routine since mid March and now find myself in mid August.

Even most holidays are merely celebrated by watching the holiday version of TV. Except for Memorial Day. On that day, George Floyd’s murder sparked worldwide protest against police brutality and the systemic racism which incubates such egregious activities.

The protests and the plague march on.

Now it’s back-to-school season. The composition of the protesters have morphed into educators, parents and students versus politicians who never have to step into a school. Since I’m childfree, my weekly Blursday activities haven’t changed due to the school calendar–only the TV and internet content. (I’m also not on social media, but I trust that’s changing similarly.)

Converging with this perfect storm that’s brewing to wipe us out of our developed nation status, USPS is being sabotaged to undermine the upcoming presidential elections. The safest way to vote during a pandemic is by mail-in ballot. Yet, one political party believes that they will only win if fewer people have less voting access.

At the same time, their favored demographic is also affected. As if being at risk of catching the plague wasn’t bad enough, mailed prescription medications for pre-existing conditions have been delayed.

Not to mention online businesses, small businesses and entrepreneurial side hustlers who rely on USPS to serve their customer orders, using the formerly most cost-effective means. USPS is a highly rated government agency that supports so many other aspects of American life. Yet, some politicians act as if USPS should be run as a business rather than a government-run entity that’s actually part of our infrastructure.

Nonetheless, I’m viewing all this chaos from a slow spinning top, where the scenery around me changes while my reduced activity does not. Who knows where this spinning top will eventually land. It’s amazing to think how so many of us are hunkered down waiting out this waterless flood just to pioneer a country with very little infrastructure to hold society together.

For now, it’s just blurring by a day at a time.

Survival School

When I exited the public school classroom several years ago, I had no idea the unforeseen bullshit I’d spare myself. There were many anti-educational evils that I grew tired of battling, yet the fucking plague wasn’t among them. Followed by the political push to force in-person education amid the rising number of COVID-19 infections and death.

Now the same illogical political bullshit reasoning that’s putting students, educators and the greater community who interacts with them at a new risk for coronavirus exposure, has used its favorite tool: threatening to withhold money. In the past, reducing school funding for so-called underperforming schools was the illogical course of political action as if providing fewer resources to address academic challenges would work.

Federal, and in some cases state, money is being threatened if schools don’t reopen as if reducing school funding will better educate students. A rational response to in-person education during a pandemic would be to increase funding in order to enhance safety and lower cluster outbreaks.

Now public schools scramble to transform themselves into environments where students can both learn and survive. There’s even talk of open classrooms. I’m guessing that’s in other places that don’t get Texan triple-degree weather nor Arctic blasts that plummet everything to below-zero temperatures.

This is one of the occasions where I’m so happy I already drink and curse. This situation isn’t forcing me to adopt two new vices.

Speaking of vices, just when kids are being forced to return to in-person education, Congress is fucking around with relief money, more children are dying from the coronavirus and the threat of evictions has resurged.

Another vice that’s coming around the corner, but hasn’t been splashed about the media yet is this: even if one survives the plague, they won’t just be a survivor, but in the eyes of health insurers, they’ll be people with pre-existing conditions.

In 2016, despite the fact that I was no longer a classroom teacher, I found myself reprising my educator role even though I was a health insurance agent. Here were some of the lesson objectives I reviewed:

  1. Many Americans voted against their best interest because health care had become a political football: Repeal and replace Obamacare!
  2. That was such a successful campaign until the same people discovered that “Obamacare,” which was later nicknamed “Trumpcare,” were both aliases for Affordable Care Act plans or “ACA” for short. No matter what you called it, this was major medical coverage that didn’t reject people based on preexisting conditions.
  3. Americans who rarely saw the doctor were furious that they were either obligated to get healthcare or pay a fine to take care of “sick people.” In reality, this is the nature of ALL insurance. The people who regularly pay, but rarely use their insurance ALWAYS collectively pay for those who use it. Think about it: if everyone who had a policy needed the insurance company to pay for an event at the same time, the company would go bankrupt.
  4. Healthcare coverage is NOT based on political affiliation. Nowhere on the health insurance application does it ask for which political party you normally vote. Therefore, there aren’t any special healthcare plans sponsored by your elected officials. It’s the same (shitty) coverage for all of us unless you are independently wealthy.

Currently, the sudden rise in “sick people” sent insurance companies scrambling. Almost like magic, free testing for COVID-19 appeared before our very eyes. Even more magical, there was no mass outcry about tax dollars being spent for testing “sick people.” That’s because those “sick people” were essential workers, the elderly, children, people with compromised immunities, people with underlying health conditions and people who originally thought this pandemic was a political hoax.

People across the political map have been infected because Rona don’t give a fuck. The triumphant who’ve battled Rona and won have now joined the millions of Americans with pre-existing conditions. Are we now going to tell them that they’re uninsurable? Will we smugly tell our fellow Americans that if they want better health insurance or even SOME health insurance then they have to get a better job?

By the way, where are those better-paying jobs? The government would like to know that as well since they are loathe to continue the extra $600 for unemployed benefits or a second round of $1200.

As a secondary math/science teacher, I encouraged my students to be lifelong learners. That’s pertinent advice for everyone these days. We’ve all been enrolled into Survival School.