COVID-19 Diary - Physical Distancing

I saw somewhere - Facebook? Twitter? Instagram? - that perhaps we should call what we're doing physical distancing instead of social distancing. 

I like this. 

I like this because what I'm seeing on social media tells me that we're finding ways to remain social while practicing the physical distance to slow the spread of the Coronavirus. And much of that social interaction is positive. People are sharing links to free online access to the arts. Music. Museums. Books. People are sharing original content, photos, ideas for keeping busy, recipes, etc.

This is a refreshing break from seeing the same meme shared 28 times in a day.

Like the canals in Venice clearing, because the sediment has settled, and the Nitrogen levels over China decreasing, we're adjusting, too. Even if it's in small ways.

Over the last few days, I've talked on the phone more than usual. I've Facetimed with my friend Amy. I video-chatted with my daughter Chloe who is in New Hampshire. And Sophie who is in Georgia. I talked to Grandma Bea. I've talked to my sister. I've talked to my mother who relays my strongly-worded admonishments to my father, as necessary. (Still struggling!)

Everyone is well, but worried. You can just hear it in their voices. 

All this communicating. Talk about having to change habits.

Chloe had a puzzle delivered from Amazon. I dropped it off at Mom and Dad's today so they can stay occupied while they're stuck in the house. I stood across the room from them and tried to touch nothing as we talked about what's happening and how they're feeling.

They have concerns. Like most of us, they're trying to grasp just how long this time of physical distancing will last. I've worked from home for over five years. There have been times when I had to think really hard to remember the last time I'd left the house, apart from walking the dog. I'm good at this. 

But for most people who are used to being able to decide at the spur of the minute to go out to dinner or who remember what day of the week it is because of their weekly scheduled hair appointment, doctor's visit, or lunch with old friends, this is hard. This is habit changing. It's confusing. And, by extension, scary.

At the other end of the age spectrum, we're also trying to stay physically distant from Nathan, his wife Kade, and their one-year-old son Samson. We're taking the stance that the fewer contacts we have, the better. It also means I have fewer names to write on my list of daily contacts. I wasn't kidding in my last post. I'm keeping a list. It might be an Excel spreadsheet. I will neither confirm nor deny.

Because we're being extra careful, this means I can't get my hands on Sam. It's hard. I want nothing more right now than to have his soft cheek smooshed against mine. Instead, I have to settle for seeing him through a window. I'll take it.

Be well. Stay at home as much as you can. Wash your hands. Let's fight this thing.

I am the id to your superego

I've been taking photos of flowers.

Pardon my hyperbole, but I have the best dang friends. Rulebreakers, the lot of you. And thank you for that. Thank you for the emails and Facebook comments when I wouldn't let you comment on that last post. Today I'm still as dull as ever, but feeling better even if the house is shrouded against the predicted heat. Man, I hate having the house closed up and worse - hate shutting blinds and putting up curtains (or makeshift curtains) - but with predicted highs near 90 degrees, it's either that or be a whining puddle of perspiration by 2p.m. because that thermostat is set at 80 and it's staying there even if I have to break every bone in Sophie's fingers. (She's the thermostat fiddler around here.)

Such is my cross. There are people without enough food to eat, Lisa, you goon.

But back to my friends. They offer understanding, care, their stories of similar feelings. There really is something to that old adage Misery loves company. It really is nice to know you're not alone while you're in full wallow mode. Unless, of course, thinking you're alone is part of the fun.

I also received a gentle ass-kicking from a friend who's been in and out of my life for longer than I care to mention. If you've read the Ethan stories under the Little Love Stories tab, you already know him. His real name is Craig and, aside from MathMan, he's probably my best friend. While this might seem odd and dangerously dangerous due to my proclivities toward bad behavior, it's turned out surprising well. Plus and bonus, he lives an ocean away so safe gets even safer. Add to that the fact that I've sworn off cybersex because typing all those mmmmms and oh yeah, babies, right there gets so bloody boring. If I'm going to type out a blow job, I may as well - - - oh nevermind.

Anyway, Craig read yesterday's post and got in touch with me via Skype. Shortly into the conversation, he made an important point: If MathMan had gone quiet, couldn't I offer him some understanding? Wasn't there a better way to handle things?

"Let's see, he's working three jobs, money is tight, his wife can't find a job, he can't finance his daughter's trip to England or even pay the rest of her tuition and, you said it yourself, it's that time of year with the end of school stuff. That shit is hard on a man."

Who asked him anyway?

Of course he's right. He then went on to note that we're doomed as a species because of our horrible communications skills. "Someone wants to talk when the other person doesn't want to listen. Women want to vent while men want to jump in and fix things. We're a mess."

When the man is right, he's right.

Thinking about what Craig had said, I did the simple thing. I asked MathMan how things were going. And he told me. I swear this relationship stuff can be so easy if we're not stupid about it.

Which brings me to Mother's Day. I'm just going to say this - I motherfucking hate that day. And MathMan summed up why. "I can never get it right," he growled at me after I fussed that it was just another day around here. No gift, two hand written cards, which were lovely, but I opened them in between running the restaurant and doing another load of laundry. I couldn't go on Facebook because of all the dumbass Mother's Day posts. I pretty much stayed off the blogs, too, because I was busy being angry and giving my family the silent treatment.

We went to a matinee showing of Water for Elephants and on the way there, I read a book because I didn't want to be myself - I'm a terrible backseat driver to MathMan. With added snark for giggles. I thought I did really well, but when I related this bit of family trivia to Craig as an example of how I'm trying to do things differently, Chloe, who was in the room at the time, reported that I couldn't help myself.  As MathMan barreled down on the stopped traffic ahead of us, I repeated the word "brakes" without ever looking up from my book. Fuck.

But I really hate that day. Who am I kidding? I a total curmuddgeon. I'm not fond of any holiday and partly because of the highflying expectations for magic and, oh god, I am my father's daughter.

The highlight of Mother's Day may have been dinner on the deck with Sophie and Chloe. Sophie is having trouble finding reading material that suits her and holds her attention. At twelve going on fifty-three, she's a tough nut. Chloe rummaged through the box of books she'd lugged home from school and came up with Jane Eyre, Chronicle of a Death Foretold and Eve Ensler's I Am An Emotional Creature. Really.

Sophie opened Jane Eyre, cocked an eyebrow and closed the book. Chloe clucked her tongue in disgust. "You have to get through the first part. And just ignore the marginalia."

"What's marginalia?"

"The stuff I've written in the margins."

As an aside to Chloe, I said, "I want to make a joke about the marginalia I added to Stephen Elliot's book."

"Mother, you're forgetting that you're the mom, not the friend," she replied with a hint of a smile.

"Is Stephen Elliot the guy who's into S&M?" Sophie laid the book on the table. Jane Eyre couldn't hold a precious candle to Stephen.

Chloe turned and gave me a look.

"Point taken," I said.

Chloe read to us from Jane Eyre. I really like being read to. Sophie declared the book beyond her grasp and asked if we had any Agatha Christie. What a kidder she is. I also gave her A.A. Milne's The Red House Mystery so here's hoping. Too bad I don't have any adult Judy Blume or Sidney Sheldon she can find and read on the sly like I did at her age. I wonder if my old copy of Flowers in the Attic is in one of those boxes in the garage?

We're watching too much political television around here again. Could that be it? Anyway, Chloe noticed yesterday that Howard Dean appears to have lost weight. MathMan mentioned that Newt Gingrich has gained weight or, porked up, as he put it so eloquently. I keep track of Howard Fineman's haircuts. Frankly, I liked it when his hair curled at his collar. It was middle-aged Jewish guy sexy and I'm into that obviously.

A text exchange with another friend also reminded me of how social media has changed the way peer pressure continues into adulthood. Before Facebook, twitter, and blogging, I suppose, lots of us went to work or did our thing around the house, and at the end of the day, did whatever we did, but most of us weren't interacting with a handful or more of people unless one was lucky enough to be a regular at a bar or gym or a joiner of clubs. Okay, well, I wasn't. I went home, did the housework, lavished my kids with fifteen minutes of attention, watched television, read or dicked around in the garden. Aside from not wanting to assault the world with my face without make up or the stray pube at the public swimming facility, I didn't much care what other people thought about me. Sure I followed the social norms to get by at work, but I didn't much follow the crowd. Hell, I didn't even know which crowds there were. I was in the phase of life where you just don't care. You don't even care that you don't care, you're so busy. Peer pressure was mostly a curse of the teen years.

Now peer pressure is served up in the form of Facebook, Twitter, and the other social media that create the brackets around our lives. Were you a shit heel who didn't offer all your fb friends a happy mother's day? I was. The hell with that peer pressure that can render things pretty meaningless after a while. I called my mother and left her a voicemail. Want to know where I got my attitude about holidays? You don't have to look far. Growing up, we just didn't make a big deal out of things in our household, if you know what I mean.

And while I'm at it - um, listen, it's Facebook - noting the fb is redundant. See, there I go. It's like repeating the word brakes except someone should be saying that to me and my mouth.

And what about this #FF bullshit on Twitter? We sure can take something fun and easy and load it with all kinds of obligations in no time flat, can't we? I mean, I get it. It's a way of giving, but criminy, can't anything just be fun without being weighed down with all this Have to stuff? I quote Steve Martin in the movie Parenthood "My whole life is have to" which was more true when I had a paying job, but you should see the frowny face texts I get if someone's favorite pair of socks aren't clean so I stick by that quote.

Why can't we just leave well enough alone? 140 characters, light, fun, maybe profound, if you're into that, a link to something you found interesting, but do we have to create structure and rules? Yes, yes, we do. It's how we know what to do next and with which hand to do it. And how not to wear white shoes while doing it, too. Unless it's between May and September. Wheat and chaff and all that. I'm chaff, nice to meet you.

I think my inner anarchist needs some Funions and red pop to make her quiet down.

I never should have turned on the television this morning. The things you see. Our elected dumbasses (possibly my new favorite word) running around repeating their new favorite catchphrase "An adult moment." I'm sure someone or three hundred and sixty-seven someones have already made this joke on Facebook and Twitter, but An Adult Moment for me would probably include the typed out blow job (referenced above). And I sure as hell don't want to pay taxes on that. Unless I'm making over $250k and then go right ahead and tax dollars 250,001 and above because I'm reasonable even if foulmouthed and vulgar.

Your turn. Unleash your inner (fill in the blank) because I think I've said more than enough.

Hooked

One of the things I really like about social networking is that it gives you the opportunity to interact with people with whom you might never have had the chance to interact with for reasons ranging from geography to the constructs we create to keep people separate.  Celebrity/fan, politician/voter, leader/follower.

Just yesterday, I responded to a Tweet put out by Ayelet Waldman, author of Bad Mother and Red Hook Road.  She'd asked for readers to resend their Tweets about typos they'd found in the hardcopy of Red Hook Road.  So I did:

And she responded without calling me a goon.

I'll never wash my twitter again.

Tell us about your brushes with greatness, celebrity, the law.

The New Old Frontier of Social Networking

Now that the traditional media of television and print have discovered Twitter and Facebook (FB), there's plenty of airtime spent discussing these new communications platforms. Just like any news story involving a dead white woman with slightly sexual overtones, the media has taken the topic of social networking and beaten it to a bloody pulp.

And just like when we've all reached our maximum capacity of any given dead white woman news story, there is backlash.

So it was when John Ridley filed this commentary on NPR. The topic? Twitter and Facebook. Here's some of the transcript:

But my real issue with social networking sites isn't their faddishness.

It's the hypocrisy that goes with them.

We claim to be a nation of people who take our privacy very seriously. Just mention the idea of warrantless wiretaps and expect to get hit up with a congressional investigation.

But give somebody an avatar and a URL, and he can't tweet, post or hyperlink enough personal information about himself to as many people as possible.

Seriously, does valuable broadband space need to be taken up with announcements in that creepy Facebook third-person-ese that "John is enjoying two-for-one margaritas with the rest of the IT Team at T.G.I. Fridays"?

Where is the expectation of privacy anymore? Or, more correctly, where is the expectation that people will keep their private nonsense to themselves so that those of us who still like to communicate personal information with one person at a time don't have to get caught up in somebody else's e-mail circles or listen to their one-sided cell phone conversations?

No, I don't know what's hipper; to Facebook or to Twitter. I just know for me, personally, discretion never went out of style.

Ridley is wrong to equate the invasion of privacy with indiscretion. Giving away your privacy and having it taken away by The State and, often, without your knowledge, are two distinct things. If I want to post that my butt itches and I'm about to scratch it, I am deciding that at that very moment such is the statement I want to make to my Twitter followers and Facebook friends.

However, if The State decides that it wants to monitor my left butt cheek by planting a device in it while I'm sleeping so that The State can use my itchy butt as a means for finding out if I am a threat to this nation, well, now we have a constitutional issue.

Big difference. The other part of that is very simple. I choose what to tell you. I don't actually tell you everything. Imagine. The mind reels at what I could possibly be holding back, right? But it's true. Some might say that I violate the privacy of my family when I blog about the doings here at Golden Manor. Perhaps. But if any of them would ask me to not write about something (and they have), I honor that. I call them filthy names and ridicule them for their apparent lack in the sense of adventure department, but I honor their request. Grudgingly.

So I take issue with Ridley's awkward comparison between personal privacy and a constitutional right to privacy. Beyond that, I can agree that there is awful lot of noise out there with this person heading off to the men's room with the newspaper (an FB status that made me laugh, frankly, but I am a fan of potty humor - ooooh, must add Potty Humor to my "fan of" list on FB) or that person who is going to have their roots touched up at lunch time. Seriously, though, I am not so busy and important that these little things make me crazy. For cliff's sake, filter. If you don't want that stuff, don't sign up for it. I know plenty of people who would rather chew glass than use social networking.

Ridley, though, is missing a really good use for social networking. As more people adopt it, it can make communicating to large groups much easier. It's never going to replace more traditional methods like mailings, phone calls, purchased advertising, emails and the like. Come to think of it, a few years ago we would have laughed at the idea of emails being considered one of the "traditional" communications tools.

Part of my job is to communicate to a large audience. We stopped our printed quarterly newsletter and went to a weekly email newsletter. As much as I complain about what a burden it is to produce weekly , it's truly effective. I put snippets of the article into the email newsletter that goes out to our membership using a nationally known service. Each snippet links to the full article on the organization's blog. From the stats, I can see that people are clicking the links and visting the full articles on the blog.

We communicate industry information and promote the various programs, services and events provided by the organization. Next I want to supplement the email newsletter with a Tweet. It could be very effective to tweet something like "Hey, laggards! You have two more days to register for Thursday's webinar. Get on the stick! No time like the present!"

Or something like that.

Colleges have already adopted Twitter and Facebook. I am going to be very grateful for Tweets about the events at The Dancer's university because goodness knows she isn't going to be bringing home a backpack full of notices and permission slips. All levels of school should add this supplemental communication tool to their outreach methods. I, for one, would be grateful for a Tweet that says "Don't forget class pictures are tomorrow so make sure your kid wears something halfway decent and drags a comb through his/her hair!"

Naturally not everyone is going to be on board with these methods, but for those who are, it could be a very efficient way to stay on top of things.

I hope that Ridley will rethink his opposition and disdain of social networking. Soon I'll be setting up a Facebook page for work. When I asked my boss J about it the other day, I posed it like this: "Don't we (meaning the organization) want fans, too?" His response was a resounding yes.

It's not all work related, of course. I mean, it's me. And I can't wrap up this post without telling you how much I love Twitter and Facebook for their efficiency in promoting this here blog. I know. Ho hum, right? Well, when I'm not posting links to my current blog entry or some music I've just got to share, I can still be found posting a delightful assortment of status updates....

Lisa.....is writing a blogpost that she hopes will change the way the John Ridley views Twitter and Facebook.
Lisa...is eating a Three Musketeers Bar for breakfast.
Lisa...wonders what THAT noise was.
Lisa...is fretting the decision to use the pink highlighter instead of the yellow.
Lisa...wants to know - what would YOU do for a Klondike Bar?
Lisa...did not laugh when MathMan did the nod/snort/wake yourself up thing as he slept in his office chair.
Lisa...likes some things more than she should.
Lisa...considers whether it's hypocritical to read The Myth of Multitasking on the toilet.
Lisa...wonders how long it will take The Actor to ask what happened to the XBox360 controller.
Lisa...is baffled by THAT decision, but is willing to give it a try.
Lisa...is annoyed that every time she starts to do something, she has to stop and go pee.
Lisa...hopes some people don't look too closely at her new FB avatar because there's a wee bit too much cleavage.
Lisa...eyes suspiciously that package over there. Did it just move? Do I hear ticking?
Lisa...wants the voices in her head to stop now. Really. NOW.
Lisa...would walk Five Hundred Miles. Must get new shoes.
Lisa...worries that one day she will accidentally post a That's Why post on the work blog.
Lisa...thinks that she should have a staff to take care of that. And that. And that. Oh, and that, too.
Lisa...says "Look ma! No hands!" and then "Hey, Grandpa! What's for supper?"
Lisa...could, but won't.
Lisa...does not believe in fairy tales.
Lisa...is (fill in the blank.)
Lisa...likes french fries dipped in mayo.
Lisa...has left the building........

What about you? Do you...........?