Tom Hanks came to the Skyline High School graduation this year. It makes a lot of sense, considering he is an alum and he probably didn't have a lot of other pressing engagements. And he lived through his exposure to the virus that kept the affair a stay-at-home experience. And he is a mensch. John Krazinski crowded a bunch of A-listers into his online graduation, including appearances by Steven Spielberg, Jon Stewart, Malala, and Oprah. Not that it would have been any more memorable if the guy who played Jim on The Office Zoom-bombed your online ceremony.
But these are interesting times. Times that are heightened by the shared experience of a global pandemic. We are all in this together, so each of these events become heightened in ways we might not have expected.
So let me grouse here for a moment. I don't remember who my high school graduation speaker was. I had the terrible misfortune of living through high school in the late seventies in Boulder, Colorado. I suppose I might have held out hope for Dan Fogelberg or Scott Carpenter. Nope. I would have remembered either one of them. For that matter, I have a vivid memory of the following year's commencement speaker: Mo Siegel. The hippie dippy herbal tea maker that became a millionaire in that little college town at the foot of the Rocky Mountains.
Am I bitter?
Maybe a little.
Kind of like the way you find out a few days later that the person who was just a few people behind you in line at the grocery store was the one millionth customer and they got a lifetime supply of Pop Tarts. A fuss has to be made, from time to time, and we cannot always be part of that fuss. Being honored for your place in line seems like a bit of a cheat, like the mild antagonism I hold for the tenth caller on those radio contests. You don't have to answer a question or anything? You just happen to be in a certain place at a certain time and place. Congratulations on taking up space at that moment. We really couldn't be more proud.
But back here in a land that is a tad more forgiving, I will say that occupying this particular time and space isn't so much an honor but a chore. The lights that shine right now will come back over and over across the years as "The Class Of Covid" makes its way in the world. College graduates face a particularly tough row to hoe as they are being let out into the world in the midst of a crippling recession. I'm not sure even Tom Hanks can make that okay.
Thursday, May 28, 2020
Wednesday, May 27, 2020
I Want
My wife asked me what I wanted to do this summer.
I want to go to Disneyland.
I want to visit my family in Colorado.
I want to see the new James Bond movie.
I want to see the new Black Widow movie.
I want to see any movie in a movie theater.
I want to see my son.
I want to sit down in a restaurant and be handed a menu.
I want to stop thinking about social distance.
I want to stop worrying that I haven't washed my hands enough.
I want to drop by the store to pick up a few things without having to stand in line for an hour.
I want to use the Pearl Jam tickets I bought last December.
I want to use the Green Day tickets I bought last January.
I want to sit on the couch and watch sports that didn't take place a decade or more ago.
I want to leave my house without checking first to be sure I have my mask.
I want to see people's chins.
I want to go a week without Zoom.
I want to binge-watch TV shows as a choice, not an avocation.
I want to go to Best Buy and just wander around looking at stuff.
I want to have a week or two to stop worrying about what school will look like in August.
I want to go to a park without feeling like a desperado.
I want to go on an airplane without having to wear a hazmat suit.
I want to go to a baseball game.
I want to watch old movies and not flinch when I see crowds of people.
I want to shake hands.
I want to high five.
I want to fist bump.
I want to stand uncomfortably close to strangers.
I want to hug.
I want to stop referring to this as "the new normal."
I want to go to Disneyland.
I want to visit my family in Colorado.
I want to see the new James Bond movie.
I want to see the new Black Widow movie.
I want to see any movie in a movie theater.
I want to see my son.
I want to sit down in a restaurant and be handed a menu.
I want to stop thinking about social distance.
I want to stop worrying that I haven't washed my hands enough.
I want to drop by the store to pick up a few things without having to stand in line for an hour.
I want to use the Pearl Jam tickets I bought last December.
I want to use the Green Day tickets I bought last January.
I want to sit on the couch and watch sports that didn't take place a decade or more ago.
I want to leave my house without checking first to be sure I have my mask.
I want to see people's chins.
I want to go a week without Zoom.
I want to binge-watch TV shows as a choice, not an avocation.
I want to go to Best Buy and just wander around looking at stuff.
I want to have a week or two to stop worrying about what school will look like in August.
I want to go to a park without feeling like a desperado.
I want to go on an airplane without having to wear a hazmat suit.
I want to go to a baseball game.
I want to watch old movies and not flinch when I see crowds of people.
I want to shake hands.
I want to high five.
I want to fist bump.
I want to stand uncomfortably close to strangers.
I want to hug.
I want to stop referring to this as "the new normal."
Tuesday, May 26, 2020
Lost And Found
Today is the day that families are invited to drop by our school and stand six feet apart. While they are there, they will pick up report cards and drop off any work that their children may have completed during the weeks that they have been locked away. They are also encouraged to take a trip through the wonderland of jackets and coats that were left in classrooms or on the playground over the course of six months when we were all in school.
When I was busied with the task of taking the boxes and bags full of outerwear and laying them out on our cafeteria tables, it did not occur to me that I should count them. I was careful to give each one enough space to be visible without a lot of pawing and additional sorting. I also tried to separate the myriad of black sweatshirts by putting a pink or red or blue something in between. I would be willing to make my guess at more than two hundred.
I am also willing to guess that we will still have a great many jackets, coats and sweatshirts left when all is said and done. We will also have a number of leftover report cards. Try as we might, we simply have not made contact with every family, every student. I will continue to laud our school's efforts in distance learning and the commitment our staff has to the community we serve, but I know that we aren't able to make the difference that we used to.
I also know that there will be a sea of anxious faces, young and old, asking what will happen in the fall. I wish that we had answers to all the questions they will have. One of our third grade teachers suggested that our job currently was like flying an airplane as we were still in the process of building that airplane. So far we have avoided impact. That doesn't mean we haven't had any casualties. We know that when we all come together again in whatever shape public education takes in the next few months, there will be gaps. Progress that had been made over the first two trimesters will be mitigated by a lack of practice and reminders. To be sure, there are kids who have used this opportunity to soar. Independent study and online learning suits them. These are the ones who have parents who are there to answer questions, or help them find an answer. These are not the ones we have been looking for.
They are also not the ones, for the most part, who have jackets laying on our cafeteria tables. The close of a school year is often looked upon as an ending, but after all these years I can't bring myself to think of it that way. Instead I see a tide going out. It will come back again soon enough, and when it does all that bare sand will be covered for a while. When it goes out again, there will be things washed on the shore by the waves: shells, driftwood, and probably a great many black sweatshirts.
When I was busied with the task of taking the boxes and bags full of outerwear and laying them out on our cafeteria tables, it did not occur to me that I should count them. I was careful to give each one enough space to be visible without a lot of pawing and additional sorting. I also tried to separate the myriad of black sweatshirts by putting a pink or red or blue something in between. I would be willing to make my guess at more than two hundred.
I am also willing to guess that we will still have a great many jackets, coats and sweatshirts left when all is said and done. We will also have a number of leftover report cards. Try as we might, we simply have not made contact with every family, every student. I will continue to laud our school's efforts in distance learning and the commitment our staff has to the community we serve, but I know that we aren't able to make the difference that we used to.
I also know that there will be a sea of anxious faces, young and old, asking what will happen in the fall. I wish that we had answers to all the questions they will have. One of our third grade teachers suggested that our job currently was like flying an airplane as we were still in the process of building that airplane. So far we have avoided impact. That doesn't mean we haven't had any casualties. We know that when we all come together again in whatever shape public education takes in the next few months, there will be gaps. Progress that had been made over the first two trimesters will be mitigated by a lack of practice and reminders. To be sure, there are kids who have used this opportunity to soar. Independent study and online learning suits them. These are the ones who have parents who are there to answer questions, or help them find an answer. These are not the ones we have been looking for.
They are also not the ones, for the most part, who have jackets laying on our cafeteria tables. The close of a school year is often looked upon as an ending, but after all these years I can't bring myself to think of it that way. Instead I see a tide going out. It will come back again soon enough, and when it does all that bare sand will be covered for a while. When it goes out again, there will be things washed on the shore by the waves: shells, driftwood, and probably a great many black sweatshirts.
Monday, May 25, 2020
Every Day
John Prine.
Adam Schleshinger.
Terrence McNally.
I could go on and on.
But at this moment I would rather not.
Today is Memorial Day, and the history of the holiday suggests that we should honor our war dead. Our "president" recently declared that we are all warriors. I'm not sure how his vision of conscientious objection figures in here, but I am not sure how I feel about going into battle without a vaccine. Or a mask.
As we creep ever closer to one hundred thousand Americans who have died in just a few months, I feel it is vital that we take more than a moment to reflect on lives lost. Not just the musicians and the playwrights. Not just the celebrities. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Brothers. Family and friends. Acquaintances and colleagues. And yes, we are currently talking about a tiny percentage of Americans who have succumbed to the virus we call by so many names. More American lives than we lost in two decades in Vietnam. When all is said and done, we will most likely double that total in less than six months. Vietnam was a shooting war, by the way. Combatants were armed.
We are not.
Sure, we have our defenses, but the powers that be seem to be anxious to see how we could do without them. Not many days pass without a thousand people dying here in the United States. Sometimes more. Funerals and memorial services are being held virtually as we continue to keep our distance from the disease and each other. Families are saying goodbye to their loved ones on Zoom. The "president" announced that he would lower flags at all federal buildings and national monuments to half staff over the next three days in the memory of Americans lost to corona-Covid-Sars-flu. Monday the flags will remain at half staff in tribute to the veterans who have lost their lives. No word yet about what to do about the folks who died from the virus in veterans hospitals. Maybe the flag just goes down all the way.
Meanwhile, good people across the globe are dying.
Remember them every day.
Adam Schleshinger.
Terrence McNally.
I could go on and on.
But at this moment I would rather not.
Today is Memorial Day, and the history of the holiday suggests that we should honor our war dead. Our "president" recently declared that we are all warriors. I'm not sure how his vision of conscientious objection figures in here, but I am not sure how I feel about going into battle without a vaccine. Or a mask.
As we creep ever closer to one hundred thousand Americans who have died in just a few months, I feel it is vital that we take more than a moment to reflect on lives lost. Not just the musicians and the playwrights. Not just the celebrities. Mothers. Fathers. Sisters. Brothers. Family and friends. Acquaintances and colleagues. And yes, we are currently talking about a tiny percentage of Americans who have succumbed to the virus we call by so many names. More American lives than we lost in two decades in Vietnam. When all is said and done, we will most likely double that total in less than six months. Vietnam was a shooting war, by the way. Combatants were armed.
We are not.
Sure, we have our defenses, but the powers that be seem to be anxious to see how we could do without them. Not many days pass without a thousand people dying here in the United States. Sometimes more. Funerals and memorial services are being held virtually as we continue to keep our distance from the disease and each other. Families are saying goodbye to their loved ones on Zoom. The "president" announced that he would lower flags at all federal buildings and national monuments to half staff over the next three days in the memory of Americans lost to corona-Covid-Sars-flu. Monday the flags will remain at half staff in tribute to the veterans who have lost their lives. No word yet about what to do about the folks who died from the virus in veterans hospitals. Maybe the flag just goes down all the way.
Meanwhile, good people across the globe are dying.
Remember them every day.
Sunday, May 24, 2020
A Three Month Tour
Imagine being trapped on an island with just six other people without contact from the outside world for days, weeks, months at a time. Just that dopey little radio that seemed to catch all the news that would bring excitement or adventure to the otherwise dreary life of pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts.
We don't really have to imagine anymore. While I have not resorted to setting logs on fire in my front yard to signal spacecraft passing overhead, I have begun to build huts in the back yard. Well, a "hut." It's actually just the tent we have infrequently used for camping, but it has served as a destination for my wife and I over the past several weeks. Like the "other side of the island" where Gilligan and his big buddy the Skipper would often encounter headhunters and escaped gorillas, all kinds of dangers await us in our back yard.
Not the least of those being other human beings. The standard issue family dinners on the patio have become adventures in social distancing. Suddenly we have five more castaways that need to stand, sit or move keeping a six foot radius around them as we relax and enjoy company from the outside world. It's an awkward dance, but necessary to our eventual survival. At some point, we will all have to go back to interacting with other humans aside from Zoom meetings and Netflix parties. I confess that I find it nearly incomprehensible now when I recall the throngs of people I have waded through in Disneyland. Or the lack of regimentation of the "lines" to get into Black Friday sales. Our lives are currently pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts.
And as for that radio, I can only say that the only news that seems to pour from the media holes we allow is pretty uniform: What day is it? How many have died? What's the weather like? Who cares? Which may be why eventually the Professor eventually began tearing apart that radio and using it to create more exotic electronics. With the right amount of bamboo and some pineapple and coconuts, he might almost certainly created a wi-fi receiver so that they could all sit around in the middle of the jungle and watch Tiger King.
This would happen right before an actual tiger leaped from the brush and mauled them all. We call this "synergy." Or "island fever."
Pass me the pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts.
We don't really have to imagine anymore. While I have not resorted to setting logs on fire in my front yard to signal spacecraft passing overhead, I have begun to build huts in the back yard. Well, a "hut." It's actually just the tent we have infrequently used for camping, but it has served as a destination for my wife and I over the past several weeks. Like the "other side of the island" where Gilligan and his big buddy the Skipper would often encounter headhunters and escaped gorillas, all kinds of dangers await us in our back yard.
Not the least of those being other human beings. The standard issue family dinners on the patio have become adventures in social distancing. Suddenly we have five more castaways that need to stand, sit or move keeping a six foot radius around them as we relax and enjoy company from the outside world. It's an awkward dance, but necessary to our eventual survival. At some point, we will all have to go back to interacting with other humans aside from Zoom meetings and Netflix parties. I confess that I find it nearly incomprehensible now when I recall the throngs of people I have waded through in Disneyland. Or the lack of regimentation of the "lines" to get into Black Friday sales. Our lives are currently pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts.
And as for that radio, I can only say that the only news that seems to pour from the media holes we allow is pretty uniform: What day is it? How many have died? What's the weather like? Who cares? Which may be why eventually the Professor eventually began tearing apart that radio and using it to create more exotic electronics. With the right amount of bamboo and some pineapple and coconuts, he might almost certainly created a wi-fi receiver so that they could all sit around in the middle of the jungle and watch Tiger King.
This would happen right before an actual tiger leaped from the brush and mauled them all. We call this "synergy." Or "island fever."
Pass me the pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts, pineapple and coconuts.
Saturday, May 23, 2020
I Advance Masked
I was about six blocks from work when I had to turn around.
I had left my mask on the dresser at home. The folks at legal have become a lot more vigilant as we have begun to trickle back to the school. Maintaining social distance. Wearing masks. Washing hands. I confess that I had become a lot more relaxed during those days when I might only get past our front gate to check the mail.
Or go for a run.
But I was wearing a mask then. Fogging up my glasses as I gave my lungs an extra test as I exercise the corner of freedom that I can maintain. Like the freedom to tie only my own shoes. Or to wipe only my own nose. The freedom I have had from breaking up fistfights has been extraordinarily welcome. I note that there are frequent and somewhat disturbingly regular fistfights occurring out there in the world about wearing a mask.
There are all sorts of studies done, none of which bother me more than the one from Gallup which suggests that men don't like wearing masks because "they're not cool," or they are "a sign of weakness." Real men don't wear masks to protect them from a deadly virus. To paraphrase author Willard Motley (not Crue), "Live fast die young and don't let anyone tell you wearing a mask will keep you safe."
It is extremely doubtful that the "president" has read Mister Motley, but it certainly seems like a motto onto which he might want to latch. Wandering around without a mask while touring a mask factory may be the most egregious example of his flaunting convention and advice from medical professionals. "Live and Let Die" indeed. Arguing with the Center for Disease Control and the World Health Organization seems to make so much more sense. The inherent arrogance in assuming that there is no virus to spread because what tiny germ would dare to glom onto this tough guy? Especially if they are self-medicating with experimental drugs and Clorox?
So if you see me, or someone who looks a little like me from the bridge of my nose up, please know that I am most certainly smiling and that I am just as eager as everyone else to be back to those things we know best: tying kids' shoes, blowing their noses, and breathing free.
I figure I'll need to be alive to do that, however.
I had left my mask on the dresser at home. The folks at legal have become a lot more vigilant as we have begun to trickle back to the school. Maintaining social distance. Wearing masks. Washing hands. I confess that I had become a lot more relaxed during those days when I might only get past our front gate to check the mail.
Or go for a run.
But I was wearing a mask then. Fogging up my glasses as I gave my lungs an extra test as I exercise the corner of freedom that I can maintain. Like the freedom to tie only my own shoes. Or to wipe only my own nose. The freedom I have had from breaking up fistfights has been extraordinarily welcome. I note that there are frequent and somewhat disturbingly regular fistfights occurring out there in the world about wearing a mask.
There are all sorts of studies done, none of which bother me more than the one from Gallup which suggests that men don't like wearing masks because "they're not cool," or they are "a sign of weakness." Real men don't wear masks to protect them from a deadly virus. To paraphrase author Willard Motley (not Crue), "Live fast die young and don't let anyone tell you wearing a mask will keep you safe."
It is extremely doubtful that the "president" has read Mister Motley, but it certainly seems like a motto onto which he might want to latch. Wandering around without a mask while touring a mask factory may be the most egregious example of his flaunting convention and advice from medical professionals. "Live and Let Die" indeed. Arguing with the Center for Disease Control and the World Health Organization seems to make so much more sense. The inherent arrogance in assuming that there is no virus to spread because what tiny germ would dare to glom onto this tough guy? Especially if they are self-medicating with experimental drugs and Clorox?
So if you see me, or someone who looks a little like me from the bridge of my nose up, please know that I am most certainly smiling and that I am just as eager as everyone else to be back to those things we know best: tying kids' shoes, blowing their noses, and breathing free.
I figure I'll need to be alive to do that, however.
Friday, May 22, 2020
Twit
I have a Twitter account.
A lot of you may have found your way to these words via a link posted on that account. This is the part of social media that I can relax and enjoy. My words become available to a larger audience because of the configuration of Al Gore's Internet. That's nice.
I also enjoy participating in the brief exchanges that occur on that outlet. Random thoughts or concerns that aren't big enough to fill up an entire blog are well-suited for Twitter. Jokes, mostly, because I tend toward the cynical or sarcastic. For the past few years I have made an avocation of dropping by the "president's" Twitter feed to poke fun at his bluster. Most of it stops just this side of derision, since I try to maintain a pretty clean stream. No profanity from this guy. Just a steady stream of heavy sighs and eye-rolling.
Because that is what he deserves. I maintain no delusions that he has every laid eyes on anything I write because that would suggest that he was capable of reading. How do I know this? Well, he recently retweeted someone else's thoughts about taking hydroxychloroquine. Somewhere in this odd cyber-exchange, the "president" must have assumed that what was run in front of him was support for his insistence that this medication would make him invulnerable to COVID-19. In spite of all the reports to the contrary, including the FDA. The issue seemed to be more a matter of shouting down critics at Fox News than anything science-related. The Hoarse Whisperer, a critic of the "president" who has very few of the constraints on his online presence that I do, posted this:
Fox News on hydroxychloroquine in the last two days:
Neil Cavuto: It’ll kill you!!!
Laura Ingraham: Take it! Take it! Take it!
Which one could read as a slam on Fox News. Sure. But it also suggests that Laura Ingraham is proposing that the "president" take a drug that will kill him. Now, if the "president" had previously shown anything remotely resembling a sense of humor, one might believe that he was being clever.
Not so much.
He was simply lost in a flurry of rage-tweeting that meant he didn't bother to check his sources. This Twitter moment was preceded just a few days prior by the CEO of Twitter, Jack Dorsey, donating ten million dollars to the Oakland Unified School District to help close the Digital Divide. I tweeted about that. Because it made me happy. No tweets about this donation are forthcoming from the "president." I'm not sure he gets it.
A lot of you may have found your way to these words via a link posted on that account. This is the part of social media that I can relax and enjoy. My words become available to a larger audience because of the configuration of Al Gore's Internet. That's nice.
I also enjoy participating in the brief exchanges that occur on that outlet. Random thoughts or concerns that aren't big enough to fill up an entire blog are well-suited for Twitter. Jokes, mostly, because I tend toward the cynical or sarcastic. For the past few years I have made an avocation of dropping by the "president's" Twitter feed to poke fun at his bluster. Most of it stops just this side of derision, since I try to maintain a pretty clean stream. No profanity from this guy. Just a steady stream of heavy sighs and eye-rolling.
Because that is what he deserves. I maintain no delusions that he has every laid eyes on anything I write because that would suggest that he was capable of reading. How do I know this? Well, he recently retweeted someone else's thoughts about taking hydroxychloroquine. Somewhere in this odd cyber-exchange, the "president" must have assumed that what was run in front of him was support for his insistence that this medication would make him invulnerable to COVID-19. In spite of all the reports to the contrary, including the FDA. The issue seemed to be more a matter of shouting down critics at Fox News than anything science-related. The Hoarse Whisperer, a critic of the "president" who has very few of the constraints on his online presence that I do, posted this:
Fox News on hydroxychloroquine in the last two days:
Neil Cavuto: It’ll kill you!!!
Laura Ingraham: Take it! Take it! Take it!
Which one could read as a slam on Fox News. Sure. But it also suggests that Laura Ingraham is proposing that the "president" take a drug that will kill him. Now, if the "president" had previously shown anything remotely resembling a sense of humor, one might believe that he was being clever.
Not so much.
He was simply lost in a flurry of rage-tweeting that meant he didn't bother to check his sources. This Twitter moment was preceded just a few days prior by the CEO of Twitter, Jack Dorsey, donating ten million dollars to the Oakland Unified School District to help close the Digital Divide. I tweeted about that. Because it made me happy. No tweets about this donation are forthcoming from the "president." I'm not sure he gets it.
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