With your incessant hand-washing, you’re cleaner. Your pets are stoked that you’re around all the time. You’re not squandering your money on useless junk, at least not at the frenzied pace you once did.
Anthony hopped out of the car and handed me the cooler bag. I peered inside and it glowed like the briefcase in “Pulp Fiction.”
We happy? Yeah, we happy.
There was even some levity on Nextdoor, which is sort of like finding out the old grouch who lives in the house on the corner is actually a funny guy once you get to know him.
It takes $2 million a month to operate the aquarium.
I even find some pleasure in doing housework, and I continually find myself singing Glen Campbell’s “Dreams of the Everyday Housewife” to myself as I scour pots and pans.
A bottle of wine and a roll of toilet paper just might be the signature gift of the Coronavirus Era.
Over the last week several readers were thoughtful enough to comment on the Quarantine Chronicles, and some sent in some tips and suggestions of varying degrees of difficulty.
There’s a whole orchestra of other lessons on YouTube, including how to play the cornet, but hopefully there will be a cure or vaccine for coronavirus before you master the horn. In fact, I’d recommend giving up now. You might want to instead spend a bit of time mastering the ukulele, an instrument that’s generally inexpensive and just a little more difficult to play than a kazoo.
All you really need to know right now is what’s happening in Long Beach. The farther afield you go in terms of national and international news, the deeper you’ll fall into depression and pretty soon you’ll start referring to COVID-19 as “the Chinese Flu.” This is not the time to go all moron on us.
Perhaps I could get in my car and go to the El Dorado Nature Center and enjoy a hike killing the day by getting some sun and air and working up some Thoreauian philosophy which would be excellent fodder for a nice, bucolic Quarantine Chronicle installment.