It’s Time To Take Off Your Mask

“No one knew how to hold their mouths anymore.”

-MD on Twitter, June 2021

Not Even A Double Entendre

I know my personal branding is still going strong every time a man I have had sex with sends me photos of cats during this pandemic. It works out well because I cannot come within 6 feet of men right now, cats generally never come within 6 feet of me, and I am slightly allergic to both. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.

Election Night

I am finding my breasts particularly comforting right now and in times like this. Firm soft body, on the earth, just trying to live my life.

On Face Mask Recognition

In The Before Times, one of the benefits of living in a city was the chance encounter with a friend on the street*.

A joyful reunion sparked by recognition of a familiar face or distinct article of clothing. Alas we now (rightfully) fasten masks to our faces before walking out the door of our home havens and inadvertently obscure ourselves from our community. Add in a pair of sunglasses and you’re basically a void human bag of flesh, incapable of being recognized even on a familiar sidewalk. Now, the idea of “running into you” seems increasingly unlikely, and quite frankly, increasingly bad for one’s health. “Running away from you” is the more appropriate adage of 2020. And so I willingly embodied this Covid Costume, a masked and sunglassed anonymous existence for many days; as I strolled the streets of my neighborhood peering hopefully from my cotton mouthed face.

Until last week, a funny thing happened. A friend recognized me from across the street. And it wasn’t just any street mind you, it was a street many miles from the city we both call home. A doubly odd situation! To hear my name called by a stranger was a strangely familar delight to behold! Finally! I thought , some sees me. And then yesterday, it happened again, while picking up Ethiopian takeout. A dear co-worker I hadn’t seen in years spotted me while clutching his adorable doughy cheeked 9 month old son. I began to wonder... are my sunglasses that unique? Are my features just that fetching? Nah, it’s just my voice.

As a young child, I had a lot to say and you were going to hear about it. This will, paired with an unusual ease of rejection meant that commanding an audience came easily. In elementary school I was repeatedly sent to the hearing test van, my parents and teachers convinced that the extreme volume coming out of this tiny human must be linked to an inability to hear myself. They were wrong. In second grade I was scolded, for the 100th time, for gossiping in the back of the classroom and disrupting the lesson. When I complained about why others didn’t get called out in the same way Mrs. Phelps calmly replied words I would never forgot: “Because your voice carries dear”. It started making sense.. my voice wasn’t like the other demur girls in school who cooed quietly over puppies and horsies at recess. As an extreme extrovert with a strong voice I excelled on the stage acting, or leading our 5th grade drill team, or yelling plays on the basketball court. Hmmmm I realized...being loud and recognized is kind of my thing.

By high school, more rules were followed but I still had a comedically up tight english teacher. She was said to have yelled out my name to be quiet when another student was caught speaking. The ironic part was that I wasn’t in that class. Her psyche had been so trampled by my tenor that all loud and obnoxious 16 year olds took on the eyre she felt for me. In college friends found me while in adjacent dorm buildings, not even liberal arts architecture could contain these vocal cords!

When, I wondered, would this naturally loud and distinct voice really get to shine? When would all those shushing teachers and bewildered friends be shown up by this queen of a voice? I imagined great natural disasters where I would rush into an earthquake ravaged building calling out for survivors... Or a wicked hurricane where my voice would carry on the rain soaked wind and inspire others to hang on through the storm.

In the end, it turns out the mask chic fashion of Covid has proven to be my distinct voice’s most useful test, which isn’t flashy or heroic but is damn well useful.


*A downside to this was the high chance of running into an ex partner, alas a common fate for those of us attracted to geographic proximity.

Self Care X White Fragility

It had been a busy weekend filled with illegal fireworks disrupting bedtime, a cautious outdoor family gathering, and a lot of full moon feels. As the work week loomed ahead it seemed like the perfect time to #treatyoself to a #selfcaresunday. While my kitchen and laundry hamper had gotten most of the attention, I realized my body could use some relief before bed. On my coffee table, lay the latest bundle of flashy new skincare products that Instagram had bullied me into purchasing. I grabbed an Australian face mask bottle and headed into the bathroom.

After washing my face I took the gold and black shiny container in my hand, squeezing the bottle’s contents into my palm for application. Immediately I regretted this decision. The face mask was indeed “pore refining” but used an odd ingredient to get me there - active charcoal. As I glooped the black gel haphazardly onto the face pores that needed refining, I began to fail significantly at the instructions to not “touch lips, eyebrows, or hairline”. But soon I realized that charcoal in my blonde hairline was the least of my problems since I had just unintentionally signed myself up for basically a black face spa treatment. I was horrified by the sight of my skin plastered with a black charcoal mask but also found it silly enough to send my boyfriend a picture as proof. Upon doing so I realized that I had created a millennial meme of my idiocy and now the internet had a damning picture that not even the screenshots of my “White Fragility” audiobook could save me from. I felt like an idiot, but also like I deserved this shame in some way.

Within minutes the mask began to harden and I tried to make the best of it by multi-tasking chores around the house - cleaning dishes and tidying up the living room. As I tried to distract my myself with productivity my skin itched terribly and even the simple act of opening my mouth to sip water stretched it with pain. After 15 minutes I was directed to “peel off the black face, in an upward motion”. But those instructions, like statements that “I don’t see skin color”, turned out to be incredibly naive. To get the mask to peel off I had to scrunch up my face repeatedly and wince in pain as I picked at any piece of charcoal mask that came loose in the process. Small and large pieces broke off in a jumble of directions. As I grasped and tugged it felt like ripping off hundreds of small band aids from my freshly raw cheek. After removing two thirds of the bullshit face mask I conceded to washing off the rest - splashing charcoal sink water all over my bathroom in the process. Despite my distaste for waste, I threw that bottle in the trash with a vengeance. My skin and my psyche were over it.

After the ordeal I was exhausted and left the grey streaks on the faucet and walls for a few days. Their presence felt like a necessary reminder of the foolish pain I can cause myself and others when unfettered white capitalism and patriarchy collide.

The Paranoia

 I am in a fog. I asked to change teams at work. It’s a new job. I didn’t know it would be a mistake. My boss’s boss yelled at me for asking. I got my boss in trouble and he won’t speak to me today. I’m afraid someone (probably me) is going to get fired.

This may all be in my head. But he did yell at me.

I feel achy and exhausted and like I can’t sleep but I want to sleep so badly. Maybe I have coronavirus.

State Of Our Affairs

McConnell: our relief bill includes mandatory indentured servitude for all poor, and $900b for troops and police riot gear. Fuck you. I’ll eat your kids burn your fields and salt the earth

Democrats (who control the house btw): pretty please we can has some money for UI? I know we said $600 but we’re willing to settle for less. Please please please let us settle for less

Time

In this difficult time,

In this unprecedented time,

In this tumultuous time,

In this uncertain time,

In this time.

Mad Libs

TEMPLATE: IMPORTANT EMAILS FROM BRANDS ABOUT CORONAVIRUS

Subject: An important COVID-19 message from our [c-suite job title]

Dear [First name of a friend],

I'm reaching out to you on behalf of [Name of Company] to connect with you about the ongoing [Favorite brand of beer]-virus pandemic that has been sweeping [country] faster than a [noun] looking for [plural noun].

As you know, this [negative adjective] virus isn't going anywhere fast. That's why we at [Same company] are taking extra precautionary measures to [positive verb] and [negative verb].Now and always, our commitment to the health and safety of your [body part] and [another body part] remains of paramount importance. That's why we are monitoring this evolving [scary animal] of a situation to provide you with industry-leading actions and protocols.

We have taken these additional precautions to [verb] your [increment of time]:

1) Introduced three extra [plural noun] per day at every [type of vehicle];

2) Elevated frequency of [gerund phrase] throughout the week;

3) Mandated hand-washing for all [plural animal] and robots.

Thank you for your patience in these [negative adjective] times, and we appreciate your [positive adjective] business. Don't forget to [verb] your [body part] and wash your hands!

Best,

[Another first name]

[C-suite job title], [Same company]

Ratty

A rat ate through the crotch of 7 of my thongs. That's how desirable I am.

I knew something was up when I saw a jaggy oval bite in an avocado I had left on the sill to ripen. Then an apricot that I was saving for a crisp had the same size bite. I've never had vermin in my apartment since I moved in six years ago. I called the pest abatement and we caught the rat the day we set the traps. A little peanut butter is all it took. It died right next to the trash.

When I went to do laundry, I noticed he (of course the rat was male) shit in the laundry basket - his droppings were plentiful, and after I washed my clothes, I noticed that 7 of my thongs and 2 of my pajama pants were eaten in the same place- the crotch. This is the most sex I've had or will have all year.

Too Fast or Too Slow

There's a song out there, My Silver Lining by First Aid Kit, and part of it goes:

"I don't know if I'm scared of dying but I'm scared of living too fast, too slow /
Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I've got to go"

This sums up my feelings on our lockdown time but maybe also my entire life. I’m always trying to slow things down. It's the first time in my life I feel like I have enough time in my day to do the things I want or need, but simultaneously every day is slipping away faster than I know how to harness it. Am I living enough in the limited time any human has? Am I wasting all my time away? Even now, as the lockdown fades away and we grow courageous stepping foot outdoors into the world and seeing people, will I have learned how to use my remaining days wisely? I'm not on my deathbed - that I know of - but I don't know. We are living too fast AND too slow, somehow both.

The Arc

We had just moved into temporary living quarters when the Covid-19 boom was lowered. It was a scary and uncertain time for everyone. I felt particularly sorry for all the young Moms in our apartment complex who now had to cope with a small human 24/7 with no grandparents, nannies, preschool, etc. to provide much needed relief.

One rainy day our apartment doorbell rang. When I answered it, a young woman with babe in arms leaped away from the door. This seemed odd until I realized she was social distancing the requisite 6'. The new normal...wasn't yet for me. (No masks yet though...those came later).

I assumed SHE needed assistance of some kind. Nope. She was there to offer US her help! She said she guessed we were her parents age and just wanted us to know that if WE needed anything they were two floors up. If we needed groceries she would be glad to get them for us. I laughed and thanked her and told her she deserved more help than anyone!

It was so touching that this woman whose hands were literally and figuratively full was concerned for us. After that we became regular chatters and wavers. We saw the baby become a toddler over the next few months. The toddler loved to see us but quickly gave up trying to come to us...I itched to hold her, but we felt it was a risk not worth taking. Strange world for children and dogs when all humans shy away from them.

We moved back to our unfinished remodel, but we left with those lovely people our bird wreath with which the baby was utterly enamored and a promissory note for a cocktail and swim when...well, no one knows when...

Live. Laugh. Love.

Anonymoose

Live. Laugh. Love. Eat. Sit. Procrastinate. Complain. Lay down. Sleep. Repeat indefinitely. Die.

Amid The Pandemic, The Logistics of Grief Change But The Emotional Mechanisms Remain The Same

By Gabriel Cortes

Reprinted from APM Research Lab with permission.

My family buried my grandmother last month on the day that coronavirus deaths in the United States crossed the 100,000 threshold. Her funeral was a small Catholic mass; only her four living children (including my mother) and their spouses attended. They sat in separate pews. The priest who led the service wore a face mask.

I watched the whole thing—the open-casket viewing and the service—on a webcast from the comfort of my apartment in St. Paul, Minn. 1,800 miles away.

I’m a native Californian, and I moved to Minnesota last August to join American Public Media as the Research Lab’s data journalist. I’m geographically far away from my family right now, but my parents and I talk on the phone almost every night, and, because of that, I was very aware that my grandmother’s health was declining. My mom kept me updated on my grandmother’s condition throughout the spring, and, as her health became more frail, I began contemplating what I would do when the time came.

Before the pandemic, I thought that videoing a funeral was not only macabre and distasteful, but downright vulgar. But when my grandmother died, and my mom told me the incredibly difficult decisions she was having to make about planning this very small service—I felt a responsibility to set my misgivings aside and watch the live stream.

It’s a decision hundreds of thousands of people in the U.S. have been making since state and local governments began imposing safer-at-home orders earlier this year.

California was at the vanguard of that movement: San Francisco Mayor London Breed declared a state of emergency for the Bay Area in late February—the first city leader in the U.S. to do so—and issued stay-at-home orders shortly thereafter. Los Angeles and the rest of the state quickly followed suit.

The restrictions came down hard and fast: All nonessential businesses were shuttered, and social gatherings—including funerals—were limited to 10 people. Some places, like Los Angeles County, limited funeral services even further, stipulating that the 10 people in attendance had to “live together at the same physical address.”

Keisha Licea coordinates funeral services at Thomas Miller Mortuary in Corona, Calif., and helped plan my grandmother’s funeral. She said that attendance was originally capped at 250 mourners, which seemed manageable.

“They went down to 10, and it was just crazy,” Licea said. “You could only have 10 people in the room at one time and you had to clean in between.”

That cleaning and disinfecting protocol was labor intensive and impractical, so she and the other mortuary staff got creative. The rules only applied to individuals coming into the mortuary facility, so the staff installed a loudspeaker in the parking lot to accommodate drive-thru services. In one instance, they set up an urn with flowers and pictures of the deceased so that mourners could express their condolences from their cars, Licea said.

“Families would drive through; friends would drive through,” she said. “They would say a few words, and things like that; you know, wave, give flowers and drive on. So they weren’t coming into our facility.”

The drive-thru service is a novel solution to social distancing restrictions, but the biggest change to funeral services has been the wide-spread adoption of the webcast.

“When we announced that we were going to do the live streaming, people thought it was very cold,” Licea said, “They just thought that, ‘You know what, that's just not the way to go.’”

But the longer the restrictions from the pandemic have gone on—from weeks to months—Licea has seen the initial objections to broadcasting funerals turn to acceptance. The tide has changed.

“We’ve gotten lots of comments from family saying that they do appreciate that we were able to allow, you know, 50 to 60 other relatives to see their loved one,” she said.

At one funeral, more than 250 people watched the webcast from across the country. The company that hosts Thomas Miller’s live streams called to alert them that the service had been a new record for the mortuary’s viewership, Licea said.

The adoption—and acceptance—of virtual funerals is happening across the country. Robinson Funeral Homes in Easley, South Carolina operates three chapels and one cemetery. They’ve hosted several online services with hundreds of viewers, director Chris Robinson said. At one virtual funeral, the online audience almost reached 700.

The guidelines for funerals in South Carolina were not strict as they were in California; Robinson said he and his staff followed guidance from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention that capped attendance at 50 people. Even so, they quickly upgraded the cameras that they had in their chapels to high-definition when restrictions went into effect.

“Occasionally, we would have a request,” Robinson said about web-streaming funerals before the pandemic. “The demand was nothing like it is now.”

For many families mourning their dead during the pandemic, they had no choice but to accept the virtual funeral: They could either watch the service on the web or not attend at all. But that stark reality didn’t make it any less uncomfortable, including for my family.

We’re Mexican Catholics; we’re used to very large funerals. My grandmother had countless relations—grandchildren, siblings, nieces and nephews, and so many other extended family—who, were it not for social distancing orders, would have been present to mourn her.

My Great-Uncle Juan Serrato (my grandmother’s younger brother) was one of them. And like me, Uncle Johnny watched my grandmother’s service on a screen.

“It was very sad,” Uncle Johnny told me in Spanish. “I was sad that I couldn’t be there with my sister.”

But Johnny and his family innovated. His son set up a television on his back patio and invited Johnny’s other children and their families to come over and watch the service together.

“In the end, it was like I was there,” Johnny said. “I saw her. I saw everyone. And it was better than not being there at all.”

Johnny’s matter-of-fact acceptance of the webcast surprised me, but Keisha Licea of Thomas Miller Mortuary and Chris Robinson of Robinson Funeral homes both agreed that this trend will continue even as social distancing restrictions are lifted.

“People will still be afraid to come out,” Licea said. “Maybe they have underlying causes or other things like that, that will keep them from wanting to be in large crowds.”

The lifting of restrictions may soon be a moot point, however. Of the more than 1.3 million people who have died in the U.S. this year, nearly 10% have died from COVID-19, according to CDC. As death counts continue to rise, some states, like Oregon, have halted their phased reopenings.

For my part, watching my grandmother’s funeral alone in my apartment was one of the most surreal experiences of my life: It was heartbreaking, but, it was also humbling and, ultimately, spiritually edifying. I have never felt so far away from my family and so close to them at the same time. And despite my initial unease, I am so very grateful that I could (kind of) be there.

I still think it’s a weird concept, but, like Uncle Johnny said, it’s better than not being there at all.

Esperanza Serrato—my grandmother—was born in 1929 in a small, rural town in Michoacan, Mexico. When she was still a girl, her family moved north to the desert state of Sonora, and while coming of age there, she formally studied pattern-making and sewing.

She became an incredibly talented seamstress, and she maintained her sewing skills all her life. Sitting at her non-electric, pedal-powered Singer, my grandmother was as comfortable altering simple hems (she was still hemming my pants when she was well into her 80s) as she was designing and executing detailed wedding gowns (which she did for two of her daughters).

She married my grandfather in 1952 and immigrated to the U.S. in 1960. They raised six children, four of whom survive her. She is also survived by 10 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren.

My grandmother was stoic, hard working, prudent, and, above all else, generous—four of the most cherished qualities for a Mexican woman of her generation. She died of natural causes a month shy of her 91st birthday.

Let’s Check The Data

Since lockdown began, 99% of married couples in the world have considered divorce.
87% of people with wall-to-wall carpeting have wanted to get rid of it.
100% of people have experienced an irritation so intense they had to wait hours for it to pass, hours during which they felt sweaty and sore-throated.
76% of people have let multiple bananas go bad.
67% of people have given up on a goal.
81% of people have been sad drunk.
66% of people have sent a stupid text message either because they were sad drunk, Netflix drunk, bored drunk, not drunk enough but wished they were drunk enough to have it take over control of their texting fingers, or just because.
100% of people have repressed their fears of The Worst happening (shh… don’t tell us what it is)
60% of people have hated how they looked on a zoom call.
49% of people have felt their knees mash uncomfortably into their floor for child’s pose.
90% of women have foregone bras, makeup, skin care routines, tight jeans, blouses, dresses, skirts shoes, shaving, sex, and exercise.
34% of people have realized something about themselves that they’d rather not have.
22% have gotten to know their neighbors better, and enjoyed it.
34% have gotten to know their neighbors better, and found the constant small talk oppressive.
9% of people have felt a sense of accomplishment, felt rewarded, inspired, felt more than a sliver of hope at any one time, truly appreciated the moon, felt empowered and accomplished in their romantic relationships, felt an easy, flowing happiness that soothed like a running river.

What To Do With Bare Skin?

I thought we’d be having a lot more sex than we’re having.

I imagine that single people would be annoyed at me for this— for the sex I’m not having or for my own annoyance about it— or else feel pitying, or disgusted. I’m a little disgusted at myself too: for not trying harder at something so easy. For worrying about it. The sex we have when we can be bothered is wonderful and hot. I’m mostly disgusted because I worry that my daily disinterest in the wonderful, hot sex means something secretly ugly about me or about us or about the trajectory the whole rest of my life is going to take.

I have a lot of sex dreams about old friends right now.

But I still have all the luxury of smooth, naked skin. I sink into the radiant hot-shower enveloping heat of being held and I still revel in it like it’s something filthy and forbidden and I still can’t believe my luck. It’s just that right now, when we’re tangled up in each other, I don’t want to fuck. I want to stay still.

On Extroversion

Some of us live an attentive childhood that affords us the belief that we are indeed “special” - a descriptor of individuality (and often positively so) that is usually squashed by early adulthood. Examples of this learning not taking root often result in the creation of psychopaths or presidents of the United States. Eventually, a crushingly honest exchange during teenagehood, it becomes evident that special-ness is in the eye of the beholder. And that truly your intelligence, attractiveness, ability to bake cornbread, or parallel park on a hill are quite ordinary in comparison to the greater population. That bell curve of life is one of the sad truths of adulthood that is both easing in the pedestal it knocks us off of while revealing the value of internal motivation as a more useful compass for life.

In the before times, I had accepted my slot on that bell curve of life with mathematical certainty. That there just wasn’t going to be that many things - if anything - that I was special at. I wasn’t at the far end of any spectrum and that was fine.

Then we all locked down and I went insane. My longing for people, for unique social interactions, for travel outside my neighborhood, to hug someone who wasn’t my boyfriend, consumed me with unbearable loneliness. It peaked on... about day 5. And kept going, day after day after day after day after day after day ….

Until finally, about 4 weeks in people started to come around, saying they “missed people”, “could use some social interactions”, and I screamed aloud with insane glee and validation. As I gloated, alone to no one in my apartment, fist-pumping the air with silent gasps, I reflected on the fact that perhaps I was “special”, perhaps this grand fucked experiment showed me something new. Finally, they had caught up to me, an extreme extrovert slowly dying the quiet, feeble, depressing death of limited social interaction. Someone who had the busiest of zoom schedules, meditation and exercise regimens, and still creepily stopped in the park walking home to gaze at babies and dogs for brief solace. Someone who had, desperate one dark night, searched online (ugh) for advice on how to survive, only to find articles celebrating introverts “living their best life” during the quarantine. It felt like they were saying - Hey you, yeah you, having a hard time? Are you really struggling to stay sane? Sure, let me dig that knife in deeper by sharing a parade of details about how some people are fucking thriving.

By week 7 the societal fog finally began to lift and I saw my first close friend - masked, 6 feet away, but he was real and not on a screen. We played out a run and jump hug but stopped short of reaching each other. The ridiculousness of this interaction had us barreled over in laughter and I teared up at the honest joy of it all. I couldn’t imagine when I would be able to really hug him again, but today we had this. It was a step, a step I had craved for many weeks and a step towards a community that wasn’t solely on a screen. And for that I was grateful, I rode the high from that non-hug for days.

The New FOMO

By Anonymous

I saw an old friend post online that she is so depressed and worried for the world that she hasn't eaten in three days. Instead of feeling sad for her, although I did feel worry, I also felt jealous. I wish I had the kind of stress, anxiety, and depression that would make me skinny and not give me the covid nineteen. Sigh.

Apocalypse Now?

Things have really escalated in that the end of the world may actually be nigh. I joke, but am I serious too?

I Guess I’m Happy Now

I feel worst for people working from home with toddlers, second worst for single people completely alone in this time, and not really at all bad for myself with this somewhat luxurious set up and ample alone time. I enjoy being with myself.

What do I do with this news about myself? I cannot… act happy?