Every Day Above Ground (mallorys_camera) wrote,
Every Day Above Ground

That Twilight Zone Episode Starring Billy Mumy and the Killer Virus

I’m trying hard to recontexturalize this novel coronavirus isolation thang as a fabulous vacation during which I read, sleep and Photoshop 30 years worth of pix.

Why, I could even pretend I’m at an exclusive writers’ retreat and spend 14 hours a day working on my novel!

It’s hard, though, because my concentration span has shrunk to roughly the size of a gnat.

My purse got stolen on Thursday.

From the supermarket.

I’d stupidly left it in a shopping cart and toddled a few feet away to look at some tomatoes.

When I got back, it was gone!

In the pre-coronavirus days, this would have been a major event! I would have cursed! I would have screamed! I would have felt that sinking panic thing.

Now, it was barely worth rolling my eyes over.

I never carry cash. I drove home (sans toilet paper and bottled water!) While I was canceling the first three credit cards, the thieves charged $120 worth of Fandango tickets on the fourth. Fandango tickets! Thilly crooks! Are they living in a fucking cave or what? Movie theaters are closed!

Yesterday, I toddled out to the DMV to get my driver’s license replaced.

If ever there was a place guaranteed to infect you with a viral disease that turns your lungs to hunks of bloody Swiss cheese, that place is the DMV, but what else was I supposed to do? Gotta have picture ID.

I wore gardening gloves. They’re flexible enough to pick up pennies though not quite flexible enough to allow you to sign your name. Also, they don’t work on touch screens.

Gotta say I am entirely too sanguine in the face of the plague.

I don’t actually care if I get it.

I don’t want to be put on a ventilator, though.

Just shoot me up with some fentanyl, and let me die.


We’re living in a Twilight Zone episode. I can’t decide whether it’s the one where the Earth is drifting into the sun so everyone has to pretend they’re freezing to death or the one where the demonic eight-year-old (played by the sublime Billy Muny) keeps wishing everyone out into the corn.

Wednesday was the last normal day.

I met up with BB. We had terrific Jamaican food and then tromped around Kingston, which is a terribly gritty city with a colonial past: In 1777, it was burnt to the ground by British troops in the aftermath of the Revolutionary War’s Battle of Saratoga. There are still a fair number of 17th century buildings in the city built by the Dutch out of Ulster county limestone that didn’t burn:

Most of Kingston, though, is bombed out looking buildings, and shuttered storefronts, and repurposed insane asylums, and once grand-looking houses that look like time-traveling portals for serial killers out of a Lauren Beukes novel. Needless to say, I had great fun exploring!

I love that this empty storefront advertises the three basic food groups:

I love that when Kingston was trying to come up with a famous son, all they could produce was an obscure boxer. This statue stands at the intersection of four freeways in a hideous municipal park filled with dead grass and unidentifiable animal feces.

I also love that the statue’s head seems to float disembodied from its shoulders:

Kingston has a public murals program:

We made it to the Old Dutch Reform Church. We were curious to see whether Sojourner Truth is buried there. There is some dispute on the Internet:

We couldn’t find her.


Gotta say, I personally have many subversive thoughts about everything that’s going on right now, which have to do with the cost benefit analysis.

I am one of the people whose lives will possibly be saved by the extreme measures presently undertaken. I will be 68 years old in less than a month; I have an autoimmune disease (though I gotta say, since I started dosing myself with massive quantities of turmeric, every single one of my symptoms has cleared up. My chronic bronchitis? Gone!)

But one way or another, I’m gonna be dead within 20 years at the most.

Is it really worth disrupting the economic and social fabric to the extent that it’s been disrupted to give me a shot at those 20 years?

And what if it disrupts the political fabric? Like what if Trump decides to “postpone” the upcoming Presidential elections to keep us all “safe”?

Of course, I keep those subversive thoughts to myself, confiding them only to yew-w-w-w-w-w, Dear Diary.

Crossposted from Dreamwidth
Tags: covid-19, friends, hudson river valley
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