Corona My House

Ground zero?

In the words of the Wicked Witch of the West,
"Oh, what a world....what a world..."

Yeah, it's gone nuts out there alright. I should say it's already gone nuts and now it's just flat out insane. The pandemic they've been warning us about forever and a day is now upon us and what do we do? Hoard toilet paper. Yeah, we're fine. Lordy lordy, what is we gonna do?

I have two perspectives, not because I'm bi-polar or bi-coastal for that matter. I'm more BOGO as in Bi One Get One. I'm also spinning off the rails so bear with me as I attempt to put two thoughts together and come up with a blog.

On one hand, I have what is known as my day job, the one that pays most of the bills and that, my dear friends, is in the healthcare field. I am, as the main character in my book,
RED ASPHALT, a laboratory courier. That means I pick up and deliver, among other things, blood, urine and other bodily fluids for my employer's clinical lab. Naturally, we have been testing for Covid-19 at the hospitals and clinics in our network. Hooray. I'm on the front lines. Of course, we've been bombarded by tons of information regarding this outbreak and guess what? We still don't know what the hell we're doing, making it up as we go along. On Friday, I couldn't get that goddamn HBO mini-series CHERNOBYL out of my head. I began to feel like one of the first responders to that clusterfuck. "Boris, go down to the core and clean up. Take this mop. Hold your breath. You will be fine." The stress has just begun and my own melt-down is imminent.

My other job, actually my vocation, is an independent writer, a fashionable term for someone w/o representation. Among my works are pieces for the theater, though that's a catch-all phrase as well. I write melodramas and interactive murder mysteries which have been fairly lucrative for yours truly in the past decade. This year alone, the first six months in fact, I had four productions scheduled, one having wrapped up just last month in Texas. However, everything is on hold as of this moment in time that changes by the hour. Actors Studio Inc. has a scheduled benefit performance of MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER on March 21, the first in my adopted state of Oregon which was to be followed up by another the following Saturday. As of today, show #2 is cancelled. Another of the same show in the Los Angeles area is on hold while a production of SONG OF THE CANYON KID in Texas this May is up in the air, shall we say? Meanwhile, acting as another playwright's agent, I was able wrangle a production of Michael K. Young's CASE OF THE MYSTERIOUS CRAVAT, a major coup, I felt. However, at this writing, a show set for two weeks hence is suddenly a big question mark. When it suddenly dawns on you that the survival of this particular art form is predicated on putting butts in seats, it's time to rethink your options. And in terms of survival itself, it's a lose-lose proposition. Social distancing. That's not entertainment.

(UPDATE: Actors Theater Inc. cancelled their March 21 show on 3/16. The next day, the Rogue Theater pulled the plug on THE CASE OF THE MYSTERIOUS CRAVAT and, alas and alack, SONG OF THE CANYON KID is a no-go in Texas this year)

My problems, especially of the latter, are comparatively minor and I acknowledge that. People are sick and dying, businesses and facilities are closing left and right and the world is on lockdown. On the other hand, which I continually wash for twenty seconds at a time, the former, meaning that dreaded day job, is disconcerting because it also boils down to the same thing, spouted by that wise sage Donald Rumsfeld, former Secretary of Defense of the good ol' US of A:

"There are known knowns; there are things that we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know."

What a soothsayer. That was 18 years ago. Match that up with anything that's been spouted in the last couple of weeks and you've got yourself The New Reality.

Tomorrow I head back into the void. It's another day and the sun will come out. Everything else is anybody's guess. Hopefully, the answer won't be blowing in the wind. I can only hold my breath for so long.

Take care, people. We'll meet again. Don't know where. Don't know when.