Pandemic Diary, June 19, 2020
Logan here for this week’s edition. Happy Juneteenth. This is the anniversary of the day Federal troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, and told the last people held in slavery that the war was over, and they were free. Tommy and I used to go with Antoine and Aunt Kamisha on Juneteenth to an enormous celebration at the big AME church in Gulfside City every year. We went last year, but this year Governor Einstein won’t allow churches to hold large gatherings for any reason. Black Lives Matter, on the other hand, is free to call for a thousand people to gather to celebrate Juneteenth. I’m not sure quite what the difference is.
Anyway, Orlando is looming. The League is giving all employees today off, with pay, so they can go to Juneteenth celebrations. Of course, if you’re in Illinois, you can’t go to a neighborhood- or church-sponsored celebration, you have to go to a BLM-sponsored celebration. The team gave me and Tommy the day off, but it won’t make much difference to us. We were both in the free clinic before six a.m. setting up exam rooms, stocking supplies, making coffee, setting up a breakfast bar for kids. Some of them have parents who can’t work because of lockdowns, and food is scarce. Ralph and Becca monitor the room to make sure they kids don’t put back half-eaten items, and replace stuff as needed. Even with two of them, it’s a tough job. Getting between really hungry kids and their food is a dangerous job.
Earlier today, after we were done with patients, we went up to Antoine’s and Maya’s to help with the meal. We prepared a large ham, a medium turkey, and a vegetarian meal. Tommy chopped stuff for recipes, because we didn’t want guests developing food poisoning from his cooking. He washed dishes and pots and stuff as we went, set the table, and still had time to travel to another floor to work with Deena when one of the players fell in the shower. He tried to convince Deena that it was during shower sex, but his wife set them straight. “Dumb shit was dancing to something by ABBA and lost his footing.”
Wait a minute, I’m getting a text. It’s from Deena. Oh, sorry, I wasn’t supposed to tell you the story about Charleston dancing to ABBA. Shit, now I’ve identified the guy, too. Anyway, Tommy and I have talked about having kids. We want to wait a couple of years yet. We’re young, don’t want to rush into something. And, we’re narrowing down what we want to look for in a kid. The older ones are least likely to get adopted, so we know we’ll be looking at older kids. Boy or girl, I don’t think it matters. However much people talk about being tolerant, it doesn’t do away with a couple hundred years of bias. We know that kids with two fathers or two mothers get bullied more often than average, and don’t want to be part of making more victims.
I’ve got some e-mails here. From Janelle in Michigan, she wants to know Boxers or Briefs? Honestly, none of your fucking business, Janelle. We’ll probably do some broadcasts in our underwear eventually just to mix things up, depending on how long the lockdowns last. I’ve been watching two numbers that are far apart, but moving in opposite directions. One is COVID19 deaths in Chicago, which has a seven-day moving average that appears to be declining slightly. The other is gun deaths in Chicago, which has a seven-day moving average that appears to be rising dramatically. I plotted the two lines out into the future, and they cross around December 1. At that point, if you live in Chicago, you’ll be more likely to die from uncontrolled gunfire than from the virus. That’s some scary shit.
Another e-mail, from Ethan in Minnesota. You guys are hot Why, thank you Do you ever, you know, have threesomes? Why, no thank you. The rest of the e-mail is even more inappropriate. Ethan, we’re married. If you don’t know what that means and its implications for threesomes, you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. Gay people have a reputation for promiscuity, but inside marriage we’re more faithful than straight married couples. Please don’t write back.
And our final e-mail, from Bobby Lee in Florida. When you guys come to Orlando, could I meet you and Antoine and Tree and Ralph? I saw your team win the state championship when you were in your senior year of high school, and I can’t believe you’re all back together. I start high school this fall and want to play basketball, too.. Sure, Bobby Lee. You’ve got your phone number on here, and we’ll call you before we leave Chicago. How we meet will depend on the League and Team rules, and what Florida has to say about things, but we’ll find a way to make it happen.
That’s it for today. Happy Juneteenth, everybody. I’ve got to go make dinner.