Friday, August 21, 2020

Pandemic Diaries, May 1, 2020


Pandemic Diaries, May 1, 2020


As you can see, I’m off probation. Antoine and I split the cost of the furniture, and everything’s back to normal. Every night I’ve had to I’ve had to tell Tommy how bad I was, and then we pick a punishment. I wonder what will happen if I’m bad again? Oh, wow, all of these Instant Messages.


Yeah, TMI. What’s this TMFI? Oh, yeah, I get it now.


So, here’s another instant message. This comes from Jock Ranger. Let me put it up on the screen.

Text Box: JOCK RANGER: I love you, man, you’re so hot. I’m gonna write a love song about you.





I think I can answer that directly

Text Box: JOCK RANGER: I love you, man, you’re so hot. I’m gonna write a love song about you.
LOGAN MATTHEWS: How about you call it “Restraining Order.”






Pre-law did a lot for my vocabulary. Speaking of law, there are protests going on in Chicago against the Governor’s lock down orders. They are pretty clearly unconstitutional, and Antoine’s written an excellent article on their disparate impact on people of color. Seems people of color are more likely to belong to a religious congregation than whites, and restrictions on activities at churches and mosques are hitting them harder. They’re also less likely to have jobs they can do over the internet. And they rely on more small businesses than whites for groceries, pharmacies, medical care and so forth, and all those businesses are closed.


Governor Einstein issued a new order allowing people to buy plants and to golf. Also, pet groomers can open. The barbershop we use went bankrupt last week, but Tommy and I will take each other in to the pet groomers for haircuts. We’re mammals, after all.


Got another Instant Message. I’m gonna put it up on the screen after a couple of edits.

Text Box: HoundDog69: You need some naked people in the picture. Show some d**k.
LOGAN MATTHEWS: Give me a minute.






I gotta make a quick phone call. Yeah, hi, I was just trying to call you. HEY TOMMY, GO TO THE DOOR. So, Deena called you. Good for her. Hi.


Everybody, I’d like you to meet my good friend Richard. He’s the Dick this guy is gonna see. In fact, I expect you two to become well-acquainted. Dick is a competitive boxer and the team’s deputy chief of security. He’s also a retired FBI Agent.


“Look HoundDog, I’m headed for Halstead and Belmont and will be knocking on your door in about twenty minutes. Stay there, because the local precinct is looking for you, too. We take this stuff seriously. The Minotaurs are a family-friendly organization, all kinds of families. We respect all people, and expect you to do the same.” I thought he was done.


“Yes, I’m the light heavyweight division with a lifetime record of 31-4. I’m straight, and married to a woman who’s an MMA fighter. You have nothing to fear from me. I can’t speak for my wife.”


Thanks, Richard. We’re gonna have to redo the Instant Messaging instructions.


I understand enough science to know that this pandemic is serious, it’s very contagious, but not very harmful to young kids. It’s mostly old people, like Aunt Kamesha. Rick, Uncle Paul’s college roommate, is a surgeon and is working with a bunch of other doctors to try and put out some plain language stuff to explain this thing to common people. He won’t let me or Paul near any of it, doesn’t want it polluted with lawyer language. That probably makes sense.


Well, it’s been a good broadcast. I’ll try to remember to get to some of the e-mails next time. Until then, stay safe, vaya con Dios.



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