REFLECTIONS WHILE IN SELF-QUARANTINE #29
“. . . baby, let me flatten your curve for you . . . “
If the struggle to survive the virus is a war, where are the songs? If ever there is need for a “let’s all pitch in and win this” anthem, everyone in solo quarantine is facing it — but no closer than 6-feet, please.
Why hasn’t a 3-note repetitive hook blown up social media where 15-year-old sensations self-publish?
While we wait for that, the old songs from back in the day when wars were (gosh darn it, be honest) good wholesome fun for the family, will have to do as substitute. But the result may be kind of like a box of Whole Foods dry red kidney beans at $3.46 per lb, versus a heat sealed plastic package of “out of stock” Goya’s at $1.59.
The only difference between them is in the packaging.
Songs from one war mean different things in another. For example, “Over There” now literally means “Stand over there.” I got a lesson in that a few hours ago.
The mail carrier (bless her courage and dedication) who serves this apartment building is pretty dependable. Most days, she’s finished sorting into the mailboxes no later than 3pm and moved on to the next building. As a result, “going for the mail” is a common goal between 4 and 5pm.
I wanted to take the elevator from my fourth floor apartment to the lobby. Every time it came, there was someone on it, and of course, it’s too small.
There’s no there over there.
Those of you who got that obscure, paraphrased, literary allusion, please contact me privately. I want to have your babies — or let you have mine — at this point either way is fine.
So, I had to let four “fully occupied” elevators ding open and then leave with their sole occupant on the way down. Eventually, I caught an empty one.
Once I opened my mailbox and discovered my stimulus check was not delivered, I stood in a socially concatenated line to go back up again, alone.
I went to my window. Most afternoons at this hour, the boulevard below is bumper to bumper in both directions with suburban commuters eager to get to their 30x15 front lawns. No longer.
Right now, all lanes are empty in both directions. The flashing red and green traffic lights are reflected poetically off pavement still wet from earlier rain. It looks like something that would run behind the credits of a David Lynch movie.
I have found the song that will help us get through this.
04/15/2020 copyright Joe Harkins Harkins.Joe@gmail.com
republication permitted if the above copyright and credit remain unchanged