Living Through the Coronavirus Pandemic: Part 1

I'm going to attempt to log some short observations and remarks as I go through this bizarre, sci-fi alternate reality of attempting to "shelter in place" during a global pandemic, while living with my husband and almost-4-year-old toddler in one of the largest cities in the country (Chicago).

Mon. 3/30/20
The tv commercials are fascinating. Pre-pandemic, I never had time for them and fast-forwarded right through. But watching the marketing arm of capitalism attempt to hit the right sensitivity mark, while simultaneously seeking profit, is like peeking under the hood of a very large and powerful, but creepy, machine. Some examples:

• Stanley Steamer. They display pictures of a uniformed young white guy cleaning carpets and spraying down the hardwood floors of a church, with the yellow plastic folding signs stationed to alert anyone nearby that the floors are wet. Yet no one is nearby. The voiceover recommends getting your (church or store) floors cleaned while your establishment is still empty--a perfect time! And they have a new disinfectant spray! One can almost taste (smell?) the hopefulness. This will all be back to normal soon. And when it is, we'll post new signs on our doors. Instead of the old "Closed for Business Due to the Coronavirus," they will say "Open for Business! Completely Disinfected! Come on in and Rest Assured!"

• A life insurance company attempted a reassuring voiceover while the entire commercial consisted of a plane or drone pan-shot of a lighthouse at sunset. "We've been there for years, and we'll be there for years," the voice essentially says. Your beam of light amidst stormy seas. But the stormy seas are the main reason you might be compelled to get life insurance: the looming, ever-present threat of your own mortality. Truth is, lighthouses (or insurance companies) wouldn't exist without the stormy seas (or coronaviruses).

• Charmin toilet paper. Now this one is both cruel and ridiculous. The stupid animated red bears who sing about their clean heinies had been airing long before the coronavirus hit, and I have to believe that the company was stuck with some long-term contract to continue airing these ads, because why in God's name would you need to spend money to advertise a product that is in ridiculously high demand right now?!?! You can't get any toilet paper of any brand for love or money in Chicago. Though I haven't really tested that theory by dragging my ass out of bed early enough to be one of the ones waiting when the stores open at 6am.

• I only caught the tail-end of it, but I believe Mazda attempted to inspire their potential customers with a "we're all in this together" message, in the characteristically ironic separate-but-together mantra of this entire pandemic age. A couple, looking out at the picturesque and largely rural horizon, embarking on a journey together whilst safely ensconced away from the rest of the contagious world in their Mazda. I think it was sunset...hmmm, as in, this crisis will be sunsetting soon? Eh?!?!

Other observations:

• The local (WGN) news attempted to throw it to the weatherman, but he was videoconferencing in from home and wasn't available at the appointed time. They cut to him later on in the broadcast, and it was so odd to see what this room in his house looked like and glance over his shoulder to see the (charming) photo of him kissing his wife--or girlfriend, who knows. When the anchorwoman gave him a hard time about not wearing a tie, he smiled and argued that it's an "ivory commandment" not to wear a tie at home (he was ad-libbing), and then declared that he was wearing sweatpants--which made both anchors shake their heads, smile, and say "too much information."

• I made minestrone soup tonight, which I'm not sure I ever would have attempted after commuting home from the Loop, which I'd normally do on a non-pandemic Monday. Jamie Oliver inspired me to do it, and it was delicious--"A+," my husband said. I may never be able to return to canned soups again, because of the coronavirus.

• Today my daughter ate:
• bacon (from Daddy) for breakfast
• "yummy gummies" (1 is fiber, the other is a probiotic). She's less fond of the probiotic, but she usually eats them "for the poops don't hurt." And I will never let her forget that she once said that, in that exact, adorable way.
• an entire bowl of "white crackers" (saltines, she freaking loves them)
• mixed veggies with butter (purely a Mom requirement before she could get any more saltines)
• more saltines, having satisfied the mixed veggies requirement
• cheesy popcorn (white cheddar popcorn, AKA crack to my daughter)
• steamed broccoli with butter (another Mom requirement)
• more cheesy popcorn (the promised reward for the broccoli)
• she was upset when she realized she hadn't gotten her nightly bowl of vanilla ice cream with sprinkles, but I distracted her and then brushed her teeth and whisked her off to bed, because waiting for her to finish the ice cream would have put her to bed an hour and a half past her normal bedtime, instead of just an hour. 
• I chuckle to myself every time I picture the look of horror on my mother's face, if she were to read this. 

• It is so fundamentally weird to see my favorite late-night programs, especially Stephen  Colbert, filming from their homes, with bandleaders like Jean Baptiste playing the theme song in his bathrobe. Tonight, Stephen made it clear that his son was his cameraman and his daughter did his makeup--it was an adorably humanizing look into his "other" life. His dog misbehaved--or behaved like a dog--and began chewing on the cables in his makeshift home office studio. But it's also bizarre not to hear the audience laughter after every punchline. 
• He told John Oliver "welcome to interviews in the after-times," as they video chatted on national television, and attempted to get away with cursing (it didn't work, apparently the censors are essential workers or are able to do their jobs from home). 
• I loved their video chat. It really felt like being a fly on the wall at a pub and overhearing two talented comedians just shoot the shit. Hearing people like John Oliver talk about how "I'm drowning" definitely makes you feel better about your own personal struggles with remote work and some semblance of homeschooling, not to mention the occasional attempt to appear somewhat attractive to your spouse.

• Toddlers and dogs are seldom if ever engaged by video calls, unless (in my daughter's case) they can play with the facial effects and stare at themselves. I wonder if this means they expose the limits of technological verisimilitude. Do we become more adept at kidding ourselves, at delusion, as we age? Or more easily excited by forms of connection that seem ridiculous or unnecessary to young children and pets?