“The virus outside is frightful, but in here it’s just delightful!”---Anonymous
Where the hell is Superman? When we mere mortals get ourselves in the soup, when we’re over our heads in quicksand, when that asteroid is blasting toward Earth like a 22-year-old Usain Bolt, the Man of Steel always shows up to pull our fat from the fire. But not this time. There’s no sign of the big galoot.
Maybe he needs a signal, like Batman. Maybe he’s holed up in a Cabo luxury suite with Lois Lane. Maybe the Kent clan is holding a family reunion/barbecue in the bowels of Kansas. Maybe Lex Luthor discovered a liquid form of kryptonite and sprayed his undies. The bottom line is that no superheroes are coming through that door to save us from ourselves. And don’t look now, but Donald J. Thump is president. Say what?
Fortunately, The Flying Pie has resources. They are scattered across the planet in remote environs you might not expect. Marty Jourard, famous author and saxophone blaster is prowling around his home town of Kirkland, Washington, where all this mess began stateside. Sherry Snyder, ex-Gainesville barkeep and international bon vivant, is smack dab in the middle of Italy’s roiling pot of stew. Sherry’s as tough as a bucket of spiders and daily wears her cloak of invulnerability—her Bill Killeen for President shirt—but everything has its limitations.
Anyway, these brave reporters and several others have volunteered to step out into the jaws of Death to take the measure of his attack. They report back to us today from far and near, describing what they have seen. How has life changed in D.C.? Are the bars still open in Oakland? Is anybody going to the beach in Yachats? How are things in Glocca Morra? Step right up, the Truth is out there.
“Mama Helen Told Me There’d Be Days Like This. I Thought She Was Exaggerating.”
Sherry (Bianchi) Snyder grew up in a bar in Gainesville called The Pub, owned by her mother, Helen, a saloonkeeper with a heart of gold. We can tell you first hand the place was home to a shaggy band of ne’er-do-wells, overindulgers and pirates who would have made Hunter S. Thompson look like a sissy. In spite of this upbringing—or maybe because of it—Sherry emerged triumphant and now spends her days gallivanting between Gainesville, New Orleans and Siena, Italy, where she has an apartment. She can sit on her balcony there watching the neighbors drop like flies. Okay, Sherry, tell us how it is.
“The voices of Italy are quiet. Except for the occasional singing on the balconies, of course. The nights that were filled with Italians walking arm-in-arm through the city, talking and laughing, are on hold. The streets are empty here in Siena, but I can still hear conversations and laughter from my balcony. And the church bells continue to ring with a sweet passion.
The death toll hit a record last weekend with a stunning 800 in one day. President Conte held a no-bullshit, no-self-congratulating press conference Saturday evening announcing more restrictions and closing all manufacturing plants and businesses except for those involved in food production. Grocery stores and pharmacies are the only businesses now open.
Tuscany is under lockdown, as is all of Italy and most of Europe. We are waiting to see if this imposition is effective. It should be two or three weeks before we can gauge whether there is a decline in the number of cases and deaths. Northern Italy is feeling the brunt of the cases and the city of Bergamo is ground zero.
Everything is weird. Going to the grocery store causes panic even though all the shelves are totally stocked and most people are wearing masks and gloves, as required. My local grocery just started delivering, although it takes five to seven days to get your order. I’m trying to learn patience. I placed my first to-be-delivered order recently. Should be interesting to see what I get.
Jack and I self-isolated about a month before the lockdown began and we have been (sort of) enjoying the down time. Lots of TV (far too much discouraging news), lots of movies and Schitt’s Creek (highly recommended). Also, plenty of reading. I am trying my hand at painting with acrylics even though I have no talent. Thanks to a Chuck LeMasters photograph, which was the first pathetic attempt. I am affixing a copy for your entertainment. Not being able to walk every day has been an issue, so I have started my own exercise, a dance-like-noone-is-watching effort. Headphones on, doing the Tom Petty library in order of release date (I am currently on Pack Up The Plantation). And I dance in front of a mirror, so my partner is pretty good.
Sending so much love and wishes for great health to all. Stay home and wash your hands. And vote in November. FANCULO IL VIRUS!”
Sherry
“Have You Ever Gone Across The Sea To Oakland?”
Bob Follett is a cultured man, a writer/photographer, a graduate of the University of Washington in Seattle. Somehow, he ended up in Oakland anyway. We first ran into Bob when he was editor/publisher of the off-campus humor magazine, Seagull, back in the days when such things were hot stuff. Follett may be the only remaining human who takes his pictures with an honest-to-god camera instead of a cell phone. Here’s how it looks in the Bay Area.
“I am not having fun yet. A retiree for the last dozen years, living a solitary existence here by the grandiose shores of lovely Lake Merritt, my quarter-mile walk to the same breakfast cafe each morning, taking photos as I go, is the pearl of my existence. And now I don’t even have that. But since I remain vertical, I am loathe to complain.
I do have my beloved hobby, circumnavigating the Bay Area taking pictures of parades, festivals, protests and anything else the local element can conjure up. Believe me, that’s a LOT. But I don’t think there will be too many parades for awhile. On Tuesday, Oakland implemented its Shelter in Place edict and when I went to breakfast, my restaurant was closed, as were all the other cafes and eateries along the route. The streets were close to empty of parked cars and traffic was very light. Few people walking where there usually were crowds, a small number working out running or walking along the lakefront. I took a picture of the Grand Lake theater marquee.
Stayed inside all day Friday as the governor announced the statewide Shelter in Place, then decided to drive to Safeway at 8 a.m. Saturday to check for signs of life. The place was full if not bulging at the seams, about a third of the customers wearing masks. Alas, only a single checkout line was operational since the employees were otherwise occupied stocking the shelves. People were buying everything in sight.
On Sunday, I decided to try my breakfast haunt again and this time saw the front door was open. My heart leaped. Got a breakfast to go, chortling at my good luck. The maximum number of customers allowed inside at any one time was a measly three, so after ordering you were expelled to the sidewalk until your order was ready. A small price to pay for a near-return to normalcy. In the Days of Reckoning, near-normalcy is the greatest prize we’re likely to get.”
Bob
Capital Eyes
Kathleen Ellison is a practicing dermatologist in Washington, D.C., married to Yaniv Barzilai, a State Department worker, and one of two nieces claimed by The Flying Pie. Kathleen was one of our fearless reporters who covered The Women’s March on Trump a few years back and she is our go-to girl for Capital antics and possible coup attempts. What’s going on, Kathleen?
“D.C. is a bit of a ghost town. Citizens are walking their dogs, going to the grocery store and little else. I sometimes see a few rogue socializers, but not many. For the most part, Yaniv and I have spent time indoors. He works from home every other day and my clinic has cut hours so much that I only work half a day, four days a week. Our clinic has had to hide our gloves, masks and hand sanitizers after some went missing last week.
Yaniv and I watch marathons of TV shows on Netflix/Hulu rather than news conferences about Coronavirus a few miles away. We have taken to online workouts on Youtube, Spring cleaning and reading e-books from our public library. Fortunately, our house has a porch and some small outdoor space because we’ve watched our friends who live in apartments gradually go stir-crazy obsessing over whether the stairs or the elevator give one a better shot at catching the virus. And wondering if it’s too late to be in pajamas or too early to start their own personal happy hours.
The runaway winner in this quarantine is our dog, Waffles, now the beneficiary of extra petting hours and unexpected Corona-snacks. She’s had some trouble social-distancing on our walks but for the most part has kept us sane here.
Wishing one and all good health and aisles stocked with toilet paper.”
Kathleen
In 1968, Deb Peterson walked up to the Subterranean Circus and eyeballed the Old English inscription on the facade: “May the long time sun shine upon you/All love surround you/And the pure light within you/Guide you all the way on.” She immediately decided she had to meet the authors, so she packed her bags and took a tramp steamer to jolly old England to find The Incredible String Band. Now they’re fast friends and she visits all the time. Another example of how the much maligned head shops of the hippie era proved a positive influence on America’s youth. Deb now lives on the sexy Oregon Coast with her husband, Peter and a stash of anti-virus supplements.
“Well, life has changed big-time for the population of Oregon. Californians have been advised to shelter in place and we’re probably next. What a difference a week makes. One day there’s no shortage of anything in the stores, seven days later you’re lucky to find a toothbrush. No toilet paper, it goes without saying, also no rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, flour and very little milk. They had a lot of cans of garbanzos, though.
No reported cases here yet, but we know they’re coming. Peter and I have plenty of alcohol gels and protective gloves in the car for voyages into the scary Outside World. This is the first time we’re all glad that an Oregon state law prohibits us from pumping our own gas, one less source of possible contamination. All the restaurants are closed except for takeout service, as are the schools. Only grocery stores, pharmacies, banks and hospitals remain open.
Fortunately for us, we have a healthy supply of EmergenC, Oscillococcinum, Oil of Oregano, Elderberry/Zinc lozenges and other arcane treatments at our disposal. We’re also taking extra vitamin D and DHAE as a preventative measure. Here’s hoping that one and all escape the clutches of the monster and live to see another PIE. Special wishes to Sherry in Siena and Marty in Kirkland and thanks to Bill and TFP for keeping everyone in touch. All you need is love. And maybe a face mask or two.”
Deb
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| Renowned author Marty Jourard sheltering in place |
“I Got The Life Care Nursing Home Blues”
Marty Jourard, who learned everything he knows about life from his early days as a Subterranean Circus mascot, has been busy lately traveling around the world with the latest incarnation of his band, The Motels. They even performed on a cruise, for god’s sake, so Marty has been exposed to toxic elements for months now. As if that wasn’t enough, then he went back to his house in beautiful Kirkland, Washington, ground zero for the U.S. version of the deadly Coronavirus. Some people just can’t get enough adversity.
When we asked Marty to write a piece from inside the eye of the hurricane, we temporarily forgot that he has written two books and has never heard of an essay, so it might go a little long. Twelve hundred words later, here’s the finished product. You weren’t really doing anything today, anyway, right?
Report From Land and Sea: by Marty Jourard (March 24, 2020)
Three weeks ago, as a member of the Motels (I’m in a band), I was in San Antonio during a Winter tour when I read about the first Coronavirus death in the United States. The article mentioned Washington state as the location. I read a little further and Seattle was mentioned, more specifically a suburb named Kirkland, where I’ve lived for two dozen years. Yes, the Life Care nursing facility where the first domestic Coronavirus fatality originated is four miles from my home.
Sitting in far-away Texas, that was the last thing I expected to read. Fast-forward three weeks and the total death count from Covid-19 in the U.S.A. is 622 and undoubtedly more by the time you read this.
Despite my suspicions of the level of staff training and care in many of these nursing homes, having shepherded my late mother through several such facilities in and around Kirkland during her last few years, I don’t believe they could have controlled this novel (not seen before) virus at the time. Even with that in mind, no one was expecting this fast a deterioration of the elderly Life Care residents who were fine in the morning and in extreme respiratory distress by nightfall. The more alarming aspect for everyone was that the first victim had not traveled outside the country. The link below is a nurse's description of the virus symptoms at Life Care.
https://www.cnn.com/2020/03/23/health/coronavirus-nurses-inside-washington-care-home/index.html
Seven days later on March 7th, the Motels flew to Miami to board the Royal Caribbean’s Explorer of the Seas as part of the Ultimate ‘80s Cruise, a music-themed affair that was to include performances by us along with the B-52s, Brett Michaels, Katrina and the Waves, Loverboy, Patty Smyth from Scandal, Bow Wow Wow and others. This event had been booked a year prior and despite our manager’s attempts to get us out of it, the cruise promoter said no, it’s going to be fine, and the weather will be great, too.
By now everyone was aware of the virus, and our primary fear was not so much initial infection but eventual infection through long quarantine on board, if any of the primarily middle-aged attendees tested positive. The event had sold-out months ago. There were at least a thousand people on board, not counting the crew.
All of the performers lined up at PortMiami’s Terminal A for boarding a few hours earlier than the attendees. Before being allowed to go on the ship our temperatures were checked with an NCIT (Non-Contact Infrared Thermometer) aimed at our foreheads. No performer was turned away. Once on board, we attended a mandatory performing artist orientation meeting where, among other things, we were asked not to report directly to the hospital ward if we felt sick but to talk to the cruise promoters first. How they intended to handle the situation wasn’t revealed. Only a few days prior, the Grand Princess had experienced a Covid-19 outbreak and had anchored off the coast of San Francisco until the passengers were taken off the ship and put under land-based quarantine for two weeks.
We quickly noted there were stand-alone Purell dispensers everywhere, a crew member with a bottle of hand sanitizer squirting it into your hands before you were allowed entry to the main buffet restaurant where everything was self-serve; crew members were conspicuously sanitizing stair handrails, elevators and other actively-touched surfaces. I had my own disinfecting wipes and dutifully wiped down my cabin. The band ate together as much as possible, separate from other folks.
The weather from Miami to San Juan was stormy, with waves 12-16 feet and winds up to 40 knots or so and the boat rolled heartily during the two full days we were aboard. Our two concerts, both indoors, went well and we quickly learned to adopt a “wide stance” while performing, as both stage and band rocked.
People gathered shoulder-to-shoulder for the many ‘80s-themed events and concerts. On the windswept main foredeck entertainment area, groups of people sat in hot tubs with their drinks, watching as the now-closed swimming pool sloshed water all over the sound system speakers of an adjacent outdoor stage and the video for Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’s “You Got Lucky” played above on a massive outdoor video screen. High winds and whitecaps, ‘80s songs cranked at high volume, sloshing pools, drunk people in hot tubs--it was surreal.
En route to San Juan, the cruise director announced the cancellation of the B-52s, Midnight Star, Loverboy and Brett Michaels. I assume they were all to board at San Juan. We were still on the boat two days after our second show and increasingly worried about quarantine. After a brief stop in San Juan, the ship headed toward nearby St. Thomas, with later planned stops in the Dominican Republic and Haiti during the second half of the cruise.
As news reports of the virus continued to reveal a rapidly evolving health crisis, we weren’t sure if we would be allowed to disembark at St. Thomas. But we were allowed off and headed straight from the ship to the St. Thomas airport, flying to Miami and then Los Angeles, where we learned of the cancellation of the last two shows of our tour.
Now I’m back in Kirkland. As I write this, Governor Jay Inslee has just declared a stay-at-home decree: don’t leave home except for groceries, food and necessary supplies, and stay at least six feet away from anyone while engaging in outdoor exercise.
I live on a quiet residential street a few miles from the high-density downtown Kirkland waterfront area now populated by the young tech workers with jobs at Microsoft, Amazon, Google and such. But downtown Kirkland is now essentially deserted, as the tech workers are working from home and all but essential businesses are closed. It is eerie to go through daily life under such social-distancing conditions. People are starting to cross the street to avoid walking past you on the sidewalk when it's obvious you are headed toward them.
But this is not the end of society. For those of us with some savings and supplies it’s basically the death of convenience. No more restaurant dining, happy hours at a favorite bar, going to a live music venue, working out at the gym. Staying in good health is all. In my case, I’m sorry to be temporarily out of work as a performing musician but after months of flying and driving around the country I am enjoying the break. No doubt our planet is experiencing a reduction of human-generated pollution and for this we should be thankful. I’m not suffering any physical hardships, and I feel for the people who have jobs that include public interaction such as store cashiers and bus drivers. I’m staying at home and counting my blessings.
That’s all, folks. Keep the lovelight glowing….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
