Well, it has been a long time since I’ve done this. This is not one of those things you just naturally remember how to do years after you’ve last done it, like bike-riding, skiing, or dragging Luke Ravenstahl.
(Luke is not practicing social distancing, you guys.)
No. This is more like folding a fitted sheet — you may have done it successfully once, but how much of it was blind luck, and if you had a pigeon’s butt to your hair, could you do it again and it not just be a messy ball of garbage?
Let’s see what ball of garbage I can cook up for you here. If it’s super stinky, you can light it afire and leave it on your neighbor’s doorstep. Just make sure you dingdong-ditch. SOCIAL DISTANCING.
I usually start with a personal anecdote, right? Let’s start our ball of garbage there. My sisters and I have force-quarantined our parents. We didn’t weld them into their home or anything, but it is increasingly looking like we might need to take their keys or car tires. My mom’s lungs are trash. Years and years of asthma and lung infections have put her in the super high-risk category, so we told her to stay home. Made her cancel brunch and bingo last week. The horror. Then we told our dad to stay home. Made him cancel bible study and small group. Jesus understands.
Then my dad went to the store three days in a row.
So we yelled at him via text until he finally agreed he would not leave the house for two weeks. Yesterday was day one and we intercepted him trying to go to Walmart “for a few things.” We have already fielded multiple “I’M GOING CRAZY” emojis as well as requests for puzzles, milkshakes and an asteroid. That is to say, they’re handling quarantine real real well.
I fully expect my dad to be using a YouTube tutorial to mermaid-braid my mom’s leg hair by day 13 while she says things like, “I think I reached the bottom of Netflex.”
For a fun game, take a shot every time one of your social media follows posts the Mister Rogers “look for the helpers” quote. You’ll be more pickled than Heinz relish.
I remain deep in my Pittsburgh history obsession, particularly pre-1930s. The November 2, 1900 edition of The Pittsburgh Press was a special “Prosperity Edition” with page after page extolling Pittsburgh’s growth into a world-class city. I found this poem in there and thought you’d like it too:
But I also found this:
Tag yourself. I’m self-distrust, bashfulness and burping.
The worst three dwarfs EVER.
It’s a bad time, yes, but there are good things happening:
Pittsburgh Sports Now is offering free advertising to local businesses trying to stay afloat with delivery and takeout these next few weeks, as well as local e-tailers.
CMU has created a virtual tip jar for local service workers. You want to click that link if you wish to donate OR if you are a service worker in need of help.
The Greater Pittsburgh Arts Council is offering $500 grants to local artists who have experienced show and event cancellations during this time.
There’s also a Pittsburgh Artist Emergency Fund you can donate to which will distribute aid to local artists.
Let me know if you know of any other such drives and I’ll be sure to share them in the next newsletter provided I come down from the peyote high. The nudes are trash so far. Just stick figures with circle boobs.
The Pittsburgh Marathon is a no-go, announced today. If you registered you have three options:
ask for a refund.
go virtual! run the race in your home and the marathon peeps will send you a shirt and medal in the mail.
sell me your registration, as I think we all know this is my only chance to get a marathon medal by “finishing” a “26.2” “mile” “run.” *
Can’t wait to slap a “26.2” oval bumper sticker on my car and look down haughtily on all you “13.1” potatoes.
If there’s one thing I have in abundance, it’s haught.
*Take a note, Donald Trump. THAT’S the correct usage of quotation marks. BOOM! POLITICS!
Everyone and I do mean literally everyone: “CORONAVIRUS!”
The National Weather Service in Pittsburgh:
Also soon to be a violently rotating column of air? My bank account.
HEY-OH!
You probably missed this news but:
A confused deer smashed through a door of a bank early Friday in Pittsburgh’s Oakland neighborhood and ran off, according to Pittsburgh police.
Excuse me? What makes them so sure the deer was confused? Perhaps that deer knew exactly what it was doing …
trying to rob a bank.
In early May when they find me standing in a bank lobby, ski mask on my face, loaded pigeon squirming in my hand, shattered glass all around me, I’ll just say, “Wait. Where am I? I’m confused. I’m supposed to be running the marathon around my kitchen island right now.”
Just mail me a medal and no one gets hurt, Dicks.
That’s a big enough ball of garbage for today. Let’s talk again soon. Stay home, jags.