Love and Prosperity in the Time of COVID 19

Weird times, dear reader.  Weird times.  A pandemic rages across the globe and we are called upon to rise to the occasion by doing as little as possible.  Sports is cancelled, and we are, for the most part, closed for business.  A good time to have invested in the streaming industry.  This is a war we're going to have to fight from our couches.

How long?  Oh lord, how long?  Who knows?  Maybe we'll be reopened by Easter.  Maybe this summer is already over.  Who knows?  Nobody.

For COVID 19 is a tricky bastard, with a long asymptomatic period.  Not to mention a varying list of symptoms that range from "almost nothing" to "iron lung."

So sit back, relax, and keep out of the line of fire.  You now have plenty of time on your hands!  You could catch up on projects, or learn a new language!

And right there it is, friends.  Capitalist Exploitation (nee Protestant Work Ethic) has managed to worm its way once again into the heart of public discourse.  The world is afire with disease, but what are you doing to improve and optimize yourself?  You have the time, after all.  Get off the couch!

The siren song of productivity rings in our ears.  To work!

If you're bored, why not make masks for your local hospital staff?  Put that time to good use and help us fight the pandemic.  Those on the front lines of this are most vulnerable.  What have you done?

Once again, the powers that be have offloaded their responsibilities on the backs of we, the people.  This is one of the great tests of the social safety net, and it shouldn't be necessary.  Those we elected to do the most basic job of governance, the protection of collective life and limb (IE, the Social Contract of John Locke), have failed to do this.


Shuttered factories could be tooling up to manufacture masks and ventilators.  Instead, local grannies sew masks and ventilators are improvised out of other pieces of equipment.  Stories of how we rise to meet the challenge make for a good pallet cleanser from the nightly spectacle of our half-bright gink of a president, bereft of rallies, posturing before the stage.

John Dickinson chided the Continental Congress for "braving the storm in a skiff made of paper."  Friends, we may very well be doing it again.