My Corona Diary (Take VII): From 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, With Love

<"From 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., With Love

(Take I)"/The Reckoner>

<i.> A Few Preliminaries

Some absurdities do a great job of speaking for themselves. Normally, I'd snap a photo of the following object, and upload it, but our regular camera has bitten the dust, and the one we're borrowing is the latest, greatest piece of tech that doesn't have a downloading cord to plug into your computer! Which means, you have to take it out to Walgreens, and do the honors there, for $7.99 a pop. To which I can only say..

"Ick! So much for user-friendly!"

For The Squawker and myself, imagine our surprise to see our stimulus check arrive the old-fashioned way last month -- by mail, and on paper, too. That felt strange, because we've been doing it the electronic way these last few years, so we just figured that Uncle Sam would do the decent thing...and deposit it electronically, as he's done in the past.

We were so busy, I didn't get to look closely at Trump's signature lurking on that official yellow piece of paper. Remember all the fuss he made, that he actually sign your stimulus check? 

Guess what? The Tangerine Toddler got me to look at it, anyway, thanks to this letter that arrived, from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue (a/k/a The White House), with love -- also, on paper, and also, separately -- via the same US mail that our GOP-led government "forgot" to budget lately:

"Your Economic Impact Payment Has Arrived

"My Fellow American:

"Our great country is experiencing an unprecedented public health and economic challenge as a result of the global coronavirus pandemic. Our top priority is your health and safety. As we wage total war on this invisible enemy, we are also working around the clock to protect hardworking Americans like you from the consequences of the economic shutdown. We are fully committed to ensuring that you and your family have the support you need to get through this time.

"On March 27, 2020, Congress passed with overwhelming bipartisan support the Coronavirus Aid, Relief and Economic Security Act (CARES Act, which I proudly signed into law. I want to thank the United States House of Representatives and the United States Senate for working so quickly with my Administration to fast-track this $2.2 trillion in much-needed economic relief to the American people.

"This includes fast and direct economic assistance to you.

"I am pleased to notify you that as provided by the CARES Act, you are receiving an Economic Impact Payment of XXXX by check/debit card. We hope this payment provides meaningful support to you during this period.

"Every citizen should take tremendous pride in the selflessness, courage and compassion of our people. America's drive, determination, motivation and sheer willpower have conquered every previous challenge -- and they will conquer this one, too. Just as we have before, America will triumph yet again -- and rise to new heights of greatness.

"We will do it together, as one nation, stronger than ever before.

(Signed...)

For more information on our Economic Impact Payment, please visit IRS.gov/coronavirus or call 800-919-9835.

<"From 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., With Love

(Take II)"/The Reckoner>

<ii.> A Few Takeaways

Strangeness abounds on any Trump project, and this letter's no exception. A few takeaways that have occurred to me, since I stuck the letter back on top of my desk:

1. The flipside of the letter features the same message...in Spanish. Seems odd, in light of Trump's demonization of the Latino community as "abusers," "animals," "criminals," "killers," and "rapists" -- to name a few of the less off-color terms he's used -- and his flatlining approval/electoral/poll standings (take your pick). 

Maybe he thinks the $1,200 or $2,400 check gets Latinos to shrug it off, and say, "All is forgiven"? If so, that's even more insulting than the name-calling.

2. "Our top priority is your health and safety." Then why push so hard to reopen an economy without some reassuring signs on the horizon, like, uh, I don't know -- the development of a vaccine? Or pushing all these companies with their fuzzily worded, gauzily condescending, huffing and puffing of "We're all in this together" advertising, to pay something like a living wage? 

On the bright side, I'm happy to see that we've settled, once and for all, whether we should drinking bleach, or injecting Lysol, to beat the virus. As Mr. Mackey, our friend from South Park, would say: Drinking bleach is bad, kids, m'kay? Just like shooting up Lysol, m'kay? So don't do it. Maybe Trump should ask him for an endorsement.

3. "As we wage total war on this invisible enemy, we are also working around the clock to protect hardworking Americans like you from the consequences of the economic shutdown."  Seems a bit rich, right, from a guy who doesn't start before 11:00 a.m.? Whose first task consists of madly Tweeting as he watches Fox News? 

Oh, and let's not forget his other big passion, golf, which he played for the first time last month since the pandemic broke out. Even in the face of death, a man's gotta swing his nine-iron, right? 

But this quote from Mark Meadows, to the New York Post, sums up the surrealism of the current mood in the White House bunker, better than I ever could: "I can tell you that the biggest concern I have is making sure he gets some time to get a quick bite to eat." With so many millions starving, it's good to know that our Commander-in-Chief isn't going to bed on an empty belly. 

4. The separate mailing of the actual check, and the cover letter, suggests some cunningly perverse plan on Trump's part -- preserving the US Postal Service that he's striving so hard to de-fund. But it's also a classic doublethink tactic -- the idea of holding two contradictory beliefs, no matter how contradictory, as George Orwell noted in 1984. On that evidence, Trump would have fit comfortably into any Politburo.

5. "We will do it together, as one nation, stronger than ever before." Try selling that to the protesters currently facing rubber bullets and tear gas, as they do in banana republics across the globe. Try selling that to George Floyd's family. Try selling that to the 75-year-old man who got shoved to the ground in Buffalo, by his city's over-militarized occupying army (excuse me, "police force"). Try selling that to anybody with an IQ above room temperature.

Well, what did you expect? 

This is Trumpworld, where no corner is too sharp to cut, where no procedure escapes without a serious gaming, where madness and mania runs through the proceedings like a red thread, where the fingerprints shine ever so brightly on the gun, one dripping in the blood, sweat and tears of the countless millions who have been shoved under the bus, to make way for the next crate load of unfortunates.

We'll see what round two brings, I guess, if it materializes. But seriously, guys...next time, leave the cover letter in your computer, okay? And maybe then, we could all get some sleep. -- The Reckoner

My Corona Diary (Take VII): Weekend Notes #1 (5/23-24)

<Just Another Day...
On the Zombie Apocalypse Movie Set:
"Downtown (Where We Live)"
Photo: The Squawker.

<i.>

Last weekend, The Squawker and I attempted to curb our cabin fever by riding around our humble little town, and spending some time (however brief) outside. For a change of pace, we parked downtown, which looked eerily like a zombie apocalypse movie set (see above). As in, totally empty, before the zombie army sets upon the lone victim -- or lucky outsider -- before they can react. That's how all those opening sequences start, right?

So that's what we did Saturday night. We parked at the end of one block, and walked in a square, stopping here or there to sit down on some bench or other. Finding a parking space downtown is usually a hassle, especially since our town has grown ever more gentrified.

Not since the COVID crisis hit, though. With so many businesses closed, or operating on an abbreviated schedule, or sticking to curbside pickup, finding a parking spot has never been easier. Squawker and I did this on purpose, because lately, whenever we hit the beach -- or the bluff -- for recreational R&R, we've found ourselves playing human dodge ball with too many people who have the same idea. 

Some wear masks, but  great many don't. Not all of them adhere to that six feet away social distancing bit. You'll end up dealing with these things, even at the relatively late hour that we chose (8:30 p.m.) to slip out.

So on this particular night, we chose to change our tack, and it paid off. We felt a bit more relaxed than usual. As the saying goes, "You can't put a price on piece of mind."

We stopped at Dollar General on our way home, where I bought a few items that we needed (loaf of enriched white bread, package of fudge graham crackers, three-roll pack of paper towels, four-pack of toilet paper). We felt especially glad to see the last two items, as they're still incredibly scarce, so you snap up what you can, when you can.

We didn't get home till 9:30 p.m. When your sleepier town feels sleepier than normal, for reasons beyond your control, it makes sense to drag out the last errand, the last left turn or two, the last circle around the oval path that rings the apartment complex we've spent so much of our time these last two months, now going on three months.

Flicking on the TV, Squawker and I voiced amusement at arriving in time for the final scene of "Death In Paradise," -- where the fourth (and latest) inspector, Neville Parker (Ralf Little), claps his forehead, realizing that he finally has solved the mystery, after all...so now it's time to gather the suspects for the final solution/confrontation. It's one of our favorite shows.

Now, if only we could turn Parker loose on the COVID-19 crisis! Imagine the questions we'd raise: How'd our democracy get so f#cked up? How did the US get caught out so badly this time? Who are the biggest profiteers, and why are letting them carrying on, doing business as usual?

"He'd solve it in a heartbeat," I suggest.

<These were just two of the 

dozen-odd or so people 

we encountered that weekend...
"On The Beach (Take I)"
Photo: The Squawker

<ii.>

Sunday proved a totally different story, as it happened. At first, we weren't going anywhere. Life felt too hot today. The forecast that called for highs in the upper 70s/early 80s had proven right on the money.

Just then, however, I noticed that my weekend pop supply was running low. "Would you care if I went to the gas station?" I asked Squawker.

"If we're going to go anywhere, it might as well be now," Squawker responded. "I was going to lay down for a little bit, so let's go while I'm still dressed."

"Okay, then."

We head down to the Pri-Mart, which is only five minutes or so away from our apartment, and I plunk down my last tenner for three Diet Pepsi two liters, plus a King Size Kit Kat, and a bottle of unsweetened tea, for Squawker.

I almost head straight home, but then I change my mind. "Hey, why don't we take a quick drive?" 

"Sure, why not? I need to get out, even for a little bit."

"Yeah, we didn't really have a spring, did we?" 

So we head back downtown, past the ice cream store, where we see roughly half a dozen people in line. None are wearing masks, and they're standing right on top of each other. Six feet apart? More like six inches, if that.

"That seems like a big risk to take, not wearing a mask, just to get an ice cream cone," Squawker ventures.

"Yeah, I know," I sigh. "They act like we're done with the virus. But it's not done with us."

We hang a left from Main Street, past City Hall, and I suggest taking a rightward loop through downtown, which will plonk us back onto Main Street. 

But Squawker isn't having any of it. "It's hotter out here than I thought, and I'm having a hard time breathing in it. Let's go home."

"Fair enough."

So I follow my left, through two stop signs, and turn left again at the bluff, where I'll follow the long main road that takes us home. This time, we notice a lot more cars, and a lot more parking spaces filling up.

Summer has arrived, and so have the tourists, apparently, in spite of the COVID sword that seems poised so scarily close to each and every person's head. We notice license plates from Georgia and New York, as well as the usual suspects from Indiana and Illinois.

"I thought people weren't traveling during the pandemic." Squawker frowns. "Or even if they could, that they wouldn't feel like it."

"So much for that idea, I guess," I shrug.

Squawker's face clouds with anxiety. "Look at them. Hardly a mask on any one of them. They're sitting right next to each other, or walking right to next each other. I guess they're not feeling the fear."

"Seems like a fair statement to me," I shrug. But, well, I think that's part of the problem. See, between all the power hungry red state officials rushing to reopen, and our own homegrown menaces -- specifically the newly-revived militia movement, the Proud Boys, and so on -- all agitating likewise in so-called blue states, like Michigan, I've learned one thing.

Fear is in the eye of the beholder. How that helps us in our worst, longest sustained period of crisis -- COVID-19, the implosion of our economy, the shedding of jobs that accompanied it, George Floyd's death by cop, and so on -- remains to be seen. -- The Reckoner

<Sand barrier put up
to slow that lakefront erosion,

as it creeps up

ever so closer:

"On The Beach (Take II)":
Photo: The Squawker

My Corona Diary (Take VI): I Just Flew In With This Virus (And Boy, Are My Arms Tired)

<"Turn That Frown (Upside Down)":
Take I: The Reckoner>

<i.>

You've all seen the adverts, I'm sure. Or most of us, anyhow. Look! There's Eva Longoria, swanning around with the hair color she's been hired to convince you to buy.  Isn't quarantining a blast? There they are again! A young woman tightly hugging her child, as they spin like a top around the kitchen in slow kitchen. It's Nestle's latest creation, I think.

Shock and awe! As young and old alike giddily chase each other across the screen, doing silly dances, kitting out their masks with silly artwork of some sort, or snuggling each other tightly on the couch. My, my, just look at them...settling in by the TV, for their umpteenth evening of enforced fun, that's no different than the umpteenth one last week. And the umpteenth one last month. And the umpteenth one before then. All this happens in the name of GEICO ("One good share deserves another"). 

But honestly, even the non-COVID-related adverts are f#cking annoying as well, like "Nothing Is Everything," which is flogging Skyrizi's psoriasis drug. I actually don't mind the backing track, which I'd describe as a catchy slice of techno-reggae that i started back in the '80s. But the novelty of hearing that bouncy three-word chorus, "Nothing is every-thiiinnnggg," has worn off long ago. 

I swear...if I hear it one more time, I'm going to go f#cking insane. The whole business feels oddly surreal. We may die, but we can rest easy, knowing we've got clear skin. What a country.

What else? Well, there's Facebook Messenger flogging themselves with a laidback acoustic remake of "All Together Now" (The Beatles), as the participants cheerfully roll basketballs, run through their exercise routines, or (naturally) huddle over the electronic campfire. They're all cheerful as chipmunks. Not a frown in sight.

My apartment complex got in on the act, too. When the pandemic first hit, they asked us for creative recipes, goofy photos of loved ones and pets, and organizational hacks, among other things. That request came right after the long, foreboding list of changes that they'd rolled out to their daily procedures.

My response comes comes down to four words...

"Are you 

kidding me?"

<"Turn That Frown (Upside Down)":
Take II: The Reckoner>

<ii.>

All of the above images may feel A) giddily nostalgic, or B) glibly reassuring, or C) serving as some vague point of inspiration. Take your pick. What line sounds more appealing? A) Hey, look at what we did, without thinking about it. We lined up right behind each other, without fear. B) Whatever happens, we'll get through somehow. We did it before, we'll do it again. It's what America's all about. C) Rally round the flag, boys, rally round the flag, Remember the Eighties.

If you said, "None of the above," you're actually paying attention. Because, honestly, there's nothing the least bit amusing or gut-busting or side-splitting about how we got into this situation, or the failures of the political class that helped to unleash it. The same goes for Sunday's front page of the New York Times, which showcased 1,000 COVID-related deaths -- one percent of the overall US toll (100,000) -- by highlighting some brief facts about each of them, alongside their name, age, city, and state. 

These people weren't statistics. They were somebody's father, mother, sister, brother, husband, wife, friend, partner, significant other, whatever you call it -- they don't deserve to be forgotten amid a sea of cold type and newsprint. The Times chose an appropriate way to humanize them. 

You can't paper over that reality with a creative recipe, or a goofy photo, or organizational hack -- let alone some advert trying to gull you into buying something that just happens to fit the Big Pharma blueprint. Why aren't we pushing back?

And that's before we get to the financial grind that continues eating away at people's hearts and pocketbooks. I'm hardly driving that much, so why am I paying the full monthly whack to my insurance company? Shouldn't my rate go down somewhat? For that matter, why shouldn't any of these entities to whom I shell out so much money do likewise?

Shouldn't the Republican-led political class that controls so much of the federal government made similar adjustments? Even if they do yank away that extra $600 a week in unemployment -- that, apparently, so many people aren't getting, because so many states didn't bother to invest in their own computer systems -- what's the point of promising some "new normal," when so many jobs aren't coming back? Well, I think know the answer to that one, actually...

Empathy, shmempathy. 

The only time Republicans ever feel that emotion is when their rich cronies swarm their offices en masse, looking for the lifeboats they don't deserve. For everyone else, it's, "You're on your own. And oh yeah, if you do get a paddle, it's gonna cost you 300 bucks instead of the usual 30. Have a nice one."

But these are the issues questions I want people to continue asking, rather than cranking out goofy pictures or or hacks or memes or silly artwork. Because the last thing I want to hear right now, "I just flew in with this virus. And boy, are my arms tired." Cue the rimshot:

Ba-boomp! 

But seriously, folks...a funny thing happened to me on my way to sheltering in place for the next few months. --The Reckoner

My Corona Diary (Take V): The Number Crunch Continues

<"It's Raining Claims
(Deny, Deny, Deny)":
Take I

The Reckoner>

<i.>

One of my favorite sayings from the business world is this one: "Numbers don't lie. They are what they are." Makes sense, right? A business either makes money, or it doesn't. A plan either comes to fruition, or it doesn't. A product either sells, or it doesn't.

But that's not how the Trump administration seems to view it, as states race to reopen, amid mixed signals from his underlings, and lack of clear-cut guidelines. On one hand, U.S. Health Secretary Alex Azar claimed Sunday it's safe to reopen, because half of all counties nationwide haven't had a signal COVID-19 death, the Washington Post reported.

On the other hand, Federal Reserve Chair Jerome S. Powell told "60 Minutes" -- also on Sunday -- that the economy may not fully recover for another 18 months. However, while he acknowledged that unemployment may reach Great Depression-era levels of 25 percent, he then went on to claim, "We can get back to a healthy economy fairly quickly."

So who should we believe? Go back to the numbers: 89,932 deaths, 281,000 recovered cases, and 1.52 million confirmed cases nationwide. That includes 785 new deaths and 19,731 cases reported since Saturday. Here in Michigan, we're looking at 4,891 deaths and 51,142 confirmed cases (or 11 and 638 more, respectively, since Saturday). Essentially, if we look at history as our guide, we're well on our way to doubling our Vietnam War-era casualty rate. If that sounds like success, then failure can't be so bad.

For my relation who works in state government, the current crisis might well amount to a feeling of total job security, or as close as close to it as you get. But she didn't sound so thrilled when we discussed it Sunday night. That's because her agency now has 41 million outstanding claims waiting for someone to process them. As of last week, it stood at 28 million.

"Most of them are from Appalachia, and big cities, like Cleveland. And most of them are 50, still, applying for whatever they hope they can get." She sighed. "That's about two years' worth of work." She sighed once more. "Nobody's in any hurry to let us back in the building."

<"It's Raining Claims 

(Deny, Deny, Deny)":

Take II

The Reckoner>

<ii.>

There's no lack of objective measurements to guide our evaluation of how our current power structure is managing the current pandemic. Look at the struggles that millions of Americans are facing, as they try to claim unemployment benefits. What are they getting for their trouble? A bureaucratic maze of conflicting deadlines and instructions. Call centers and computer systems that can't handle the overload. Outdated websites that only aggravate the long-standing systemic problems that nobody ever bothered to correct.

The frustration with Michigan's unemployment is already being singled out as the poster child of a dysfunctional system, which is why I've included the link below. As you'll see, much of the aggravation deals from changes made by former Governor Rick Snyder, who cut the Unemployment Insurance Agency's staff by a third, imposed numerous rule changes that made it harder to claim benefits, and rolled out an automated system that falsely accused 400,000 Michiganders of benefit fraud, even though it was wrong 90 percent of the time.

Not surprisingly, of the 1.3 million who have applied -- including yours truly -- only a quarter of them, or 1.1 million, have gotten their benefits. On one level, this figure reflects the usual granite-hearted approach that typifies Republicans like Synder, whose mantra ("Do it the cheapest, nastiest way possible") should feel distressingly familiar to anyone who unwittingly drank his poisoned water in Flint. It also typifies the bare-knuckled grudges that power the GOP calculus: They're nonwhite, they're not making money, they're not part of the nuclear family, and they'll never vote for us, anyway. So fuck 'em.

On a deeper level, though, the current crisis has totally shredded the pretense of our "safety net." Guess what? It's nowhere nearly as strong as the pundits claimed. How can we even talk about a recovery, with so many needless deaths, and so many out of work, or barely working at all? How is an adjunct army of millions, who don't have a voice, and have remained largely invisible until the pandemic broke, ever going to create wealth for itself, let alone a nation? What's the point of dangling out promises like deferred payments, or payment plans, when you can't make your monthly nut, to begin with?

These are the questions that we need to ask, and demand answers. Here's one final figure to ponder: we have more deaths than any other nation, of which 17,000 are African-American. Of the 39 states for which data has been collected, African-Americans accounted for just 13 percent of the population, yet 27 percent of the deaths, the Washington Post stated Sunday.

Remember, numbers don't lie. They are what they are. Yet Trump and his misfit crew stoutly maintain, "Mission accomplished." Therein lies the current national disconnect. --The Reckoner


Links To Go (Imagine That,
A Power Structure That Hoovers Up Our Money)

Bridge Michigan: Coronavirus Tracker
https://www.bridgemi.com/michigan-health-watch/coronavirus-tracker-what-michigan-needs-know-now
Detroit Free Press
How Rick Snyder Made It Harder
To Collect Unemployment Benefits:
https://www.freep.com/story/opinion/columnists/nancy-kaffer/2020/05/15/rick-snyder-michigan-unemployment-fund-uia/5182208002/

My Corona Diary (Take IV): The COVID Death Toll Crunch ("It Didn't Have To Be This Way")

<i.>

Alive or dead, Joseph Stalin surely ranks among the most horribly quotable leaders of all time. I reached that conclusion a couple weeks ago, after finally finishing a book that I'd been reading, off and on, for two years... The Court of The Red Tsar (2003), by Simon Sebag Montefiore. I picked it up for a buck from my local Dollartree, of all places, during the winter of 2018. 

As a paperback, it's massive, indeed, weighing in at 720 pages, but one that benefits from a trove of previously unseen archive material, plus numerous primary sources -- many well in their eighties or nineties, who labored far from the spotlight enjoyed by Stalin and his inner circle of "magnates," as the author labels them. 

Yet they shed invaluable light on the Soviet leader's numerous contradictions, as the Economist's review ("Blood On The Tracks," 7/14/03) notes: "His account does give one a start. It is much easier to read ghastly accounts of Beria's debauchery, or Stalin's paranoia, than anecdotes about children scampering happily through their parents' Kremlin offices, or of Stalin's punctilious habits in his personal correspondence, his bizarre flashes of kindness and decency or his extraordinary appetite for books."

Among the magnates, Stalin became equally renowned and feared for his ability to sum up an issue through statements that could wax caustic or chilling, depending on his mood -- and the situation -- of the moment. At various times, he could swing from simple observation ("If you want to know the people around you, find out what they read"), to the relentless, heartless calculus that always drove the cogs of his police state ("Death solves all problems -- no man, no problem"), to twilight year confessions of the weary business of clinging to power ("I'm finished. I trust no one, not even myself").

Seen in this light, it's not hard to understand how the man who presided over an estimated 20 to 27 million civilian and military casualties in World War II might say, "A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic" -- even as doubt persists about its origins, or if he said it at all. But there's little question that his knack for pithy observation served him well throughout his long and bloody reign as Soviet Russia's second dictator, from 1929 to 1953.

<"And On And On And On...?"
Take I: The Reckoner>

<ii.>

Writing off great chunks of the populace is part of any dictator's playbook. Stalin is hardly unique in that respect. But the Trump regime seems to be governing along the same lines, like his rightist counterparts around the world -- notably, Brazil's Jair Bolsonaro, who refuses to institute any significant social distancing or testing measures, even as his nation's overall toll continues to climb (157,000 cases, 61,685 recoveries, 10,741 deaths). 

Of course, Brazil's body count pales against our own, where roughly 80,000 have already died. To put that figure in perspective, that's higher than the total number of GIs killed in Vietnam (58,220), or fatal crashes on American highways (36,550 for 2018, the latest year for which statistics are available). 

Yet those figures, grim as they undoubtedly read, may well be considered the good old days, according to the University of Washington,'s Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation, which now projects a figure of 137,000 deaths by August 4. Not that Americans see better days coming any time soon. 

The latest figures I've seen show 89.5 million people have gotten their so-called stimulus check, for an average payout of $1,792. Forty-six percent of the 2,200 participants in an April 22 Money/Morning Consult survey have already spent their payout, or expect it to last less than four weeks. Seventy-percent of those surveyed didn't expect it to last beyond four weeks.

No matter. Gripped by only one consideration -- an additional four-year blank check to do whatever it sees fit -- the Trump regime is barreling to reopen the economy, against all advice to the contrary, as I noted in my last post ("Pandemic, Shmandemic"), a reflex surely aggravated by the lack of unified federal response. 

Or, as I tell people, it's the current game of, "Here a state, there a state, everywhere a state, state (sung to the tune of, 'Old McDonald Had A Farm')." Some leaders are trying to comfort themselves that they can have it both ways, as Georgia Governor Brian Kemp told MSN.com. For his state's grand reopening bonanza, Kemp promised MSN that he "will urge businesses to take precautions, such as screening for fevers, spacing workstations apart and having workers wear gloves and masks 'if appropriate.'"

"If appropriate?" Would you visit those particular barber shops, bowling alleys, massage parlors or tanning salons, to name four types of businesses that Georgia's deciding to reopen?

I thought not.

You can see almost see the gears grinding in the White House. Ah, it's just the poor and those sh#ithole country refugees getting thrown to the wolves. They wouldn't vote for us, anyway, so who cares? If they die, so be it. But we still need them at their multiple shit jobs, so let's just shove their asses back out there, however we can. We aren't done using them yet.

You can also find no lack of statistics to illustrate the humanitarian toll of the pandemic. A few that I've gleaned from Bernie Sanders' weekly email should suffice: 

"While 87 million Americans were uninsured or underinsured, the health care industry made $100 billion in profits."

"Last year, Oxfam reported that the richest one percent of the world’s population owned more than twice as much wealth as the bottom half of humanity. Meanwhile, nearly half of the global population was trying to survive on less than $5.50 a day and 820 million were going hungry."

"Over the past six weeks, while over 30 million Americans lost their jobs and many small businesses have gone bankrupt, Jeff Bezos, the owner of Amazon and the wealthiest person in the world, increased his wealth by over $40 billion."

"While workers at Walmart continue to make poverty wages and are putting their lives at risk, the Walton family, the wealthiest family in America, has seen their wealth go up by more than $30 billion — just since March 12th."

"Before the pandemic, 18 million families in America were paying over half of their limited incomes on rent. Today, it has gotten worse. No American should be evicted from their home because they can’t afford to pay for housing. Nobody in the richest country in the world should be sleeping out on the streets.

"Before the pandemic, half of Americans aged 55 and older had no retirement savings. We have got to make sure that every senior citizen can retire with dignity and every person with a disability can live with the security they need."

"And On And On And On...?"
Take II: The Reckoner>

<iii.>

Had enough yet? Feeling sufficiently depressed? I imagine so, if you don't have a heart of stone. But if we want any hope of changing the conversation, we need to keep these creepy little factoids front and center, as disturbing as they are. Too many social policies and laws suffer from of appearing created in some airless terrarium, where light and sound, along with the traffic of heartfelt convictions, and the grimy practicalities of implementation, are never allowed to intrude. 

Yet if we are to survive -- or God forbid, reach some measure of progress,  within our lifetimes -- it's imperative that we break off those habits, and shake loose the chains of the past that have imprisoned us for so long. That starts by taking a hard look at the way this unforgiving pandemic is affecting peoples' lives.  At least, that's how the presumptive Democratic nominee, Joe Biden, earnestly summarized it recently for CNN:

"God knows how many family members whose lives have been upended, their dreams destroyed...going to bed at night staring at the ceiling wondering, my God, how am I going to get through this. What kind of future will we have?... And here's the tragedy, it didn't have to be this way."

"It didn't have to be this way." That's as good as an epitaph as you'll find for a crumbling, stumbling superpower, isn't it?

I'll leave you with one more snapshot, that I gleaned from a relative who works in state government. During our weekly phone chat, she mentioned that the current crisis will easily eclipse what happened in 2006, when roughly 12 million people filed disability claims with her agency.

"So how does it look this time around?" I ventured to ask.

"I'll put it this way: those 12 million claims kept us into overtime for a year and a half. As I look at this week's numbers..." She paused. "They're somewhere around 28 million, and most of them are over 55. Because you know what happened last time: many of them never got re-hired at their old jobs. And when they file, they file for everything. Including disability."

Let those numbers sink in, if only for a moment. Now imagine these people being left to their fates, even as our so-called leadership pats itself on the back, and declares, "Mission accomplished." Sound familiar? So should the ending of that particular photo-op. We all know that turned out.--The Reckoner

Links To Go (Don't Hurry,
Or They'll Shoo You Back To Work)
LA Times
Projections Show
California Cases And Deaths Rising:
https://www.latimes.com/california/story/2020-05-10/california-coronavirus-cases-deaths-rising-more-than-expected

MSN.com
States Rushing To Reopen
Are Likely Making A Deadly Error:
msn.com/en-us/news/world/states-rushing-to-reopen-are-likely-making-a-deadly-error-coronavirus-models-and-experts-warn/ar-BB133x6V

Quote Investigator
A SIngle Death Is A Tragedy...
https://quoteinvestigator.com/2010/05/21/death-statistic/

My Corona Diary (Take III): Pandemic, Shmandemic (Get Your Asses Back To Work)

<Eternally Yours (1978)
US LP Front Cover><https://punkygibbon.co.uk/bands/s/saints_eternally.html>

Don't talk to me 'bout what you've done
There ain't nothin' changed, it all goes on

They'll keep laughin' till the end

This perfect day

What more to say

Don't need no one to tell me what I already know

"This Perfect Day" (The Saints)

<i.>

My mouth gets me in trouble sometimes. I'm thinking of a verbal donneybrook that I got into during the 2008 recession, with a friend of Squawker's. They not friendly anymore, but that's another story for another day. 

I didn't get along with this particular gal, either. When she wasn't constantly lecturing me about this, that, and the other -- mostly, how I looked, or I didn't choose H2O as my favorite tipple -- she never stopped pontificating about whatever issue of the day crossed her mind. I'll call her Austere Annie.

I don't remember anymore how we got onto this particular topic, but somehow, the old "they-could-get-a-job-if-they-wanted-it" chestnut wandered into our kitchen table discussion, like that drunk boyfriend who's willed himself off the couch. "Well, Annie, I don't know," I said. "All I can say is, how many 50-plus-year-olds are they hiring lately?"

"Look at what I do, though," Annie argued. "I work at the cleaner, I walk all these dogs, I'm not just sitting around."

"Neither am I, exactly." My eyes roamed toward the ceiling. Lord oh lord, how do I get out of this one? "But I have a better idea. Why not just join the underground economy? More opportunities to move up, better pay, get to travel, meet interesting people, pick your own hours..."

Annie widened her eyes in horror. "How can you say that? There's plenty of opportunities out there that don't involve doing something..."

"C'mon, Annie," I shrugged. "It's a joke. Actually, Woody Allen says something similar in 'Take The Money And Run.' I got a million of 'em, if you want."

Now hold that thought. We'll circle back to it soon enough.

<"Hey Bossman (Takes I-III)..."
The Reckoner>

Ain't nobody tells me what to do now

I've heard all the lies and been promised the world

No businessman is gonna use or confuse me

'Cause I ain't no puppet for his capital gain

And what do you get but exploitation

From creeps who are gonna ignore your situation?

Too many people gettin' pushed around
Gonna end up down the lost and found

"Lost & Found" (The Saints)

<ii.>

Released in May 1978, the Saints' second album, Eternally Yours, maintained the energy of their classic debut, (I'm) Stranded (1977), while adding subtle touches (notably, horns, harmonica, a dab of organ via drummer Ivor Hay) that hinted at more adventurous musical explorations down the road, as did moody, acoustic slow burners like "Untitled," and "A Minor Aversion," whose lyrics about love gone sour ("Don't you know that this thing can't last/And don't you know this time will pass/These dreams are not your own anymore"), might well apply to a certain, ah, occupant at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Of course, there were plenty of fast burners to keep the faithful happy, such as "Run Down," the cheeky twin pairing of "Know Your Product," and "No, Your Product," plus the two I've chosen to quote here, "This Perfect Day" -- an honest to goodness Top 40 single, the band's only one -- and "Lost & Found," which aptly sum up the prevailing mood, as the body count from COVID-19 continues to pile up. How do Trump, his henchmen and all their faithful red state allies respond, you might ask? Hence, the title of this post:

"Pandemic, Shmandemic! 

"Get Your Ass Back To Work!"

As states rush to reopen their so-called economies -- the same ones that COVID-19 devastated, in case we forgot -- check out the scam they're pulling in Iowa, where its Workforce Development gremlins have just announced that refusing to return to work will be deemed a "voluntary quit," even fear of infection is the reason. Say goodbye to any current or future state benefits, plus those $600 per week federal benefits.

Or, as IWD Director Beth Townsend helpfully explains in the state's press release: "For Iowans whose employment may be permanently affected by the outbreak, we have many training opportunities under Future Ready Iowa to help them obtain training and begin a new career in a high-demand, high-paying job."

Similar maneuvers are underway in Texas, which officially reopened May 1, and Oklahoma, as Robert Reich reports in his own column, where he quotes the latter state's jobless czar along these lines: "If the employer will contact us...we will cut off their benefits."

Oh, and in case anyone missed the punchline, Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC) said Wednesday, at a state panel about his own state's rush to reopen: "I promise you, over our dead bodies will this ($600 federal jobless benefits) get reauthorized. We've got to stop this. You cannot turn on the economy until you get this aberration of the law fixed."

Nice guys, eh? So much for "unemployment compensation on steroids," as Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer called it, when Congress passed the measure.

<iii.>

Of course, those steroids -- unemployment-related, or not -- only work if you get your hands on them. My own experiences with Michigan's system mirror a lot of the frustration brewing out there. At various times, I got locked out of my account, knocked off the phone, or frozen from proceeding with my claim until I entered my life's various mundane details, like my address, as the system preferred. It took a fair bit of research to sort out all these points.

Things took a truly surreal turn on Tuesday, when two pieces of mail arrived -- one, to tell me that I'd no longer get those "Go Green" alerts in my e-mail, the other, requesting more information, even though its website allowed me to file for the minimal level of benefits ($160 per week), without having to provide any.

Got all that? Dealing with public agencies often reminds me of the party scene from Alice In Wonderland: "Have some tea. There isn't any."

For millions of Americans, however, the ante is about to crank up in the most unforgiving way imaginable. Pandemic be damned, promises of support be damned, public sentiment be damned. Get your asses back to work, because the people who've been taking us all for a ride need you back at the hamster wheel. You can keep running in place, as you've done all along, by whatever name you call it -- adjunct, contract, temporary, work for hire, take your pick. It's all the same, and it's all contaminated by association.

If this is really is the "new normal" we're going to resume, count me out. That smells like the same normal that stopped working for so many of us so long ago.

Then again, it's not really about you, is it? The Orange Monster in the White House is so desperate to claw back his way to re-election, that he's willing to roll the dice, with millions of reluctant workers, essential or not, as his unwilling human shields. That's all it's about, really.

Or, as Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez recently told VICE News -- only in America, when the President talks about liberation, "does it mean, 'Get back to work.'"

<iv.>

Looking back on my verbal brawl with Austere Annie, I find that this calamity strikingly resembles the 2008 economic meltdown, only with the "corporations are people, too" concept taken to its most absurd extreme. We're talking about unemployment rates not seen since the Great Depression (20 percent, with 30.3 million unemployment claimants), even as corporate interests hoovered up $1.1 billion of the $2.2 million earmarked for small business relief through the Paycheck Protection Program.

The PPP fund is another great example of the Orwellian misnaming that often accompanies these ventures, just like the Oklahoma official threatening to cut off benefits happens to head the --  wait for it -- Oklahoma Employment Security Commission. I guess he meant his job security, right? Honestly, it's all too whacked out for words.

All the more galling, when you consider that people are still expected to conjure money out of thin air to make their weekly and/or monthly nut, even as the empty suits set about steering money to themselves and their buddies. As the Huffington Post story notes, the corporations that seriously dented the PPP fund got forgivable loans. That sounds like Uncle Sam doesn't expect to see that money back, right?

What relief can the average person expect, once they know they can't pay their rent? At most, a payment plan, or a deferred payment -- meaning, a promise to make good on whatever they owe at some point in the future. Same goes for student loans, or whatever debt you care to name. At best, you'll get a few months' timeout from having to pay them when you're in the nursing home. Some relief.

I'm reminded of a county commission meeting in my reporting days, where the chairman interrupted a colleague hectoring him about some obscure feature of the annual budget. He posed a rhetorical question: "What is a budget, exactly? A plan for spending. That's all. We make statements about where we're going to spend our money, and what we're spending it on."

With COVID-19, we're doing likewise. We're making statements, all right, but they just happen to be in all the wrong places. --The Reckoner

And what do you get but exploitation

From creeps who are gonna ignore your situation?

<Eternally Yours (1978)
Back Cover, US LP>

Links To Go (Hurry, So The Oligarchy
Can Herd You Back At Your Desk):

Common Dreams
Only In Trump's America:
https://www.commondreams.org/news/2020/04/29/only-trumps-america-despite-covid-19-employees-texas-and-iowa-told-get-back-work-or

The Guardian
Donald Trump's Four-Step Plan:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2020/may/03/donald-trump-reopen-us-economy-lethal-robert-reich

The Huffington Post
Congress Will Extend Unemployment Boost
Over "Our Dead Bodies":
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/lindsey-graham-dead-bodies-unemployment-benefits_n_5eadf270c5b659c79250384e