May 10, 2020 (In the Year of The Trump Virus)

May 10, 2020 (In the Year of The Trump Virus)

Mother's day. I took the day off from my writing job and just focused on getting tulips for my mom this morning.  I bought her white tulips and purple tulips.  I went to Gelson's on Hyperion at 10:00 A.M. for the flowers, and once there, we decided to do a little bit of marketing.  Since the lockdown, I have been obsessing over Amy's Mac and Cheeze.  All vegan.   I throw in a handful of almonds, and it's a perfect lunch.  It does taste like frozen food, but that I think is what makes frozen food so tasty.  I miss the taste of Swanson's TV dinners.  A piece of beef of some sort.  Something green, I think green beans, and then some object that looks like the mashed potato, and usually, for desert, there is that apple something another.  I love that food. Mind you; I haven't eaten that type of frozen dinner since I was a child.

We drove to my mom's house and parked directly across the street from her home.  I called her to let her know that we were there, and she said: "I can see you out of the window."  My mom is 85 years old, and I'm 65.  We got out of the car, and I went up alone to her door. She opened it, and I gave her the flowers and said, "Happy Mother's Day."   When she opened the door, and with our masks on, I immediately took a full-step back.  We didn't do small talk, such as talking about the weather, or how we are doing.  I usually talk or text my mom every day, so sometime in the day, she knows what I'm doing.  She has mentioned that she likes seeing me in person, although I can't imagine anyone would want to see me, alas, she is my mother.   The truth is, the news has been bleak.  Every day, people have been dying either from the virus or just famous people from the infection or cancer.   There is never a good day to watch or read the news.  We stood there, and she stood there, and we waved goodbye to each other.

For our next podcast Book Musik, I'm reading "The Kinks: Songs of the Semi-Detached by Mark Doyle.  I have to finish this book by Monday (tomorrow) and do the podcast that Tuesday.  My life before and after the Trump Virus is the same.  I have a schedule for writing and posting narratives on Facebook, as well as keeping up my reading.  I take my plan very seriously, and I also mark my calendar in what I'm going to do for that day.  People are talking about if they should open for business, well, I'm here to tell you I haven't closed for business. 24/7 Tosh, that is who I'm.  I work at home, so this lockdown is a piece of cake for me.  I can go to work, but I firmly tell you, people, you shouldn't be working or going out of your residence.  Stay at home and read my daily posts.

Either for comfort or temporary insanity, I decided to put on Led Zeppelin II  when I got home from the market and mom's house.  This is a band I respect but not love.  What I do admire is how Jimmy Page blends his various guitars in the mix. The music itself is not exciting, but as a great chemist or bartender, he knows how to the proper mix. "Whole Lotta Love" works for me, especially the orgasmic spacey part of the song.  It is here that I imagine Page having sex with some enticing groupie of somewhat questionable age, and holding back the climax.   The rest of side one is not as important as the first track, because, after the sexual release, I'm exhausted.

Around four this afternoon, I watched a film called "The Most Dangerous Game," starring Joel McCrea and made in 1932, an RKO Picture.  Wonderful film.  Only an hour-long, which is a perfect length for a movie.  A story about a hunter who is being hunted. It has serious thoughts on the nature of humans hunting down animals.  I wouldn't recommend the film to vegans or dog lovers. I'm afraid that some dogs met their end in a very not nice manner. Still, it put me in a good mood, when lately I have been sour toward my self and the world.  My only suggestion at this point is when you feel depression coming upon you, put a smile on your face.   It won't take away the misery, but it does add a sense of absurdity to the mix. - Tosh Berman

March 28, 2020 (In The Year of the Trump Virus)

March 28, 2020 (In the Year of the Trump Virus)

A strange juxtaposition of clean air and nasty virus, as I take a walk around my residential block here in Los Angeles.  The last few days have been very stressful due that my 88-year old Uncle had to go to the ER at Kaiser.  My fear is two-folded:  My Uncle and his 85-year old Sister, my mom.  On an everyday basis, if I have even a slight cold, I try to stay away from their presence.  With the help from my wife and my Uncle's partner, I take care of both of them.  Mostly handling the numerous hospital visits as well as doing the regular laundry for my mom.  That is my role as the only child son, and I take the responsibility very seriously.  Therefore when the Coronavirus struck Los Angeles, I pretty much stayed in our house and communicated through the phone and computer.   Both my mom and Uncle live in the neighborhood, so it's not that difficult to see them both in either a visit or emergency.   Concerning my mom, I bring wine and bread to her front porch.  Call her.  Then when she comes to the porch, I wave to her across the street.

Usually, when my Uncle needs to stay in the hospital, I wait in the waiting room, or come on daily visits, and also when they call me in to pick him up.  Now, one can only drop the patient off, and you have to go back home, or in other words, there is no hanging out at the hospital.  This is reasonable, but then that means I have to stay near the cell phone in case there is news or the medical team asks a question.  So one is on call 24/7, which is basically why I travel very little now and stay in Los Angeles.

The good news is that he was tested twice, and both came out negative. So, that is a huge relief.  My wife and I are trying to beat the clock to fix up our studio apartment downstairs for my Uncle and partner.  30-hours ago, there was the possibility of us taking him to our home last night.   But we have no bed, and on top of that, we would have to take the Oxygen machine (ventilator) from his home to our house.  Where he lives is on the side of a hill, with a steep staircase, which even gives me the willy. If you read my memoir, you'll get the drift.  Nevertheless, talking to the administrator at Kaiser, we both decided it was best that he was taken home by ambulance and assistants to take him downstairs and then to his bed.  So, I engineered a lot of this by staying home, but with a great deal of help from Kaiser as well as my Uncle's partner.

Last night was the first night of not sleeping in dread fear of what will happen next.  Yes, the air feels fantastic, and the plants look lively, but there is a mood that puts a dark shadow across the landscape.