| If you’re anything like us, you’re a busy business person who does important business. That probably means you had to trade board rooms for Zoom rooms, thanks to The Ro Ro. However, that’s no need to worry. We’re here to help you with important do’s and don’ts for conference call etiquette: Do: Keep your camera on at the start of the call to pressure everyone into turning theirs on too, even if — especially if — they don’t want to. Don’t: Wear pants. Why would you wear pants, prude? Do: Stroke the nearest dog, cat or roommate within reach to look intimidating while you speak. Don’t: Accept invites for “virtual happy hours” from work. Do: Go five-drinks deep with your friends on Google Hangouts this Wednesday. Do: Ask everyone to repeat themselves, no matter how well you can hear them. Don’t: Speak. This is like every other meeting. The goal is to say as little as possible. Do: Interrupt others and stammer as if you have something to say then sit silently for minutes until everyone realizes this was a mistake and cancels the call. Don’t: Ask “how is everyone doing?” It’s bad. We’re all doing bad. This is bad. Do: Zone out and ignore the call until somebody asks you a question, and then say, “Sorry, I think the feed cut out” Don’t: Set your Zoom background to the ISIS flag. Or do! Whatever, it’s The Purge! Do: Mute your camera when you have to fart, but show with your facial expression that you are very clearly farting. Don’t: Freebase blow. It’s difficult to share virtually and you can’t assume all other call participants have access. |
Author: leftonreadletter
The Fifth Peg
In 1970, Roger Ebert walked out of a movie he was reviewing for the Chicago Sun-Times and into the Fifth Peg, a folk club in Chicago’s Lincoln Park neighborhood. Out of “sheer blind luck,” he saw John Prine and wrote the first review Prine ever received.
Today, John Prine is in critical condition with COVID-19 symptoms. And the Fifth Peg is a La Colombe coffee shop, next door to a Freshii and down the street from both a Warby Parker store and the 4am bar where my dad’s Rolling Stones cover band plays sometimes.
Life comes at you fast. But, re-reading Ebert’s review and thinking of the destruction that coronavirus has wrought on a personal and civic level, I’m struck by just how deeply the people and places in our life are intertwined.
I like to think of a person or a place’s meaning both vertically and horizontally. Take the vertical meaning of an address like 858 W. Armitage, Chicago, IL 60614. Maybe today you passed it on a social distancing walk through a Lincoln Park neighborhood suddenly void of $2,000 baby strollers or designer labradoodles. Just a month ago you could have taken a date or a friend to coffee at La Colombe, sitting outside on an unseasonably warm day as you watched your fellow Chicagoans walk past. 50 years ago, that La Colombe was a packed folk venue where word of mouth led people from Steve Goodman to Ebert to come together and listen to a mustachio’d mailman sing about a guy who died because he couldn’t see through all the flag decals he stuck on his truck. And that venue, with a bar down one side and apartments up top, had been around since 1885—built a decade after the Chicago Fire but four years before the neighborhood was annexed by Chicago. You can think about John Prine’s meaning vertically too: You can draw a straight line from Hank Williams and Bob Dylan to Prine, and then extend Prine’s influence out to just about any songwriter today who picks up an acoustic guitar.
Both Prine and the place where Ebert first saw him have horizontal meaning too. At the time Prine was performing in Lincoln Park, the wealthy and mostly white (even then) neighborhood existed in a complex urban context. There was the poor and mostly black Cabrini-Green housing project next door to the south, or the more integrated Lathrop Homes to the northwest. Just a year before, the Young Lords had held protests against gentrification in Lincoln Park and the CPD had assassinated Fred Hampton on the West Side. The Hancock building had just gone up a few miles to the south of the Fifth Peg, and meanwhile the city’s factories and stockyards were looking down the barrel of a decade of deindustrialization. Prine, too, could be defined in the context of what was going around him. Ebert did just that, contrasting Prine against peers who sang “adolescent acid-rock peace dirges” or “narcissistic tributes to themselves.”
We understand a neighborhood like Lincoln Park in part based on what it isn’t: it’s not Wicker Park, it’s not Hyde Park, etc. We understand a singer like Prine in part based on who he isn’t: as Ebert noted, he was way more Hank Williams and Bob Dylan than Roger Williams or Phil Ochs. And, right now, we’re experiencing this quarantine based on who we aren’t with: the friends, loved ones, and strangers whose company we never knew we could miss so badly until it was taken from us.
Coronavirus will be a key point in our vertical memory. We’ll mark time based on what happened before or after the pandemic. The same way that Prine could probably mark his life based on what happened before versus after he got his first review. And I’ve never felt so crushingly aware of the horizontal space between us—the video chats with people who I would ordinarily see in person (or never think to video chat with in the first place), and the great effort it now would take to reach them.
John Prine wrote perfect music for when you’re down and alone. And he wrote perfect music that has, and will continue to, bring people together.
When I woke up this morning
Things were feeling bad
Seemed like total silence
Was the only friend I had
or
Just give me one thing
That I can hold on to
To believe in this living
Is just a hard way to go
No matter when he passes—and we know that now isn’t his time, like so many others—he’ll live on in our memory. And his music will help us try to bridge the physical and emotional gap that separates us from one another.
Hey, You. Congrats On That Loaf Of Bread You Baked.
Hey, buddy.
I was just strolling through Instagram, as I’ve been doing almost ad nauseam for the last week, and I saw something that caught my eye: a round, rustic loaf of bread posing on a cooling rack.
My god. Did you bake that yourself?
I mean—I am truly in awe. As you mentioned in your own caption, it came out quite well. Have you always baked bread? Did you work in une boulangerie? Was your father a lowly baker, always struggling to make ends meet but deeply fulfilled to create something that he could sell at affordable prices to his beloved community? Did he show you how to bake that?
Oh. No? It’s your first time? Ah. I see. Ohhh, that’s right, you did mention that in your caption. I must have missed that. Maybe I was just distracted by that luscious golden loaf, the finest loaf of bread I’ve ever seen in my pathetic life.
Well, I just dropped in to say that I am endlessly happy for you for this loaf of bread. I’ve never seen something so perfect, certainly not 45 seconds ago when I was browsing an earlier section of my Instagram feed. I cannot wait to see the rest of the loaves of bread you bake, and have total faith that you will post every single pic of them so I can see them on my shitty, shitty, shitty Instagram feed.
What My Current Most Commonly Used Phrases Meant, Six Weeks Ago
- I’m not touching that unless you promise me it was recently bleached. We’re gonna do buttstuff now.
- Yeah, my parents are social distancing right now. Trial separation 😦
- Oh I LOVE Dr. Fauci! Dr. Birx is cool too for sure, but Fauci just slaps. I’m going to put some shitty EDM for you now, and you’ll have to pretend you know these DJs.
- I’ve been in isolation for the past week, so that’s good. I’m at the “acceptance” part of my mental health spiral.
- Let’s flatten that curve!! I am the world’s most insensitive abortion provider.
- Did you break down the lipid envelope while you were in the bathroom? Which drugs were you mainlining next to the toilet?
- Hey everyone, please don’t bring up Imperial College tonight; we’re trying to make this a safe space. I am extremely woke and understand that imperialism was bad.
- Who wants to do a Google hangout on Friday? Orgy time 🙂
Our Slow Motion Catastrophe
Throughout our lifetime, national traumas have come as something of a shock. Levees in New Orleans suddenly breaching. Banks closing and markets collapsing. Boeing 767s streaking across a bright blue sky.
And while most of us are still using euphemisms to describe the current situation—“unprecedented times,” “everything that’s going on,” “the current situation”—the projections from scientists, academics, politicians, and public health officials all align: we’re headed for a catastrophe of historic proportions. Slowly (for now), agonizingly, we are inching toward a precipice of trauma that few of us are prepared for.
Even with social distancing and a nationwide sprint to flatten the curve, it’s more likely than not that the train has left the station. Where previous tragedies have caught us off guard, we have a decent idea of where this one is probably heading. And it’s not pretty.
As strange and awful as the past two weeks have been, I can’t shake the feeling that in a month (or two, or six, or 18), we’ll look back on this time as the fun part. It’s been a lot of Zoom happy hours and learning to bake. Catching up on shows, sleeping in, skipping the gym.
What it feels like we’re all ignoring to some degree—intentionally on my part, in an effort to stay sane—is what comes next.
We see what’s going on in Italy and Iran and we think something along the lines of “man, I hope that doesn’t happen here.” The reality is that it’s entirely possible, and maybe even likely, that the disaster in Italy is just beginning; that in a week or two the scale of the loss will be astronomically higher and the situation we’re witnessing there now will seem almost innocent by comparison. And that we’ll find that for all our recent efforts, we already put ourselves on that same track months ago.
Before I go further, I should stop to say that there is broad consensus that the types of social distancing efforts underway in Italy, France, Spain, New York, California, Illinois, and elsewhere do work. As contagious as this virus is, it doesn’t float through the wind; it usually requires human-to-human contact to transmit, and large scale restrictions on physical human interactions should greatly reduce the spread.
But we don’t know 1) how strictly implemented and well-followed these restrictions will be, and 2) how widely the disease spread before we started going all out to stop it. The evidence from Europe suggests that the answer to #2 is likely much worse than we would hope.
Which is why it’s time to begin grappling with what is likely to come. That does not mean panic or despondence; we each have a significant role to play in flattening the curve and preventing transmission. But it does mean starting to process what’s next.
According to The New York Times, Columbia researchers estimate we’ll soon see hundreds of thousands of cases per day for a period of a month or more, even with some control measures. That number is significantly lower, but still in the tens of thousands, with severe control measures.
The infamous Imperial College study projects more than a million Americans could die in spite of the steps governments are now taking. Even if they were able to more fully replicate efforts in Wuhan and South Korea that go beyond lockdowns—including widespread testing, mandatory isolation for those who test positive, and mandatory quarantine for those with symptoms—20,000 or more are likely to perish in the U.K., according to the study. The authors didn’t model this scenario for the U.S., but Britain has a population about 1/5th of the United States.
So it’s staggering. And horrifying. And I hope dearly that it’s not inevitable. But what if it is? What if tens of thousands dead is the best case scenario.
Right now, unless you worked on the set of the Mr. Rogers movie or play basketball for a living, you probably don’t personally know anyone who has tested positive for COVID-19. But you will, that much seems almost certain.
Fortunately, even if the medical system gets overwhelmed, experts say the vast majority of those infected with the virus will recover fully on their own. Thank God.
But I can’t stop thinking about that projection of two million dead even with controls in place. That’s about .6% of the population. In some localities, it will surely be higher.
Think about how many people you know. A few hundred? Maybe a couple thousand, depending on your life experiences? If this goes how they say it will—even with everything we’re doing to stop it—this is likely to touch all of us in a way much deeper and much more traumatic than the inconvenience of staying home for months on end.
And as awful, horrendous, sickening, and hopefully wrong as that possibility is, it’s time for all of us to begin processing it.
We’ll Get Through This
Best read while blasting Bruce Springsteen’s “Lonesome Day,” or whatever uplifting piece of Americana you prefer.
These are dark times. Unprecedented times. And things are going to get worse before they get better.
But we’ll get through this. We’ll make our way through like we’ve done before and will do again. We’ll see each other on the other side—we’ll hug one another, gather together, and celebrate all of what’s been taken from us.
We’ll come through hopefully smarter, hopefully better prepared for the next challenge.
We’ll come through with a better appreciation for what’s been lost. The friends whose company we savored. The places where we congregated to celebrate life, love, and passion. The stadiums, churches, restaurants, and bars. We’ll kiss our loved ones and take in their presence with a renewed eye toward what they mean to us.
We’ll be scarred, and we’ll be scared, but we’ll start to heal. Some wounds won’t though. Some people will be lost, and for that we can never forget or forgive the cowardice, idiocy, and hubris of the officials who failed us. And we’ll need to support those who have been so hurt—financially, physically, emotionally—from this period that it will be difficult for them to become whole when it’s over.
I hope that we come out of this with a reaffirmed sense of the resilience and compassion that we like to tell ourselves we share as Americans. And I hope we’ve learned just how interconnected we are the whole world over—how we rise, and we fall, together.
So take care of yourself, and take care of one another. We need each other to get through this. And then we need to make sure this never happens again.
The Search for the Worst Coronavirus Take
| Historians by and large agree that when Thomas Paine said “these are the times that try men’s souls,” he was talking about the bad tweets that bad people are tweeting about the coronavirus. This is known, but the real question is… what’s the worst coronavirus take out there? Below are a few contenders, from some of the worst minds online. |
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| *spends the next seventy years developing a time machine* *travels back in time to D-Day* *runs gasping to the shores of Normandy, shouting “one day basketball will be superseded by a global pandemic”* *Dwight Eisenhower himself shoots me for being an annoying little bitch* *I die happy* |
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| Ah yes. If we vote for leftists we might end up with a future as awful as the present. This is galaxy brain stuff and I, for one, stan it. |
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| This is the dude who wore a gas mask on the floor of the House as a joke. Now he’s going on state news to make the world’s worst ok boomer joke. There’s nothing all that offensive in this joke, but he’s terrible and his eyes are creepy and I’m pretty sure he was supposed to be in quarantine? |
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| Calling the novel coronavirus “China Virus” is so vile, bigoted, xenophobic, and disgraceful that only someone whose face is 20–30x too small for his head (or someone who was selected by the electoral college to run the world) could say it. Putting that aside for a moment — we’ll come back to it — the great news he’s accusing the media of hiding is… THREE PEOPLE have recovered, out of thousands of confirmed cases? That’s the definition of dystopian nightmare fuel. Speaking of nightmares, Charlie Kirk is a racist piece of shit :). |
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| Folks, what the fuck are we even doing here? This is some absolutely wild mashup of liberal nostalgia porn and a misplaced desire for THE GUY WHO DID KATRINA TO COME HANDLE THIS CRISIS. |
| But we know there are worse takes out there. Please send them our way, we need something to sustain in these trying times. |
A Step-by-Step Guide to Incorporating COVID-19 Into Your Brand’s Marketing
So you’re a super thoughtful brand deeply invested in your customers’ lives. You know you matter deeply to them. They love you, and you love them right back. Because you’re so important to them, you’ve decided it would be great if you incorporate some relevant messaging about coronavirus into your marketing. Maybe it’s a fun work from home discount. Or maybe it’s a joke about not having masks, but still having the best direct-to-consumer smoothies for dogs around. That’s great! However, navigating this situation can be really tricky.
To help all of our brand marketing friends out there, here’s a step-by-step guide on how to seamlessly blend COVID-19 references into your marketing:
1. Get out a notebook
2. Grab a pencil
3. Write your ten favorite COVID-19 ideas for your brand
4. Tear the paper out of your notebook
5. Put it in a food processor with kale
6. Make a smoothie
7. Drink your shitty ideas
8. Answer this question: Should my brand find a fun way to talk about Coronavirus
a. If your answer is yes, continue forward.
b. If your answer is no, move on with your life
So you’re still with us, huh? You must have a really great idea. Here are just a few more steps to get that baby off the ground.
9. Pick back up your pencil
10. Shove that pencil directly up your ass
11. Spend the next several hours getting said pencil out of your ass
12. Clean the pencil
13. Answer this question: Should my brand find a fun way to talk about coronavirus?
a. If your answer is yes, continue forward—you craven asshole
b. If your answer is no, move on with your life. We hope you’ve learned something.
Alright. You’re really fucking going to do this. Well, at this point, we may as well help. Here are just a couple more steps for you to complete to birth your beautiful marketing baby.
14. Pick up your pencil. We promise it doesn’t have to go into your ass this time.
15. Answer this question: Have you watched The Dark Knight?
a. If your answer is yes, move onto the next step.
b. If your answer is no, watch The Dark Knight.
16. One last time, answer this question: Should my brand find a fun way to talk about coronavirus?
a. If your answer is no, you can leave now.
b. If your answer is yes…are you sure?
i. If your answer is no, we’ll let you go.
ii. If your answer is yes, spend the rest of the day trying to recreate the pencil trick with your own head until your answer is no.
Welcome to the Bet On Yourself Sportsbook
The sports books are open in Illinois and in Michigan, but there are no sports. So who better to bet on now than yourself? Welcome to the Bet on Yourself Sportsbook, where the only limit to your action is your actions.
Will You Email Your Landlord About That Thing?
Yes: +450
No: -450
How Long Will Your Duolingo Streak Last?
Over: 8 ½ days
Under: 8 ½ days
Will She Text You Back?
Hell Yes My Guy: +120
Nah Gtfo: -120
Over/Under Number of Times You Masturbate While on Self-Quarantine
Over: 12 ½
Under: 12 ½
Will You Get a Promotion Before December 31, 2020?
Yes: +220
No: -200
Lol whoops you don’t have a job any more: +1350
Parlay Time!
Hit Your Goodreads Challenge for Books Read in a Year: -150
Avoid Fighting With Your Uncle on Facebook: -115
Write a tweet that gets 20 likes: +150
Finally get a six-pack: +250
Overall Payout: $100 pays out $2,626.45
I filed a trademark for a “Come On Eileen” parody about COVID-19, but I only did it to stop anyone else from doing it
By now, you’ve probably seen the news, and I want to start by saying that I fully admit it: I filed a trademark on the concept of a parody song in which the lyrics to “Come On Eileen” are replaced with “COVID-19.”
I’m aware of the speculation that has begun about my motives for this move. There are those who say I’m preparing some sort of viral video with pop stars and the like dancing (or perhaps “twerking”) to this topical wordplay. Others insist I’ll be hawking trendy “Come on Eileen? More like COVID-19!” crop tops outside of the nation’s top discotheques.
Family and friends, I want to assure you that nothing could be further from the truth.
The reality is that someone is going to weaponize the ease with which the novel coronavirus strain fits into this beloved ‘80s hit, whether we like it or not. By proactively filing this trademark, I hope to have the full weight of the American legal system at my disposal to stop them. In times of crisis, heroes emerge. And I intend to be that hero.
I’ll take down YouTube compilations, cut off the production of “humorous” neon fanny packs, and even unleash my attorneys upon unsuspecting meme accounts. All in the service of keeping your father from ever discovering the most formidable pun of this year’s coronavirus season.
So slander me all you want. Call me names like “putrid boy” and “rotten lad.” I do not care. I will do what I must to protect my country, and for that I will never apologize.














