UNDER COVID, PT. 25: OUTDOORS, GLASS DOORS AND AMBASSADORS

Makes you weep with nostalgia. Or is it neuralgia?

You can feel it, alright. As with spring, the end of the city lockdown is in the air. By the middle of July, things just might be back to more or less normal. But with that comes the question: do we want that?

Now, hear me out. For several weeks, it was possible to walk an entire block or two without seeing anybody else, and cross the street no matter what the crossing light said. The air was clean and quiet. 

That's changing. As the weather improves and the numbers drop, we're gradually losing the new normal which I've grown to like, or at least acclimate to, in favor of the old normal. Which brings up the question: Is living in New York normal? 

Go online, and all you see are people who can't wait to leave their apartments so they can go to crowded theaters and noisy restaurants. Me, all I want to do is walk in the sunshine in nature without having to wear a mask. Boy, am I crazy!

But is it really living if we can't shop at Uni Qlo or Best Buy?

And if you could ignore the ubiquitous masks -- a challenging thing, to be sure -- Central Park was like any other sunny Memorial Day weekend. Lots of New Yorkers strolling, running, biking, picnicking. Kids playing ball, old folks sitting on benches, taking it all in. 

Cops could be seen, masked like their criminal counterparts, biking on walking-only paths, making sure we stayed six feet apart, and handing out free masks to those who left home without. It's not what they learned at the police academy, but it's safer than entering a crackhouse without back-up.

The toughest New Yorker would listen to me.

But this is a big city, so 2,300 civilians are being hired to act as human crowbars for their fellow citizens who get too cozy. Their official title is Social Distancing Ambassadors. I would love that position, but only on my own terms, beginning with formal wear, complete with top hat and monocle. Because ambassador.

If someone gave me a hard time while doing my job, I would immediately whip out my letter of credence, and demand they address me as "Mr. Ambassador" rather than "fucking asshole." And if fisticuffs were to ensue, leading to bike-riding cops breaking things up, I would claim diplomatic immunity, and resume my job somewhere else -- preferably in one of the playgrounds, where I could scare the children into following the rules under threat of arrest.

Since none of my job requirements are likely to be accepted, I've instead found things to do at home, like throwing out business cards I started collecting 45 years ago. But it was only over the weekend I decided to implement a long-simmering project involving my collection of Blu-rays and DVDs.

No, not throwing those out. They would, instead, be prominently displayed behind glass on a middle shelf in our cabinet, rather than hiding behind closed doors at the bottom. It would mean trading places with our collection of "family board games" like Clue, which we don't play anymore. Rather than meekly seeing permission from my wife, I merely whined until I got my way.

Not seen: the complete Mr. Moto movies, all three versions of Mr. Arkadin, a bunch of 
 now-out-of-print old Disney releases, seven volumes from various American film archives, and a bunch of other movies I can't remember and will likely never watch again.

As you can probably tell, the collection skews toward old. The newest movie, One-Eyed Jacks, is a relatively recent 1961 release. (Only a person my age would consider a 59 year-old movie relatively recent.) To most observers, my taste is peculiar, but I prefer to say sui generis. It sounds classier.

It's a work in progress, of course, since I'm expecting a few more in the upcoming weeks, including the Blu-ray of The Jazz Singer, replacing the original DVD restoration, which will certainly please the wife to no end. And no beginning.

They, too, have to face wives' wrath concerning their hobbies.

Also arriving is the first volume of UCLA's restoration of Laurel & Hardy movies. Since we contributed a hundred bucks to their restoration, you'd think they'd have thrown us a free copy. Maybe volume two?

Some people would say I'm doing it wrong -- the new cliche being It's better to spend money on memories than things. Well, whatever travel plans we had for the year have been shot to shit, so excuse me if I spend a fraction of my unemployment money (yes, I'm collecting unemployment) on Blu-ray things. Because, I promise you, I will never forget 2020, even if there's nothing worth remembering. Except those six weeks of peace and quiet and safely crossing the street against the light. And especially buying Blu-ray things.

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