UNDER COVID, PT. 27: MARCH IN JUNE

Businesses boarded up. Homeless people wandering the streets. Representatives from the Mayor's office handing out masks to help keep you alive. 

Helicopters hover over the city as protesters, many whom work for the city's ineffectual mayor, make their way through all the major neighborhoods. Somewhere in the background, the president threatens to mow down the protesters where they stand. The New York Times publishes an op-ed from a U.S. Senator urging him on. 

Each evening at 7:30, every smartphone in the city screeches an alert about the curfew set to start in a half hour. And if you don't press YES on the screen, a computerized voice reads it to you out loud. Police at highway off-ramps, tunnels and bridges block all non-essential entry into the city below 96th Street from 8:00 p.m. to 5:00 a.m.  Floating above all this is a virus that has killed close to 17,000 residents of the city.

New York last week was less a 1980s sci-fi movie as I referred to it previously, and more like a post-apocalyptic TV series on the Starz cable channel entitled No York.  

Last Thursday afternoon, just around the corner from me. The protesters wanted to talk to Mayor
de Blasio, which is not worth walking from Washington Square Park for.

What about old yokers like me?

Well, at least the weather is nice. The first six or eight weeks of the COVID shutdown marked the most miserable spring in my memory. How well the grey sky, chilly winds and cold rain reflected the mood of New Yorkers, as deaths grew every day. 

Now, the drop in numbers and approach of summer are bringing Upper East Siders out of their lairs. Taking advantage of a legal loophole, they've turned Second Avenue into a gigantic block party every weekend, as bars serve drinks without letting anyone inside. 

"We have ways of making you obey...
Well, maybe if you listened to me."

The police, with better things to do, have given up on trying to enforce the "no drinking in public" law, surely much to the consternation of our idiot mayor Bill de Blasio. 

Mumbling and sweating like the chump that he is, de Blasio speaks in his regular briefings to an audience of one -- the camera -- while the rest of us go about our business (that is, if we have one to go about). It would be sad if he wasn't, you know, our idiot mayor.

My wife does this three times
a year.

As New York City enters of Phase 1 of its re-opening, O.I.M. hopes that Phase 2 -- which would include hair salons and barbershops -- could begin as early as June 22. My wife and I have a keen interest in this. But at least her hair still looks good. Mine, on the other head, is longer than it's been since before we got married. This isn't a bad thing -- she's never seen me quite like this in our 30 years together. 

The problem is, from the back, I look like a washed-up '70s rock star trying unsuccessfully to look hip on his comeback tour. This will do me zero good when background work begins again. That will be in Phase 4, which, the way things are going, should coincide with Christmas vacation, when all filming comes to a halt for two weeks anyway.

Because of the weather -- and since nobody in our family has an underlying condition -- we met up with our daughter for a hike in New Jersey over the weekend. It was the first time we hugged since February, and that is no small thing. 

Something else not so small was breathing fresh country air without a mask -- until other hikers came from the opposite direction, then back on it went. I predict that temporarily putting on a mask when approaching people will be the 21st-century version of tipping your hat to a woman.

Frank says his last goodbye.

Our daughter kept us informed of her Philadelphia protest activities. Being a young progressive, she was delighted with the removal of the statue and mural of former mayor Frank Rizzo, who would likely consider Donald Trump a wimp.

Further polishing her leftist credentials, our daughter admitted she was pretty much OK with the destruction of certain businesses during the early nights of the protest, particularly the Apple store. I nodded and asked, "So are you looking forward to your new iPhone?" Score one for dad!

Still feeling her oats, however, she continued gently lecturing us, even using that old warhorse, "Power to the people." I nodded once again and asked, "What power for which people?" Score two for dad!  

All things considered, better to be
Jane Fonda than Kim Kardashian.

Politics being a minor part of our conversation, we had a lovely time, despite having to walk up a wet rocky path that would make a mountain goat drop its horns in surrender. But after lunch on a large flat rock under a tall round tree, our daughter looked at her watch and informed us, "Um, there's a protest at two I'd like to get to." Well, by all means, don't let us stop you!

Since her previous protest march was also her first encounter with tear gas, we advised her to stay safe and not get involved with any violence. At least if she were marching here, she could pop by for one of the 16 free masks we got last week. And we didn't have to smash any windows for them. Score three for dad!


                                                                    ******************
No need for us to walk to a protest march when it conveniently goes by our building!