"Shelter-In-Place"

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Small City III by Egon Schiele (1913)

NOTE: The field of focus for these writings is the artful practice of “performance”

in its myriad esthetic and physical forms. These missives steer clear of politics,

but this dispatch cannot ignore those foul waters as we now are forced to ponder:

"Shelter-In-Place”

or

How-We-Spend-Our-Location

by Jamie Jobb

We live within two blocks of a county jail and an oil refinery tank farm in Earthquake Country, so we’re no strangers to the concept of “shelter-in-place”. Official Notice of that condition usually arrives in our homes as a stark land-line alert, a phone blast to all neighbors: “Close your windows and stay indoors until further notice!”

We know the problem triggering that Notice will eventually blow over. We trust first responders are on the scene. And we comply because we participate willingly as senior citizens in a small town full of folks who know each other, right down to our last names. We can meet our City Council members walking on Main Street. They know our first names.

Our town has no downtown stop-light, but it does have a unique low-key bustle based on its authentic heritage as a Sicilian fishing village. Thus the last names, like DiMaggio. Regular readers of this space may know that Joltin' Joe was born here. John Muir lived here too; we host his National Historic Site. The town – including a recent influx of millennial storefront entrepreneurs – takes pride in our unique shared heritage.

With little warning our region was told to “shelter-in-place” last week, on the morning after the Ides of March – the annual date Empire Romans settled up debts. That immediate but unenforceable order affected millions of people, as would any quake which requires no warning when announcing its own shockwaves in extreme present tense.

A week after our shelter-in-place began, one billion earthlings now are estimated to be sequestered in their homes. But “shelter” jargon feels completely unsuited for the impending doom and sudden economic collapse prompted by rogue contagion currently plaguing our planet. Recall: “The” Homeless rarely shelter anywhere.

As Los Angeles Mayor Eric Garcetti pointed out, that public-safety term is totally inappropriate for the current context. “This is a public health emergency,” he said “… not a shelter-in-place. That’s the wrong term … That’s a school-shooting thing that says ‘Stay where you are!’ This is not a Lock-Down because people can still walk, they can be healthy, they can connect with friends …” Mayor Garcetti and Governor Newsom prefer to use the term “Stay-At-Home” – and hope for the best.

Yes, and we should simply call the sickness what it is: The Trump Virus, aka coronavirus, aka COVID-19. Name it for the guy who squandered his “emergency” capital on a border wall that blows down.

Upon authority of his own ego, The Fake President laid solid claim to the disease through inattentive lack of foresight and ignoble assistance from U.S. Senators assisting in his corruption. His Majesty tells a rare truth when questioned about his fiduciary failure to faithfully execute the Take Care Clause of the Constitution. “No, I don’t take responsibility at all!” And “The Buck” goes into his pocket.

Based on his daily press briefings this week, our alleged leader obviously considers the virus a problem for his own-self worth. He seems outraged and confused that His Very Own Great America can’t seem to visualize his Supreme Authority In This Urgent Matter. The self-proclaimed “Stable Genius” can’t comprehend the deadly effects of his own horrid performance of his job as First Man, aka the most totally ever-powerful and most Almighty human being who ever opened his mouth to speak complete and profound witty-wisdoms to his huddled homebound masses.

Shadow-selfie of Google Trekker recording Street Views on Quai de la Seine in Paris

Who Knew The Economy Had a Kill Switch?

Our town is shut down: no courts, no library, no schools, no bars, no barber, no beauty salon, no retail shops, few pedestrians downtown. Take-out food, the post office and banks remain open – as well as pharmacies and supermarkets on the outskirts of town. And while Starbucks is closed, the local roaster is still selling to-go cups of pour-over coffee.

Meanwhile up the road, the Regional Health Center (county hospital) has turned its parking lot into to a MASH of wedding party tents rented by county government for triage purposes.

Today those tents are empty, but a deep gloom looms over their current quietude. We see images of a global grim reaper savaging Italy. Seasoned theater folk may feel we’ve entered Thornton Wilder’s Third Act of “The Skin of Our Teeth” wherein the playwright poses the question: “Is there any accomplishment or attribute of the human race of enough value that its civilization should be rebuilt?”

Wilder wrote those words during World War II before American would ever hear about Hiroshima, Nagasaki or Fukushima. The kids of my Boomer youth considered “The Japs” as The Enemy. Now we consider the term an ethnic slur. Some of us have Japanese-American grandchildren.

Half a world away, we wonder if we’ll ever see them again.

22 March 2020

(to be continued)