Jim Baumer's Blog, page 8

Disappointing People

A remembrance I’ve had lately is my mother telling me when I’d bemoan the struggles I was having making friends upon moving back to Maine in 1987. I was around 25 at the time. She’d say: “Jim, people are so disappointing.”

I’m not sure I agreed (and I certainly didn’t understand) at the time, but I now concur with what she said. “Yes, mom, people are so disappointing.”

I learned that lesson all-too-well across the three years following Mark’s death. Even people who hadn’t disappointed me in the past came up short at a time when I needed something from them. Don’t expect anything from people: then you won’t end up experiencing what my mother shared from her store of wisdom (and experience).

Neil Young is probably my favorite singer/artist/rocker (whatever one calls performers these days in our time of streaming garbage). His song, “Albuquerque” would be one of my top 10 songs.

Canadian singer-songwriter Neil Young in concert, circa 1970. (Photo by Michael Putland/Getty Images)

I was listening this morning while writing this and lo and behold, I got this refrain from the song’s second verse:

I’ve been flyin’

down the road,

And I’ve been starvin’ to be alone,

And independent from the scene

that I’ve known.

Albuquerque.

Music is open to personal interpretation. To me, Young is singing about his own desire to separate himself from the disappointment that people ultimately visit upon you, no matter your intentions or attempts at friendship and cultivating relationships. I do know that this song is from that period of time when he released what is known as his “Ditch Trilogy,” as he experienced the death by OD of his friend and Crazy Horse guitarist Danny Whitten, hauntingly chronicled on the title cut of Tonight’s the Night.

In my own life, I find lately, during this madness of Crona and the ensuing groupthink, I prefer to be alone, “independent from the scene.”

Facebook is now fenced-off to me except for brief forays a few times each week. Each time I go out on a FB scouting mission, I always come back realizing that people I once thought were okay are really just a bunch of sheeple being led around by the nose. They’re also pretty fucking judgmental, projecting their own morality of masking and other bullshit (with little scientific merit, really) onto you, doing a really good impression of a fundamentalist preacher or imam.  Others seem to have totally gone “off the rails.

Perhaps at some point, we’ll get beyond this darkness (I referred to it as a “nightmare” in a song I wrote) and life will return to some semblance of normalcy. What grief and loss gurus love to refer to as “the new normal” whatever the hell that means.

For me, the normal will be living “independent from the scene” and finding a way to live with myself, my wife, and my guitar. I don’t need anything more than that right now.

Eve of Destruction (cover tune)

I think I was probably six or seven-years-old when I first heard this song on WPNO that local AM music “blowtorch” based in Auburn, back in the day. This was long before the AM side of the dial opted for talk-radio over tunes.

If you follow popular music and know a thing or two about it, you’ll know Barry McGuire had a major hit with this song written as a Vietnam War protest. If you are a music geek (or maybe you heard it mentioned by Dick Clark on American Bandstand), you’ll know the writer of the song was P.F. Sloan.

The other day, I was thinking of songs that might be worth learning for these days of Crona (borrowing that one from Bob Marley, the comedian) lockdown and McGuire’s song was one of a handful I thought I’d tackle. It’s a simple one, really, in terms of chords.

I’ve mentioned meeting Jorma Kaukonen, one of my musical idols at Raoul’s Roadside Attraction probably 30 years ago. Jorma told me at the time (when I asked him for tips on learning the guitar) to “learn songs.” That’s what I’m doing these days and have been for months, now.

Since I can’t get out to open mics while the world’s shut down, throwing up a video now and then will have to serves as a stand-in until someone re-opens things.

Tough Times

Resilience:

That ineffable quality that allows some people to be knocked down by life and come back at least as strong as before. Rather than letting difficulties or failure overcome them and drain their resolve, they find a way to rise.

Resilience Road Sign

They say that adversity is a fact of life. A rabbi once wrote a book about “bad things happening to good people.” It would go on to become one of those best-sellers that people turn to when the floors of their lives disappear beneath them.

According to a well-known psychology publication, resilience is that quality that some people possess. They have some kind of inner resolve and strength that helps them climb out from the wreckage of caused by events that turn their lives upside-down.

Then, there are those who are forced to come to terms with one of life’s truisms: causes have effects. I won’t go into all the elements of why the current pandemic was long overdue other than to say that we’re collectively experiencing the effects caused by living as one of the most narcissistic, self-centered cultures that’s ever inhabited the planet.

And as the effects of causes put in motion decades prior unfold, social media has become a movie full of people in public meltdown mode. “Wah, wah, wah” go these entitled souls. My mind often wanders to, “if this nightmare ever ends, I never want to have anything to do with these people ever again.”

Some people who experience tragedy devoid of meaning find a purpose again for life and living. I know two people who have walked that path over the past three years after their only son. They know a thing or two about being resilient and pushing through tough times.

What else is there to say? Tragedy is nothing new. Life if filled with pain. You are not uniquely special or immune from bad things.

I’m taking another history class at USM. This one on the Civil War and Reconstruction, has been forced by coronavirus from meeting weekly to being relegated to online status. Again, I find myself immersed in a 19th century world of death and carnage and a time when there were no social media platforms filled with entitled people whining about their lot in life. In many ways this period from our past seems like perhaps it was a better time: at the very least, it was very different from the days we’re living through.

Stuck in a Nightmare

I came from work on Wednesday. My guitar lesson was cancelled for the third successive week. Not to be deterred, I wrote “Stuck in a Nightmare” in the span of about 45 minutes. A few edits and I had a playable song be the evening.

The song touches on our current belief that staying at home and “sheltering in place” will somehow deliver a magic result. Somehow, we’ll avoid harm and in a few weeks (months?? years??) all will be well and we can go back to our lives of buying junk we don’t need.

The fear-fogging line is one I had to laugh about. Other than my sister, I’m the only other person that I know who has appropriated this excellent phrase that captures what the media does best.

I wrote a paean to Rachel Maddow late in 2019, but she’s become one of the biggest fear-foggers out there. As a result, I’ve stopped watching her show.

For me, who knows better than anyone (other than my wife), some things are beyond our control. In fact, Choice Theory is something I now understand and try to frame how I view the world. Yet, I see the disavowal of something that’s clear—we can only control ourselves. The other stuff we need to let go.

I’m still trying to find a way to up my fidelity on these home recordings. At some point, I’ll figure all this out. Maybe then, we’ll be released from “house arrest” and be allowed to go back to bars, clubs, and other venues and actually play real, live music again.

Stuck in a Nightmare

Verse I

Stuck in my house

Feeling Like a Mouse

Waiting for the cat to pounce

Goin’ to the store

Don’t want anymore

Toilet paper aisles wiped out

Chorus

I wanna’ leave today

I can’t ‘cause the governor says to stay

Fear-fogging is the media’s way

Maybe this nightmare ends today

Verse II

On the road to work

Cut off by a jerk

Wishing that the guy would try

We’re all in this phase

People getting crazed

Scared that their world might end

Chorus

I wanna’ leave today

I can’t ‘cause the governor says to stay

Fear-fogging is the media’s way

Maybe this nightmare ends today

(Hope this…)

Would that this…)

©EverysongYeah 2020

F*ck Feelings

Feelings. They’ll deceive you every time. Yet people project them like projectile sneezes. Can we please enact some social distancing to this kind of BS?

As Radiohead sings, “just ‘cos you feel it, doesn’t mean it’s there.”

Daily, we are inundated with these projections. The morning news is pregnant with stories, all designed to touch our feelings, but almost never does it appeal to our intellects—our capacity to think. “Stupid news” I call it.

Coronavirus-related news seems to be tracking in a narrative rut. The talking head says, “there are now _______ confirmed coronavirus virus cases in ________.” Fill in the number and fill in the state. They’re all the same.

If we asked better questions, would we have better answers? I think so (regardless of what you feel).

From this article on “smarter” testing, I liked this because it gets at what kind of information we need:

Epidemiology is a bit like baseball. Knowing that a ball player has gotten 134 hits isn’t that informative. What is informative is knowing that those 134 hits were made during 335 at-bats, which translates into a batting average of .400. But we can only know the batting average if we know the player’s total number of at bats and hits. It’s the same thing for the coronavirus: We need to know the number of all tests in in each age group and each locale, as well as the number of positive ones.

Merely reciting the number of cases in a state, a nation, or the world, along with deaths, is a litany that lacks any real context. It does elicit fear and even hysteria. Perhaps that’s what’s pushing the uniformity of the current narrative, I do not know. It’s maddening to me, someone who, as a writer, truly believes that words do matter.

On Facebook, someone posted some absolute balderdash, equating what people are feeling societally as “grief.” Unless you’ve truly gone through the depths of despair and hopelessness that grief and loss visits on you when you lose the dearest person in your life, someone you loved more than your own life, then you can talk about grief with authority. Otherwise, shut the fuck up! In fact, if you’ve ever experienced the kind of grief that my wife and I have been living through for 3+ years, you’d have never posted such bunkum. It’s hurtful, triggering, and it makes me like you even less—and I don’t like humans much at all.

Yet, despite my never-ending disdain for humanity, I’m cursed with empathy for them. What the fuck! Caring about others, even when you don’t particularly like them is akin to a curse.

The only place I find solace and relief is when I have my guitar in hand. Who knows when even that won’t suffice, as we’re forced to endure the equivalent of house arrest forced on us by a bunch of so-called experts who are rarely ever right. But we trust them. And the sheeple enable it.

Note: I actually stole the title of today’s blog post from this book, one I just learned about and plan to read.

Certainty in Uncertain Times

These are uncertain times. During upheaval, decision-making can be affected. Formerly easy choices become more difficult: for some, paralysis sets in. Of course, if the height of choice difficulty for you is deciding what over-priced, foodie establishment to eat at, you are in luck—you won’t have to contend with that dilemma today (or for the near future).

Doubts about what may happen tomorrow can lead to hearkening back to the familiar—those places where we’ve found answers or solace in the past. Insecurity causes dissonance and discomfort. Fear in turn forces us back to places of familiarity.

The internet can be a source of trusted information. It’s also a breeding ground for the dubious and even fallacious.

I’ve been a blogger since 2003. Over that period, I developed go-to sites. These were written by fellow blogging travelers I developed trust in. When lost without answers, I could go back to them by default. I also incorporated ideas and ideologies from them.

Many of these sites are now shuttered. If still online, it’s been months (or even years) since they’ve been updated with a new post. Disappointing for sure, I simply moved on. Meanwhile, I’ve stayed with it, even following the floor of my life opening-up. I’ve shared with readers from a place that at times felt like freefall. Persisting in the face of dissonance, upheaval, and even tragedy is what resilience looks like, especially if you fancy yourself a writer.

Social media and Facebook have certainly usurped blogging for many. Yet, some of these tried-and-true bloggers that I’ve read for a decade or longer are still out there.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve gone back to some of these standbys. Reading through many of these sites that have posts up since the onslaught of Covid-19 were by-and-large disappointing. A couple of these writers/bloggers seemed to be exhibiting a sense of schadenfreude—gloating in their “I told you so” hubris. In addition to the off-putting smugness of the blogger, their followers posting comments seemed somewhat unhinged or worse, totally wrong on the scope of what the Coronavirus signified.

One, John Michael Greer, seemed to counter so much of the groupthink that’s become the endemic during the announcement that we’re living through pandemic. I’m not surprised, as Greer is as thoughtful and erudite as anyone I’ve ever read. He’s also not someone steeped in the liberal elite ideology that permeates almost all our sources of news, both left and right. I’m anxious to come back to this post that touches on astrology and also serves as a sort of predictor of where we might be headed, in a fairly broad sense. His most recent post is an interesting read, and a nice break from Covid-19, although in the comments, he does address questions and theories shared by his commenters, perhaps one of the most thoughtful coterie I’ve found in comment sections.

Holding up during days of difficulty requires fortitude. There’s also an element of rationing required in terms of how much media and information consumed. No matter how careful you are in choosing sources, it’s easy to become overwhelmed. Even well-intentioned and trusted thinkers who value veracity are forced to tilt towards the obedience required to advertisers: this is central when your media choice is television (whether Fox or MSNBC), magazines, or newspapers. Don’t be fooled by NPR, either. They require sponsors that require their news to follow a prescriptive path (read, liberal elite) to be awarded the dollars necessary for keeping their lights on.

The familiar for me—well before Covid-19 became ubiquitous in our thoughts—has become playing guitar. No matter how crappy I’ve felt in 18+ months, the times that chords, lyrics, and the sound of either my acoustic or electric guitar hasn’t helped could be counted on one hand. That’s truly remarkable to me, someone who never thought of himself as a guitarist until recently.

On Sunday, I ran through a setlist of about 10 songs I can play fairly well. I was thinking about heading out the following Tuesday (which also happened to coincide with St. Patrick’s Day) to play an open mic that featured a full band. The venue was about an hour’s drive from home. Over the course of about four hours of practice time in my basement, I whittled the selections down to 5 or 6.

Then Monday came and talk of gathering sizes shrunk to no more than 10 people. Curve-flattening had killed open mics, too.

Dinner after an absolutely insane day of taking calls from fearful patients at work (our call volumes crested at four times the normal numbers) was a welcome tonic. I shared with Mary that I wasn’t going to the open mic on Tuesday. She told me she thought that was a prudent choice. Still, she knew I was disappointed. Perceptive as always, she said, “maybe you could play your songs for me.” I truly appreciated that. However, Mary is that audience member who always applauds (at least when I play) and I knew this wouldn’t be the same as playing live before a less enthusiastic audience. These are the kinds of things I’ve been pushing towards, knowing they’re essential in growing my chops as a guitarist.

Conversation that turned into brainstorming brought to considering Facebook Live as a viable alternative. Prior to tuning-in to MSNBC and Rachel Maddow (what has become familiar evening ritual), we agreed we’d announce an event we called “Tuesday Night Live from the Double Deuce,” the name of the saloon we inherited when we bought out house last July.

Then, waking up Tuesday morning, I was filled with doubts, second-guessing whether announcing this was a good idea. I said to Mary, “we could always cancel,” as cancellations have become commonplace in our post-pandemic world. Mary wasn’t having any of it. “You’ll do fine,” she said, assuaging my self-doubt.

Following Tuesday at work, we began re-ordering the saloon for the evening’s performance. I lugged my amp and accessories up from the basement. Then, I began running through what was to be the night’s setlist. Mary did a test recording on her iPhone. We argued about volume on one of the backing drum tracks. Since we’ve been together for forever as a couple, not even creative differences could derail that night’s performance.

At 6:30, I ran through a formal soundcheck. At 6:58, Mary told me, “two minutes ‘til showtime.” We were off.

“Tuesday Night Live at the Double Deuce”

I opened with a Sparklehorse cover, “Sad and Beautiful World.” That was a marvelous choice in hindsight as it’s a song I’ve played long enough and it’s not overly complex so that I could deliver it near flawlessly (for my skillset) and not have to think too much in doing it. In that regard, it’s the kind of song someone like me, new to performing as a guitar-player, can use to quell their nerves and build on.

We’d talked about not playing too long. “Keep them wanting,” or something like that was one of our overarching plans. Honestly, I figured we’d have maybe 15 to 20 people tuning in via Facebook and perhaps that number might double. Having used the platform a few times before, viewers dropped off and I assumed that by the end, maybe I’d have 10 people, tops, sticking around to the finale.

JBE setlist from St. Patty’s Day

We crested above 100 viewers with new people joining during the live broadcast. The audience chimed in with encouragement and it felt interactive, with Mary relaying information to me while I continued playing. Two songs on the electric and some between-song patter segued into me turning to my Yamaha acoustic to play my most personal song, “Walking Down the Road,” about Mark, written from the perspective of what he might want to convey from beyond this life in terms of his final walk. It’s a song I’ve been playing as long as the Sparklehorse cover and it’s another song that I’ve internalized due to the repetition of playing it over and over in practice and live (at my prior open mic appearances). Then, thinking it would be my finale, I launched into my paean to Rachel Maddow, “Rachel, Rachel.”

As the final chords of the song rang out, we were at 22 minutes of performance time. I’d delivered a set of songs, to an audience of more than 100 people who’d stayed with us and engaged via comments. I was truly humbled. Mary shouted out, “they want an encore.”

Like has happened at a handful of book signings I’d done as a writer, I thought perhaps those watching were confused. I used to joke that at a hometown Moxie book signing for my first book about the elixir at that summer’s orange-themed festival, “maybe they have me mixed-up with Stephen King,” since people stood in line for nearly two hours for me to sign their copy of Moxietown one summer. Similarly, in April 2016, people lined-up for nearly the same timeframe, snaking into the late Frank Anicetti’s store, just to have me put my imprint on my follow-up tome on Maine’s distinctly-different soft drink, Moxie: Maine in a Bottle.

Maybe on St. Patrick’s Day, 2020, in the midst of the Coronavirus and being cooped up at home caused people to think I was Keith Urban, or better, Neil Young. That’s because my song, “National Disgrace,” is Neil Young-esque and about Young’s disdain for our orange-toned menace of a president.

And an encore I gave them. “Icarus,” the Gold Connections’ cover I’ve been working on for about two months with versions that are both electric and acoustic was another number that this work-in-progress guitar slinger knew he could deliver anything at this juncture. Six minutes later, we were ready to wrap.

Thinking about Tuesday night, I wonder why Mary and I chose to do this live event. Perhaps better, why did it connect with people like it did.

I think there are a couple of takeaways and things I learned from the experience. One, it was positive. I say this because we had no agenda other than to entertain and share this with friends and people we know. Then, give the directives aimed at social distancing and flattening the curve of the virus and it’s spread, people had a hunger for something other than reading updates from their friends, or having someone tell them how dire things are at the moment.

Second, people that know Mary and I and have been supportive of us since Mark’s death, care about the two of us. Many of them have been deeply affected by his death and have remained tethered to us as his parents.

Then, playing my guitar, singing my songs, and sharing a little about my own thoughts about how this time offers us all a chance to be better and associate with our better angels was me, speaking to me about how best to deal with uncertainty in uncertain times. I think people understood that I was right where they were at that moment.

While I hope that everything miraculously resolves itself in a few short weeks. Then, I can simply get out to an open mic again. But I think that might be overly optimistic. We could always do another one of our live broadcasts from the saloon.

Coronavirus and spaceships

I started this song back at the tail-end of 2019. I had two verses that kind of captured some of what I was feeling heading into the holidays, which always suck without Mark.

http://jimbaumerexperience.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/Spaceship02-vocals.wav

Not sure where the spaceship theme came from other than sometimes, I wish I could get into a spaceship and find another planet to live on.

Jump in a spaceship and fly away

Then, the song sat there.

I initially developed the chord progression and riff after working on Neil Young’s “Cinnamon Girl,” which is played in Double Drop D tuning. The tuning lends itself to some stuff I’d been listening to from a guy that had been based in Boston and now for some reason I think he may live in Maine, Cole Kinsler. He records as Space Mountain and I bought his “Togetherness” cassette that came out in 2019. Perhaps if he ever heard my stuff like this one, he’d demur.

Verse three came to me yesterday when I started playing the song again. It seemed like a better way to deal with my angst about all that’s been going on re: the Coronavirus.

It has no chorus.

Spaceship Blues

Verse I

Life it sucks and then you die

Storm clouds in a darkened sky

Fucking morons are all around

All I wanna’ do is leave this town and roam

Verse II

Idiots tell you just to smile

Don’t have a clue, ain’t walked one mile

In land that’s filled with shit

Jump in a spaceship and be done with it and fly

Verse III

Coronavirus its shut us down

Like sheep we’re led around

Trust the experts they’re rarely right

Load up that spacecraft with supplies and leave today

© EverysongJim  2019

Triggered

A week ago, the world seemed fine (or normal) for most people. The day here in Southern Maine was warm for early March. The winter of 2019-20 hadn’t been a particularly harsh one, as Maine winters go. There was a sense common in northern regions that signal spring and that place-based “rebirth” that many of us hearken to and anticipate during the dark days December and January.

For people living on the other side of grief and loss, the past three years have been a journey of darkness, sadness, and pain. But to remain here in this life, there must come a time when you get back to “living life.

For me, having lost a son in January, 2017, so much of the past three years have been lived inside-out. By that I mean, grief for me turned me inward. I lost my usual gregariousness and the ability to feel joy. I didn’t want to be around people. I was becoming a misanthrope.

Late last summer, after conversations with my better half, the mother of my son, we made a decision for me to leave the house where I’ve been barely existing as a freelancer and take a job outside. Not some evening tutoring gig or part-time sub teacher stint, either. No, applying for and being hired by a firm that provides healthcare to Mainers and patients just across the border in New Hampshire.

This new role placed me in a new contact center just shy of being open for a year. The woman who interviewed me and subsequently hired me was the sister of someone I graduated from high school with.

Training went well. In fact, the cynical in me, the one who always thinks that at some point, whatever seems too good to be true, most likely is—went in thinking, “the other shoe will drop at some point.” Seven months later, I’m still waiting. Perhaps there is no “other shoe” at this work site at the edge of Portland’s peninsula overlooking Casco Bay.

Working at home for so long isolated me. When Mark was killed, I became even more cut-off from people. I also pushed many people further away. It wasn’t a good place for me to be.

I appreciate my co-workers. Nearly all of them are really interesting people—not the norm for me in what could be called a “traditional” work setting. The company has been voted “best place to work” by several organizations that track these types of things. I can see why.

These co-workers have embraced me in a way I never expected. Those that I’ve shared part of my story of grief and loss and feeling adrift have been empathetic and supportive. I like my managers, too.

The job is part-time. My schedule is less than 30 hours a week, and I’ve picked up a bi-weekly position where I deliver a defensive driving curriculum to young drivers who’ve lost their licenses. This fits well with my primary Monday through Friday work responsibilities as the four-hour classes are on Saturday mornings. I enjoy being in front of a this demographic cohort. It’s something I’ve done before and for whatever reason, is a good match for my skills and strengths.

At the start of January, we began hearing about a virus making it’s way from one city in China to another. Americans have been socialized for a long time to believe that we have some special dispensation. The thought for most was that maybe things would be different here. Some even thought any talk of the virus disrupting our day-to-day was being “ginned-up” for political reasons. Others at the opposite end of the political spectrum from me even called it a “hoax.” I’ll even admit that a part of me thought a few weeks ago when cases began being confirmed in the U.S. that the media were being hysterical and overly fearful.

The Zombie Apocalypse may be upon us.

When I was growing up, sometimes fear ran rampant. One of my parents’ default mechanism was to become paralyzed by fear. Sometimes that made this parent emotionally unavailable for long periods. Like happens with many children, I attempted to cope with that by trending towards the opposite. As an adult, I began to “walk into” fear, whenever I felt it. Sometimes I put myself at risk, but I was determined not to become a slave to an emotion that I thought was irrational and one I didn’t want ruling my life.

I married a woman who is a warrior. Nothing ever phased her. When I’d totally fuck up, she found a way past it and we managed to create a domestic situation that wasn’t perfect but it was a nurturing one. Our son grew up knowing both of his parents loved him and that we would always be there for him, physically and emotionally. The day before he was killed, both of us had long phone conversations where we got to validate one another and tell the other what needed to be said including, “I love you.”

Last week, preparing to head off to another film festival where a documentary about our son would be screening, his parents began steeling themselves emotionally for the weekend. To attend a festival and see the son who is gone on a movie screen elicits so many feelings: sadness, pain, joy, pride, and longing to see him just one more time. But, knowing that’s impossible. Then, you share your heart and things about being his parents with members of the audience after the screening during Q & A.

Whenever we’ve returned from one of these festivals/screenings, inevitably, a few days later, after thinking that this time you’ll be “fine,” a sense of physical and emotional exhaustion arrives. Sometimes, when it first hits, you literally want to lie down and sleep for 12 hours until it passes. But if you are at work and fully back into your “normal” life, you can’t. So, you soldier on.

As Coronovirus finally “arrived” in the U.S. things began getting cancelled. There was talk about basketball and hockey games being played in empty arenas. We received and email from the festival indicating that if people didn’t feel “safe” that it was okay not to come. On Sunday I thought, “they’re going to cancel.” On Monday late in the afternoon, we got the email that the festival had been cancelled. No screening in DC.

I put a positive spin on it with Mary. “No worries,” I said. I told her that at least we wouldn’t end up having to go through the emotional rollercoaster ride again. We wouldn’t have to board a plane with others who might be sick, nor would we have to put our lives on-hold for four days. We wouldn’t need to have someone watch the house and feed our cat. I wouldn’t be without my guitar for the weekend.

Tuesday at work, the calls started coming. The fears unleashed by the reality that America couldn’t close itself off from the Coronavirus began being realized by Mainers. Being on the frontline of healthcare in terms of being the people who field calls from patients meant that people were projecting fear my way.

Because I choose not to allow fear to consume me, when others tend to the other extreme, I get triggered. I become reactive. I start to shut down, emotionally. It’s a defense mechanism.

I had just delivered talks on empathy the week before. I pride myself on being “real” with people when the call, including trying to find that emotional connection. It’s what my employer expects and values in staff.

A patient called and I got gaslighted by a woman who I truly was trying to help and empathize with. I got pissed during my transfer to another co-worker. My manager who sits nearby knew I was “going off the rails.” To her credit (she’s been a terrific manager and someone I didn’t expect to have as a report), she took time to sit down with me and honestly wanted to know, “hey Jim, what’s going on with you?”

We’re in a new place as a country. They say that pandemics happen about once every 100 years. The last global one that impacted the U.S. was in 1918. There have been others elsewhere (SARS, MERS, the bird flu).

Today, I went to the store and the entire nearly aisle-long shelf that had formerly housed bathroom tissue (i.e. toilet paper) was barren. People had begun hoarding things that they probably won’t need (at least not in massive quantities). At least the supermarket has managed to keep food on the shelves (for now).

I’m doing my best not to overreact and shut down. For me, shutting down means being pissed, lashing out, and thinking the rest of my human cohabitants are assholes or worse. I need to be better and I’m working at that.

I am also wondering how other people are reacting and holding up not quite one week into this thing. There’s no basketball or hockey for sports fans. Music and concerts are being shut down. The St. Patty’s Day Parade in Boston is off and now, the Boston Marathon, too.

Our leaders who we look to during times of crisis seem to lack the capacity to respond in a meaningful fashion. Does this mean we’re on our own here?

I know that I have a rock in my better half. We have good people nearby. I’m confident in our local leaders. Work will certainly be crazy come Monday, but the people I work with will step up. But we’re in uncharted territory.

Sometimes, you have to laugh to keep from crying and this Bob Marley clip made me laugh so hard, I nearly pissed my pants. Thanks, Bob. We’ll need people like you as times get tougher. Hopefully we can avoid some version of the zombie apocalypse. I’m on the fence on that one.

Be kind. Be gentle. Don’t give in to your worst impulses. I’m actually offering this advise more to myself, but if it works for you, run with it.

Wash Your Hands and Hope for the Best

Fear is a powerful emotion. The threat of harm, pain, or even death is a motivator like few others.

Those in power know how to stoke fear. So does the media. That doesn’t mean that fear has no purpose, or that fear isn’t valid.

To live in our time of technological ascendancy, the temptation to believe that all things can be fixed with just a little more tech is a default temptation. “It can’t happen here,” or “now,” or “we’ve evolved beyond that” are all common refrains that technology has empowered.

The facemask as daily wear.

On New Year’s Eve Day, we first learned about several flu-like cases in Wuhan, the capital city in the nation’s Hubei province. The city has a population of 11 million. People were being quarantined and Chinese authorities were trying to parse the source of the outbreak.

One week later, investigations ruled out that this was bird flu, a type of seasonal flu outbreak, or even SARS and MERS. The number of suspected cases had grown to 60 people, with seven Chinese citizens in critical condition. Health officials hadn’t confirmed human-to-human transmission.

The next day, Chinese authorities identified this new virus as “coronavirus,” a member of the family of viruses that include the common cold, along with SARS and MERS. The new virus was also being called 2019-nCoV.

Four days later, on January 11, China’s first known death from coronavirus is announced. A 61-year-old male had been admitted to the hospital on December 27 with suspected fever.

Coronavirus cases now begin being reported in other countries, Thailand (January 8), Japan (January 15), and South Korea (January 20). Airports in several nations around the globe begin screening travelers for the virus. China announces a third death along with over 100 new cases. The number of cases has now gone above 200 in various cities across the country. A traveler from Wuhan lands in South Korea and is detected with the virus.

On January 21, the U.S. announces the first case of coronavirus. The victim, a male in his 30s, is admitted to a hospital in Washington state, after returning from China. China now tops 300 cases of the virus. Australia now reports its first case. The victim in Brisbane, was tested positive upon returning from Wuhan. The National Institutes of Health in the U.S announce they are working towards developing a vaccine against the deadly virus.

One month later, here are additional points of information regarding Covid-19, the official name given to coronavirus by the WHO. Deaths worldwide are now at 2,126. Total cases in mainland China now are closing in on 75,000. On February 24, The U.S. CDC confirms that there are now 53 cases of coronavirus in the country. Of these, 14 are in-country cases, with the other 39 being citizens repatriated from the Diamond Princess cruise ship.

Yesterday, February 29, the U.S. reports its first death. The deceased was in his 50s. He was from Seattle, Washington. Reports are that he was suffering from underlying health conditions. There are now increased travel restrictions in the U.S. to South Korea, Iran, and Italy, due to increased cases in these countries.

As of this morning, the number of deaths due to Covid-19 is more than 2,970. The total number of reported cases worldwide are at 86,500. Nearly 80,000 of these cases are in mainland China.

While nothing in the above timeline indicates an abatement in the continued escalation in coronavirus cases, President Trump sought to minimize the situation in several statements over the past week. He stated first the virus will “disappear.” Then, that the development of a vaccine is coming along “rapidly.” Both are false. Then, he stated that the U.S. is “very, very ready” to deal with whatever happens. This is debatable at best.

Here’s what we know about the possibility of a vaccine being developed. According to those who know, like anyone familiar with how new medications and products reach the market, it would take months for the vaccine to advance into clinical trials and more than one year until it is available. Does that sound like “rapidly” to you?

The administration, utilizing the playbook of the president, attacked journalists and others from the worlds of science and medicine claiming that they were politically-motivated in sharing information with Americans. Allies continue standing alongside the president in his campaign of misinformation.

Reading about flu-prep is depressing.

Prior presidents have done a lousy job addressing known concerns about the possibility of pandemics and other global outbreaks. Back in 2005 (George Bush was president), federal officials did an assessment of what might happen if a severe influenza pandemic became reality. They determined that there would be a need for 740,000 mechanical respirators to treat critically ill patients. According to a 2010 study, there are only 62,000 full-featured respirators in hospitals across the U.S. There are another 10,000 that could deployed, sitting in storage at the Strategic National Stockpile.

Then, due to changes and contractions in the U.S. healthcare infrastructure, the nation’s hospital emergency capacity has been contracting for decades. The growth of HMOs led to closures of county hospitals and a dramatic reduction in the number of unused (and unprofitable) hospital beds nationally.

According to a survey conducted in 2003 by the American College of Emergency Physicians, 90 percent of our 4,000 emergency departments were seriously understaffed and overcrowded, with “little surge capacity.” Surge capacity is what would be needed if there was an uptick in flu-related cases like Coronavirus.

Then, there is the issue of pharmaceutical companies and the manufacture of vaccines and antivirals, like Tamiflu. In a nutshell, we don’t have enough of either to address a large-scale outbreak of coronavirus approaching what China has experienced. In a New York Times editorial from October 12, 2004, it was noted that we only have enough stockpiled at the moment to cover less than 1 percent of the U.S. population. Japan, another similar developed country has enough of the antiviral for 20 percent of its population. Tamiflu is currently manufactured by one company. Market factors contribute to this shortage, as does lack of governmental preparation, despite ongoing warnings about this.

Hand-washing will only get us so far. We need something more from our leaders and this doesn’t seem to be something they are capable of.

National Disgrace (new song)

A week ago, Neil Young penned a scathing letter to Trump and posted it on his website, the Neil Young Archives. As a new American citizen, Mr. Young had a few things he wanted to “get off his chest” about his president, Donald Trump. Apparently Trump’s been playing “Rockin’ in the Free World” at his rallies.

Young, never one to mince words or fail to say what he feels like saying, obviously can’t stand the president. I know the feeling.

I haven’t written any songs since the summer and early fall. I’ve been playing a ton of guitar, though.

I had most of the verses written when I headed to my weekly guitar lesson a week ago, Thursday. My guitar teacher helped me re-arrange a few of these and gave me a couple of ideas about chords for the chorus.

Last Sunday, I had the song that I wanted.

Today, I’ve spent most of the day down in the “wood shed,” working on songs, including the new one. Here’s a live video of the song, with just two muffs.

Because I don’t have a PA and the vocals are probably muffled, I’ll post lyrics below the video if anyone’s interested.

National Disgrace (Jim Baumer)

Lyrics

Verse I

You’re a national disgrace/A fucking public shame

Trashing all your rivals/Can’t ever shoulder blame

Verse II

Talk about corruption/Should be your middle name

Bait and switch the shell game/It’s how you set your frame

Chorus

Deny global warming/Call it just a hoax

You’re a pox on the planet/Tides are rising at the coasts

Greatness offered suckers/No lightning in that jar

History will show us/Exactly who you are

Verse III

Tiny hands and fingers/Grabbing all you can

All your daddy’s money/Won’t float another sham

Verse IV

Some see through illusion/Your divisive world of hate

Fake news is your mantra/You deserved a Watergate

Jim Baumer/EverySongYeah (2020)