The silver lining

Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you that besides being hilariously funny, unreasonably talented, brutally handsome and, what's the word...oh yeah, humble, they'd also say I've never exactly been one to look at the glass as half full.

Especially if it's full of an infectious agent that's shutting down Italy and making lines at Trader Joe's even more unbearable than usual.

But here's the bright side, and I can't help but smile about it. I was under the impression my beautiful, intelligent, talented and wickedly funny daughter who just left this past Tuesday to head back to school in Iowa (don't get me started) wouldn't be returning to a city with over 5000 people in it until the end of May.

Funny what a difference a couple days make. She's coming back home this weekend.

Unless you have stock in toilet paper, bottled water, Cold-Eeze or surgical masks, it's understandably been hard to find any good coming out of the coronavirus pandemic. But from where I sit—in my house, bingeing Succession and eating old-fashioned chicken salad from Gelson's—I think a lot of good will come of it.

For starters, because of the new normal, families will be forced to spend family time together. With it not being safe to go out into the world, parents and kids will rediscover the art of talking to each other around the dinner table. Or just all being at the dinner table at the same time. Perhaps there will be precious times when it's screens down, and the joy of playing board games and cards will be rekindled. And maybe, just maybe, they'll do some household chores if for no other reason than it's something to do. I can dream can't I?

I also believe kindness and a sense of unity will start to wash over people. Look at me being all optimistic. But there's no getting around the fact this virus doesn't discriminate—it's looking for you no matter who you are. So instead of tearing down each other, now we all have a common enemy to direct our attention at. Well, ok, a second common enemy if you get my drift.

Then there's the traffic. The streets of Laredo are empty now, so when we do have to venture out it'll be much smoother sailing than if everyone were going into the office. Not that I want to do a lot of driving around, because that would waste gas and then I'd have to touch the gas pump to fill up. I could use the squeegee paper towels they have, but that might be awkward. Unless they have Purell at the pump. Hmmmm, I'll get back to you on this one.

I may have digressed here.

The point is while I'm sad about the reason, I'm happy about the fact my girl is coming home for summer. I know there are lots of movies we didn't get to watch when she was out here last week on spring break, so I'm sure we'll catch up on a few.

As long as they're not Outbreak, Contagion or Andromeda Strain.

Cirque Du Coronavirus

Pandemic shmandemic. I roam through life unfrightened and undeterred.

Case in point: I took my first post-coronavirus panic outing yesterday. The family and I decided to spend the afternoon in a closed tent with about 2,000 of our closest, hopefully uninfected friends. We saw VOLTA, the current Cirque Du Soleil production in their big top, which is set up at Dodger Stadium.

It had everything to make the CDC and World Health Organization shake their hazmat-covered heads.

Crowds of people. Closed space. Different nationalities. Surfaces like chairs and armrests that've been touched by thousands of people before us. Port-a-potties that, shall we say were less than spotless.

It was a recipe for disaster. And yet, we all seemed to have gotten out just fine. There was a vague awareness of everyone being a little more cautious not to be in each other's faces, and no matter when you looked it was always rush hour at the hand washing stations outside the restrooms.

I fully expected lots of empty seats from people who'd decided not to venture out in public. I was also sure I'd see surgical masks everywhere I looked. I only saw one, and there wasn't an empty seat in the house.

Only two things reminded everyone of the current cautions. First was before the show when a young child sneezed, and every head within earshot snapped around to look at him waiting to see what was going to happen next. The other was the clown who came down the aisle before the show, and interacted with me by running his gloved hand up and down my sleeve. It made me a little nervous, although the coronavirus was probably the least of the reasons why.

The show was great, and I couldn't help but be amazed by how similarly built the performers and I were. It was like looking in a mirror.

I definitely don't want to minimize the virus and the cautions to be taken, but life just can't stop because of it. And besides, the precautions aren't that hard to abide by.

For starters I've been washing my hands like Howard Hughes since I can remember. And because I've never been a fan of knuckle crushers or sweaty palmed frat boys who shake my hand like it's a dry water pump in rural Alabama, I'm just swell with handshaking going the way of the Zune. Bottles of Purell? Check the center console of my car - I've pretty much cornered the market.

So here's my take on it all: with or without the virus, life is a high-wire act. Let's not go out of our way to turn it into a real circus.