I’m currently in Bedroom Jail. I can no longer count myself among the NOVID crowd as I tested positive for COVID-19 Wednesday evening. I probably contracted it on January 1st. Happy New Year!
I’m not alone. My case has been mild so far, with two rough nights of sleep (last night was better) and a fever for about 36 hours (currently on about hour 31 of an average temperature unaided by medicine). It’s day four. I’ll retest and hopefully get home release tomorrow, allowing me to move about the house with a mask next week.
I’m thankful for getting my fourth jab back in September (along with my flu shot). I’m four months from that shot, so protection has started to wane, but it is likely assisting in making this a smooth bout with the illness for me.
While isolating, I finally added an LA County Library card to go with the LAPL one I’ve had since I was eleven. The Libby app optimizing my hold decision-making across library systems is a game changer.
The revelation that the app could handle multiple library cards came to me via Threads and the Books/Librarian community there. Another conversation with “Movies Threads” participants got me re-invested in Letterboxd (find me!) and has me eyeing Serializd, though I’m already committed to TV Time. I’ve also had chats about Cringe Entertainment and Stanley Cups, two things in popular culture I get the sense that I’m now too old to “get.”
I like Threads. It’s been part of what’s kept me from going stir-crazy in Bedroom Jail.
I’m now accepting invitations. In just a few days, I will be two weeks beyond my covid vaccination and open for socializing. If you are similarly inoculated, please extend and accept invites for in-person hangouts inside and outside of doors for varying lengths of time. We might stand closer to each other than six feet apart and remove our masks for a bit. Hugs are appreciated but not required.
Are we enjoying a little outdoor dining? How many times will we remark, “it’s so good to see your face!”? I’ve been slowly stepping out into the world these last few days. I sat outside a coffee shop for 15 minutes people watching and, you know what, “It’s so good to see your faces,” even if I’ve never seen them before. Maybe we can do that at Republique or Black Market or splurge at Vespertine. Perhaps we’re lining up for Ditroit or La Autentica Birrieiria or daybird?
How will we get to this meat space meet-up? Will we carpool? Maybe. Will I take the bus? Maybe, yes. Will I take the metro? Maybe, no.
Want to go to a game? LAFC and the Sparks should be accepting an increasing number of fans this summer.
I don’t think I’m yet ready for a concert, but I’ll go to the movies with ya.
Are there momentous events of the last year that should be acknowledged, celebrated, or mourned? Let’s do that.
Maybe we’re just taking a walk or sitting in a park or hanging out at your house or mine. I didn’t do nearly enough outdoor hangs as I should or could have over the past 13 months. Still, I would like to take our seeming collective increased appreciation for our habitat with me into what comes next.
Dave Chisholm‘s graphic novel about Charlie Parker’s time in Southern California is the first book I’ve read released during the COVID-19 pandemic. It acknowledges that timing in the foreword by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Jabbar—the long-time Angeleno—wonders whether much has changed between Jim Crow in Parker’s 1940s America and last year’s Black Lives Matter summer of anguish. My gut reaction is to say, very much yes, even through the book’s lens where Bird must stay at an all-black hotel and permission to book an integrated band is seen as a great gift or concession. But a character in the story—a white one, no less—extols us never to trust LA cops, and 2020’s refrain of “defund the police” rings in my ears, and I question my gut’s optimism.
Chasin’ the Bird provided a new kind of door for me. The first chorus is told in Dizzy Gillespie’s voice, and he gives form to what it was like being a jazz cat in 1947. The book makes that Los Angeles and that club real for me. He name-checks a few songs, Salt Peanuts and Koko, and visualizes what it might have felt like to hear Bird blow his horn in person for the first time. I immediately went to my preferred music streamer and pulled up a Charlie Parker playlist. My toe began tapping. My eyes closed for a while, and then I opened them again, hoping to have been transported. I wanted to be looking around the darkened smoky room, searching for someone else’s eyes with which to lock. I’d shake my head as if to say, can you believe this? We’d chuckle together. I’d wipe my brow and return my attention to the stage, enraptured.
The story continues from there, taking on the perspectives of several others who encountered Bird during his time in my beloved city. Ultimately, the goal is to unravel the mystery of what happened to the man in Los Angeles, especially during his six-month-long disappearance from the scene. What we don’t get is the man himself in his own words. While Parker casts such a long shadow over the music of his time and what followed, he didn’t make it past his 35th year. He never gave himself the chance to tell his own story.
And while that’s a loss that this story can’t fill, it hits all my other sweet spots. It’s an LA story. It’s noir. It’s moody and sexy and a puzzle. The art sings. There are pages—the outro most intentionally so—that I’d swear I could hear. And the words are just as mesmerizing as the visuals and the jazz.
In Coltrane’s section, the illustrated Bird says to him:
The Universe we live in don’t waste nothin’. Everything has existed eternally. Every piece of energy is recycled. Every piece of motherfucking matter. You know what else is eternal?
“You shoulda been downtown; the people are rising.”
— Anderson .Paak
What did you do in 2020 that you’d never done before?
I wore a mask on days that weren’t Halloween or Halloween-related. I ran in the park in a mask. I wore a mask to the laundry room and to take out the trash. I wore a mask in the grocery store, the pharmacy, the doctor’s office, and the optometrist. I wore a mask to pick up take-out and get haircuts.
The few times I saw my parents and sister, I wore a mask. The few times I saw a friend or two—outside, socially distanced, and ever so briefly—I wore a mask.
Sometimes, alone in the car, I wore a mask.
The few times we had furniture deliveries or maintenance in the house, I opened some windows and wore a mask.
Today, I’ll wear a mask. Tomorrow, I’ll wear a mask.
Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I didn’t make resolutions last year. I did hope to visit Chicago and Atlanta and Greensboro and Omaha to see family & friends and catch some WNBA games in cities I hadn’t been in in a while.
In early March, those plans were dashed. I did see some of those family & friends on Zooms and face times but not in physical presence and not sharing the same air, which, in this year, could’ve been disastrous.
I saw no basketball live this year but watched more WNBA games this season than I ever have, thanks to the #wubble and nearly every game of every team airing on television or streaming.
I miss our seats in STAPLES, though, and the crazies we are privileged to scream and cheer with nearly 20 times a summer. I hope we can get back to that in some way in 2021.
Did anyone close to you have a child?
Not that I’m aware, but I got this wrong last year. My cousin Tiffani had a new cutie pie in 2019.
Did anyone close to you get married?
There were a few postponements that I can think of but no virtual ceremonies that I remember.
Did anyone close to you die?
It feels weird to say in such a year of loss but no unless we count the collective mourning of Kobe and Gianna Bryant’s deaths by this city and the world.
There was death, to be sure. News of family members of current and former colleagues succumbing to COVID became far too familiar. And family acquaintances or distant relatives also passed. Still, the constant worry was a dreadful call or text about someone contracting the virus, entering the hospital, and never coming back out alive.
I did not have that experience this year, and I am grateful.
What countries did you visit?
This year, it may be more appropriate to ask which counties? I only left Los Angeles County twice this year. Once in January (Broward County) and once in very early March (New York).
What would you like to have in 2021 that you lacked in 2020?
Handshakes, hi-fives, and hugs.
Going inside someone’s residence other than my own.
Shared experiences that allow me to be anonymously or collectively loud.
Lingering in a space. Meandering from place to place.
What date from 2020 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
“Rudy Gobert’s status for the game—it was bizarre; he was listed as questionable just 30 minutes before tip-off. Then I saw the Thunder’s head doctor, Donnie Strack, come running off the bench, literally seconds before tip-off—the ref’s already got the ball in his hands. Players are lining up in a circle, getting ready for tip-off. I see Donnie Strack running out, and I knew right then and there: Something’s going down.”
What was your most significant achievement of the year?
I’m alive. I didn’t make anyone sick or kill anyone by being cavalier in my response to the pandemic. Every day, I tried to think about how hard it is for all I encountered and chose to give whatever I could when asked: time, patience, forgiveness, cover, space, cash, quiet, candor.
I may have been my most humane in 2020.
What was your biggest failure?
Excuse my french but fuck a failure in this most abnormal 12 months. Surviving and not harming anyone else was the only requirement in what NPR Music has called The Fugue Year.
Oddly, this is probably the healthiest I’ve been in many years. I switched doctors, and she got my hypertension under control, put me on some vitamin D, and has me thinking much more deliberately about my choices.
I’m sleeping better.
I did have some soreness in my right knee for a bit that was more than a little bit annoying, but some self-care and wearing an over-the-counter brace for a few days solved that, and it hasn’t returned despite an increase in cardio/aerobic exercises over the last few weeks.
What was the best thing you bought?
I’m in love with the bookcases that got recently delivered and that I framed and hung lots of wall art. I get a little spark of delight every time I see them.
I’ve also become a robe person in the last month or so, snuggling into a flannel one every morning.
But, it’s working appliances that are the best thing I bought, specifically, the dishwasher. Sure, we also replaced our laundry center with the non-drying dryer, but it was the dishwasher that had been the bane of my existence since the dawn of the pandemic.
Our old washer had utterly stopped working a week or two before stay-at-home orders began, and after a few months of constant dishwashing, I had tried in vain to get it fixed under warranty at least three times. Each time, they would replace the same part, and each time it would stop working again after a few days.
So, we bought a very nice replacement. When it arrived, the delivery guy couldn’t install the machine. Our electrical socket in the dishwasher cabinet had to move. A couple of hundred bucks to an electrician, and a few weeks later, it was finally in its place and ready for use.
It’s quiet. It’s attractive. It has a silverware rack.
And, as the daily slog of constant dishwashing was threatening to break me, that it merely works is heaven.
Whose behavior merited celebration?
Every person who has left their home daily at risk of a deadly disease because what they do might keep all of us, collectively, alive deserve all the flowers.
Where did most of your money go?
Into this home in a variety of ways. Into political campaigns and charitable donations. Into digital goods and services.
I put my money into continuing paying people whose services I enjoyed in person before the pandemic to work remotely if possible or stay home if not.
And into savings and investing for the future, whatever may come.
What did you get really, really, really excited about?
The Biden-Harris victory. That morning of extended joy will be the second day of the year I will most remember.
Perhaps, I am most known for how emotionally balanced I am, but there have been more days of melancholy this year. I remain hopeful and optimistic for a better tomorrow, but happiness has been harder to come by.
I spent more time feeling sad or anxious or frustrated or, worse, nothing. Much of July through maybe mid-October is a blurry haze for me in which I felt the least like me. I’m not sure what broke me from that, but I’ve been better since then.
But there are still more days like today when I woke with my spirit feeling small, quiet, and low on joy.
I suspect I’ll find a smirk or smile or maybe even a full-on song in my heart by day’s end though that’s not guaranteed.
This is new.
ii. Thinner or fatter?
Three months into safer-at-home, I had lost ten pounds.
I’ve gained them all back.
iii. Richer or poorer?
We had a great year financially. I feel sheepish writing that for the world to see but, it’s true. I didn’t lose work. I got a bonus. The stock market—despite volatility—has been lucrative. We were able to make some smart money moves.
I’m grateful that at a time of such a struggle for so many, we are not. The question I’m continuing to ask myself as we head into 2021 is how to be sure I’m not taking my good fortune for granted and “sharing the garden,” as Noname puts it in the Lockdown remix.
What do you wish you’d done more of?
Gone outside and explored the natural world.
What do you wish you’d done less of?
Doomscrolled.
How did you spend the holidays?
We ordered in for Thanksgiving from Bar Ama, which was delicious. I made banana pudding and biscuits for my family and traded them for a pie and mac & cheese. The fifteen minutes I spent with them during that exchange was not enough but sustained me on my favorite holiday.
Christmas was low-key but fine. A gift exchange with Tiffany, a family Zoom, and all the NBA I could muster made up the day.
We are doing NYE at home, which is no different than any other recent year. I may even be looking forward to dressing up, getting drunk, and dancing in the living room as we say goodbye to The Plague Year.
What was your favorite TV program?
There was nothing I looked forward to more this year than watching The Mandalorian season 2 and Star Trek Discovery season 3 over the last few months. Both sci-fi series have been fantastic in all the word’s meanings and filled my mind with dreams of brighter, more interesting, more inspiring times.
A Democratic victory in the presidential election and Nithya Raman on LA City Council
What did you want and not get?
I wanted Americans to come together in more significant numbers and show their better angels and sense of community to get us through coronavirus with far less unnecessary death.
I didn’t watch many films this year, but I dug The Old Guard and Soul and didn’t hate Wonder Woman 1984 despite the social media critiques.
What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I turned 45 a week after the pandemic became official, and I’m pretty sure I spent it entirely on the couch playing mobile games and coloring with the Apple Pencil Tiffany got me as a gift.
What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
How would you describe your fashion concept in 2020?
Looking great from the waistline up. Thanks, Stitch Fix.
What kept you sane?
The morning is quiet and dark. I remember to meditate. As the sun comes up, I catch the birds and squirrels starting their day in the thicket of trees that make up their neighborhood. I listen to a mix of music and podcasts as I empty the dishwasher and start the coffee. I make myself a proper breakfast and eat it at the table.
It’s the end of the workday, and I treat it as such. I close work tabs and get up from the desk. I go for a long walk. I see the eyes of strangers. I listen to the sounds of the city. I break a sweat.
I don’t bring my gadgets to bed.
Every day I accomplished at least one of these routines, I was a little saner the next.
Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Everyone but perhaps most frequently, I longed for the strangers on the bus. I wanted to be shoulder-to-shoulder with people on their way to and from work or school. I wanted to be just another slightly familiar but nameless face with my fellow LA neighbors and be in the mix.
Oh, what I would give to feel like just another soul in the Southland, again.
Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2020.
“Yeah, as the earth spins into a brand new day/ I see the light on the horizon’s not fading away”
— Beastie Boys
I went downtown yesterday for the first time since the pandemic began. Perhaps, the first time this year? Who even remembers what you were personally doing in January and February of 2020?
Anyway, in only my third or fourth trek out of the valley in nine months, I trundled through holiday traffic to pick up our pre-made Thanksgiving Dinner—who wants to cook for fun or ceremony right now?—from a fancy restaurant. Things like the chaotic puzzle of getting over from the 110/101 merger to the 4th street exit haven’t changed, nor has the amount of construction happening in DTLA.
The surface streets were emptier, though. Free street parking was available, and the sidewalks were not full of people moving around. They were, however, bursting with tents. “Garcettivilles” are what some of the most assertive activists on the socials have taken to calling them. They are in my neighborhood as well, particularly along the river at Van Nuys and Riverside. If you’ve had the privilege of staying home only roaming a few blocks in your zip code as I have been, you do not have a scale of the problem.
Unhoused neighbors are everywhere! Along Main and Spring. In every patch of grass on the side of the 101. It’s maddening that we allow for people to fall into homelessness in these numbers at any time but during a pandemic? What are we doing?
I thought this as I picked up our expensive meal-for-two, which we can afford easily because no one in our house has lost work this year. No one in my immediate or extended family has contracted the virus (yet). I’m sure some have had to pinch a penny here and there, but no one has struggled to feed or house themselves. I’ve gotten healthier in 2020. We’ve been able to make our place more of a home, buying furniture, hanging art and photos, replacing appliances, and making fuller use of the space.
We even voted out that guy.
We’re fortunate, and I’m grateful. There are people in tents all over Los Angeles today. This year has gone very differently for them, likely due to circumstances well beyond their control. Regardless, a nation, a state, a county, a city, and a community as wealthy as ours shouldn’t allow it to happen.
We could stand together. It’s about time. We got to get together.
“No worries, no worries, oh. You’re gonna be alright.”
— Little Dragon
The route to Saturday’s successful grandma pie started a few weeks ago when I first watched Carla Makes Sheet Pan Pizza.
I had assumed it was a recently published episode of From the Test Kitchen when it popped up in my recommended playlist, but it is nearly a year old. It’s a delightful 11 minutes that close with other Bon Appétit staff members cursing with pleasure after their first bite.
Pizza has been one of my regular cravings during the COVID-19 “safer-at-home” orders. Despite a couple decent pies from a local restaurant, they hadn’t scratched the itch. Carla made it clear that this would.
I haven’t been spending my homebound days baking like many of my friends (and many Americans in general). In this case, though, I made it my mission to make this entire thing from scratch.
The original plan was to make it for our ninth wedding anniversary. Problem number one: we had flour in the house but no yeast. Yeast has been hard to come by during the pandemic. I had yet to see any of it restocked in our local grocery stores when I’ve made my occasional excursions out for provisions. On Mother’s Day, however, when I ventured out for my first low risk meet up with my parents and sister—outdoor, ten feet apart, masks on—I was able to procure yeast from my mama.
When I went about the making of the dough, though, a new problem: the yeast wasn’t active. No exciting reactions in my warm water. No foaming. Nada. Anniversary plan derailed but, no worries, dear reader, we ate very well.
In the time before the coronavirus, I’d cultivated a life of great convenience. We live in a comfortable neighborhood, surrounded by grocery stores and shops of all kinds, all within walking distance. They are usually stocked with all manner of goods in multiple varieties to appease the upscale palettes of the surrounding zip codes. How brain disruptive to be denied such a common ingredient?
I would not be denied. A little online hunting and a large quantity of yeast was ordered. There would be no instant gratification, as it would take more than a week to arrive. Still, the delay of good things, the earning of them even if it is just by having to wait, has been a lesson I have enjoyed re-learning over the last two months.
Ten days later than planned, yeast went back into the mixer. Ten minutes after that, bubbles appeared. A ball of dough formed. 24 hours after that, a pizza went into the oven and, fuck, that’s delicious.
