newyorker--2020-03-20--Music to Endure the Coronavirus Quarantine

For the past week , I ’ ve taken breaks from staring blankly into the middle distance to dip deeper into my record collection than I have in years .
There are a few albums and artists that always work for me .
I ’ ve found that the country-blues singer Mississippi John Hurt is a reliable and instantaneous balm , no matter what ’ s happening to me or to the world ; his voice is exuberant and playful , like two fuzzy puppies rolling around together .
A performance he did of the folk standard “ John Henry @ @ @ @ @ @ @ plainly , inarguably delightful .
I ’ ve been watching it almost every morning .
I feel similarly about the Bahamian guitarist Joseph Spence ; his gurgling , grumbling version of “ Jump in the Line ” is so weird and sublime that , no matter how despondent I ’ m feeling , it becomes hard to suppress a goofy smile .
The resilience of the Dixie Chicks is a source of perennial inspiration ; Phoebe Bridgers recently made a skinhead disappear .
Bad Brains , Bert Jansch , Bessie Jones—the best thing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you don ’ t have anything left to give , they keep showing up for you .
I checked in with a dozen musicians to see how they ’ re navigating self-isolation and which songs , albums , or artists they ’ ve been turning to for comfort , peace , joy , whatever .
I loved listening to their picks , and I hope that you will , too .
I ’ ve just been in the crib , enjoying my house , since I ’ m always travelling .
I ’ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Kendrick Lamar , and new music .
I ’ ve been creating .
Working out is a must , and I decided to pick my paintbrush back up .
This is a time for self-reflection and relaxation—giving time to those things and people that matter most to you .
I ’ m about to release a record that I ’ ve been working on for two years , dead center in the middle of a pandemic .
I ’ m sitting in my house with my family , disconnected from the world , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ house in the Great Plains—but we live in the city of Nashville .
Life is about to slow down to a foreign pace .
I ’ ve found myself sitting at the piano a lot .
I have no shows to play .
I may do some online stuff .
Bottom line is , music will be the thing that gets me through .
It ’ s always been that way .
This upcoming album , “ Love Is an Art , ” is a meditation on how we are shaped by relationships @ @ @ @ @ @ @ love .
I ’ m not going to delay the release of an album like this ; it ’ s meant for times like these .
I just got about six hundred copies of it on vinyl , which I was supposed to bring out on tour to sell—so I opened one of those and have been spinning it .
I ’ ve also been streaming WQXR , the public classical station in N.Y.C.
, “ The Idiot ” by Iggy Pop , “ Man Alive !
” by King Krule , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Paillard Chamber Orchestra .
During this period of self-isolation , I ’ ve mostly been playing Stardew Valley and a DS Pokémon game and watching TV .
I ’ ve got a big pot of my mom ’ s soup to get through , so I ’ ve been trying to stay at home and not get too stressed about being out of work .
I ’ ve been listening to the new Grimes and Caribou a good amount , and I ’ ve also really been enjoying Sasami ’ s new song @ @ @ @ @ @ @ cooking up a big batch of food to get me through a few days—one day was whole fish cooked in fermented black bean , and , though I rarely eat meat , yesterday was Instapot Irish goat stew !
—I listened to the latest from Christine and the Queens and from Moses Sumney .
Rather than going to the old and familiar for comfort , I head for the new and innovative—that is what gives me hope and succor .
Like everyone else , I ’ m a little bit in shock .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ Keep thinking about the old man in pajama pants buying Pringles in bulk at the CVS .
Keep thinking about a way to connect or make some gesture of community—some grand statement that could heal in some way .
The reality is , I ’ ve got some processing to do before I can get beneath something [ too much on the ] surface .
In the meantime , I ’ ve been turning to records I loved in high school .
Records that fit like worn-in jeans .
Familiar friends .
Records @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Stevens .
Wilco .
Nick Drake .
S. Carey .
Bon Iver .
Feist .
Iron and Wine .
Arcade Fire .
You know the type .
I ’ ve been dancing in my kitchen to records I loved in college .
Tinashe ’ s “ Aquarius , ” Rihanna ’ s “ Anti , ” dvsn ’ s “ SEPT 5th.
” I ’ ve been listening to a lot of live records and taking comfort in the sound of many people in a room .
Pretending it ’ s my room—half-full @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and all .
Patsy Cline and Leonard Cohen .
Talking Heads .
The Grateful Dead .
I haven ’ t had the desire quite yet to tune in to new music , but I ’ ve got a couple records on deck for when I end up there .
Tame Impala .
Soccer Mommy .
Caribou .
King Krule .
I am helping my mum and dad isolate , trying to get my head round that , and falling in love with the silence .
Otherwise I ’ m listening to “ Ecstatic @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ” the “ Wicker Man ” soundtrack , and new stuff , like “ Metal Preyers ” by Jesse Hackett and Otim Alpha .
I ’ ve been writing a lot .
I have a one-car garage out back that I ’ ve stocked with favorite books , snacks , and records .
Writing and making art out of whatever is stressing me out has always helped make sense of it , even when nothing makes any sense .
A lot of artists I ’ ve talked to are feeling this way and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ They ’ re taking more risks and finding new ideas more than ever right now .
I think on the other side of this there will be so many incredible new novels , poems , paintings , records .
.
.
everything .
I ’ ve also been appreciating board games again .
I strongly recommend Ghost Blitz , ages eight and up .
The three artists I ’ m playing the most these days are Cowboy Junkies , Rancid , and Willie Nelson .
As a songwriter , I spend a good @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my studio working on music .
That being said , I ’ m having a hard time utilizing this quarantine for fruitful , creative isolation .
I work best when I have a healthy balance of alone and social time , and this crisis has thrown that completely out of whack .
What has really given me a sense of purpose , as well as a connection to the outside world , has been doing my daily live shows .
I ’ ve committed to doing one on YouTube/Facebook every day at 4 @ @ @ @ @ @ @ taking requests , playing covers , and directing people to organizations in need of non-monetary assistance .
Selfishly , it also gives me something to look forward to every day .
As far as what I ’ ve been listening to , I ’ ve really fallen head over heels in love with the new Eluvium record , “ Virga I.
” I ’ ve also been listening to a lot of Stars of the Lid .
Both acts have a wonderful way of filling the space around me with subtle , droning @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
In navigating my self-isolation , I ’ ve been reaching out to a lot of friends , cooking , reading , working on music , and watching lots of movies .
I ’ ve also rearranged my house and gone on Instagram Live to connect and sing duets with some of my fans .
I ’ m trying to really settle into being at home for the next few months , whereas I usually am never here for more than two weeks at a time , given my busy touring schedule .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ new plants and try to really breathe life into this place and take advantage of the sudden downtime .
I think the biggest thing will be taking care of my mental and physical health .
Making sure I get some physical exercise while also giving myself plenty of rest and room to pig out .
For example , I plan on knocking out a lot of the movies from the Criterion Collection , but that doesn ’ t mean I can ’ t also knock out a few horrible Adam Sandler junk-food movies @ @ @ @ @ @ @ I ’ ve been obsessed with Alabaster dePlume ’ s album called “ To Cy and Lee ” —it ’ s incredibly meditative and calming .
I ’ ve also been listening to Yoko Ono ’ s “ Season of Glass , ” namely the song “ Goodbye Sadness.
” I ’ d also recommend Bitchin Bajas and Bonnie Prince Billy ’ s album “ Epic Jammers and Fortunate Little Ditties.
” All the lyrics are taken from fortune cookies , so it ’ s very uplifting .
Trying to keep the tunes @ @ @ @ @ @ @ work both as a performer and a solitary writer , I can shift gears , turn my attention inward to my record collection , and explore .
I ’ m writing about Seattle at the moment , so I ’ m listening to Malfunkshun and Mother Love Bone and the Melvins for the roar , and then Sister Rosetta Tharpe for her positive clarity of hope .
The Jamaicans hold sway over these apocalyptic times , Gregory Isaacs and Count Ossie , and , yes , got ta dance , so get out @ @ @ @ @ @ @ up with Madonna ’ s “ Like a Prayer.
” The coronavirus pandemic has been like no other phenomenon I ’ ve ever witnessed .
The breadth of its reach , the seeming geometric progression of events , along with the chaotic manner in which information is unfolding , makes it a little difficult to maintain a grasp on what ’ s going on .
Things seem to change by the day .
I have a new album coming out at some point , and though the main body of my tour in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ begin in August , we ’ d also booked some earlier dates , in May , and thus were supposed to begin rehearsals this week .
On Friday , I conferenced with my agent and managers and decided it would be best to cancel those May dates and not convene for rehearsals .
So , for now , everything ’ s on hold .
A couple of tracks I ’ ve been listening to lately are the new single from the Killers , “ Caution , ” which I played on , and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ The Steps , ” which is also great .
And my son turned me on to the new King Krule album .
He ’ s someone I find very interesting—a touch of Joe Strummer !
But , mainly , I ’ ve been listening a lot to my own album , as I ’ m right in the middle of mastering .
That ’ s something I ’ ve continued doing , as it ’ s important to finish as many things as possible and have the album ready when things eventually get @ @ @ @ @ @ @ in self-isolation before this crisis .
I don ’ t mean that as a joke .
I was taking some time to recover my creative energy and spirit , which , for me , means a great need for solitude .
I had planned to come out of my self-imposed hibernation for spring .
Those plans are , of course , greatly altered now .
I have several underlying conditions , as well as two parents in their mid-to-late seventies with chronic health problems , including diabetes and hypertension .
My concern is @ @ @ @ @ @ @ my routine , the advice I have , as an expert in isolation , is to remain aesthetically stimulated .
Read everything you can .
Talk to yourself .
Make up monologues .
Look at color charts .
Read about the history of ink .
Listen to every sound around you in focussed detail .
Alter your environment in small ways .
Move things around .
You have the time now .
Unless you are my sister and you have to work from home with two children out of school .
She has @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Olivier Messiaen ’ s “ Quatuor Pour la Fin du Temps.
” My favorite piece of music ever .
Especially part five , “ Louange à l ’ Éternité de Jésus.
” My favorite recording is by the Tashi Quartet , from 1976 .
It was written in great duress , at a prison camp in the Second World War , and its composition is worth reading about .
• None How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• @ @ @ @ @ @ @ customs amid a pandemic .
• None What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• None How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• None Donald Trump in the time of coronavirus .
• None The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• None We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• None The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

For the past week, I’ve taken breaks from staring blankly into the middle distance to dip deeper into my record collection than I have in years. There are a few albums and artists that always work for me. I’ve found that the country-blues singer Mississippi John Hurt is a reliable and instantaneous balm, no matter what’s happening to me or to the world; his voice is exuberant and playful, like two fuzzy puppies rolling around together. A performance he did of the folk standard “John Henry,” filmed in 1965, is plainly, inarguably delightful. I’ve been watching it almost every morning. I feel similarly about the Bahamian guitarist Joseph Spence; his gurgling, grumbling version of “Jump in the Line” is so weird and sublime that, no matter how despondent I’m feeling, it becomes hard to suppress a goofy smile. The resilience of the Dixie Chicks is a source of perennial inspiration; Phoebe Bridgers recently made a skinhead disappear. Bad Brains, Bert Jansch, Bessie Jones—the best thing about records is that, even when you don’t have anything left to give, they keep showing up for you.
I checked in with a dozen musicians to see how they’re navigating self-isolation and which songs, albums, or artists they’ve been turning to for comfort, peace, joy, whatever. I loved listening to their picks, and I hope that you will, too.
I’ve just been in the crib, enjoying my house, since I’m always travelling. I’ve been listening to Baby Keem, Kendrick Lamar, and new music. I’ve been creating. Working out is a must, and I decided to pick my paintbrush back up. This is a time for self-reflection and relaxation—giving time to those things and people that matter most to you.
I’m about to release a record that I’ve been working on for two years, dead center in the middle of a pandemic. I’m sitting in my house with my family, disconnected from the world, as if we live in a lone house in the Great Plains—but we live in the city of Nashville. Life is about to slow down to a foreign pace. I’ve found myself sitting at the piano a lot. I have no shows to play. I may do some online stuff. Bottom line is, music will be the thing that gets me through. It’s always been that way. This upcoming album, “Love Is an Art,” is a meditation on how we are shaped by relationships and how that affects the way we love. I’m not going to delay the release of an album like this; it’s meant for times like these. I just got about six hundred copies of it on vinyl, which I was supposed to bring out on tour to sell—so I opened one of those and have been spinning it. I’ve also been streaming WQXR, the public classical station in N.Y.C., “The Idiot” by Iggy Pop, “Man Alive!” by King Krule, and “Japanese Melodies” by the Jean-François Paillard Chamber Orchestra.
During this period of self-isolation, I’ve mostly been playing Stardew Valley and a DS Pokémon game and watching TV. I’ve got a big pot of my mom’s soup to get through, so I’ve been trying to stay at home and not get too stressed about being out of work. I’ve been listening to the new Grimes and Caribou a good amount, and I’ve also really been enjoying Sasami’s new song “Mess.”
Last night, while cooking up a big batch of food to get me through a few days—one day was whole fish cooked in fermented black bean, and, though I rarely eat meat, yesterday was Instapot Irish goat stew!—I listened to the latest from Christine and the Queens and from Moses Sumney. Rather than going to the old and familiar for comfort, I head for the new and innovative—that is what gives me hope and succor.
Like everyone else, I’m a little bit in shock. Crying in the grocery-store parking lot. Keep thinking about the old man in pajama pants buying Pringles in bulk at the CVS. Keep thinking about a way to connect or make some gesture of community—some grand statement that could heal in some way. The reality is, I’ve got some processing to do before I can get beneath something [too much on the] surface. In the meantime, I’ve been turning to records I loved in high school. Records that fit like worn-in jeans. Familiar friends. Records I can sing along to. Sufjan Stevens. Wilco. Nick Drake. S. Carey. Bon Iver. Feist. Iron and Wine. Arcade Fire. You know the type. I’ve been dancing in my kitchen to records I loved in college. Tinashe’s “Aquarius,” Rihanna’s “Anti,” dvsn’s “SEPT 5th.” I’ve been listening to a lot of live records and taking comfort in the sound of many people in a room. Pretending it’s my room—half-full bowls of popcorn, single socks, and all. Patsy Cline and Leonard Cohen. Talking Heads. The Grateful Dead. I haven’t had the desire quite yet to tune in to new music, but I’ve got a couple records on deck for when I end up there. Tame Impala. Soccer Mommy. Caribou. King Krule.
I am helping my mum and dad isolate, trying to get my head round that, and falling in love with the silence. Otherwise I’m listening to “Ecstatic Music of the Jemaa El Fna,” the “Wicker Man” soundtrack, and new stuff, like “Metal Preyers” by Jesse Hackett and Otim Alpha.
I’ve been writing a lot. I have a one-car garage out back that I’ve stocked with favorite books, snacks, and records. Writing and making art out of whatever is stressing me out has always helped make sense of it, even when nothing makes any sense. A lot of artists I’ve talked to are feeling this way and diving deeper into what they do. They’re taking more risks and finding new ideas more than ever right now. I think on the other side of this there will be so many incredible new novels, poems, paintings, records . . . everything. I’ve also been appreciating board games again. I strongly recommend Ghost Blitz, ages eight and up. The three artists I’m playing the most these days are Cowboy Junkies, Rancid, and Willie Nelson.
As a songwriter, I spend a good deal of my free time alone in my studio working on music. That being said, I’m having a hard time utilizing this quarantine for fruitful, creative isolation. I work best when I have a healthy balance of alone and social time, and this crisis has thrown that completely out of whack. What has really given me a sense of purpose, as well as a connection to the outside world, has been doing my daily live shows. I’ve committed to doing one on YouTube/Facebook every day at 4 p.m. Pacific Time. I’m taking requests, playing covers, and directing people to organizations in need of non-monetary assistance. Selfishly, it also gives me something to look forward to every day. As far as what I’ve been listening to, I’ve really fallen head over heels in love with the new Eluvium record, “Virga I.” I’ve also been listening to a lot of Stars of the Lid. Both acts have a wonderful way of filling the space around me with subtle, droning beauty, making me feel less alone.
In navigating my self-isolation, I’ve been reaching out to a lot of friends, cooking, reading, working on music, and watching lots of movies. I’ve also rearranged my house and gone on Instagram Live to connect and sing duets with some of my fans. I’m trying to really settle into being at home for the next few months, whereas I usually am never here for more than two weeks at a time, given my busy touring schedule. I’m going to get some new plants and try to really breathe life into this place and take advantage of the sudden downtime. I think the biggest thing will be taking care of my mental and physical health. Making sure I get some physical exercise while also giving myself plenty of rest and room to pig out. For example, I plan on knocking out a lot of the movies from the Criterion Collection, but that doesn’t mean I can’t also knock out a few horrible Adam Sandler junk-food movies for good measure. For music, I’ve been obsessed with Alabaster dePlume’s album called “To Cy and Lee”—it’s incredibly meditative and calming. I’ve also been listening to Yoko Ono’s “Season of Glass,” namely the song “Goodbye Sadness.” I’d also recommend Bitchin Bajas and Bonnie Prince Billy’s album “Epic Jammers and Fortunate Little Ditties.” All the lyrics are taken from fortune cookies, so it’s very uplifting. Trying to keep the tunes as positive as possible.
Since I work both as a performer and a solitary writer, I can shift gears, turn my attention inward to my record collection, and explore. I’m writing about Seattle at the moment, so I’m listening to Malfunkshun and Mother Love Bone and the Melvins for the roar, and then Sister Rosetta Tharpe for her positive clarity of hope. The Jamaicans hold sway over these apocalyptic times, Gregory Isaacs and Count Ossie, and, yes, gotta dance, so get out the disco twelve-inches. I always finish up with Madonna’s “Like a Prayer.”
The coronavirus pandemic has been like no other phenomenon I’ve ever witnessed. The breadth of its reach, the seeming geometric progression of events, along with the chaotic manner in which information is unfolding, makes it a little difficult to maintain a grasp on what’s going on. Things seem to change by the day. I have a new album coming out at some point, and though the main body of my tour in support of that album is planned to begin in August, we’d also booked some earlier dates, in May, and thus were supposed to begin rehearsals this week. On Friday, I conferenced with my agent and managers and decided it would be best to cancel those May dates and not convene for rehearsals. So, for now, everything’s on hold. A couple of tracks I’ve been listening to lately are the new single from the Killers, “Caution,” which I played on, and the new one from Haim, “The Steps,” which is also great. And my son turned me on to the new King Krule album. He’s someone I find very interesting—a touch of Joe Strummer! But, mainly, I’ve been listening a lot to my own album, as I’m right in the middle of mastering. That’s something I’ve continued doing, as it’s important to finish as many things as possible and have the album ready when things eventually get back to normal.
I was already in self-isolation before this crisis. I don’t mean that as a joke. I was taking some time to recover my creative energy and spirit, which, for me, means a great need for solitude. I had planned to come out of my self-imposed hibernation for spring. Those plans are, of course, greatly altered now. I have several underlying conditions, as well as two parents in their mid-to-late seventies with chronic health problems, including diabetes and hypertension. My concern is greatest for them. As far as my routine, the advice I have, as an expert in isolation, is to remain aesthetically stimulated. Read everything you can. Talk to yourself. Make up monologues. Look at color charts. Read about the history of ink. Listen to every sound around you in focussed detail. Alter your environment in small ways. Move things around. You have the time now. Unless you are my sister and you have to work from home with two children out of school. She has less time than before. Listen to Olivier Messiaen’s “Quatuor Pour la Fin du Temps.” My favorite piece of music ever. Especially part five, “Louange à l’Éternité de Jésus.” My favorite recording is by the Tashi Quartet, from 1976. It was written in great duress, at a prison camp in the Second World War, and its composition is worth reading about.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-20--The Coronavirus Threatens Houston’s Beloved Restaurants

One evening a few weeks back , although it honestly feels like years , I ended up at Fu Fu Café , my local late-night Chinese diner .
Usually , it ’ s stuffed from edge to edge till all hours , serving the third-shift folks , the club set , and any number of hungry families .
But tonight was different .
As the novel coronavirus made headway throughout the States , and an increasing number of cases were found in Houston , our city ’ s Chinatown hadn ’ t been exempt from the dips in business in @ @ @ @ @ @ @ on Bellaire Boulevard , whole shifts glided by without customers .
You could find ample parking in the normally overcrowded stacks of strip malls .
And now , at Fu Fu , every table was available .
But , after I ordered , a black couple walked in .
And then , eventually , a couple of Asian guys in sweats .
And then a gaggle of business types , comfy in suits .
And then a few more folks stumbled through the door for takeout .
All over the region , as @ @ @ @ @ @ @ for a looming disruption of their daily lives—which , we ’ re now finding , would mean the suspension of dining out altogether .
But this restaurant , at least for tonight , had settled into somewhat of a flow .
I took a seat by the register .
Talked with one of the owners for a bit .
He told me that , yes , business was slow , but sometimes life is slow , and then he passed me a beer .
It was a regular evening on the edge of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ part of Houston ’ s cosmology .
It ’ s as integral as the sprawl and the oil and the art and the chopped-and-screwed remixes filtering through car speakers up and down our highways .
A Zagat survey a couple of years back found that Houstonians eat out more than any other major-city dwellers in the country , and I imagine that ’ s partly a matter of access , since the city is a global-food haven .
We ’ ve got any number of delicacies , often available on the same street @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Maybe it ’ s also because of the city ’ s relatively low cost of living , which gives us the privilege of being able to eat out at all , let alone a couple of times a week .
Life in Houston is lived in the city ’ s Korean restaurants , hidden in the back of convenience stores and gas stations and taquerias tucked in strip malls and upscale Southern neighborhood spots .
Our restaurant culture is built on empathy and openness and flexibility—and , in the midst of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ confronted with what we owe the spots that have given us so much .
On Monday , Houston officials mandated that all restaurants eliminate sit-down service for fifteen days , along with a concurrent closure of bars and clubs .
Some locations instantly turned to Instagram , promoting pickup and delivery opportunities , but many more succumbed to a lack of foot traffic or social-media reach , shuttering their doors immediately .
Gradually , establishments that began alternative services with high hopes began to shutter , too .
Last month , a Singaporean @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , posted a photo featuring a crowd of diners eating outside underneath neon lights—just a regular evening out .
“ I posted this on my Weibo and my Chinese followers are saying that they really wished they could go out to eat , ” Nguan wrote in a comment .
Reading this , I felt a bit of the dread that ’ s since become a mainstay in our current situation .
Of course , there are sadder things that ’ ve happened , and matters more immediately pressing , in this ongoing @ @ @ @ @ @ @ t think of anything more detrimental to public life , in my particular city , than a loss of restaurants .
Eating out can be an afterthought , or a celebration , or a chore .
It can be a bore .
Or a routine .
But when it ’ s gone there ’ s simply nothing that you can put in its place .
Last week , before the question of a full-on closure even arose , my noodle shop in Spring Branch—a tiny joint , usually smoky and fragrant with sesame @ @ @ @ @ @ @ placed a sign on the window , written in Hangul .
Earlier this week , my regular Mexican spot in the Heights announced that it was closing until further notice .
In the days since the ban , across seemingly every platform , restaurants have made their appeals : for customers to order out , buy gift cards , donate to fund-raisers for undocumented staff .
The song is the same from city to city .
Fu Fu is operating on a takeout-only basis now , along with every other restaurant in the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a quick grocery run , I passed through the parking lot and found a handful of folks sitting in their cars , while others sat on the concrete or the curb , because , where those restaurants and diners had served as a third place , now there was a void .
Here were Houstonians doing their best to fill it themselves .
Our Turkish bakeries , Nigerian markets , and pupuserias lining the whole of Westheimer and Bissonnet , our Taiwanese boba shops , our Cuban joints whose patios sit lined with @ @ @ @ @ @ @ deliciously fragrant that you can smell them from the feeder road—these are places that cultivate people as much as profit .
If we don ’ t fight for them , many will close for good .
The employees who have been , and will continue to be , laid off won ’ t have their jobs to return to .
And we will all be the worse for it .
I can absolutely promise you that .
• None How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ • None How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• None What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• None How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• None Donald Trump in the time of coronavirus .
• None The coronavirus is likely to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• None We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• None The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

One evening a few weeks back, although it honestly feels like years, I ended up at Fu Fu Café, my local late-night Chinese diner. Usually, it’s stuffed from edge to edge till all hours, serving the third-shift folks, the club set, and any number of hungry families. But tonight was different. As the novel coronavirus made headway throughout the States, and an increasing number of cases were found in Houston, our city’s Chinatown hadn’t been exempt from the dips in business in parallel neighborhoods nationwide. At some spots on Bellaire Boulevard, whole shifts glided by without customers. You could find ample parking in the normally overcrowded stacks of strip malls. And now, at Fu Fu, every table was available.
But, after I ordered, a black couple walked in. And then, eventually, a couple of Asian guys in sweats. And then a gaggle of business types, comfy in suits. And then a few more folks stumbled through the door for takeout. All over the region, as the pandemic accelerated, Americans were bracing for a looming disruption of their daily lives—which, we’re now finding, would mean the suspension of dining out altogether. But this restaurant, at least for tonight, had settled into somewhat of a flow. I took a seat by the register. Talked with one of the owners for a bit. He told me that, yes, business was slow, but sometimes life is slow, and then he passed me a beer. It was a regular evening on the edge of deeply irregular times.
Dining out is part of Houston’s cosmology. It’s as integral as the sprawl and the oil and the art and the chopped-and-screwed remixes filtering through car speakers up and down our highways. A Zagat survey a couple of years back found that Houstonians eat out more than any other major-city dwellers in the country, and I imagine that’s partly a matter of access, since the city is a global-food haven. We’ve got any number of delicacies, often available on the same street, often for less than ten bucks. Maybe it’s also because of the city’s relatively low cost of living, which gives us the privilege of being able to eat out at all, let alone a couple of times a week.
Life in Houston is lived in the city’s Korean restaurants, hidden in the back of convenience stores and gas stations and taquerias tucked in strip malls and upscale Southern neighborhood spots. Our restaurant culture is built on empathy and openness and flexibility—and, in the midst of a global pandemic, we’re suddenly confronted with what we owe the spots that have given us so much. On Monday, Houston officials mandated that all restaurants eliminate sit-down service for fifteen days, along with a concurrent closure of bars and clubs. Some locations instantly turned to Instagram, promoting pickup and delivery opportunities, but many more succumbed to a lack of foot traffic or social-media reach, shuttering their doors immediately. Gradually, establishments that began alternative services with high hopes began to shutter, too.
Last month, a Singaporean photographer I follow on Instagram, Nguan, posted a photo featuring a crowd of diners eating outside underneath neon lights—just a regular evening out. “I posted this on my Weibo and my Chinese followers are saying that they really wished they could go out to eat,” Nguan wrote in a comment. Reading this, I felt a bit of the dread that’s since become a mainstay in our current situation. Of course, there are sadder things that’ve happened, and matters more immediately pressing, in this ongoing global crisis. But I couldn’t think of anything more detrimental to public life, in my particular city, than a loss of restaurants. Eating out can be an afterthought, or a celebration, or a chore. It can be a bore. Or a routine. But when it’s gone there’s simply nothing that you can put in its place.
Last week, before the question of a full-on closure even arose, my noodle shop in Spring Branch—a tiny joint, usually smoky and fragrant with sesame oil and grilled pork—locked its doors and placed a sign on the window, written in Hangul. Earlier this week, my regular Mexican spot in the Heights announced that it was closing until further notice. In the days since the ban, across seemingly every platform, restaurants have made their appeals: for customers to order out, buy gift cards, donate to fund-raisers for undocumented staff. The song is the same from city to city. Fu Fu is operating on a takeout-only basis now, along with every other restaurant in the same plaza. Wednesday morning, on a quick grocery run, I passed through the parking lot and found a handful of folks sitting in their cars, while others sat on the concrete or the curb, because, where those restaurants and diners had served as a third place, now there was a void. Here were Houstonians doing their best to fill it themselves.
Our Turkish bakeries, Nigerian markets, and pupuserias lining the whole of Westheimer and Bissonnet, our Taiwanese boba shops, our Cuban joints whose patios sit lined with Christmas lights, our Indian restaurants so deliciously fragrant that you can smell them from the feeder road—these are places that cultivate people as much as profit. If we don’t fight for them, many will close for good. The employees who have been, and will continue to be, laid off won’t have their jobs to return to. And we will all be the worse for it. I can absolutely promise you that.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-20--How Humanity Survives Pandemics

How Humanity Survives Pandemics

The earliest epidemics date back to Neolithic times , and , in the millennia since , viral outbreaks have repeatedly @ @ @ @ @ history , influencing behavior and creating and destroying cultural norms .
In the weeks since @ @ @ @ @ , people are showing resilience , humor , and creative ways of communicating as governments @ @ @ @ @ .
Robin Wright joins Dorothy Wickenden to discuss differing responses to infectious diseases across time @ @ @ @ @ global political ramifications of COVID-19 .

Photograph by Abbas Dulleh / AP / Shutterstock
The earliest epidemics date back to Neolithic times, and, in the millennia since, viral outbreaks have repeatedly shaped the course of human history, influencing behavior and creating and destroying cultural norms. In the weeks since COVID-19 became a worldwide emergency, people are showing resilience, humor, and creative ways of communicating as governments and businesses struggle to respond. Robin Wright joins Dorothy Wickenden to discuss differing responses to infectious diseases across time and cultures, and the global political ramifications of COVID-19.


newyorker--2020-03-20--Daily Cartoon: Friday, March 20th

Daily Cartoon: Friday, March 20th

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“This will never work, Tom. We’re from opposite ends of the same wing of the same political party.”


newyorker--2020-03-19--Meet the Italians Making Music on Balconies Under Coronavirus Quarantine

“ The language of music is common to all generations and nations , ” Gioachino Rossini , the virtuosic opera composer , once said .
“ It is understood by everybody , since it is understood with the heart.
” In recent weeks , Italians have embraced the language of music as a means to communicate with their neighbors and endure the ravages of COVID-19 as a collective .
At a time when the most important music halls in the country , from La Scala to La Fenice , have closed their doors to the public , citizens of all @ @ @ @ @ @ @ and their voices , to fill the silence of seclusion .
Music has provided unity in times of division throughout history ; now Italians are showing the world that , if only for a moment , it can also help them transcend the anxiety brought by a pandemic .
Italy is reporting thousands of new coronavirus cases daily .
With more than forty thousand positive tests , the country ’ s death toll , at more than three thousand , is the highest in the world , surpassing even China ’ s .
@ @ @ @ @ @ @ exactly when the amateur concerts began , they have coincided with the country ’ s lockdown , which first took effect in northern Italy , where the virus was detected in late February .
Italians have now been at home for nine days , and , from Bologna to Rome , they have invited their neighbors to engage in what they call a “ Flash Mob Sonoro , ” or a sound flash mob .
Musical competency is not a requirement , and neither is possessing a traditional instrument .
A pot or @ @ @ @ @ @ @ only because their sounds will join those of many other people who , from their balconies and windows , are hoping to create a bond through music .
• How to practice social distancing , from responding to a sick housemate to the pros and cons of ordering food .
• How people cope and create new customs amid a pandemic .
• What it means to contain and mitigate the coronavirus outbreak .
• How much of the world is likely to be quarantined ?
• Donald Trump in the time of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ to spread for more than a year before a vaccine could be widely available .
• We are all irrational panic shoppers .
• The strange terror of watching the coronavirus take Rome .

“The language of music is common to all generations and nations,” Gioachino Rossini, the virtuosic opera composer, once said. “It is understood by everybody, since it is understood with the heart.” In recent weeks, Italians have embraced the language of music as a means to communicate with their neighbors and endure the ravages of COVID-19 as a collective. At a time when the most important music halls in the country, from La Scala to La Fenice, have closed their doors to the public, citizens of all ages have used their own instruments, and their voices, to fill the silence of seclusion. Music has provided unity in times of division throughout history; now Italians are showing the world that, if only for a moment, it can also help them transcend the anxiety brought by a pandemic.
Italy is reporting thousands of new coronavirus cases daily. With more than forty thousand positive tests, the country’s death toll, at more than three thousand, is the highest in the world, surpassing even China’s. Although it’s hard to say exactly when the amateur concerts began, they have coincided with the country’s lockdown, which first took effect in northern Italy, where the virus was detected in late February. Italians have now been at home for nine days, and, from Bologna to Rome, they have invited their neighbors to engage in what they call a “Flash Mob Sonoro,” or a sound flash mob. Musical competency is not a requirement, and neither is possessing a traditional instrument. A pot or a wooden spoon can suffice, if only because their sounds will join those of many other people who, from their balconies and windows, are hoping to create a bond through music.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-21--ESPN’s Updated Programming Schedule

ESPN’s Updated Programming Schedule

4:00 A.M. “ March Madness Hour ” : Sure , what we generally think of as “ March Madness ” may not be happening this year , but there are still plenty of things going on in the month of March that are worth getting mad about ( global pandemic , taxes ) .
The N.C.A.A .
will likely force us to change the name of this show very soon .
5:00 A.M. “ U.F.C .
Fig—Wait , Apparently U.F.C .
Events Are Cancelled Now , Too ” : Ugh .
7:00 A.M. “ The Houston Asterisks ” : A @ @ @ @ @ @ @ sign-stealing scandal that seemed really important a few weeks ago .
Oh , my God , was that only a few weeks ago ?
9:00 A.M. “ Tom Brady Talk ” : Our panelists berate Tom Brady for signing with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers before teams resumed play , depriving them of one of the few legitimately interesting things they had left to speculate about .
10:00 A.M. “ Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden ” : This happened at a venue where sports also happen , so it counts .
Plus , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ kicks ass .
11:30 A.M. “ SportsCenter ” : Is pretty much every sport still cancelled ?
Yes !
We talk about how much that sucks .
1:30 P.M. “ Stephen A. Smith Yells ” : The guy must have something left that he thinks is worth yelling about , right ?
Or at least he ’ d better , per the terms of his contract .
2:00 P.M. “ Nascar ” : Watch Jimmie Johnson drive around the Atlanta Motor Speedway by himself for an hour in what our lawyers have assured @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a Nascar event !
His crew will avoid making any direct physical contact with him , per C.D.C .
and W.H.O .
recommendations .
3:00 P.M. “ Little Women ” : Look , this movie was awesome .
And if it takes all of sports ending to get people other than female lit majors to watch it and realize that , so be it .
6:00 P.M. “ April 15 , 1968 , Houston Astros vs. New York Mets Matchup ” : This was a truly revolutionary game that has just as much @ @ @ @ @ @ @ it did when it was initially played , more than fifty years ago .
But , more important , it was twenty-four innings and roughly six hours long .
12:00 A.M. “ April 15 , 1968 , Houston Astros vs. New York Mets Postgame Show ” : All of the players from those teams who are still alive talk about how today ’ s players don ’ t have any respect for the game .
1:00 A.M. “ B-Roll of Empty Stadiums ” : Remember when you first saw an image of a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ filled with fans but instead was completely empty ?
Remember what a jarring and emotional experience that was ?
Well , hopefully seeing virtually that same image about sixty-three times in a row won ’ t lessen the experience at all , because that ’ s pretty much all this is .
2:30 A.M. “ Pardon the Interruption ” : These guys still have so many opinions about the 1987 Edmonton Oilers .
We figured we would just let them talk about that .
3:00 A.M. “ Paid Programming ” : I mean @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ESPN at three in the morning to begin with ?
It ’ s not like this hour will be a particularly big deal , is all we ’ re saying .

4:00 A.M. “March Madness Hour”: Sure, what we generally think of as “March Madness” may not be happening this year, but there are still plenty of things going on in the month of March that are worth getting mad about (global pandemic, taxes). The N.C.A.A. will likely force us to change the name of this show very soon.
5:00 A.M. “U.F.C. Fig—Wait, Apparently U.F.C. Events Are Cancelled Now, Too”: Ugh.
7:00 A.M. “The Houston Asterisks”: A documentary about the absolutely massive Houston Astros sign-stealing scandal that seemed really important a few weeks ago. Oh, my God, was that only a few weeks ago?
9:00 A.M. “Tom Brady Talk”: Our panelists berate Tom Brady for signing with the Tampa Bay Buccaneers before teams resumed play, depriving them of one of the few legitimately interesting things they had left to speculate about.
10:00 A.M. “Billy Joel at Madison Square Garden”: This happened at a venue where sports also happen, so it counts. Plus, “Just the Way You Are” kicks ass.
11:30 A.M. “SportsCenter”: Is pretty much every sport still cancelled? Yes! We talk about how much that sucks.
1:30 P.M. “Stephen A. Smith Yells”: The guy must have something left that he thinks is worth yelling about, right? Or at least he’d better, per the terms of his contract.
2:00 P.M. “Nascar”: Watch Jimmie Johnson drive around the Atlanta Motor Speedway by himself for an hour in what our lawyers have assured us we can still technically promote as a Nascar event! His crew will avoid making any direct physical contact with him, per C.D.C. and W.H.O. recommendations.
3:00 P.M. “Little Women”: Look, this movie was awesome. And if it takes all of sports ending to get people other than female lit majors to watch it and realize that, so be it.
6:00 P.M. “April 15, 1968, Houston Astros vs. New York Mets Matchup”: This was a truly revolutionary game that has just as much to teach us about baseball today as it did when it was initially played, more than fifty years ago. But, more important, it was twenty-four innings and roughly six hours long.
12:00 A.M. “April 15, 1968, Houston Astros vs. New York Mets Postgame Show”: All of the players from those teams who are still alive talk about how today’s players don’t have any respect for the game.
1:00 A.M. “B-Roll of Empty Stadiums”: Remember when you first saw an image of a stadium that looked like it should be filled with fans but instead was completely empty? Remember what a jarring and emotional experience that was? Well, hopefully seeing virtually that same image about sixty-three times in a row won’t lessen the experience at all, because that’s pretty much all this is.
2:30 A.M. “Pardon the Interruption”: These guys still have so many opinions about the 1987 Edmonton Oilers. We figured we would just let them talk about that.
3:00 A.M. “Paid Programming”: I mean, were that many people really watching ESPN at three in the morning to begin with? It’s not like this hour will be a particularly big deal, is all we’re saying.


newyorker--2020-03-21--“Normal Is Not in Our Game Plan”: Seattle’s Fight to Survive the Spread of the Coronavirus

For days , Anu Apte-Elford , who owns or co-owns four of Seattle ’ s most celebrated bars , including the James Beard-nominated No Anchor , agonized over whether to shutter her businesses or keep them open .
When it came to COVID-19 , the region was already the most deadly in the U.S. Thirty-seven people in the county had died as a result of the coronavirus .
The number of confirmed cases sometimes jumped more than sixty in a single day .
Heeding advice from public-health officials to avoid crowds , Seattleites had increasingly stopped going out .
In @ @ @ @ @ @ @ Seattle Times reported , at least fifty restaurants closed shop .
The establishments that didn ’ t close severely cut back employees ’ hours .
As of this past Sunday , Apte-Elford ’ s bars , most of which she co-owns with her spouse and business partner , Chris Elford , remained in business , though weeknight sales were down fifty per cent and weekend sales were down seventy-five per cent .
She thought of her customers ’ safety .
She thought of her forty employees and their livelihoods .
She thought of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ next morning , she thought , she ’ d make the call .
“ Of course , the government made that decision for us , ” she said .
Back in February , the Washington State Department of Public Health distributed to officials its new “ Non-Pharmaceutical Interventions ( NPI ) Implementation Guide.
” By the time the New York Times reported on it , on March 13th , the sixty-two-page manual had guided public policy for half a month.The document organizes its measures into thirteen steps , each more austere than the @ @ @ @ @ @ @ rung ( practicing exemplary hygiene ) to the top ( barricading entire portions of the population ) .
We had been climbing a ladder and most of us didn ’ t know it ; we quickly scaled rungs five through nine , concerning isolation and quarantine of those who felt sick or had contact with those who felt sick .
No .
10 , issued on March 11th , banned gatherings of two hundred and fifty people or more .
Our elected leaders had issued the escalating measures depending on the severity of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ us the correlation wasn ’ t clear .
We were higher on the ladder now .
On Sunday , at 7:21 p.m. , Governor Jay Inslee tweeted , “ Tomorrow , we will temporarily shut down restaurants , bars and entertainment/recreational facilities statewide.
” The next morning , in a nearly empty briefing room in the King County Chinook Building , before a skeleton crew of camera operators , the bespectacled former Presidential candidate made the case for the proclamation he was about to sign : ordering the statewide closure of not only @ @ @ @ @ @ @ fitness , and health clubs .
Restaurants had to cease dining-room service but could still provide takeout .
Additionally , gatherings of fifty or more were prohibited .
This would be the status for at least the next two weeks .
He called on every Washingtonian to do their part , to consider the lives of our most vulnerable neighbors , namely the elderly and those with compromised immune systems .
If you go about life as usual , he let us know , you are negligent .
“ Normal , ” he @ @ @ @ @ @ @ game plan.
” It was the most extreme measure yet , and would spell , at least for a time , the demise of tens of thousands of jobs .
It would also let more light through the cracks in the city , the fissures that have long divided service workers and those who relied on them .
Inequality in Seattle is well documented ( in 2016 , a Seattle Times analysis found that fifty-three per cent of the city ’ s earned income went to about twenty per cent of its households @ @ @ @ @ @ @ of the coronavirus outbreak the gulf was harder to ignore than ever .
On one side , you had new , work-from-home avatars and virtual , after-work happy hours .
On the other , people were still hustling for tips .
For every cat photo with a joke caption that chirped “ My new officemate is the worst , ” there was someone else who had no such luxury , who had to show up , clock in , expose themselves and others to potential contamination .
This new clampdown would exacerbate all @ @ @ @ @ @ @ workers didn ’ t even have hours .
Iconic businesses would be boarded up , as if bulwarked against some invading army .
Streets emptied out even more .
“ I do think it is in the greatest interest for public health that we close , ” Apte-Elford told me .
Even at the cost of the business she had spent the past decade building .
Jessica Tousignant thought she might have the virus .
A fever—one of COVID-19 ’ s key symptoms—had her calling in sick to the steak house where she @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ s Capitol Hill neighborhood .
It was a big blow to someone already losing work hours due to customers not showing up , even before the governor ’ s closure proclamation .
In self-quarantine , Tousignant , a cancer survivor who relied on her restaurant job for health insurance , had plenty of time alone to worry about how she and her colleagues—everyone in the industry , really—would be able to survive .
She and a friend , Candace Whitney-Morris , eventually hatched a plan .
They launched a GoFundMe campaign , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the initial goal of raising sixty thousand dollars to be distributed among the hardest-hit bar and restaurant workers .
The campaign went live Sunday afternoon , and garnered modest attention .
After Inslee ’ s closure tweet that night , it soared .
Soon , Tousignant and Whitney-Morris raised the goal to a hundred thousand dollars , and then fifty thousand more .
Tousignant , who eventually tested negative for COVID-19 ( she had the flu ) , poured herself into the campaign ’ s second phase : determining who , specifically , @ @ @ @ @ @ @ priority was the most vulnerable .
“ We ’ re looking at indigenous folks , people of color , transgender folks , ” she told me , “ everybody else in that rainbow—the L.G.B.T.Q.I.-plus spectrum—immunocompromised folks.
” In the hundreds of applications she received , Tousignant bore witness to the economic struggles caused by the coronavirus .
There was the single mother who had lost both her jobs and said that she and her kids could get by on beans and rice but needed fifty dollars for medicine ; the two restaurant workers @ @ @ @ @ @ @ their final paychecks ; the countless stories of people who had applied for unemployment but , owing to one loophole or another , had yet to qualify .
Mostly , Tousignant was struck by the applicants ’ humility .
“ Everybody ’ s being so vulnerable and humble in their asks , ” she said .
One of those applicants was Jose Contreras , the sous chef at Steelhead Diner , one of Pike Place Market ’ s most storied seafood restaurants , which closed because of the coronavirus , a week before @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ’ d struggled in the days since Steelhead shuttered .
Unemployment hadn ’ t come through and rent on the apartment that he shared with his girlfriend , who is also in the industry , loomed .
“ It ’ s very surreal , ” he told me over the phone , late one night .
“ It ’ s apocalyptic without the apocalypse.
” In the background , I could hear the bus he ’ d just boarded , as it pushed through the city .
He rode home from a teriyaki @ @ @ @ @ @ @ a temporary cooking gig .
“ Just through luck , ” he said .
“ I had a friend.
” He hasn ’ t received his first paycheck yet .
“ When that day comes , it ’ ll be great .
”

For days, Anu Apte-Elford, who owns or co-owns four of Seattle’s most celebrated bars, including the James Beard-nominated No Anchor, agonized over whether to shutter her businesses or keep them open. When it came to COVID-19, the region was already the most deadly in the U.S. Thirty-seven people in the county had died as a result of the coronavirus. The number of confirmed cases sometimes jumped more than sixty in a single day. Heeding advice from public-health officials to avoid crowds, Seattleites had increasingly stopped going out. In the span of two weeks, the Seattle Times reported, at least fifty restaurants closed shop. The establishments that didn’t close severely cut back employees’ hours. As of this past Sunday, Apte-Elford’s bars, most of which she co-owns with her spouse and business partner, Chris Elford, remained in business, though weeknight sales were down fifty per cent and weekend sales were down seventy-five per cent. She thought of her customers’ safety. She thought of her forty employees and their livelihoods. She thought of her need to make rent. The next morning, she thought, she’d make the call. “Of course, the government made that decision for us,” she said.
Back in February, the Washington State Department of Public Health distributed to officials its new “Non-Pharmaceutical Interventions (NPI) Implementation Guide.” By the time the New York Times reported on it, on March 13th, the sixty-two-page manual had guided public policy for half a month.The document organizes its measures into thirteen steps, each more austere than the one before it, from the first rung (practicing exemplary hygiene) to the top (barricading entire portions of the population). We had been climbing a ladder and most of us didn’t know it; we quickly scaled rungs five through nine, concerning isolation and quarantine of those who felt sick or had contact with those who felt sick. No. 10, issued on March 11th, banned gatherings of two hundred and fifty people or more. Our elected leaders had issued the escalating measures depending on the severity of the pandemic, but to many of us the correlation wasn’t clear.
We were higher on the ladder now. On Sunday, at 7:21 p.m., Governor Jay Inslee tweeted, “Tomorrow, we will temporarily shut down restaurants, bars and entertainment/recreational facilities statewide.” The next morning, in a nearly empty briefing room in the King County Chinook Building, before a skeleton crew of camera operators, the bespectacled former Presidential candidate made the case for the proclamation he was about to sign: ordering the statewide closure of not only bars but also theatres and dance, fitness, and health clubs. Restaurants had to cease dining-room service but could still provide takeout. Additionally, gatherings of fifty or more were prohibited. This would be the status for at least the next two weeks. He called on every Washingtonian to do their part, to consider the lives of our most vulnerable neighbors, namely the elderly and those with compromised immune systems. If you go about life as usual, he let us know, you are negligent. “Normal,” he said, “is not in our game plan.”
It was the most extreme measure yet, and would spell, at least for a time, the demise of tens of thousands of jobs. It would also let more light through the cracks in the city, the fissures that have long divided service workers and those who relied on them. Inequality in Seattle is well documented (in 2016, a Seattle Times analysis found that fifty-three per cent of the city’s earned income went to about twenty per cent of its households), and in the first weeks of the coronavirus outbreak the gulf was harder to ignore than ever. On one side, you had new, work-from-home avatars and virtual, after-work happy hours. On the other, people were still hustling for tips. For every cat photo with a joke caption that chirped “My new officemate is the worst,” there was someone else who had no such luxury, who had to show up, clock in, expose themselves and others to potential contamination.
This new clampdown would exacerbate all that and more. Now the hourly workers didn’t even have hours. Iconic businesses would be boarded up, as if bulwarked against some invading army. Streets emptied out even more. “I do think it is in the greatest interest for public health that we close,” Apte-Elford told me. Even at the cost of the business she had spent the past decade building.
Jessica Tousignant thought she might have the virus. A fever—one of COVID-19’s key symptoms—had her calling in sick to the steak house where she worked as a server, in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood. It was a big blow to someone already losing work hours due to customers not showing up, even before the governor’s closure proclamation. In self-quarantine, Tousignant, a cancer survivor who relied on her restaurant job for health insurance, had plenty of time alone to worry about how she and her colleagues—everyone in the industry, really—would be able to survive. She and a friend, Candace Whitney-Morris, eventually hatched a plan. They launched a GoFundMe campaign, the Seattle Hospitality Emergency Fund, with the initial goal of raising sixty thousand dollars to be distributed among the hardest-hit bar and restaurant workers. The campaign went live Sunday afternoon, and garnered modest attention. After Inslee’s closure tweet that night, it soared. Soon, Tousignant and Whitney-Morris raised the goal to a hundred thousand dollars, and then fifty thousand more.
Tousignant, who eventually tested negative for COVID-19 (she had the flu), poured herself into the campaign’s second phase: determining who, specifically, the funds should go to. The priority was the most vulnerable. “We’re looking at indigenous folks, people of color, transgender folks,” she told me, “everybody else in that rainbow—the L.G.B.T.Q.I.-plus spectrum—immunocompromised folks.” In the hundreds of applications she received, Tousignant bore witness to the economic struggles caused by the coronavirus. There was the single mother who had lost both her jobs and said that she and her kids could get by on beans and rice but needed fifty dollars for medicine; the two restaurant workers who said that their employer was withholding their final paychecks; the countless stories of people who had applied for unemployment but, owing to one loophole or another, had yet to qualify. Mostly, Tousignant was struck by the applicants’ humility. “Everybody’s being so vulnerable and humble in their asks,” she said.
One of those applicants was Jose Contreras, the sous chef at Steelhead Diner, one of Pike Place Market’s most storied seafood restaurants, which closed because of the coronavirus, a week before the governor’s tweet. He’d struggled in the days since Steelhead shuttered. Unemployment hadn’t come through and rent on the apartment that he shared with his girlfriend, who is also in the industry, loomed. “It’s very surreal,” he told me over the phone, late one night. “It’s apocalyptic without the apocalypse.” In the background, I could hear the bus he’d just boarded, as it pushed through the city. He rode home from a teriyaki takeout place where he had recently landed a temporary cooking gig. “Just through luck,” he said. “I had a friend.” He hasn’t received his first paycheck yet. “When that day comes, it’ll be great.”
The Seattle Hospitality Emergency Fund kept growing, blowing past its early goals. So far, it’s clocked more than a hundred thousand dollars, from nearly a thousand donors. Tousignant is careful not to get too excited. “Most people are asking for about a thousand dollars, to make sure that they can make ends meet for the month,” she told me, on Tuesday night. At the time, the fund had four hundred and thirty applicants, a number that has since grown to more than seven hundred. “If you were just to do that simple math, of five hundred people needing roughly a thousand dollars,” she said, “we’re not going to be able to get to everybody.”
On Tuesday, March 17th, the first official day of the closure mandate, Capitol Hill, the city’s densest neighborhood and home to its highest concentration of bars and restaurants, looked prepared for a natural disaster. Plywood covered the windows of Linda’s Tavern, reportedly the last place Kurt Cobain was ever seen in public. Up and down Pine and Pike Streets, the neighborhood’s thoroughfares, were identical scenes of bars and restaurants boarded up. Nearly every door brandished a new sign, often handwritten: “We are closed until April 1st. Sorry for the inconvenience.” Those businesses that could pivot to the new reality tried: “Pick up and to go only.”
The toll was clear. And not just just among bar and restaurant employees. This week, the state’s Employment Security Department reported a hundred-and-fifty-per-cent increase in unemployment claims. In a single day, the agency received more than nineteen thousand calls, an eight-hundred-and-twenty-seven-per-cent increase over the previous week. While there has been some economic response from elected officials—Inslee ordered more flexible unemployment rules for companies and their workers, and Seattle’s mayor, Jenny Durkan, announced a million dollars in spending for small-business stabilization—most measures have remained focussed on containing the spread of the virus.
Down the hill, in Belltown, Apte-Elford, whose four bars were closed, was brainstorming ways to keep at least some money coming in. One idea: pre-batched cocktails, sans booze, sold for pickup or delivery. She spent the morning pleading with the landlord of Rob Roy, the classic-cocktail lounge she’s owned for the past decade, not to evict. “There was no answer at the end of the two-hour phone call,” she said. “We’ll just hope.”
On the ladder, we were at rung eleven. There was no telling when we would climb higher. The number of confirmed COVID-19 deaths in the county is sixty-seven, thirty more than when Inslee announced his closure proclamation. The next rung: the residents of an entire city confined to their homes. Not in the polite way we’re all self-confining now, but a mandatory order. The final step, thirteen, means cordoning off portions of the state and allowing no one in or out. As of this writing, Inslee says we’re not there yet.
Meanwhile, the plywood keeps going up. Around noon on that first day of the closures, two men pulled planks from a U-Haul parked near the intersection of Pike Street and Tenth Avenue. They lifted the big, pale rectangles overhead and walked a few yards toward the pub on the corner. They gently leaned the wood against its outer walls. They’d soon cover all the pub’s windows. When a passerby asked why, one of the men looked around and gestured with his chin toward the whole neighborhood. “I don’t know when we’ll be back down here,” he said.
A Guide to the Coronavirus


newyorker--2020-03-21--Keeping the Coronavirus from Infecting Health-Care Workers

The message is getting out : # StayHome .
In this early phase of the coronavirus pandemic , with undetected cases accelerating transmission even as testing ramps up , that is critical .
But there are many people whom the country needs to keep going into work—grocery cashiers , first responders , factory workers for critical businesses .
Most obviously , we need health-care workers to care for the sick , even though their jobs carry the greatest risk of exposure .
How do we keep them seeing patients rather than becoming patients ?
In the index outbreak in Wuhan @ @ @ @ @ @ @ ; their likelihood of infection was more than three times as high as the general population .
When they went back home to their families , they became prime vectors of transmission .
The city began to run out of doctors and nurses .
Forty-two thousand more had to be brought in from elsewhere to treat the sick .
Luckily , methods were found that protected all the new health-care workers : none—zero—were infected .
But those methods were Draconian .
As the city was locked down and cut off from outside visitors @ @ @ @ @ @ @ housed away from their families .
They wore full-body protective gear , including goggles , complete head coverings , N95 particle-filtering masks , and hazmat-style suits .
Could we do that here ?
Not a chance .
Health-care facilities don ’ t remotely have the supplies that would allow staff members to see every patient with all that gear on .
In Massachusetts , where I practice surgery , the virus is circulating in at least eleven of our fourteen counties , and cases are climbing rapidly .
So what happens if you @ @ @ @ @ @ @ you don ’ t have the ability to go full Wuhan ?
My hospital system , Partners HealthCare , has already sent more than a hundred staff members home for fourteen days of self-quarantine because they were exposed to the coronavirus without complete protection .
If we had to quarantine every health-care worker who might have come into contact with a COVID-19 patient , we ’ d soon have no health-care workers left .
Yet there are lessons to be learned from two places that saw the new coronavirus before we did and @ @ @ @ @ @ @ spread .
Hong Kong and Singapore—both the size of my state—detected their first cases in late January , and the number of cases escalated rapidly .
Officials banned large gatherings , directed people to work from home , and encouraged social distancing .
Testing was ramped up as quickly as possible .
But even these measures were never going to be enough if the virus kept propagating among health-care workers and facilities .
Primary-care clinics and hospitals in the two countries , like in the U.S. , didn ’ t have enough gowns @ @ @ @ @ @ @ first , tests weren ’ t widely available .
After six weeks , though , they had a handle on the outbreak .
Hospitals weren ’ t overrun with patients .
By now , businesses and government offices have even begun reopening , and focus has shifted to controlling the cases coming into the country .
Here are their key tactics , drawn from official documents and discussions I ’ ve had with health-care leaders in each place .
All health-care workers are expected to wear regular surgical masks for all patient interactions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ hygiene , and to disinfect all surfaces in between patient consults .
Patients with suspicious symptoms ( a low-grade fever coupled with a cough , respiratory complaints , fatigue , or muscle aches ) or exposures ( travel to places with viral spread or contact with someone who tested positive ) are separated from the rest of the patient population , and treated—wherever possible—in separate respiratory wards and clinics , in separate locations , with separate teams .
Social distancing is practiced within clinics and hospitals : waiting-room chairs are placed six feet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ are conducted at a distance ; doctors and patients stay six feet apart except during examinations .
What ’ s equally interesting is what they don ’ t do .
The use of N95 masks , face-protectors , goggles , and gowns are reserved for procedures where respiratory secretions can be aerosolized ( for example , intubating a patient for anesthesia ) and for known or suspected cases of COVID-19 .
Their quarantine policies are more nuanced , too .
What happens when someone unexpectedly tests positive—say , a hospital co-worker or a @ @ @ @ @ @ @ emergency room ?
In Hong Kong and Singapore , they don ’ t shut the place down or put everyone under home quarantine .
They do their best to trace every contact and then quarantine only those who had close contact with the infected person .
In Hong Kong , “ close contact ” means fifteen minutes at a distance of less than six feet and without the use of a surgical mask ; in Singapore , thirty minutes .
If the exposure is shorter than the prescribed limit but within six feet @ @ @ @ @ @ @ can stay on the job if they wear a surgical mask and have twice-daily temperature checks .
People who have had brief , incidental contact are just asked to monitor themselves for symptoms .
The fact that these measures have succeeded in flattening the COVID-19 curve carries some hopeful implications .
One is that this coronavirus , even though it appears to be more contagious than the flu , can still be managed by the standard public-health playbook : social distancing , basic hand hygiene and cleaning , targeted isolation and quarantine of @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , a surge in health-care capacity ( supplies , testing , personnel , wards ) , and coördinated , unified public communications with clear , transparent , up-to-date guidelines and data .
Our government officials have been unforgivably slow to get these in place .
We ’ ve been playing from behind .
But we now seem to be moving in the right direction , and the experience in Asia suggests that extraordinary precautions don ’ t seem to be required to stop it .
Those of us who must go out into @ @ @ @ @ @ @ don ’ t have to panic if we find out that someone with the coronavirus has been in the same room or stood closer than we wanted for a moment .
Transmission seems to occur primarily through sustained exposure in the absence of basic protection or through the lack of hand hygiene after contact with secretions .
Consider a couple of data points .
Singapore so far appears not to have had a single recorded health-care-related transmission of the coronavirus , despite the hundreds of cases that its medical system has had to @ @ @ @ @ @ @ reported this week of a critically ill pneumonia patient who exposed forty-one health-care workers in the course of four days before being diagnosed with COVID-19 .
These were high-risk exposures , including exposures during intubation and hands-on intensive care .
Eighty-five per cent of the workers used only surgical masks .
Yet , owing to proper hand hygiene , none became infected .
Our early experiences in the U.S. have so far been similar .
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention , in the face of limited information , recommended stricter precautions @ @ @ @ @ @ @ putting health-care workers on fourteen-day self-quarantine if they are exposed to an infected person for even a few minutes without protection , including a mask and goggles .
That policy was implemented at U.C .
Davis Medical Center , where the first case of community transmission was diagnosed , in late February .
Eighty-nine health-care workers involved in the patient ’ s care were put under self-quarantine .
None , it turned out , had been infected .
Sacramento , Seattle , and San Francisco became coronavirus hot spots ; as of this @ @ @ @ @ @ @ has not been found .

The message is getting out: #StayHome. In this early phase of the coronavirus pandemic, with undetected cases accelerating transmission even as testing ramps up, that is critical. But there are many people whom the country needs to keep going into work—grocery cashiers, first responders, factory workers for critical businesses. Most obviously, we need health-care workers to care for the sick, even though their jobs carry the greatest risk of exposure. How do we keep them seeing patients rather than becoming patients?
In the index outbreak in Wuhan, thirteen hundred health-care workers became infected; their likelihood of infection was more than three times as high as the general population. When they went back home to their families, they became prime vectors of transmission. The city began to run out of doctors and nurses. Forty-two thousand more had to be brought in from elsewhere to treat the sick. Luckily, methods were found that protected all the new health-care workers: none—zero—were infected.
But those methods were Draconian. As the city was locked down and cut off from outside visitors, health-care workers seeing at-risk patients were housed away from their families. They wore full-body protective gear, including goggles, complete head coverings, N95 particle-filtering masks, and hazmat-style suits. Could we do that here? Not a chance. Health-care facilities don’t remotely have the supplies that would allow staff members to see every patient with all that gear on. In Massachusetts, where I practice surgery, the virus is circulating in at least eleven of our fourteen counties, and cases are climbing rapidly. So what happens if you are exposed to a coronavirus patient and you don’t have the ability to go full Wuhan? My hospital system, Partners HealthCare, has already sent more than a hundred staff members home for fourteen days of self-quarantine because they were exposed to the coronavirus without complete protection. If we had to quarantine every health-care worker who might have come into contact with a COVID-19 patient, we’d soon have no health-care workers left.
Yet there are lessons to be learned from two places that saw the new coronavirus before we did and that have had success in controlling its spread. Hong Kong and Singapore—both the size of my state—detected their first cases in late January, and the number of cases escalated rapidly. Officials banned large gatherings, directed people to work from home, and encouraged social distancing. Testing was ramped up as quickly as possible. But even these measures were never going to be enough if the virus kept propagating among health-care workers and facilities. Primary-care clinics and hospitals in the two countries, like in the U.S., didn’t have enough gowns and N95 masks, and, at first, tests weren’t widely available. After six weeks, though, they had a handle on the outbreak. Hospitals weren’t overrun with patients. By now, businesses and government offices have even begun reopening, and focus has shifted to controlling the cases coming into the country.
Here are their key tactics, drawn from official documents and discussions I’ve had with health-care leaders in each place. All health-care workers are expected to wear regular surgical masks for all patient interactions, to use gloves and proper hand hygiene, and to disinfect all surfaces in between patient consults. Patients with suspicious symptoms (a low-grade fever coupled with a cough, respiratory complaints, fatigue, or muscle aches) or exposures (travel to places with viral spread or contact with someone who tested positive) are separated from the rest of the patient population, and treated—wherever possible—in separate respiratory wards and clinics, in separate locations, with separate teams. Social distancing is practiced within clinics and hospitals: waiting-room chairs are placed six feet apart; direct interactions among staff members are conducted at a distance; doctors and patients stay six feet apart except during examinations.
What’s equally interesting is what they don’t do. The use of N95 masks, face-protectors, goggles, and gowns are reserved for procedures where respiratory secretions can be aerosolized (for example, intubating a patient for anesthesia) and for known or suspected cases of COVID-19. Their quarantine policies are more nuanced, too. What happens when someone unexpectedly tests positive—say, a hospital co-worker or a patient in a primary-care office or an emergency room? In Hong Kong and Singapore, they don’t shut the place down or put everyone under home quarantine. They do their best to trace every contact and then quarantine only those who had close contact with the infected person. In Hong Kong, “close contact” means fifteen minutes at a distance of less than six feet and without the use of a surgical mask; in Singapore, thirty minutes. If the exposure is shorter than the prescribed limit but within six feet for more than two minutes, workers can stay on the job if they wear a surgical mask and have twice-daily temperature checks. People who have had brief, incidental contact are just asked to monitor themselves for symptoms.
The fact that these measures have succeeded in flattening the COVID-19 curve carries some hopeful implications. One is that this coronavirus, even though it appears to be more contagious than the flu, can still be managed by the standard public-health playbook: social distancing, basic hand hygiene and cleaning, targeted isolation and quarantine of the ill and those with high-risk exposure, a surge in health-care capacity (supplies, testing, personnel, wards), and coördinated, unified public communications with clear, transparent, up-to-date guidelines and data. Our government officials have been unforgivably slow to get these in place. We’ve been playing from behind. But we now seem to be moving in the right direction, and the experience in Asia suggests that extraordinary precautions don’t seem to be required to stop it. Those of us who must go out into the world and have contact with people don’t have to panic if we find out that someone with the coronavirus has been in the same room or stood closer than we wanted for a moment. Transmission seems to occur primarily through sustained exposure in the absence of basic protection or through the lack of hand hygiene after contact with secretions.
Consider a couple of data points. Singapore so far appears not to have had a single recorded health-care-related transmission of the coronavirus, despite the hundreds of cases that its medical system has had to deal with. That includes one case reported this week of a critically ill pneumonia patient who exposed forty-one health-care workers in the course of four days before being diagnosed with COVID-19. These were high-risk exposures, including exposures during intubation and hands-on intensive care. Eighty-five per cent of the workers used only surgical masks. Yet, owing to proper hand hygiene, none became infected.
Our early experiences in the U.S. have so far been similar. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, in the face of limited information, recommended stricter precautions than have been employed in Asia, putting health-care workers on fourteen-day self-quarantine if they are exposed to an infected person for even a few minutes without protection, including a mask and goggles. That policy was implemented at U.C. Davis Medical Center, where the first case of community transmission was diagnosed, in late February. Eighty-nine health-care workers involved in the patient’s care were put under self-quarantine. None, it turned out, had been infected. Sacramento, Seattle, and San Francisco became coronavirus hot spots; as of this writing, however, significant occupational transmission has not been found.
Meanwhile, the strict policy has been threatening to close entire emergency departments. So, out of necessity and based on the early evidence, public-health authorities in San Francisco have loosened restrictions, letting exposed employees stay at work as long as they wear a surgical mask and don’t have symptoms. At least one hospital in Seattle is now following a similar policy, with the support of state public-health officials and the C.D.C. Other hospitals across the country will likely soon follow. The factors that appear to be important in protecting health-care workers from the disease have been insuring meticulous hand hygiene and cleaning; restricting clinics and hospitals to necessary patient visits; shifting as much care as possible to virtual channels (such as phone and video); and applying standard droplet precautions (surgical mask, gloves, and gown) with respiratory patients.
For those who cannot stay home, the lesson is that it is feasible to work and stay coronavirus-free, despite the risks. Deborah Yokoe, the medical director of hospital epidemiology and infection prevention at U.C.S.F. Medical Center, told me that, given the safety practices in the hospital, she is seeing a greater likelihood of staff picking up infections at home than at work. Following this logic, San Francisco public-health officials are pushing medical facilities to have all health-care workers—not just those who have had patient exposures—report whether they have fever or flu symptoms prior to starting work each day.
In South Korea, the success of mass testing in containing the spread of the disease has raised the possibility that asymptomatic carriers were causing outbreaks. But another implication of the experience in Singapore and Hong Kong is that these essentially invisible cases of the coronavirus may not be driving as many serious infections as some scientists have projected. Health officials there did not conduct mass testing of the population to look for infected people without symptoms. They focussed on aggressively searching out and testing only those who developed suspicious symptoms or had high-risk exposures in the community. They accepted that the virus might circulate among people who notice nothing. Yet their strategy brought cases under control.


newyorker--2020-03-20--A Capital Under Coronavirus Quarantine in “Rome, Closed City”

“ Rome , Closed City , ” by the filmmaker Mo Scarpelli , documents life in the Italian capital , primarily on Friday , March 13th .
With the city mostly shut down , amid the deadly coronavirus outbreak , and with harrowing scenes unfolding in the nation ’ s hospitals , Scarpelli walked Rome ’ s normally bustling streets , filming empty squares , solitary masked pedestrians , and the occasional impervious pigeon .
A dual Italian-American citizen , Scarpelli had moved to Rome on March 1st , as the coronavirus surged across Italy , and signed the lease @ @ @ @ @ @ @ .
Two days later , as she prepared to furnish it , the entire country was ordered to stay at home .
“ Now we have an empty apartment that we ’ re moving into before the ban lifts , and we have no bed and no towels , and nothing that we can buy , because everything ’ s closed , ” she said , on a video call .
Filming in Rome ’ s abandoned streets just a week ago , when going out for a casual walk was still permitted @ @ @ @ @ @ @ , hearing ambulance sirens one moment and laughter from a window the next .
In many places , she observed rainbow signs reading “ Everything ’ s going to be O.K.
, ” messages of support and encouragement that city residents began posting after the crisis began .
“ I think humans give themselves away in gestures way more than words , ” Scarpelli said .
“ I ’ m watching humanity interact with each other in a way that I never pictured I would have to see , and it ’ s @ @ @ @ @ @ @ the stark backdrop to her move , Scarpelli said that her arrival in Rome has brought with it a new perspective , and also a heightened appreciation for how she is connected to her fellow-Romans .
“ I ’ m glad to be here , even though people are , like , ‘ Are you O.K .
?
’ ” she said , from a temporary residence .
“ I ’ m , like , ‘ I wouldn ’ t rather be anywhere else .
’ ”

“Rome, Closed City,” by the filmmaker Mo Scarpelli, documents life in the Italian capital, primarily on Friday, March 13th. With the city mostly shut down, amid the deadly coronavirus outbreak, and with harrowing scenes unfolding in the nation’s hospitals, Scarpelli walked Rome’s normally bustling streets, filming empty squares, solitary masked pedestrians, and the occasional impervious pigeon. A dual Italian-American citizen, Scarpelli had moved to Rome on March 1st, as the coronavirus surged across Italy, and signed the lease for her new apartment on March 7th. Two days later, as she prepared to furnish it, the entire country was ordered to stay at home. “Now we have an empty apartment that we’re moving into before the ban lifts, and we have no bed and no towels, and nothing that we can buy, because everything’s closed,” she said, on a video call.
Filming in Rome’s abandoned streets just a week ago, when going out for a casual walk was still permitted, Scarpelli oscillated between fear and calm, hearing ambulance sirens one moment and laughter from a window the next. In many places, she observed rainbow signs reading “Everything’s going to be O.K.,” messages of support and encouragement that city residents began posting after the crisis began. “I think humans give themselves away in gestures way more than words,” Scarpelli said. “I’m watching humanity interact with each other in a way that I never pictured I would have to see, and it’s really, actually, heartening.”
Against the stark backdrop to her move, Scarpelli said that her arrival in Rome has brought with it a new perspective, and also a heightened appreciation for how she is connected to her fellow-Romans. “I’m glad to be here, even though people are, like, ‘Are you O.K.?’ ” she said, from a temporary residence. “I’m, like, ‘I wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.’ ”