Zoom. Zoom.
Gosh. Has it been two weeks? Yes, I think so. Two weeks since I last reported on various efforts around the creating or re-creating of community around the COVID-19 pandemic.
So far, RC has been the biggest loser. One has to really lower one's expectations in order to feel any sort of connection with row upon row of candle-lit images of people's nostrils. Every little touch of the face or rub of the nose is suddenly magnified. Every little twist of the laptop is a Big Reveal of some aspect of that person's kitchen or boudoir. It's really hard to talk about one's personal hardships or feelings when the very act of having a live camera in the middle of where you live is already being experienced as an invasion.
Something very similar was at work, I believe, at Pale Male's last Candlelight Supper. A super casual affair characterized mostly by gentle, soft-spoken people who, with a couple of exceptions, are all raising children pretty much in isolation from any sort of extended family or church community. The look of polite, controlled, white-knuckled fear that comes across the illumined screen is palpable.
I made the mistake of announcing soon after I had mic'd up that I was not feeling well and I wish I could have captured the look on LaPasionara's face. Even when perfectly at rest, it is a bundle of hawkish attention to detail. Upon hearing the words, "loss of appetite" her pupils shrunk to the size of pin pricks. When VRaptor appeared on camera, all she could summon herself to say before rushing off to (I don't know - to wash her hands, I suppose) was, "He's showing symptoms."
It was the first time I had seen VRaptor since Christmas when he and Charity came by Pale Male's Manhattan apartment for refreshments. We all felt sorry for her because there were no children for her to play with. At the same time, it came s something of a shock that she's only seven years old. It certainly feels as if she's been around a lot longer.
So far, RC has been the biggest loser. One has to really lower one's expectations in order to feel any sort of connection with row upon row of candle-lit images of people's nostrils. Every little touch of the face or rub of the nose is suddenly magnified. Every little twist of the laptop is a Big Reveal of some aspect of that person's kitchen or boudoir. It's really hard to talk about one's personal hardships or feelings when the very act of having a live camera in the middle of where you live is already being experienced as an invasion.
Something very similar was at work, I believe, at Pale Male's last Candlelight Supper. A super casual affair characterized mostly by gentle, soft-spoken people who, with a couple of exceptions, are all raising children pretty much in isolation from any sort of extended family or church community. The look of polite, controlled, white-knuckled fear that comes across the illumined screen is palpable.
I made the mistake of announcing soon after I had mic'd up that I was not feeling well and I wish I could have captured the look on LaPasionara's face. Even when perfectly at rest, it is a bundle of hawkish attention to detail. Upon hearing the words, "loss of appetite" her pupils shrunk to the size of pin pricks. When VRaptor appeared on camera, all she could summon herself to say before rushing off to (I don't know - to wash her hands, I suppose) was, "He's showing symptoms."
It was the first time I had seen VRaptor since Christmas when he and Charity came by Pale Male's Manhattan apartment for refreshments. We all felt sorry for her because there were no children for her to play with. At the same time, it came s something of a shock that she's only seven years old. It certainly feels as if she's been around a lot longer.