A pandemic can do horrible things to you — even if, blessedly, it passes you by.
I fall into that category. Although I was able to stay virus-free long enough to get the vaccine and become bullet-proof, the pandemic did horrible things to me.
And maybe the worst of all is that Covid drove me to turn on the TV.
Oh, it didn’t happen right away. Early last year, as infection rates slowly crept upward and it became clear that this might be a long, lonely slog ahead of us, I resolved to turn my lockdown time into unforeseen opportunity. I would start painting, speak at least three languages, learn to juggle. Get a mandolin. Drop a waist size. Order shirts that would accommodate my bulked-up shoulders and biceps.
A year later, other than that mandolin gathering dust in the corner, my to-do list remains unfulfilled—unless my telling you that I did “nada” qualifies me as a multi-linguist.
I had, however, binge-watched everything worth viewing, and twice as many things like “Tiger King” that fell far short of view-worthy.
Before Covid locked us out of movie theaters, ball parks, concert venues, cozy restaurants, and a hundred other quality-of-life haunts, I rarely watched TV at all. All that changed with Covid incarceration.
But now, with restrictions easing and the outside world opening up once again, I must admit that I might find it hard to turn my back on some TV shows that are, for me, newly discovered joys.
“Battlebots” for one, a show that features destructive remote-operated robots with names like Bloodsport and Tombstone. They have only one purpose — to destroy other destructive remote-operated robots, in as spectacular a fashion as possible. Usually with sledges, saws and catapults, but sometimes even with flames.
The bots are built and operated by the sort of nerds whose lunch money was stolen daily by schoolyard punks and jocks, and who turned their nerdy brilliance toward robotic mayhem—proof that the meek will, indeed, inherit the earth. Not that there will be much worth inheriting once they’re done with it.
Still, with the outside world opening up to us once more, it’s time to leave behind those TV Battlebots and return to those real-world Battlebots with names like Toyota and Ford. It’s been a long time coming, but it feels like it’s here at last.
As evidence, a couple weeks ago I picked up my guitar, left the house, and played an actual gig—at Lucky Bernie’s in Huntley, the same spot where I played my last public gig 18 months earlier at the end of 2019. (Shameless self-promotion spoiler alert: I’ll be playing there again 7-10 pm tomorrow and every first Friday of the month through November. Just sayin’.)
All things considered, it was a pretty sizeable crowd, with all five tables occupied, along with about half of the bar seats. The gambling room was full. Tips were generous, the product no doubt of entertainment-starved patrons, more so than the quality of the music.
And I thought: “We’re back, baby! Hot damn!” It felt wonderful to hear other voices than mine singing along to the lyrics, or chatting between songs. There is no greater music than the melody of happy voices gathered together in a room after long absence, I thought.
And then, two days later, I gathered together with friends for a nice, long dinner at Montarra Grill, a restaurant far fancier than the MacDonald’s drive-through that has sustained so many of us for the past year and a half. There were six of us—Mike and Bill (with whom I worked for more than 30 years), their wives Sandy and Kathy (who have been my close friends for that same number of years), and my friend Carol (whom none of them had met, though Carol and I have known each other for three years or so).
It was a strange but pleasant balance — my old friends Mike and Bill, whom I have seen exactly three times in the past 18 months; their wives, whom I haven’t seen at all during that time; and my newer friend Carol, who was a vital part of my “inner bubble” through the pandemic.
For two hours or so we chatted about everything, old memories and new, and maybe even a tale or two that stretched the bounds of believability. In other words, business as usual for me and my group.
But throughout the dinner and afterwards, it was sometimes hard to hear a friend’s words from across the table. Write it up to old age if you will, but I blame all those other noisy people who decided to come out and dine at Montarra instead of curling on the couch for Battlebots and a Big Mac.
And I thought: There is no greater irritation than the jabber of grating voices gathered together in a room after long absence.
So, yeah, it’s gonna take a while getting used to this whole “normal” thing.
Author, musician and storyteller TR Kerth is a retired teacher who has lived in Sun City Huntley since 2003. Contact him at trkerth@yahoo.com. Can’t wait for your next visit to Planet Kerth? Then get TR’s book, “Revenge of the Sardines,” available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online book distributors.
