Coronahomeoffice

Work from home.

Work remotely.

Work without pants.

That’s basically the best way to put it.

We’re all stuck at home. Living at home. Working at home. Eating at home. Exercising our right not to Exercise at home.

So how do we cope with being stuck at home for the foreseeable future?

First, we curse out this damn virus. I encourage you to take a half hour and scream it out. Go into the bathroom, turn on the fan and shower, grab the softest towel you can find, bring it up to your lips and let fly a barbaric yawp. A half hour works, a full hour is better. I screamed into some plush Restoration Hardware Egyptian cotton for three hours the other day and then had some delicious sushi. Shrimp tempura too. It helps.

But what about screens?

We have to look at them to work. Communicate through them. Attempt to relax on the sofa with soft-focus eyes watching them.

There is no escaping the screen scourge.

We can’t go out to a Bar and backslap our pals. No long Restaurant dinners that end with cognacs and coffee. Even the thought of a Club is so foreign right now we might as well be discussing a trip to Mars.

We’re at home. All the time. Always. Forever.

Surrounded by screens.

Option 1: Draw a bath, add some aromatic salts and bubbly suds, pour yourself a flute of fine champagne, and then toss your smartphone, tablet, laptop, and even flatscreen TV into the tub. Finish the bottle of Veuve Clicquot. Now wait to see how long it takes before your Boss sends someone to your house. With the Coronavirus, I’d venture it will take weeks before the Boss bothers to make a real physical effort to check on your wellbeing. And even then, Boss will most likely send the cops over.

Option 2: Cut the Power. We’re already living in some backwards blast from the past universe, why not take it the whole way. Turn off your breakers. Live by sun, fire, and candlelight.

Option 3: Homeless Handoff. The great thing about Covid-19 is that it’s super easy to find a homeless person. They’re Everywhere! Place all of your screen devices into a bag (recyclable, of course), walk outside, immediately run into homeless person, hand the lovely homeless person the bag and say, “I’m moving to Montana.” Accept the eye contact from the homeless person, nod your head in unison with theirs, and then return back into your home.

Bonus Option: Hammertime. Take all of your screen devices out to the garage. Locate your old Boombox and M.C. Hammer CD’s. Blast those phat rhymes inside your garage (keep the garage door down). Put on your face mask and face shield and whatever gloves happen to be around. Then go to town with any hammers in your vicinity. Sweep up the electronic debris into the recycling bin. Drink a Corona. Pour some of said Corona out onto your garage concrete floor in honor of your fallen digital homies.

The Best Option: If those choices seem a bit tame to you (and I agree) then it’s time to make a real move. First, put on your long underwear. Next, call your Mother and tell her you love her. Then layer up: buttondown, hoodie, vest, fleece, coat, hat, gloves, and boots. In your biggest backpack: place all of your screen devices along with granola bars, peanut butter, Gatorade, and the biggest knife you own. Leave your house or apartment. Head to the nearest railroad tracks. Hop on the next freight train out of town. Head north. Keep heading north until you hit the Canadian border. In each state you pass through, toss one of your screen devices off the back of that freight train. Leave a trail of electronic disinformation and GPS coordinates as you go. At the Canadian border, cut up all your credit cards, take out all cash in your accounts. Exchange the cash for gold. Hop a Canadian freight train for the Northern Territories. From Hay River, use your gold to purchase a beat-up 2002 Toyota Land Cruiser. Drive north to Inuvik. Get a room at The Mackenzie Hotel. Pay in gold. Take a hot shower, eat a full meal at the Mackenzie Grill, get a good night’s sleep. Drive north on Dempster Highway. Keep driving. Continue driving. The road will get a bit dicey and icey, the terrain a barren permafrost, but keep driving North. When you reach Tuktoyaktuk, gift your beat-up 2002 Toyota Land Cruiser to the local barkeep for the finest bottle of whiskey the bar displays. Now your journey begins. You have successfully freed yourself of the Coronahomeoffice and are now ready to live above the Arctic Circle among the Inuit. Hopefully you brought a headlamp, because in the winter months it will be 24 hours of darkness. But gaze out across the snowy horizon: snow, snow, and more snow as far as the eye can see. Not a screen in sight anywhere! Doesn’t it feel amazing? You’ll also need insulated boots and a warm hat: it will fall to thirty below most evenings.