In experts we trust (for now)

I watched with some fascination as an articulate Californian doctor explained how COVID-19 is overblown. He appeared to be holding his own press conference, perhaps in some hospital basement? It sounded like there were some reporters in the room. Maybe from the local online paper? 

But this video was clearly making the rounds, otherwise I wouldn’t have received it from a friend; a friend who doesn’t tend to believe in conspiracy theories, by the way, but thought it was at least worth listening to.

After all, who doesn’t want to believe that this virus is largely overblown and that we can resume our lives? 

When one extrapolates the data, this young doctor claimed, you’ll see the virus is no worse than the flu, killing only 0.1% of those infected. Even in New York, it’s mostly killing off older people. So let’s get back to the way things were, and not worry. 

Parts of what he says are of course true. Rates of death are the highest in the elderly. The 0.1% mortality rate is also probably closer to reality than the 2-3% mortality rate we see in some official numbers. That’s because (at least from what I’ve read in the last 48 hours) 25-50% of those infected may show no or few symptoms and are not getting tested. However, at this time, the death rate appears to be at least 0.6% – this is still six times the death rate of the flu. And since our population had no immunity, it makes this percentage all the worse. 

It’s still tempting to believe in a more optimistic evaluation, especially in regions that have not yet felt the full impact of the virus. Especially when it’s coming from an articulate doctor who speaks with such confidence... even if it's from a hospital basement.

We tend to read and view the things that comply with what we believe; in normal times, we can get away with thinking however we please. But there’s little wiggle room during a pandemic, particularly when you’re someone with a respiratory ailment. We all know people who are vulnerable; they could be put at risk if we deny expert opinion. 

As members of a freewheeling democratic society, this puts us in an odd predicament. Because, as has become evident over the last couple decades, we trust experts less and less. And when there’s a prominent world leader (not naming any names) who himself disdains expert opinion, it can lead to some interesting outcomes (don’t be injecting yourself with Lysol now). 

In Canada, we tend to still trust the experts, at least so far. And for the most part, political leaders and health experts have been on the same page. Epidemiologists are in the best position to explain how the virus will spread and how we can keep it to a manageable level until a vaccine is developed. 

But over time, we’ll have to rely on other experts, like economists, social scientists, business and other leaders. There won’t be a return to complete normalcy, but there has to be some resumption of normal life. If not, other problems will arise, perhaps far worse than the health impacts of the virus itself. 

Chronic unemployment, lack of social supports, and reduced healthcare services pose serious risks to human health over the long term. 

We can’t just re-open a few sectors, like golf and other solitary outdoor activities, while ignoring the broader economy. But how we achieve the optimal level of societal health in this abnormal time is something that will only come through much trial and error, and time. 

Something for the experts to figure out. 

Sensor-free toilets and 3-ply toilet paper: Advantage home office

I don’t think I put on deodorant the other day. I’m two days behind on my shaving schedule, and my nose hairs are becoming unruly. 

My hair is starting to covid– er, I mean cover my ears. I’ve so far resisted the spousal haircut, although I'm tempted to try. I’ve got time for bald spots to regrow. 

Sometimes I wear jeans to work, but it’s rare. Normally pajama pants suffice. I’m alternating between a sweatshirt with holes in the armpits and one with a ripped, drooping collar. I’ve tried on old t-shirts as well, some that have been neglected for years. 

Some experts have suggested dressing up every day when working from home, but I fail to see the point. These pandemics (hopefully) only come around every hundred years. Every day I can roll straight out of bed and into my office chair, I'll take it. Unless your self-esteem is built upon wearing a suit every day, I suggest sticking to the sweatpants – or better yet, shorts. You might even want to take them off every once in a while, although this holds risks during video conferences. 

Working from home has never been encouraged in my workplace, so I’ve never tried. Even when the pandemic began, they were hesitant to release us. Perhaps they feared we would succumb to daytime television, with its lineup of soaps and Oprah spinoffs (can anything really replace Oprah?)

I’ve never worked from home, so I’m surprised how much more productive I’ve become. I attribute this to the absence of cubicles.

 With four co-workers within three metres of you, it can be hard to maintain focus. Every sneeze, cough, and drop of sweat forming on a colleague’s feverish forehead becomes an unwanted interruption, particularly during a pandemic. There are also other non-pandemic-related issues like people talking on speakerphone, eating too loud, and clipping their nails (and no, it’s not me). 

There are other benefits to working from home, like having access to my own personal bathroom. Searching for that elusive free stall in our seven-floor building is a routine way of life at my work. Toilets with hypersensitive flush sensors are also commonplace (third floor in particular). I fail to see the enjoyment of sitting for lengthy periods of time on a toilet that flushes every thirty seconds, yet some of my male colleagues seem to find their solace there. Then there’s the one-ply toilet paper, the stuff that pretty much falls apart in your hand. Yes, it’s rough. And pity the man who has to be the first one to open a roll, because short of ripping it open with your fingernails, there’s no other way in.  

Access to my own personal kitchen is also an advantage. The work place kitchen, as we all know, can be a bastion of foul smells and disease. One must avoid opening the fridge as much as possible (who knows what lurks in its deepest recesses) and take caution when using the microwave (was that fish you were reheating?) Our cubicles sit so close to the kitchen that every noon hour a unique aroma wafts into our workspace: a rich blend of TV dinner chemicals and lively leftovers. 

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my workplace. The more I think about it, our cubicle farm is kind of like a dormitory, but for adults. So long as you get along with your colleagues, which I do, it can be quite enjoyable. 

In one or two years, I look forward to working there again. 

We're racing through Star Trek at warp 9

With more time on our hands, we’ve fast-tracked our Star Trek plan. 

What would normally take us two years to get through 178 episodes will now, at our current pace, take us 2.4 months (that's like traveling at warp 9). 

I never thought I would have a daughter who would share the same fascination with a 30-year-old show that, at times, will test your resolve to get through an episode. One must be willing to put up with some outlandish plots, some overt sexism, and some fair to mediocre acting. Not to mention the lack of diversity. The only two black characters have visible disabilities – one blind, the other with a misshaped forehead (no offense to Klingons)

Star Trek: The Next Generation is showing its age. Start watching season one, and you’ll wonder: Does this get any better? I’m not even talking about the made-in-your-garage planetary sets. I’m talking about the time it takes two people to talk to one another. The long pauses. The raised eyebrows. The soap opera-like drama. 

Is this really the show I grew to be such a fan of as a teenager? Did today’s TV really evolve from this? 

Or come to think of it, maybe TV devolved. Because back then, all you whippersnappers, TV actually challenged your intellectual faculties. That’s right, there was no Survivor or Big Brother when I grew up. That televised junk food didn’t hit our palates until the year 2000, and yes, we all loved it... at first. But now we know what damage it can do to our brains... and to the American presidency (it all started with The Apprentice, remember). 

There are none of the cheap thrills in Star Trek that you might find in a Survivor episode. We’re talking philosophical questions in every episode, like can artificial intelligence become sentient? Should we impose our morals on less advanced cultures? And should Counselor Troi be permitted to wear whatever she pleases? 

Then there’s the humour. It’s Star Trek humour, so it might take you a while to appreciate. Data, the ship’s android, keeps trying to be more human (I have no idea why), which provides endless hilarity. He tries to tell jokes, to laugh like humans, and even grows a beard, becoming the butt of jokes among the crew. It's great fun mocking an android, especially one with no feelings. 

There’s a simple formula to the show that brings comfort in times like these. By the end of every episode, you know they’ll solve the problem that presents itself, even if death appears imminent. In every other show, by the way, death appears imminent. 

“Doctor, this is the Captain: You have 47 minutes to develop a vaccine before we all die! No, make that 46 minutes!” 

There are no more headaches in this golden era, just lethal Klingon viruses, for which a vaccine can be discovered in 46 minutes, give or take a minute. If only we had such technological know-how today (sigh). 

And if it’s not a biological adversary, then it’s an enemy with pointy ears or a bulbous forehead. Nothing a little diplomacy and charm can’t address, courtesy of Captain Picard. By the end of every episode, the world is a better place.

But such heady issues are only meant to be ingested once a week, as was originally intended. I told my daughter this, after a particularly bad night of binging. We witnessed a Klingon war trial, a trip to another time period, and the eradication of an entire species – all in three hours.  

Best to pace ourselves, I advised. We might need more than two month’s worth.

Our high school photos will haunt us forever

Almost every year I have the privilege of attending my daughter’s dance competition in Yorkton. Alas, not this year. I will miss it. Not just the dancing (yes, Ukrainian dance warms my heart), but the expansive hallways of a high school filled with reams of school photos. These pictures, frozen in time, include every single person who ever played on a Yorkton high school sports team, or even participated in a social club. All taken at the peak of the '80s school photo revolution. 

It’s a delight to see how much they cared about the 1984 badminton team. Or the mixed curling team of 1989 (they got bronze). And let's not forget the 1986 all-star wrestling team.

Sometimes it's better not to smile

One wonders what kind of golden epoch this was to be the school photographer. Certainly a full-time position, complete with one’s own office and studio, and a license to snap photographs 24/7.

I can just imagine the excitement.... “On the basketball team, Jimmy? Get over to the studio! I don’t care if you sat on the bench!”

“Brad, stop smirking like that! And Lisa, enough with the hairspray! Just look at the camera and... Smile!” 

It looks like many of the students simply stared, perhaps resigned to the fact that the images would haunt them for years to come... The '80s hair, defying gravity by shooting straight up into the air; the half-formed mustache, a valiant attempt by any male grade niner; and those broad, bookish glasses that George H.W. Bush used to wear. It all looked so cool back then. 

I should know, for I was one of them. Not in Yorkton, mind you, but another small-town high school in the '90s. And unfortunately, the only picture of me adorning my alma mater’s hallways is a photo I swear I didn’t choose. Given the opportunity to pick the best of four negatives, I’m certain there was one where I wasn’t snarling at the camera.

My parents' photos can be found in the same school, but back then photography was a serious affair. In the '60s, you didn’t dare form a stupid, half-baked smile. You looked straight at the camera, determined to change the world.  

My parents look far more mature than I know they possibly could’ve been at that age. Instead of straggly, peace-loving hippies, they looked like board members of some major institution. 

That all changed in the '80s. That’s when the girls got into the eye shadow and the guys started growing mustaches. It’s left a lasting impact on school photos forever. That punk-rock look was as poor an excuse for looking badass as there ever was. Let’s just say there’s only one Axl Rose. 

Now these photos will haunt the halls of our high schools forever. There’s no plan to take them down, not in my school and for sure not in Yorkton. That behemoth of a high school will likely be with us for eternity. Heck, it's even got its own cafeteria.

When you’re from a small town, you hang on to what you got. School pictures and all.