I don't know about you, but my life has never been normal.
I used to work on a typewriter, then switched to these ungainly seven-ton "word processors" that were mounted on Lazy Susans so we could swing them around between desks. (We only had two of them for every three reporters. I think they were steam-powered.)
It took decades before they trusted us with actual computers. Now I walk around with an iPad that chirps whenever one of my colleagues notices the weather. Now I write a column and a week later anyone in the world who hasn't run out the paywall meter can see it. So a British director can send me a direct message complimenting on a piece I wrote that complimented his latest film. So I write him back asking him to share my piece on his social media because now I need to be concerned with boosting the metrics of the pieces that I write.
There's nothing normal about the way we live now.
It used to seem that way though. Back when we used to play vinyl records and I had a lot of them, I could imagine myself as a old man with a great library of recordings I'd need to house in a sort of Xanadu warehouse like that of Charles Foster Kane at the end of "Citizen Kane."
Then most of us shifted to tapes, then most of us went to CDs. Then to digital files; I have more than 100,000 recordings that live on two hard drives, each about the size of a thick trade paperback.
And now even those bricks are obsolete. Music lives in "the cloud" and belongs to everybody. (And so the connoisseurs of the physical began collecting high-end, high quality vinyl again.)
I used to wear a suit and tie to work. Now I only go into the office on Sunday mornings, and usually wear sweat pants. I have emailed our HR folks photos of my vaccination documents, so I expect I'll probably start stopping by the office once or twice a week, just to remind myself of what a newsroom vibe feels like and to introduce myself to a few colleagues I've never met.
And I'm returning to leading a movie discussion class in a live venue next month. We're going to gather on Thursday mornings at Riverdale 10 (thanks to Matt Smith for his support and kindness), show movies and talk about them. Live and in person. (They tell me the class is almost filled up, but if you're interested you can sign up here: https://tinyurl.com/fmhp82b7.)
Zoom and other video platforms are here to stay. I'm glad we have them. I'll use them in the future, but when I do I want to be in the audience, with my sound muted and my video off, instead of becoming increasingly self-conscious in front of a computer camera while listening to my voice drone on like some character in a Beckett play about how everything in the frame is under the director's jurisdiction or some other superstition.
At least live, I can read the room. I can look into the eyes above the masks.
Yes, masks are suggested, if not required. It's not for me to do the requiring, though I don't mind wearing one, even though I'm fully vaxxed and imagine that nearly all the participants will be as well. In that cohort, which tends to run older, richer and whiter than average, vaccination rates are pretty high. It wouldn't shock me if the Thursday Morning LifeQuest Movie Class was 100 percent vaccinated.
That's the way it feels in my bubble.
My friends have all had their shots. We are shyly starting to venture out again, to experience a little society. We've been to a couple of restaurants, had some friends over. Went to some cocktail parties. We've taken out the socially distancing leaves from our dining room table and compacted it into an intimate four-top.
We still remind each other to grab a mask when we go out. It's normal now, though that sick sense of dread is starting to recede. Mostly I wear a mask in public to signal solidarity with others wearing them, to let them know that I approve of their precautions and that they have nothing to fear from me. They can't know I'm fully vaccinated; if they've been paying attention to the numbers they know the chances are good any given stranger is not vaxxed up.
Right now only about a third of Arkansans are full vaccinated. Over 40 percent of us have had at least one dose. The good news is that if you want to be vaccinated you can probably pop in any pharmacy and get it done in 20 minutes. The bad news is that if you want to be vaccinated, you probably are vaccinated. The bad news is that most of the unvaccinated are probably going to stay proudly unvaccinated.
And if they stay unvaccinated, we can expect a certain number of them to contract the coronavirus and potentially pass it on to other unvaccinated people. Some of these people will get sick and some will die. People are still dying in Arkansas from the coronavirus.
Vaccinated people aren't.
That doesn't mean the vaccine is an impregnable shield; no vaccine is 100 percent effective. Not everyone responds the same way to an attenuated dose of poison. Some people will not develop immunity. The best vaccines are 85 to 95 percent effective.
Studies have shown that vaccinated people who do get the virus tend to have milder symptoms than they would otherwise have had, or are completely asymptomatic. But they can still transmit the virus to others. So you can have a scenario where a vaccinated person contracts the virus but is asymptomatic. And these vaccinated/unknowingly infected people can infect other people.
Which is why they are still asking us to wear masks in some situations, and why wearing masks still makes sense. Because, like they've been telling us from the beginning, you don't wear a mask to protect yourself. You wear it to protect other people.
So what's normal now?
I don't wear a mask outside and am rarely inside except at my house. We went to a couple of gatherings last week, one at the Rockwater marina and one at the Old State House Museum for the "Play It Loud: Concerts at Barton Coliseum" exhibit. A friend says he's about ready for indoor lunches. My mom is going back to actual church.
I'm not calling it. We're keeping a basket of masks by the front door. But I'm ready for the next normal.
Philip Martin is a columnist and critic for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. Email him at pmartin@adgnewsroom.com and read his blog at blooddirtandangels.com.