On Friday, I donated blood. I generally do a couple-three times a year, mainly because they come to my gym, and what the hell, why not.
Around the same time, Sen. Rand Paul, R-Libertarian Fantasy America, was tested for coronavirus, and before receiving his results (which were positive, but you knew that), worked out in the Senate gym and went swimming in the Senate pool.
And all I can think is: OK, the Senate has a gym, no surprise there. But THE SENATE HAS A POOL?
My workout today was a Social Distancing Boxing Workout, held on one of the local high school football fields (artificial turf, no less):
At least I got something done. Sitting indoors, marinating in my own worries was making me nuts. I did get out, responsibly. Went to the Eastern Market, where the doors were propped open to permit the free flow of air, and advice was as close as the banners hanging everywhere:
Because Americans are natural entrepreneurs, some were taking advantage of the current crisis:
I saw the market’s executive director, although I didn’t recognize him at first. He had a bandanna pulled over his face in lieu of a mask. “This is hard for me,” he said. “Because the last time I saw someone wearing a bandanna like this, he had a shotgun and was robbing my bar.”
Saturday night I cruised around, chasing tips about illegal speakeasies. I’m sure they’re out there; Detroit has a long, storied and proud history of flouting liquor laws. I didn’t find any, but I found Woodward Avenue quiet enough that I could get a shot of the installation on the front of MOCAD:
Man, I sure hope so.
Otherwise, I followed the news and cooked meals and otherwise tried to keep things chill. Because otherwise I would just get furious — an emotion I’m sure many of you are familiar with.
So, so angry. Another workout tomorrow should help. You?