It’s Day 7, or 17 (or 94?) of this COVID-19 quarantine — err, not quarantine, um, physical distancing lockdown.
To be honest I’ve lost track of what day it is. I forgot to keep a tally on the walls in the kitchen like my toddler.
I’ve found myself watching Marble Racing on YouTube with the children in replacement of actual sports. And when I get through all of those videos, I just watch my Roku screensaver’s randomized CPU vs. CPU Pong match.
Occasionally I find an old game to watch on Fox Sports, ESPN or BTN, but for the most part I just sort of stare off into the distance.
I advocated early on for esports (to watch and to play), but I have found myself winning every game of Madden by nearly 200 points on the hardest level, and it just isn’t fun anymore.
Part of me wants to take the dive and buy the new MLB The Show ’20, but I had planned on upgrading to the PlayStation 5 before Christmas.
Actually, I don’t worry about the missed sports that much. I love sports, and it has been hard, for sure, but I have had a great chance to spend a lot of quality time with my kids.
The problem with that, though, is I am running out of jokes trying to keep them entertained. I’ve used up over 90% of my dad jokes in just the first few weeks, and even when I try to sneak a repeat when the moment is ripe, my kids catch me and tell me that it was even less funny the second time around.
I have lived my entire life with two truths to keep me sane: Humor, of all kinds, puts a smile on my face; and sports, of all kinds, burn the midnight oil on my love for athletic competition. Right now, coronavirus has paused those truths that I hold to be self-evident.
Oh, there is a plethora of TV shows to stream that I want to catch up on. But then I can’t decide which one to watch, so I just re-watch one of the same six series that I’ve been watching over and over for a decade.
For a while there were a bunch of new memes coming out, but now I have to dig deeper and deeper into the scarier realms of the internet just to find a fresh one to put a smile on my face. My coronavirus meme folder in my Google Drive is, well, excessively large. Much like South Korea’s contagion, I scored a bunch early before the curve flattened.
Flattening the curve on the virus is a great thing for everyone. But flattening the curve on the humor is getting harder and harder. I may just go grizzly bear for the next couple of months and nap it all over. Sort of like a self-coma quarantine.
Nah, then I won’t get to keep making all these memories with my family like it’s summer without the heat.
I wouldn’t be able to eat all the delicious meals my wife makes, nor get to share in all the mixed drink recipes we are creating once the kids go to bed. If I self-coma’ed, I couldn’t see my 3-month old son attempt to crawl. Or my 18-month-old decorate the kitchen as if her Crayolas will be major archaeological wall paintings discovered 40,000 years from now. Or my 8-year-old, who forgets he’s telling me a joke while he’s in the middle of the punchline because he’s the Hunter searching for the Wolf and Primrose in his Roblox game while face-timing his Nina. Or my 13-year-old who — wait, she hasn’t come out of her room in days. I’d better go check on her.
— Adam Krebs is a reporter for the Times and is sad that after an entire winter of waiting, the March 26 opening day of baseball was postponed indefinitely. Bullocks. He can be reached at email@example.com.