I whispered “you’re the shit” to my burrito every time I took a bite of it. It was the only thing that I had a conversation with in days, aside from my kid.
This virus crisis is driving me mad. Mad, like, “that fool is craaaazy,” we gingerly shout while watching a viral clip of (fill in the blank).
Coronavirus has non-consensually spread its seed into nearly every aspect of our lives. It’s ruining things, most importantly, lives. But it’s also weaseling its way into print journalism. As of Friday, the Colorado Daily will temporarily cease print publication until business and community shutdowns are lifted, according to Al Manzi, president and CEO of Prairie Mountain Media.
The big bosses have stressed to me, in caps, that this is “TEMPORARY.”
I’ll hold out hope, because I finally just got my burly paws back all over the pub as its new editor when it became a weekly publication earlier this year.
The news won’t change. It will all be online — and free. Local reporters have been working their bums off covering the local impact of this pandemic, and their stories will still be fresh, daily, at coloradodaily.com. (Be sure to follow us on social media.)
Just a couple weeks ago, editors were tasked with suspending freelance spending. So for now, Colorado Daily columns from John Bear, Casey Freeman, Liz Marsh, Alexandra Sieh and Duncan Taylor will be on hiatus. However, many of them maintain their own blogs, so seek them out and support your favorite columnists. The freelance world has basically been swallowed by the virus, so many of these quality writers are struggling to make ends meet.
Much like a bulk of the nation’s workforce. And like the sparse content of many refrigerators.
My burrito was nothing to brag about, it was a soft taco-size flour tortilla filled with bottom-of-the-bag crushed tortilla chips, a slice of melted cheese, diced red onions and black olives, topped with salsa. But it was delicious. I destroyed it over my kitchen sink after I finished an after-midnight work day. (I’ve shifted some days of my schedule to finish the bulk of my work after the kid goes to bed at 8 p.m. because in addition to being a journalist, I’m also now a kindergarten teacher.)
Maybe I’ll put on clothes today. Perhaps I’ll get all fancy and don makeup. Maybe I’ll be adventurous and trek out to King Soopers in search of the apparently highly coveted dish soap. But if it’s still gone, perhaps I can make some out of those handles of vodka and bourbon that I panic-bought last month. (I don’t even drink vodka.)
<tangent> After Mayor Hancock made the decision to classify liquor stores and weed shops as nonessential businesses March 23, he was forced to reverse the lockdown hours later after fools, like yours truly, hauled ass to the nearest shops, snatching up anything and everything that was left on the dusty shelves. I saw elderly folks with baskets full of Franzia, bros with armfuls of White Claw cases, soccer moms with boxes of rose, blue collar workers with handles of whiskey, millennials with tequila and vodka, businessmen with heaps of fine wine, newly appointed homeschooling moms with an assortment of all of the above. </tangent>
After this whole pandemic is swallowed by science, I’ll have you over for a barbecue with bourbon-glazed wings and vodka-lime chicken. Haha, jk, you’ll do shots in my yard until those handles are gone.
Chin up, homies. We’ll get to the other side stronger, perhaps drunker, probably chubbier, definitely more demented and most of us will have raw potty parts. And if it all goes to shit and the world shuts down, at least I have a large collection of newspapers as back-up toilet paper.