I know you’re sick (no pun intended) of hearing about the coronavirus. I’m sick of hearing about the coronavirus. The government is sick of hearing about the coronavirus (or is that the sick government?).
And yet, herewith a few sick (sorry: quick) thoughts on the matter, plus one genuine awkwardness involving the disease that only we here in Yavapai County have to deal with.
CV Baby, You’re Driving Me Crazy
Perceivings by Alan Dean Foster
First, some perspective. Worldwide, seasonal flu kills about 646,000 people every year. That is likely an understatement because exact reportage from places like Burkina Faso (much of which looks a lot like parts of Arizona) and Borneo (which does not look at all like Arizona) is lacking. Also, local governments, depending on their degree of autocracy and the state of the bowels of their current despot, have a vested interest in not accurately reporting deaths from disease. Because nobody is in a rush to invest in places where potential workers are dropping like flies.
We’re so frantic and worried and paranoid about the coronavirus that we have a tendency to forget our history. It is estimated that worldwide, the great influenza pandemic of 1918 killed upward of 50 million people. That’s 50 million, not 50 thousand. And again, that statistic relies on reportage that was far less accurate that it is today.
Remember the Black Plague? (I don’t mean personally.) Nowadays it’s sometimes fodder for comedians, doubtless because it occurred so far in our past. It's believed that pandemic killed 60 percent of Europe’s population. If such a plague/pandemic struck Europe today, it would mean roughly 450 million dead. Nor do the mortality totals of the influenza of 1918 nor the Black Plague nor the coronavirus take into account the permanent damage to their health suffered by millions of survivors.
So when the airlines bitch about the loss of passenger traffic, or the cruise lines (most of which are not registered in the US, but rely heavily on American travelers) complain that they don’t qualify for relief from the US government, I think of history and tend not to throw too much sympathy their way.
Now, about that awkwardness I mentioned earlier.
The human mind works in mysterious ways. I’m saying that those neural pathways sometimes lead to some peculiar destinations. Currently the prime example has to do with a perfectly innocent (and, I am told, tasty) libation called Corona beer. Said brew has nothing whatever to do with the virus. Everyone with half an ounce (or maybe twelve ounces) of brainpower knows that the beer has nada to do with the disease. But small portions of our brains (larger portions in some unfortunate folks) make weird associations simply via the similarities of certain words. So yes, there are those who, even though they know better, hear “corona” and think “deadly virus” instead of beer. Which is harmless, except that when shopping they may well, consciously or subconsciously, just decide to avoid purchasing that particular brew and reach for another instead.
What is really screwy is that while that's an effect people might expect, the actual sales of Corona beer in the US are up five percent. I can’t explain that. While you would hope that people are intelligent enough to reject the notion that there is any connection between the beer and the virus, what explains folks buying more of the Corona-labeled brand? This would be excellent fodder for psychologists, except that beer sales in general during the pandemic are up 42 percent, which means that Corona may actually be losing market share/sales due to the virus.
I dunno. Where human impulse is concerned, sometimes my powers of cognition fail me.
I relate these sudsy minutiae to show how the human mind can work even in ways we do not want it to. Which brings me to that other, localized awkwardness.
Folks who have trouble with, or simply desire to avoid, multisyllabic words will choose to refer to the disease not as “the coronavirus,” but simply as “Covid-19.” Or, still more conveniently, as “CV.” My problem is that when I hear somebody say “CV,” I don’t think of the coronavirus.
I think of Chino Valley.
I know that nearly any local saying CV these days is likely referencing the virus. But I can’t help it. I keep hearing “Chino Valley.” Fortunately the national media has not picked up on this, or the poor residents of Prescott’s northern neighbor would find themselves deluged with a pandemic of another kind: reporters from national newspapers and TV looking for a “local human interest” story, without regard to what the local humans might think. And masks won’t help with that, though social distancing might. So let’s keep that particular abbreviation to ourselves, and if interviewed nationally, always say “coronavirus” or “Covid-19” and not “CV,” lest Chino Valley residents be subjected to the same sort of goofy detrimental word-association as Corona beer.
Or maybe it’s just my mind that works that way, and I need to go have a drink of something with seriously different initials.
Prescott resident Alan Dean Foster is the author of 130 books. Follow him at AlanDeanFoster.com.
Perceivings by Alan Dean Foster
Toilet paper — what we regard as modern toilet paper — was invented by the American Joseph Gayetty in 1857.
There. That’s out of the way.
The current recurring dearth of toilet paper in stores seems to suggest that society is on the brink of collapse. In today’s news I saw that a truck crashed on a freeway in Texas, dumping its entire load of — toilet paper. I fully expected to see follow-up scenes of folks leaping barriers at the risk of their lives to score an armful of Angel Soft three-packs, with commentary by breathless TV reporters (“Oh, the humanity!”).
There have been fights in supermarkets between people competing for the last rolls of t-paper. Just saw a report on one involving three women in Australia. Diapers I can maybe understand. But toilet paper?
I checked with Wikipedia and yes, civilization did exist before 1857. Thrived, depending on where you happened to live at the time.
I received a solid lesson in the recent history of toilet paper from my wife of 45 years. JoAnn was raised on a small farm outside the town of Moran, in west-central Texas. Her family did not have indoor plumbing until she was 14. I realize that this bit of information may stun those of you under 30, but it is a fact that much of what we now take for granted did not exist within the borders of the United States prior to 1857: flat-screen TVs, cellphones, the Internet, Facebook, skateboards, and toilet paper, and that not all persons born after that date gained automatic access to such goods.
My wife’s family used a two-holer outhouse for applicable business. When said structure was torn down, we had the wood salvaged, heat-treated, and fully disinfected. It now panels the walls of our guest bathroom. The double-hole platform itself is not up yet, but the other wood is a small way of reminding visitors that not so very long ago, indoor plumbing was not an everyday thing. Additionally, it’s difficult to imagine anything more appropriate, décor-wise.
In lieu of toilet paper, the Sears-Roebuck catalog was a popular national substitute. You remember Sears-Roebuck: the company that had a head-start with what we now call online shopping. Sears could have owned the Internet, but to its managers the ‘net was just a fad, soon to fade away.
Sears is just about gone, but t-paper is still with us. When you can find it.
So how do we solve the current toilet-paper shortage? Common sense and anti-hoarding aside, you might consider purchasing and installing a fancy Japanese toilet. These have heated seats, clean you with warm water, and then air-dry the relevant geography. Think your local drive-through car wash, only on a smaller scale and without any need to tip an attendant. Though you still need to put yourself in neutral.
You can of course use toilet paper with a Japanese toilet, and the same t-paper shortage panic currently exists in the land of the Rising Sun, but if you can afford a top-of-the-line Toto, you don’t need to worry.
In many middle-eastern countries a regular toilet comes equipped with a shatafa. This is an attachment consisting of a narrow hose that terminates in a small shower head, the kind you find everywhere in European bathrooms and increasingly here in the States. Someone had the bright idea to eliminate the need for either a bidet or a fancy toilet by simply attaching a shatafa to the existing water line feed to the toilet. Employ the shatafa to clean yourself, use a small paper or cotton towel to dry off, and hey presto: no need for scarce t-paper.
You don’t encounter a great deal of toilet paper in China because it tends to jam up older pipes. It has nothing to do with culture. Or as JoAnn pointed out, “Haven’t people ever heard of washing machines?”
Costco and other stores are stocked with bundles of small, cheap hand towels and washrags. Use one, toss it into a pail designated for the purpose, then clean them in your washer. But we were all born into a disposable society, so no one thinks of reusing things in such a manner. We’re wasteful, we are.
While we’re on the subject of waste, the newest Japanese toilets use less than four
liters of water per flush compared to the 13 required by traditional western toilets.
You would think that statistic would prompt the installation of a fair number of
Japanese johns here in Arizona, but I don’t know anyone who has one. We would, but we live in an old house. There’s no electrical outlet near our master-bathroom throne, and we’re not about to rip up historic tile work to install one. But I think of it often when ensconced in that place where thinking comes easy.
When the Sears catalog was out of pages and magazines were not handy, JoAnn’s family had recourse to corncobs. Think of that the next time you’re tempted to bitch about a shortage of ultra-soft four-ply.