The Stand.

 

My apologies, this is a little dark, but recent news out of the United States suggests that several states are going to jump the gun and prematurely remove the greater part of the social restrictions that they've been using to control the spread of the coronavirus, as President Trump loudly proclaims his own genius while pointing fingers and deferring responsibility for a slow start on the government's response to the crisis.

This is all happening based on the confident assumption that things will be back to normal in the relatively near future, and all that will be left to do is to punish the innocent, and provide praise and congratulations to the non-participants, as per the list of project phases that I used to have posted over my desk at work many years ago.

Oh you fools.

COVID-19 is a warning, a microbial shot across the world's collective bow that should be taken as a declaration of hostilities.  It only illustrates our fragility as a species and our blindness as a civilization.

The current situation is nothing - welcome to Apocalypse Lite. In saying that, in no way do I wish to minimize the toll that the pandemic has taken.  It is tragic that, as I type this, almost 200,000 people have died due to the coronavirus, and more than a little frightening in that it reflects 7% of the total global cases, rather than the 3-5% originally predicted.  And that number is still rising.

Philip K. Dick once commented* that "the SF writer sees not just possibilities but wild possibilities. Its not just 'What if --' It's 'My God; what if--' In frenzy and hysteria."

So then, my God; what if? In frenzy and hysteria.

What if the mortality rate for COVID-19 was 50%?  I've read that eventually it will work its way through the entire population, like the common cold - what if it was killing every second person in the world while that was happening?

If COVID-19 had a 50% fatality rate, the people currently protesting the stay-at-home order in some US states would be hiding in their basements with the doors nailed shut, begging to be left alone - or more likely using the assault rifles that they had on display at the rallies to shoot anyone who attempted to get within a hundred feet of those doors.

I recently saw a photo of unclaimed coronavirus fatalities being inhumed in a mass grave on New York's Hart Island** - now imagine 800,000 corpses, half the population of Manhattan, truckload after truckload of bodies being desperately dumped into Central Park until avalanches of rotting corpses spilled out onto 5th Avenue and Central Park West.  Imagine every rat and carrion bird in New York State seeking out this unexpected bounty.

Imagine the smell.

Now take that picture across the entire planet.  If half the population of China was dead right now, would the remaining half even be able to bury all the bodies?  50% might take us across the invisible line that allows us to function as a society, breaking too many of the links that keep our world functioning.

Donald Trump has declared this to be a war, and he's not wrong in saying that.  The mistake is to think that the current crisis is that war in its entirety.  Wrong - this is just a skirmish, an affray, a brief crossing of lances before the real battle commences.

SARS killed 774 people in 2003, the 2014 Ebola outbreak killed 11,323, and the current list of fatalities is still growing - what happens next?  To paraphrase Winston Churchill, a much greater war leader than Trump could ever hope to be, this is not the end, or even the beginning of the end - only the end of the beginning.

And as such, we should be preparing for the real war, for the virus with 100% mortality that will eventually crawl out of some South American cavern or Tibetan crevasse or Alaskan sinkhole and sweep across the world like a black rain.

Trump wants to defund the World Health Organization - you idiot, you should take the four billion dollars you stole from the Pentagon for the Mexican border wall and spend every cent on building an army to fight the war that may lie in our future:  the WHO, the CDC, hospitals, researchers, medical schools, protective clothing, respirators, masks, disinfectants - and yes, body bags, because wars have casualties, and there will be no innocents in the viral war, only victims.

As per the Stephen King novel, we should be preparing to make our stand, and hoping against hope that it won't be futile, as so many last stands are.

- Sid

* From the introduction to The Golden Man, a collection of short stories published in 1980.  The introduction provides a wide window into Dick's personal life, and is perhaps better than some of the stories.

** Karli was tragically accurate last year when she expressed her concerns about being in Manhattan during an apocalyptic event.

Maskerade.

Hello, everyone, and welcome to my post.  Apparently Toastmasters recommends that you start with a joke, so here goes.

These two Russians, Yuri and Lev, are sitting in a bar during the height of the Soviet Union.

Yuri leans over and softly says to Lev, “My friend, I’ve known you my entire life, we have been friends since birth.  Tell me something.  What do you really think about Communism?”

Lev quickly looks around in horror and hoarsely whispers, “No, not here!  Quiet now, come with me!”

They quickly finish their vodkas and leave the bar, silently skulking through icy, deserted Moscow alleys until they reach a small hut in a deserted lot on the very edge of the city. 

Lev produces a set of keys, unlocks six locks on the door, one after another, and then opens the door and they go inside, where there is only a rickety table and two chairs.

Lev carefully relocks the six locks, then lights a candle and sets it in the middle of the table, where its flickering light illuminates the shack’s frigid wooden walls. 

He looks around carefully, leans forward, and whispers, “I kind of like it.”

The moral of the story?  I'm really enjoying the lockdown.

I don't think that makes me unusual, but it certainly drives home the degree to which I really am an introvert.  Like a lot of geeks, nerds, otaku and other societal outcasts, a lot of my happiest time has been spent on my own, and as such I'm not suffering from cabin fever in the least.

In a lot of ways, this is very much like my childhood.  I'm the youngest of five, and at an early age became very familiar with making my own fun when older siblings weren't interested in more childish games.  Because we were in an extremely rural environment, where the blackflies were a constant menace in the summer, and winters could get as cold as -40,  I spent a lot of time inside - that's where my love of books started, reading in my bedroom while avoiding the outside world.

Having computer games, the internet, and cable TV would have been a great addition, but they're really not necessary, if you took them away right now I would start happily working my way through my bookshelves and be content for years.

Karli, bless her, has been a perfect stay-at-home partner, and just today she thanked me for being a good person to be locked up with, so we're doing well there.  She's not quite as acclimated to sheltering in place as I am, she misses her family, but she's done Zoom parties with them and phones people regularly, so she's doing all right, although she certainly looks forward to seeing them in person again. People in my family often go for decades without seeing each other, so no issues there for me.

One of my co-workers expressed their disbelief when I mentioned being an introvert, and commented that as far as they were concerned, I was anything but.  In reality, like people who suffer from depression, a lot of introverts create a public face that lets them function in the outside world - I'm actually pleased by how good my version of that person has become over time.  It's such a good mask that I'm almost surprised at what a relief it is not to have to wear it right now - ironically, just when more and more people are starting to wear masks in public.

In the end, we'll all go back to work.  Apparently British Columbia is doing an acceptable job of flattening the curve, and as such the next month will probably see relaxed restrictions and reopened retail, along with a return to the regular nine to five day at the office - well, 7:30 to 4:00 in my case, but you know what I mean.  I haven't decided if I'm going to wear a mask for that, under the circumstances it almost seems redundant.

- Sid

Casualties.

Today at 8:55 am, the Storm Crow Tavern posted the following to its Facebook page:

There’s no easy way to do this, so we’ll just say it plainly: the Storm Crow Tavern will not be re-opening, regardless of the short-term resolution of the Covid-19 crisis. 

It’s been estimated that up to 75% of all the independent restaurants that closed in the wake of the virus will never re-open. Restaurants run on narrow margins at the best of times. The Tavern already had many challenges, such as an expiring lease, and the coronavirus, for us and many other small restaurants, is a fatal blow while we’re already down. 

That said... the Alehouse on Broadway (and the Manor in Toronto) are potentially different stories, and we are going to fight like hell to re-open those Storm Crows as soon as we can. 

It’s a sad day for us, for our employees, and for our regular guests. For over seven years, the Storm Crow Tavern has been a special place in all our lives: more than just a “nerd bar,” it was a neighbourhood haven for the misfits, the geeks, the oddballs and bohemians of Commercial Drive and Vancouver in general. 

The Tavern had an amazing run. And while it may be gone, other Storm Crows will rise, like those less-awesome phoenix-y birds, up from the ashes when this conflagration has ended. 

Stay safe. Stay sane. We’ll see you all again one day.

A sad day indeed. Although I switched my allegiance over to their Broadway location when it opened, solely due to its adjacency to home, the original branch always held a special place in my affections.  The original Storm Crow introduced a kind of pub that I'd always wanted, and on behalf of "misfits, geeks and oddballs" everywhere, thanks for proving that not every bar has to have a hockey game playing.

- Sid

"It's okay, I have a permit."

This week, President Donald J. Trump signed an executive order endorsing the right of United States citizens "to engage in commercial exploration, recovery and use of resources in outer space, consistent with applicable law.  Outer space is a legally and physically unique domain of human activity, and the United States does not view it as a global commons."

Now, from the perspective of global politics and outer space, this isn't a great moment.  There's a existing international agreement from 1979, the Moon Agreement, that stipulates that non-scientific use of extra-terrestrial resources be controlled by international oversight, but the United States has never been a signator - in fact, in 2015 Congress passed a law that basically said that any US citizen involved in the commercial recovery of "space resources" is entitled to them.

The new Executive Order specifically states that "...the United States does not consider the Moon Agreement to be an effective or necessary instrument to guide nation states regarding the promotion of commercial participation in the long-term exploration, scientific discovery and use of the Moon, Mars or other celestial bodies."

The key word there is "commercial" - the 1967 Outer Space Treaty states that nations cannot claim space or any celestial bodies, but the United States is saying that corporate exploitation by US citizens is completely permitted, rather like drilling for oil in international waters, and that they can keep whatever they find.  The new order does say that this should be consistent with applicable law, but then immediately announces that the existing agreements aren't applicable.

In other words, to quote Ron Swanson's permit from Parks & Recreation,  "I can do what I want."

From the perspective of a science fiction fan, this is a fascinating development, given that one of the common tropes of near-future science fiction is the exploitation of mineral resources as the driving force for expansion into the further reaches of our solar system - and eventually, other planetary systems.  This kind of development provides a logical purpose for space exploration, combined with an obvious return on investment.

However, the potential for disaster is epic, which is why there need to be controls in place.  As with undersea oil drilling , if something goes wrong, it's unlikely that its effects will be restricted to the area where the accident took place.  True, there's no equivalent to aquatic life that can be harmed, but the real analogy is that eventually the oil reaches a coastline - and in this case, we're talking about the entire planet, rather than a few miles of beach.

We're decades away from any kind of practical industrial exploitation of space, but if something goes wrong that results in asteroid mining debris or radioactive waste hitting Earth, it's going to take a lot more than a few drums of Dawn dish detergent to deal with the consequences.

- Sid

“There is good in him. I've felt it.”

 

Although I've never been a serious autograph hunter, over the years my modest science fiction collection has come to include a few personalized items:  my recent William Gibson autograph for Agency, the autographed copy of The Difference Machine that my friend Norah gave me as a birthday gift a few years back, and my mirror reversed Ursula K. Le Guin signature.*  Now, thanks to Karli's sister Lisa, I have an autographed set of the Epic Yarns Star Wars adaptations created by Holman Wang and his brother Jack- well, I should say we rather than I, given that both our names appear.

After meeting Holman Wang at an event in January (and buying us the first book in the Epic Yarns series as a gift), Lisa invited him to be a keynote speaker at one of the learning conferences that she produces for teachers in British Columbia, and asked us if we would like to have him autograph his books for us.

We somewhat cautiously agreed - we're fairly typical Canadians, which makes us reluctant to bother people - and Karli handed over the books the next time she saw her sister.

Mr. Wang was happy to provide his signature on all three copies, and although the return of the autographed books was delayed by the current social distancing environment, they're now back in our possession.  Our sincere thanks to both Lisa and Holman!

- Sid

* I also have a set of autographed comics that were written and drawn by my friend Wendy's partner Steven, but that somehow doesn't seem the same. I certainly value those comics, but given that I see Steve on a somewhat regular basis, it's not the same challenge, I could probably get him to sign something every time - although that might get a bit strange after a while.

Pandemic: The Game.

 

The situation is grim, and it looks like the end.  There's been a spike in the spread of infection which seems to have overwhelmed all of the available resources.  No combination of science, medicine, contingency planning or research seems to be able to hold the epidemic in check, and the clock is running out on finding a cure.

Not to worry - it's not the current global state of affairs, but rather the award-winning board game version of it:  Pandemic, created by board game designer Matt Leacock and released in 2008 by Z-Man Games, and followed by several expansion packs and upgrades since then.  (There's a computer version as well, but as the ongoing popularity of board games has shown, there's a kind of social appeal to sitting around a table with people - albeit not at this exact moment in time.)

It's an interesting game to play - my friend Chris introduced me to it over dinner and drinks at the Storm Crow in October of last year, which in retrospect feels a bit prescient.*

Pandemic is played co-operatively - as with our current global situation, it's you and your friends versus a viral enemy, except in the case of the game, there are four colour-coded infectious challenges threatening the planet.

Each player chooses a character role from seven options, each of which has a different set of abilities to contribute to the fight - Scientists need a lower number of cards to Discover a Cure, Medics can eliminate a full stack of virus cubes when Treating Disease, and so on.  The players combine these abilities with City and Event cards from the Player Deck to share knowledge, travel the world, create research stations, stamp out the centers of infection and to seek a cure for each disease.

However, as Epidemic cards are turned over from the Infection deck and the Infection Rate counter goes up, the spread of disease worsens, and as soon as the entire Player deck is used up, it's literally and figuratively Game Over. Players can also lose by using up all of the Disease cubes for a specific colour, or if more than seven Outbreaks take place.

Pandemic has an obvious applicability to our current situation, but if I were Mr. Leacock, I might well make some minor changes to the game's structure - I don't remember using Lockdowns as a control method, and it would be an unexpected wild card to have the United States withdraw funding at the global level.

Oh, and the good news?  Chris and I cured all four viruses and stopped the pandemic on the very last turn.   Let's hope we don't take it that close to the final round in the real world response - after all, we don’t get to play again if we lose.

- Sid

* I had intended to do a blog posting at the time, but somehow I didn't manage to get to it, which seems even more like it was being saved until now.

What not to read right now.*

And don't watch Outbreak, either.  Or 28 Days Later.

- Sid

* In the spirit of previous reading advice.

P.S.  A couple of quick comments.  First, World War Z may seem like a strange choice because it's about zombies, but think about it: would Donald Trump have taken more immediate action if the first person diagnosed with the coronavirus in the United States had started biting people?  Second, busted - I have not read Journals of the Plague Years, and only parts of The Last Man.