Day 20: I miss real house parties
My neighbour hates me, but that's ok
Life is fine in quarantine (subtle rhyme there). Maybe this is the life we were setting ourselves up for all along. It reminds me of my carefree teenage years, when I would go home from school to chat online to everyone I never really interacted with in real life, while talking to my actual friends on the phone (of course, after my family had set up a luxurious dedicated landline for our 56k dial-up internet connection).
Having said that, I am starting to miss social gatherings, especially house parties. Virtual house parties can be quite limiting, primarily because you only see what people want you to see, or in some cases, you see nothing at all. The best thing about actual house parties was the full visibility of what was happening, which always yielded a fruitful day after; discussing all the new scandalous couplings, wondering who left their top behind and in what outfit they went home, trying to decipher who threw up in your bathtub, and laughing at your roommate who was still drunk from the night before (although in retrospect, that was probably me).
The following is equally true for both house parties and virtual parties: there has never been a more important - although unofficial - sociological study than a global lockdown to prove that you should place as much importance on choosing your house as you should on choosing your neighbours. Beware of the nasty neighbour. The specific breed of neighbour, who had no life before this started, and hates on everyone else having even the mildest form of fun in their apartment, will hate you even more now, because you’re supposed to be as miserable as them. They are the same type of person who will complain when it’s sunny because it’s too hot (and people are out and being too happy and loud), and they’ll complain when it’s cloudy because it makes their arthritis flare up. The short story is: my neighbour probably hates me, but that’s ok, I hate him too.
Despite my sensitive neighbours, I’m glad I stayed in Italy for the lockdown (fun fact: I actually flew back for it). Beyond being a sign of solidarity, its also great to be close to the epicentre because this way you can definitely confirm that, although the situation could have been more pleasant, the media can be quite selective and extremely dramatic when reporting on things that are happening in other places. To everyone’s surprise, my street - and the rest of the city, I presume - looks quite normal. Of course, it’s quiet. Of course, everything’s closed. But it’s all very civilised. I even saw some pigeons going for a walk today.
Speaking of which, my new favorite activity is looking at my fellow citizens going for a not-so-purposeful walk from my kitchen window. It’s essentially like human Pacman without the maze, where the people wearing masks are running away from the people who aren’t. The chased end up walking like Wes Anderson characters to maintain a safe distance from the chasers, who are accidentally invading their newly expanded personal space while casually sending a really loud audio note to their friends. I’ve been thinking for a while about which book title could describe this general kind of behaviour, which has existed long before the pandemic outbreak, and I’ve finally found it: nothing could be more fitting to describe the general public demeanour of this nation than Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.
That is all for today, please look after yourselves and don’t leave your house. As you can see, it’s perfectly fine for your mental health. If it’s not, you’re probably the bad neighbour.
Lunch: Oat pancakes with frozen berries and maple syrup
Song of the day: LCD Soundsystem - Daft Punk Is Playing at My House