Al Green was famously “tired of being alone.” Me, I’m great at it.
As an introvert, I can happily spend hours in my own company, behind my own walls. So I figured this period of quarantine would be much easier for me than for many of you. And I was mostly right.
Wednesday, as all us nerds know, is the day new comic books come out. That’s just an inviolable law of nature. Has been for decades come hell, high water, famine or flood. But last Wednesday, there were no new comics, no Superman or Wonder Woman, or Daredevil or Fantastic Four. Apparently the novel coronavirus forced the printer to close.
It’s a small thing, yes, an infinitesimal, inconsequential thing as measured on the scale of worry, fear and loss now gripping America and the world as we grapple with this pandemic. It’s not even the first concession I’ve had to make to this era of social isolation.
To the contrary, I’ve made my peace with no Lakers games, no dining out, no plays, movies or concerts. Not to mention with late-night talk-show hosts flinging their punchlines into a dead silence where studio audiences used to be. All of it, I’ve accepted stoically, if reluctantly. That’s why I was surprised at the little pang of loss I felt upon learning that on top of all of that, Wednesday is now just … Wednesday.
Eventually, I realized it wasn’t just — or even primarily — comics I was missing. No, it was the comics shop — my peeps, my community, a nerdy group bound by the same goofball passions, with whom I spend a few minutes each week kibitzing about nothing very serious. It’s my equivalent of “Cheers,” i.e., the place where everybody knows your name.