We got the following e-mail from British friends who live in France, very near St. Emilion. Requirements there are much more draconian than we have been subjected to in the US.

We have to have paper attestations filled out: name, address, date of birth, and only one of five allowed reasons to travel can be selected, one person in the car, and then the form is signed and dated. Six days ago, that was revamped to be signed by the date and the time stated, as outings can be for no longer than one hour. Just to be clear, when Steve cycles to the village early for the bread he must have this with him. We have moved to the app that the police can scan, but again it needs to be altered to reflect the time, etc., each time you go out.

In the screengrab above is both the IHME prediction for yesterday — one day since peak deaths/day in US and a prediction of 2,150 deaths — and the Worldometers report from yesterday. 1,535 deaths actually reported yesterday, ~70% of the prediction and another day in which real experience is performing better than predicted. And so it is not surprising that even as deaths decline and economic carnage mounts, the natives are getting restless.

CDC has recommended to doctors across the country that any “non-emergency” health care is to be postponed. There are a lot of problems with this, of course, not the least of which is defining “non-emergency” in my line of work. Treating somebody’s blood pressure is not an emergency unless she strokes out tomorrow, in which case it apparently was an emergency after all. Oh, well. But anyway, I’m doing a lot of video-call medicine, which is the government’s idea of, um, I’m not sure what. But this is what we’re supposed to be doing. For now. Until they change their minds. Again.

I had an interesting video call with a patient of mine this morning. He’s a retired physician from New York City. Brilliant guy, but he can come across as abrasive and arrogant at times. I think it’s just his New York City mannerisms, coarse language, and his extremely frank approach to conversation which can be off-putting. I think he’s fundamentally a good person and he can be really funny if you can get past his gruff exterior. He’s also a very vocal and frequently hostile Democrat. He hates Republicans. But hey, he’s a wealthy New Yorker. What do you expect? And come to think of it, he hates lots of other people too. So whatever. He’s in his early 80s now and lives in an assisted living facility with his wife. I called him this morning because his recent labs showed some problems with his diabetes. He likes his gin and his ice cream, and glycemic control is a challenge for him. Particularly because he doesn’t listen to a gosh darn word his doctor says. Or his wife. Or anyone else.

Those of you who have been following this series of posts (Day X: COVID-19….) know that I have been following this story since before the virus escaped the confines of China. The “Day X” reference is back to when the first reported case occurred somewhere other than China — signaling the potential for a pandemic. In the series of posts to date, I have marked the progression of the disease and underscored the fundamental lack of information to guide policy makers even as the demands on the health care system and the sudden deaths made some action imperative. The response of politicians was understandable and predictable –indirectly controlling the disease by directly controlling people. That is an evergreen solution for government regardless of the harm they are seeking to avoid.

So, it was the summer of 2008 and I was on vacation with my abundant (read “annoying”) family at a Republican retreat outside Phoenix. When I walked past an open door in my hotel, I got all warm inside thinking I heard my young nephew yelling out “Uncle! Uncle!” Trouble was, when I turned back, it wasn’t my nephew yelling at me, it was actually John McCain on the phone screaming “Uncle! Uncle!” to Barack Obama. Now, sure, it was July in the desert so whether some version of this event really transpired or it was just a dammit-my-brain’s-melting-induced-complete-fantasy I’ll have to leave to my family. A few of them recognized “It may be 120 but it’s a dry 120” as the gold-plated tourist BS it was. They might have seen something before they’d gotten the hell out of Arizona and back to Death Valley or anywhere it was sure to be cooler with their memories more intact.

But looking back, it probably wasn’t a total hallucination as I also recall finding a very real and quite pissed off Mitt Romney sulking around the pool. His “sulking” performances are quite good these days if you’ve missed them; the resentful ones, Oscar-worthy. All because he didn’t get the nomination that year, not really understanding the honor doesn’t automatically go to the guy who has a lifetime of really, really good grooming. Sadly, being the Republican George Hamilton hadn’t been enough for him that year or in 2012 when he could’ve at least beaten Trump (at something) for being the first prez to bring a personal tanning bed into the WH executive bedroom (my God, retrospectively, I bet that kills him).

Some years ago, I reached that awkward age at which I had mixed feelings about gray hair. On the one hand it was gray, but on the other, well…, it was hair. I soon learned that America was unfair to those with no hair. Hirsute guys got more respect, better jobs, and prettier women.

So, I decided to do something about it. After some research, I discovered a statistical anomaly: an area of the country in which the percentage of bald men was well above the national average. I moved there, set up a business, and became active in politics. Within a few years, I was elected as the U.S. Congressman for Dome County.