I'm not gay, but...

(mask mandate observation #3)

A youngish professional, leaving his office for the day, tore…sigh…his mask off upon exiting his office building and onto the street.

I watched him out of boredom, expecting a mere readjustment, or a temporary removal for a relaxing end-of-day cigarette.

When he stuffed his hand and mask into his pocket and left them there my bored stare became a lustful hypnosis, bordering on arousal for freedom: 

He was choosing to walk around outside without his mask!!!

I’m still straight because this reminded me of the thrill of watching a woman eager to sunbathe, removing her bathing suit cover-up to reveal a sexy two-piece.

Two takeaways:

1. an ordinary moment can instantly become a gay one.

2. we have become so socially distant that a mask under the chin is the equivalent of panties to the side.

Mask Mandate Observations #2

On Long Island no one wore a mask outside. 

In New York, everyone wears a mask outside. 

Cities don't die like humans do, they die by changing. Look at Detroit, Istanbul, Rome. A city is less defined by its structures as it is by the people who inhabit those structures. 

The mask mandate is for pussies (excuse my language), and even the toughest New Yorkers are afraid enough of popular opinion--and the cold stares of strangers-- to comply with its hypocrisy. 

Badass vigilantes are supposed to wear masks, but it is gay and laughable to see Candidate Sliwa's Guardian Angels wearing mandated masks. Being tough is not wearing a mask! Exposing your likeness to the cold stares of strangers and staring right back is the new tough.

(Also, you're not 'tough' if you vocally shame the only person not wearing a mask on the subway; you're a bully with popular support.)

For a city in which everyone lives on top of (or inside of) everyone else and nobody knows their neighbors, anonymity and confidentiality are taken to an ironic and unprecedented extreme. Clueless city propaganda even urges riders against talking to others on the subway--an inclination we never had! What are we protecting again? Our health or our likeness?

(For this reason, I don't even want to be earn the title of "New Yorker" anymore. The term is more descriptive of a Bangladeshi civil servant who owns three houses in Queens, or a wasteful avocado-toast hipster yuppie who owns no property than it does a hardboiled mobster, old school Tammany Hall Dem or even fratboy banker (they've all left the city to work via zoom). I am a Long Islander. I like Billy Joel. I eat mollusks. I am white. My Italian grandparents fled the city in the 40s and never looked back, and I shall continue this tradition.)

Upon my return to the Pandemic State of New New York I have seen untold thousands. When I meet Pandemic New New Yorkers (~22 of which have become fixtures in my life to varying degrees) their faces are hidden. Of those 22, I have never seen the faces of 13 of them. (The remaining 9 I have seen only in pictures, or on zoom.)

Some people want to protect their precious lungs from breathing the air we all share, so they never remove their mask in public, preferring to breathe their own mask breath instead. 

This is as disgusting as sneezing in your own bowl of cereal. But if that is the choice one wants to make I will judge and condemn with a special levity, especially if I have grown in fondness with repeated interactions. 

It's All About Me

I am selfish, and the mask mandate is personal. Is it really asking too much to want to know what my friends look like?

When I introduce myself I yank the mask down past my chin to show my face, so as not to disappoint when they spy my face and find me more charming than handsome. (No one ever asks to see  my face.)

Sometimes I get the feeling that my new friends/acquaintances don't want me to know what they look like. On one such occasion during a lengthy and enjoyable conversation my area manager turned around to remove his mask and take a sip of his Monster energy drink. 

Another time, the girl at Mass pulled her mask away from her chin with just enough space to receive the eucharistic wafer, making the only chance of seeing entire face a disappointment.

Once I entered the Director of Operations office and her back was turned from me. She did not have her mask on, and feeling my presence behind her, put it on before turning to face me. Rote or safety or needlessly protecting entirety of her likeness from my semi-curious stare? (Some people look better with a mask on.)

My behavior is subtly impacted by theirs:

Walking into the lunchroom one shift I saw Adolfo masklessly eating his lunch and diverted my eyes without saying hello, like I'd walked in on him on using the toilet.

Other times I hold my gaze longer than necessary to catch a glimpse of a chin or a lip or a cheek, like I am a pubescent middle schooler sneaking a peak at a bent over girl. 

At Planned Parenthood one morning, I had an hour-and-a-half conversation with a girl my age. I was maskless--though my eyes were hidden behind sunglasses--and she was masked. At the 7 minute mark I gave my name and asked hers (she refused it); at the 23 minute mark I asked again and she easily reciprocated. At the 44 minute mark she ripped off her masked exclaiming 'I like talking to you! This is what I look like!' to which I responded by taking my sunglasses off to reveal my own teary eyes. 

Overcoming the oppressive mandate and without succumbing to nakedness we had achieved true intimacy.

The eyes may be windows to the soul, but New New Yorkers are missing all of the good (and necessary) stuff around the eyes. I felt like a hack wearing those sunglasses--if it wasn't so sunny I'd have taken them off.

Such cursory observations make "the mask" the longest and most widespread social experiment in human history, not a preventative measure against the spread of a flu with a 99% survival rate.

Mask Mandate: Year One

Editor's Note: I wrote this wearing a mask.

In rushing somewhere I felt the icy cold on my face and with shock exclaimed out loud 'my mask!'

Then with a mental dexterity for which I am not accustomed, I thought 'No, not 'mine' as I climbed the stairs to my apartment to retrieve it with bitter resignation, grumbling "Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's..."

There has not been a new opinion on the mask mandate since The Great Quarantine of 2020 began, and I am not going to reiterate my obvious dislike/disproval of it. 

Instead, I am going to make an observation (those are fun!): 

In March 2020, it was 'Don't go outside without a mask.' In March 2021 it is 'Don't go outside without your mask.'

The mask is no longer the 'new' normal. On the first anniversary, it is now simply normal; it has become 'yours' and 'mine.' (They even got me to say it!) For some, the mask has become so personal that it is like a Guardian Angel needed at all times to protect our precious lives. For others, it is a shirt that we must wear over our face, so why not customize it? The 'classic' blue mask is just a liner; wear something that more fits your personality! Make it your own! 

Now I need to stay vigilant in the oppositional language (while still using 'cancelled' insults). In the very least my language--and eventual sentiment--is not changing without me noticing first. (Though still begrudgingly changing.)

So long as it is forced on me it is an impersonal alien, a tumor, a parasite. It is a facehugger. I'd rather have the Coronavirus than wear it. (I couldn't help but give my opinion anyway! Sorry!)