Freud believed that humor and artistic expression are really displaced anger.  The New Yorker cover showing Trump wearing his face mask as a blindfold gives me a chuckle. COVID-19 has unleashed a deluge of internet humor offering a micro-blip of relief.  For the cynically inclined, go to You Tube for “Social Distance” set to “Sound of Music,” or “We Must Fight the Virus,” to the tune of “The Sounds of Silence.” I send and receive them from family and friends. The other day, I noticed that my laughter had acquired a hollow undertone.

We look for silver linings. Curves not fattened but flattened. The kindness of strangers; unasked for generosity to unfortunate souls, like singers and actors, whose income has been slashed to zero. We celebrate the scientists who are racing for a cure, the medical professionals at all levels who every day risk their lives and their families’ peace of mind. We search for deeper truths from Tom Friedman and David Brooks. We try imagining a post viral world where medical precaution, along with political/economic cooperation will replace stupidity, selfishness and shortsightedness. We refuse to watch the President and his lackeys as they muscle their false promises onto the evening news.

The half-life of these palliatives used to be a few minutes.  Now it’s down to a few seconds.

A distraction for me is a renewed enjoyment of opera. It took Laney, my wife, many years to upgrade my musical tastes.  For 20 years I went (grudgingly at first) to the Metropolitan Opera. We got a time share across from Lincoln Center. We went to Glimmerglass in summer and supported local productions.  Then came Saturdays: The Met in H.D. Live at The Katherine Hepburn Theater, in Saybrook, CT, and Metro Movies in Middletown, CT, just down the street from Wesleyan University, where I taught for many years.  Twenty-five bucks- a good seat in New York cost $225 twenty years ago! Plus Dolby stereo, close ups, the gorgeous Renee Fleming interviewing stars between acts, English subtitles. What a treat!

With time on our hands, we’ve turned to You Tube. In just the last 10-days we’ve watched Elektra, Macbeth, Candide, and La Traviata. This morning it was Giovanni Secchi. A world of make believe, slapstick humor, and best of all murder, mayhem and immorality.  Has Netflix beat by a mile.

I tried Stephen King yesterday (“If It Bleeds”). Never read him before. Called son Josh who edits novels for a living. Josh said: “He needs an editor.”  I agree. King takes a good idea, twists it for cheap thrills, decaying bodies, perversions, and macabre fantasies and irrelevant sub plots. I’ll stick with opera.

Going for my 1.1 mile walk, despite the windy cold weather. I keep seeing Asian students, stranded at Wesleyan after the rest of the spring semester was cancelled. It’s kind of surreal. People approaching at a distance of 25 yards. They, or I, cross the street to avoid contact. Why am I wearing a mask since no one gets even within spitting distance?  We are mammals. Social animals. Avoiding contact, other than for the most antisocial individuals, makes you squelch these human instincts.  The other guy could kill me.  Or could I kill him?  Danger lurks when people meet.

By Steve Bank, Contributing Writer

Editor’s Note: One in a series of guest editorials