Volume 3, Issue 70: More
Volume 3, Issue 70: More
"More than we have, more than there is."
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So, people are back. I know that everyone had their own approach to the pandemic, with each person’s individual behavior landing across all sorts of different ranges of the spectrum. Some of us didn’t leave our homes for a whole year; some of us were careful but ventured out into the world often; some of us pretended like nothing much was happening at all. It was quite a time. But it is undeniable that, in the United States, we’re back. I’ve taken four trips in the last two weeks, to four different cities (New York, Chattanooga, St. Louis and Atlanta), and the only thing they have in common in that people are done with this shit. Every restaurant is packed and bars have people spilling outside, really regardless of the hour of the day. There are reunions, and connections, and re-connections, happening everywhere. Life isn’t quite back to normal, whatever that ever meant in the first place, but people are being people again. I’m in Chattanooga right now, and I walked eight blocks from my hotel to meet a friend for dinner last night and passed four different street parties. I know that the news is scary like the news is always scary. But I have been finding the streets, I have been finding the world of out, to be joyous. And very, very packed.
We are seeing each other again. And we are seeing how we have changed.
I’ve got a lot of friends I haven’t seen since before the pandemic still left to get to—I literally have a list, with names crossed out, like I’m Beatrix Kiddo or something—but I have been able to visit with a few already. A few dinners out, a couple of baseball games, all the social things we used to do all the time without thinking much about … they all feel like stolen moments we must grasp ahold of in case they are taken from us again. What has been remarkable about these visits with old friends, people who, just like that, had been plucked out of my life and taken away for a whole year, a very stressful year, is how fast these visits keep going by. When I was a kid and my parents would take me to a friend’s house, every time they’d pick me up when it was over, I’d complain, “Aw, but we just started having fun!” That’s how I feel when every one of these visits with old friends ends. But we just started having fun.
They tend to follow similar arcs. The first few minutes are extremely awkward, too much silence at first, then everybody talking too fast, too loudly, all at once. Then there’s remarking on physical changes since we saw each other last, who lost weight, who gained weight, whose kids shot up two feet, and usually a remark at how grey my hair has gotten during the pandemic. (I’m nearing Steve Martin territory, overnight. I feel like the pandemic was my personal equivalent of Keanu Reeves meeting Gary Oldman’s Dracula and just going shock white overnight.)
Then we finally settle in, get back on the old groove, get caught up on how our other mutual friends have been navigating all this, how they’re all holding up. This part of the conversation has replaced what used to be gossip. I find this an improvement.
But then there’s a shift, in which, I’ve found, we both start lowering our voices and start talking about what really matters. About what is now different. There is always something different. Maybe we look at our jobs differently. Maybe our relationship with our loved ones have deepened. Maybe we’ve altered how we react to politics, or social media, or the outside world. Priorities have shifted. Focuses have switched. People are moving to new places. People are quitting their jobs. People are changing careers entirely. It is an upheaval that is only just beginning. The conversation always shifts to this. Now that this has happened … what happens next? I always think we sound a little bit like two survivors looking back at a car accident we’re a little surprised to find that we made it through.
We will be sorting out our reactions and responses to the pandemic likely for the rest of our adult lives. I’m fully expecting my grandchildren to see me, like, washing my hands for 10 minutes, or standing a few feet behind everyone else in a line, and whisper he lived through the pandemic. It is not dissimilar to how, when I’d watch my grandmother save every single leftover for months on end, I’d whisper to my sister she lived through the Depression. This is going to stick. But in this early period, you can see the change in people already. They’re looking at the world, and their place in it, differently. How could they not?
And that’s what I’m enjoying most about seeing all these faces I’ve missed. They are my old friends, and I’ve missed them. But they, all of us, have changed in a way that I am finding exciting, even inspiring. The pandemic has been awful, the worst thing any of us have collectively lived through. But it has also helped some of us realize what’s important, what can be ahead of us, what matters. Seeing us navigate this critical first stretch, deciphering and mapping out what happens next, is, in its way, thrilling. I want to talk to everyone. I want to see your faces. And I cannot wait to see what you do next.
Here is a numerical breakdown of all the things I wrote this week, in order of what I believe to be their quality.
I Filled in For Peter King on His “Football Morning in America” Column, NBC Sports. I was honored Peter asked me to do this and I tried to write something worthy of the space.
Did Brett Kavanaugh Just Bring About the End of Amateurism? New York. He might have!
The Nets Are the Superteam That Couldn’t, GQ. I love Durant, but I’ll confess I was rooting for the Bucks.
What to Do With All These Masks? Medium. Someone suggested a quilt, and I love that idea.
Internet Nostalgia: The Downfall Memes, Medium. Still a great movie, by the way.
Six Guys Who Have Forgotten Their Awful 2020s, MLB.com. I can’t believe how bad J.D. Martinez was last year.
Late Night Talk Show Hosts of the Conan O’Brien Era, Ranked, Medium. Includes ALF.
The Thirty: Every Team’s Ideal Home Run Derby Contestant, MLB.com. I would love to see Tyler O’Neill in this.
PODCASTS
Grierson & Leitch, we discussed “Luca,” “The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard,” “Fatherhood” and “The Sparks Brothers.”
Seeing Red, Bernie and I had an inspired, angry show about how bad the Cardinals are.
Waitin' Since Last Saturday, no show this week.
LONG STORY YOU SHOULD READ THIS MORNING … OF THE WEEK
“The Glorious, Timeless Simplicity of The Fast and the Furious,” Shea Serrano, The Ringer.
I am not one of those people who are in love with this franchise, but this is the best possible defense of that first movie. Shea is the best.
ARBITRARY THINGS RANKED, WITHOUT COMMENT, FOR NO PARTICULAR REASON
Masks I Wore During the Pandemic
All other ones.
ONGOING LETTER-WRITING PROJECT!
I am sorry I have fallen behind on these. I have a lot of bookplates! I will return! They are piling up, but once I get the bookplates done, we’ll get caught up.
I promise. Keep writing. I will get caught up!
Write me at:
Will Leitch
P.O. Box 48
Athens GA 30603
CURRENTLY LISTENING TO
“Song For The Dead,” Queens of the Stone Age. I know people love to make fun of Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters, but I could not believe how envious I was of those people who went to their show at Madison Square Garden last week. I will always have a soft spot for Grohl, not just because of Nirvana but because the guy does seem to genuinely, passionately love this shit. Watch him play the drums on this great Queens of the Stone Age song. That’s a guy who has found his place in the world.
Remember to listen to The Official Will Leitch Newsletter Spotify Playlist, featuring every song ever mentioned in this section.
My son Wynn sent a letter to his friend Charlie from his camp two weeks ago that just arrived this week. Here is that letter:
In case you can’t read his immaculate handwriting, that says, “Hey, Charlie, how’s your butt doing?” (He says the drawings are of butts, but “I kept screwing the butts up.”
Have a great weekend, everyone. Be safe out there.
Best,
Will