Following the dramedy of sports during Covid-19 is much more interesting than the games that haven’t been played might have been. Take, for example, the recent news about the NBA player who was photographed at a gentleman’s club after having been permitted to leave the league’s Orlando bubble for “personal reasons”. It doesn’t get more personal than that.

I, months ago, gave up on any dreams of socializing, in any manner, but have developed a craving for other forms of sustenance, namely one kind of food or another. And, though I’m pretty sure I’m not pregnant, based on researching Web MD, the urges are strong, and yesterday, I may have finally hit rock bottom.

Relying upon the wisdom of Phil Connors that “anything different is good” I bought, and actually ate, a fake milk vegan soft serve (made in a lab using genetically engineered yeast programmed with DNA to produce the same proteins found in cow’s milk, by scientists who might otherwise have spent their time curing cancer), covered with morsels that in shape and coloring, but I assure you not taste, resembled chocolate chips.

At least, unlike the basketball player, I wore a mask while making my purchase, and so should be safe from being outed on social media (since no one outside China actually reads this blog), though, unfortunately, Amazon only carries stomach pumps for fish and horses.