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7 Ways To Be Safe On Beaches During The Covid-19 Coronavirus Pandemic

7 Ways To Be Safe On Beaches During The Covid-19 Coronavirus Pandemic

On the beaches in La Grande Motte, southern France, they’s marked out social distancing zones to … [+] limit the possible spread of the Covid-19 coronavirus. (Photo by CLEMENT MAHOUDEAU/AFP via Getty Images)

Is this Memorial Day weekend going to be a bit of a beach for you? If so, keep in mind that there’s this thing called the Covid-19 coronavirus still spreading. You may have heard about it on the news in between all those reports about the Covid-19 coronavirus. Therefore, just because some beaches may be re-opening doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t take the following seven precautions:

1. Keep social distancing.

Treat everyone like they were wearing thongs and had major flatulence problems. That is, keep your distance, at least six feet away if not further from everyone else. After all, despite the wind, sun, and waves, don’t forget that the Covid-19 coronavirus may still be around:

Plus, there may be other reasons why you want to keep your distance from others:

Also, consider wearing a mask or other facial covering to protect others from you in case you are infected but don’t know it. Yes, it may not seem to go with your swimsuit unless you happened to use the same fabric but people will like you for your insides right?

2. Take reasonable precautions with the water.

You may be at relatively low risk of catching the virus through the water, as I covered previously for Forbes. Even though the virus may be able to survive in the water, the motion of the ocean can dilute the concentration of the virus fairly quickly. Nonetheless, take appropriate precautions. Continue to keep your distance from others when you are in the water, especially when one of those others is actively having diarrhea in the water. Typically, active diarrhea is not a come hither sign. And for Pete’s sake, and everyone else’s, don’t drink ocean water.

3. Be careful with public areas and objects.

Plan ahead. Try to minimize what you need to touch. For example, consider emptying things out before you go to the beach so that you don’t have to use the public restroom. In this case, “things” doesn’t mean your fanny pack but instead means your bladder and your colon.

4. Avoid touching your face and wash your hands frequently.

That song by The Weeknd “Can’t Feel My Face” applies here as well. Don’t touch that Jupiter-sized thing that sits atop your neck with unwashed hands. Wash your hands frequently and thoroughly.

5. Don’t drown.

“Except for drowning, it was a good trip to the beach,” is not something that people will typically say. Social distancing doesn’t mean stay as far away from the lifeguard as possible. Be extra cautious as the beach may be understaffed so that you may not be rescued as readily should you get into trouble.

6. Protect your skin from the sun.

Staying inside all this time may have left your skin a bit like uncooked dough and thus even more sensitive to sun exposure. Cover up your exposed parts with sunscreen but do it yourself. This is not the time to ask a stranger to put some lotion on you.

7. Follow the bleeping rules.

Check the beach’s rules in advance. Be aware of the opening and closing times. Getting arrested for being on the beach when you are not supposed to be there will ruin a beach trip. Some beaches will not allow out-of-state visitors. So check what state you are in and compare it to what it says on your driver’s license. If wearing a mask is required, cover your face. Do it for other people. Refusing to cover your face does not prove your independence or your masculinity. It just proves that you are not Batman.

Again, just because beaches are re-opening doesn’t mean that it is time to lose all control. You are going to the beach, not invading Normandy.


Author: Bruce Y. Lee



Digital on the rise but land-based COVID struggle sees Aristocrat profit fall 12.8% in 1H20

Australian slot machine giant Aristocrat Leisure Limited reported a 12.8% decline in net profit after tax and before amortization to AU$368.1 million and 7.7% fall in EBITDA to AU$707.6 million in the six months to 31 March 2020 as COVID-19…


Author: by Ben Blaschke

Columnists Archives - Page 9 of 350

Columnists Archives – Page 9 of 350


Author: Obadiah Mailafia - The home of competitive Counter-Strike – The home of competitive Counter-Strike

OneTwoThree, we cant win bo3.

Third tournament in a row for iG or first real tournament in the history of OneThree?

Will be not surprised if 13 will win this like 2-1 with a zigzag scenario

BETWAY just this dont need to prolong

Ez for IG LUL. GOGO IG <3 GOGO IG <3

Childking? What kind of nick is that? Pedo…

that was the key round, no way for 13 to win now sadly

Yeah, 13-16 fake comeback

IG won me so much money . VIVA THE GOAT

iG literally had to change their whole roster

I forgot how much clown fiesta chingchong cs is


Just every round they buy full nades and not use them. Just rush.


Author: addicted_to_csgo

Coronavirus Poems to the Editor: ‘Death Too Wears a Mask’

Coronavirus Poems to the Editor: ‘Death Too Wears a Mask’

In the Time of Plague

We keep indoors.
When we dare to venture out
We are cautious. Our neighbors
Smile, but in their eyes there is
Reserve and suspicion.
They keep their distance,
As we do ours, in mute accord.
Much of our fear is unspoken,
For there is at last the weight of custom,
The tender of rote consolation.
We endure thoughts of demise
And measure the distance of death.
Death too wears a mask.
But consider, there may well be good
In our misfortune if we can find it. It is
Hidden in the darkness of our fear.
But discover it and see that it is hope
And more; it is the gift of opportunity.
We have the rare chance to prevail,
To pose a resolution for world renewal.
We can be better than we have ever been.
We can improve the human condition.
We can imagine, then strive to realize,
Our potential for goodness and morality.
We can overcome pestilence, war and poverty.
We can preserve our sacred purpose. We can
Determine who we are in our essential nature
And who we can be. We are committed to this end
For our own sake and for the sake of those
Who will come after us. There is a better future,
And we can secure it. Let us take up the task, and
Let us be worthy of our best destiny.
Santa Fe, N.M.
The writer is a novelist as well as a poet and won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1969 for “House Made of Dawn.”

Working From Home

I remember the days when I’d speculate
That working from home would simply be great.
No need for the car, the tie and the suit,
No need, ever again, for that daily commute.
I could work in my jammies, or wear nothing at all
And never once worry ’bout the boss down the hall.
I’d only dress up when I’d be meeting on Zoom
Then I’d just have to clean a little part of the room.
And how great it would be with no one to watch
As I took a nip, now and then, from my bottle of Scotch.
But now that it’s happened, my dream hasn’t come true
’Cuz working from home is like life at the zoo.
A big cage of monkeys couldn’t be any worse.
The noise and congestion drive me to curse.
With everyone here there’s no peace and quiet.
It’s not at all what I thought when I wanted to try it.
Alas, working from home, I get nothing done.
And what’s even worse — it’s not that much fun.
Now I yearn for the days when I went off to work.
Working from home, it turns out, was the dream of a jerk.
Austin, Texas

The Soul Selects Her Social Distance

The pandemic has prompted me to consider how Emily Dickinson might feel about social distancing.

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door.
She keeps her social distance of
Six feet or more.
Unmoved, she notes the careless crowd
Outside her gate;
Unmoved, she notes the feckless folk
Still tempting fate.
I’ve known her from those foolish people
Choose none
Then turn her mind to friends she’s meeting
By phone.
Providence, R.I.

The Before Times

Before we were living in a pandemic, we went to lunch with
our friends in restaurants & slurped soup with crackers
we crushed with our bare fingers, our ordinary fingers
that did not ignite terror, that were not vectors of disease.

Before the days of self-isolation, shopping was just another chore,
sometimes a pleasure, a stroll through Costco sampling
from little paper cups protein bars & chocolate candies &
popcorn & potato chips, strolling & sampling & buying
big bags of broccoli & spinach & Asian cashew salad
& giant containers of gourmet cheese & yes, toilet paper.

The Before Times have receded deep into memory as if
all of that happened ten, no, twenty years ago
when we lived in another land of freedom & movement
& laughter & hugging & sitting in each other’s
living rooms, living, alive, chatting for hours without
measuring the social distance, without wearing N95
surgical masks or nitrile gloves, without anxious fear.

Now we are living in another land, frightened & confused,
our minds always tasked with remembering to wash our hands,
not touch our faces, not touch packages or mail without
gloves & Clorox wipes & yes, remembering to worry,
as if anxious worry could create a high wall surrounded by a moat
of reeking & fuming disinfectant to keep us safe in this new land
of contamination & fever & suffocation & death.

We must not forget the Before Times, when we could touch
doorknobs, doorbells, the mail, U.P.S. packages, restaurant tabletops,
colleagues’ keyboards, other people’s hands, our own faces.
We must not forget dinner parties, book groups, political rallies,
concerts, movies, worship services, protests, weddings, funerals.
In the Before Times we shared our joys & sorrows together.

Will we ever live together again?
Salt Lake City


The weeks go by, the fourth, the fifth,
And normalcy’s become a myth.
I want to hug, I want to hold,
I want this deadly scourge controlled.
I want to walk amidst a crowd.
I want to lift this morbid shroud.
I sit, sequestered in my home,
And yearn to mingle, travel, roam.
My energy is out of whack —
I want my normal problems back.
Brookline, Mass.

Virus Angst

Do I have it? Do I not?
How do I know what I’ve got?
My temperature is 99,
A teeny more, but I feel fine.
I think I’m fine, that is to say,
But am I, maybe, just OK?
Is my throat a little dry?
Or is it scratchy? If so, why?
If I conclude that it is scratchy,
Does it mean that I am catchy?
My nose is runny, that’s not new,
But much more than it used to do.
I think. Perhaps it’s just a cold,
Or maybe part of getting old.
It’s also true that I am tired,
But then I also feel I’m wired.
Maybe I should take a rest?
Or could I, should I, take the test?
I’m ready for all outdoor tasks,
With Clorox wipes and gloves and masks.
But still I’m clueless and cannot
Begin to guess just what I’ve got.

My Own Pet

In deference to the pandemic
I have become my own pet.
I eat and poop and pee, and
once a day I take myself
out for a walk in the woods.
If I see other humans
when I am out in the world
I keep myself away from them.
They say that I don’t bite,
but you can’t be too careful.
Apparently I am spoiled:
I get way too many treats,
and at home I just eat and sleep
and play with all my
electronic toys and try
to learn some new tricks,
even though I am an old dog.
And, with some resistance,
I occasionally get a bath.
Chelsea, Mich.

A Quiet Spring in a Town Between Cities

the town is all but abandoned as if it had died
yet somehow white and pink flowers have exploded on trees all around
green early buds hang on all the bushes
the sky is a soft blue as clouds go lazily about their way
nature is having a celebration while men, women and children hide indoors
or walk short distances in fearful small groupings of those with whom they are isolated
yet in the long pull of human history not so out of the ordinary
we have known this for thousands of years
people running from the ravages of disease
that would lick their insides like taking a meal
and cause their guts to spill out
into graves of freshly dug earth
we have known this
but we denied blithely
fully ignorant of our mortality
we thought we were immune
the town is all but silent at times
especially in the evenings after meal time
everyone hides
this is the only time
in living memory
when your neighbor might kill you
just by saying hello
Olney, Md.


We have a virus of uncertainty and fear.
We have a virus of shortages and gun sales.
We have a virus of jobs lost and rent unpaid.
We have a virus of talking heads and false knowledge
I have a virus of canceled evenings — canceled days.
Calendar emptied, free from the inertia of saying yes.
Destination home. Thoughts wander.
Choices removed. Freedom gained.
We kill the virus with questions.
We kill the virus with challenged truths.
We kill the virus with kindness.
We kill the virus with patience.


Grappling with our physical reality, I give you a haircut
Out on the back porch I’m reminded
of all the twenty-dollar Super Cuts
I long ago disparaged.
Then a decade of pricey trims
that kept your balding pate in style.
Now it’s me you’re left with.
You stand a step below to level us
and explain: start at the nape, you say,
slowly so it doesn’t yank. Fade
to the top, then bottom up with the 2-blade.
I hold the taloned guard, flip
the tiny switch that makes it quiver.
Someone in your younger years pulled
her fingers through your hair —
With no one else to pass this way,
we leave the trimmings where they fall
and go inside for a hand of cards.
The birds are wild now, scissoring
through the April air. No doubt
they’ll find this treasure.

The Silence

I am the sound of children crying.
I am what makes you tremble and shiver in your bed late at night.
I am the blackness you see when you close your eyes.
I am the wolf hunting you down in a dark forest.
I am the majestic yet treacherous mountains high up with the clouds.
I am the rose you want to pluck but can’t because my thorns are sharp like knives.
I am the moonlight that shines at night.
I am the nightmares you run from.
I am the blizzard that will wipe you out.
I am the waves pulling you under.
I am the North Star shining bright in the dark blue sky above.
I am as sweet as sugar with the ones I love.
I am bitter like a million lemons with the ones who have hurt me or my loved ones.
I am the silence growing louder in your ears.
I am me,
I am who I am meant to be,
I am who I want to be.
I am me.
Walnut Creek, Calif.
The writer, age 10, is a fourth grader.

Source: NYT


Author: by NewsColony


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