It's not an easy way to say "no" to a Zoom meeting.

●From @thejoelstein: when every email arrived canceling another event during this crisis, I had the same feeling: relief. Why did I ever agree with those speeches, committees, lunches, and meetings?

● I realized the only reason I had ever done anything was that other people were doing things, and I’m competitive. Suddenly, there was nothing to do. And though some people thought that I was lonely, I was definitely not. I was actually going to do all the stuff I 'd like to do, such as learning English, cooking, working out, and being an American history teacher. The only one who was bored was a 10-year-old boy in my house who was hearing about civil service reform.

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● Four days into my cleared calendar, however, a problem emerged. Not boredom. Not a lack of yeast. Something far worse: Zoom.⠀

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● It began when I was invited to the annual meeting, twice a week, at 6 p.m. Sessions to address issues such as home education , political leadership, and remote management of a work team. It was the last thing I was going to do. I signed up immediately. And then when the Los Angeles Public Library asked me to arrange some live online author interviews, I did that, too.⠀

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● Zoom calls combine the worst parts of FaceTime with the worst parts of real meetings. Participants are staring at themselves, wondering if anyone can say that they haven't been showering and yanking their hands away as soon as they reach their mouths. They can't help checking their phones when they get bored on (in?) a call, which is somehow more offensive than when IRL happens.