Marty, meet Svetlana. Svetlana? Marty. You’re both having a difficult time with the plague, and I’ve watched both of your short films about what it’s like to be in stir for weeks while listening to the tick of the grandfather clock.

I have to be honest — I like Svetlana’s lament a tiny bit more. Sad, melancholy, daydreamy. Marty’s is more on the level of “Henry Fonda, I feel your Wrong Man pain” plus a little “how long until we can get moving again?” Oh, and I was horrified that Marty shot himself in vertical portrait mode at the very beginning.

I only know that for one brief shining moment in Mexico (Wednesday morning to Thursday afternoon), Tatyana and I were in a place that felt mostly free of the Covid blahs. We took walks on the beach without masks. At dusk we ate on an outdoor terrace overlooking the Pacific. The briney aroma was wonderful. The water was too cold to swim without a wetsuit, but I splashed around. The usual precautions were taken. Some wore masks, others didn’t. And now we’re back in WeHo.