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    Our FIVE. OH! TOO... newsletter is sent out every Friday and posted here every Monday. Subscribe here. View past newsletters here.


    “House key, wallet.” — me
    “Don’t forget our masks.” — Miles, my three-year-old, as we headed out the door to walk to the coffee shop down the street



    1. Today is the last day at Louisville Magazine for my friend and colleague Anne Marshall, who has returned home to California and will be attending UC Berkeley’s Graduate School of Journalism. I still remember the day in 2011 when she became my favorite writer (and I don’t just mean in Louisville). She was working at LEO and had written a story about Ohio Valley Wrestling, with this simile in the opener: “Three battered men slide off a sky-blue mat like melted butter.” I read everything she wrote for LEO, often passing off my copy to Louisville Magazine’s editor or publisher at the time. I told them Anne was the one to hire if we ever had an opening.
                She started at the magazine more than seven years ago, with an essay in June 2013 about returning to work as a new mother. Last week, I had one of my best days (or was it the only good day?) of 2020 as I paged through her complete Louisville Magazine canon, which I like to call “The cANNEon.” She has written about redlining and its ugly legacy; middle school dances; the razing of public-housing complexes and the ensuing fear of gentrificationhomelessness among JCPS students; Black teens being charged as adults more often than their white counterparts; why Louisville’s eviction rate is about double the national average; billiards buddies Don, Don, Don, Don and Dave; and I could do this all day.
                She interviewed centenarians, one of whom revealed her secret to longevity: garlic, onions and a shot of scotch in the evening. In February 2015, Anne revisited her days as a TV news reporter at WAVE, writing this about WDRB anchor Sterling Riggs: “That face is too perfect. Monsanto perfect. I recollect some video I watched about newborns preferring pretty, well-proportioned faces. I feel like Riggs could push that theory one step further. Next time my two-year-old rages toddler wild, I’ve got to see if Riggs’ headshot has soothing powers.”
                The best magazine writing has what Anne describes as “intimate details,” which sometimes only make it into a reporter’s notebook after months and months of reporting. Whenever I speak to college or high school classes, I mention Anne’s February 2017 cover story about the city’s explosive surge in gun violence. She wrote, “The first time Demi visited her dad’s gravesite, she pushed her little pink princess stroller, a blond baby doll strapped in for a couple loops around headstones. She played on the hills. Just as her dad had done some 13 years ago. ‘If we give daddy’s boo-boo a Band-Aid, will he get up?’ she asked.”
                At this magazine, these kinds of stories will forever be known as an Anne, no matter the author.


    2. Here’s senior editor Dylon Jones on getting a COVID test:
    The coughing started a couple days after I visited the nursing home. I hadn’t gone inside. That’s prohibited. I only dropped off a TV for my mother, whom I haven’t seen since she entered the hospital after a fall months ago. No visitors allowed there, either.
                I did come into close contact with an employee as I handed over her 50-inch flat screen, though. And several workers and a few residents had recently tested positive. Mom’s slew of tests all came back negative, thank God. But I live in a constant state of fear that a place meant to help her is going to infect her with a disease that, for a 60-year-old stroke survivor, could prove deadly. So I did for everyone in my mother’s vulnerable state what I hope anyone else feeling a tickle in their throat would do for her: I isolated even more strictly than I had since March, contacted my doctor and set up a test.
                If you projected a scene from the movie Contagion onto a copy of Stephen King’s The Stand, you’d come close to capturing the feeling of turning over two lanes of traffic into U of L’s triage testing site at a parking lot off Brook Street downtown. Lanes of traffic cones and barriers snaked along the weed-cracked asphalt toward a long, narrow, almost Brutalist structure with tinted windows, obviously abandoned and of unobvious purpose. Signs instructed drivers to keep their windows rolled up, and I hacked through my mask in the summer heat — my car’s A/C a distant memory.
                I pulled up to the stop sign next to a person so decked out in scrubs and smock and mask and face shield I can only describe them as surgical gauze given human form. They checked my ID through the glass, but then had me crack the window to receive some literature about the virus. I tossed it into the back floorboard, wondering what invisible predators its pages might harbor.
                The human gauze set a Ziploc bag containing, I assumed, a testing kit on my windshield and ushered me toward the vaguely Soviet edifice. I rolled my window down to speak with another medical mummy. It’ll only take a couple seconds, they intoned, but this might make your eyes water.
                I’m not trying to sound tough, but genuinely encouraging: This test is no big deal. Do not avoid it out of fear of discomfort. A brief sensation like you’re about to sneeze, but can’t. I have a worse time with tongue depressors.
                They said they’d call in two or three days if the test was positive. A negative result in my online health profile confirmed my relief a couple days later. My only ailment is living in the Ohio River Valley. For now, mom and I are both COVID-free.
                As I pulled out of the lot, I glanced at the car behind me, the nurse reaching in with her long cotton swab, and then at the heavy traffic in front of me. Each vehicle carried possible vectors of a contagion that has already breached my mother’s residence. How many degrees of separation between them and my mom?

    — DJ


    3. Breonna Taylor is on the cover of O, the first time the cover hasn’t featured Oprah in the magazine’s 20-year history. Last night, in the first game of the NBA’s resurrected season, former U of L player Donovan Mitchell had “Say Her Name” on the back of his Utah Jazz jersey.


    4. The C-J’s Dana McMahan interviewed Larry Rice from the Pearl and the Silver Dollar and wrote, “According to Rice, it’s looking like 18 to 24 months before there’s a scenario where restaurants and bars can return to 100 percent capacity. And in that time, we should expect to see many more places shutter. ‘I think I’m being optimistic to say that we’ll probably lose 40 percent,’ he said.”


    5. And now some Burgoo, aka an emptying of the roadkill stew that is our monthly inbox.
    Wear a mask. // Jack Harlow scored a nomination for Best New Artist at the VMAs. // Starting Monday, the Kentucky Science Center will be open seven days a week. // The Leadership Louisville Center named the 54 people in its 42nd Leadership Louisville Class.  // Sorry, but you missed National Lasagna Day on Wednesday. // The female addax born May 8 at the Louisville Zoo is named Jira.  // Tawana Bain has founded the nonprofit Global Economic Diversity Development Initiative. // Wear a mask. // “Calling all cat lovers!” // Management changes at Logan Street Market. // The Kentucky Derby Festival, with vocalist Jason Clayborn, released a tribute video to KDF GospelFest. // New book: Writing Appalachia. // New children’s book: Time to Roar // UPS donated 17,000 PPE masks to the city. // That one event was canceled. // So was that other one. // Bernheim has a new education director.  // A restaurant called Swizzle will open next month on the 25th floor of the Galt House. // Lots of people working from home, lots of vacant downtown offices. // Do wear that mask. // Revelry Boutique Gallery has been in business 10 years. // Jeri Swinton, longtime CEO of Big Brothers Big Sisters of Kentuckiana, has announced her retirement. // And WFPK host Duke Meyer announced his semi-retirement.  // Board and You Bistro and Wine Bar opened in New Albany. // The Pine Room has a curbside menu, with a reopening planned for Aug. 4.  // Charles Booker has created a new organization called Hood to the Holler. // For real, though: Wear a mask.


    Support for Louisville Magazine comes from the Eye Care Institute, where you can get LASIK surgery. After all, CEO Mark Prussian co-wrote the book One Eye or Two?: Insider Secrets to Help You Choose the Right LASIK Surgeon.



    A little something from the LouMag archive.

    In October 2013, a short piece in the front of the magazine mentioned a billboard campaign funded by the Louisville Metro Police Foundation, “a sort of booster club for local officers.” The foundation’s director said the goal was to show police how much the community appreciates them in a “trendy” visual campaign, with locals such as archbishop Joseph Kurtz, the Rev. Kevin Cosby and Mayor Greg Fischer flashing the rock-on hand salute. There was also a video.


    Without quarantine, I wouldn’t have been able to take a break in the workday to help my six-year-old conquer her fear on her Frozen bike with matching helmet, streamers flying from the handlebars in the Barret Middle School parking lot. This newsletter slow clap goes to all the kids who’ve learned how to ride a bike without training wheels during the pandemic.



    Josh Moss
    editor, Louisville Magazine


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