I chose the show for its name: The days of my life are predictable, monotonous, and underpinned by pandemonium. The truth right now is scarier and stranger than almost every form of fiction, except for one genre: soap operas.Ī few weeks ago, I started following Days of Our Lives. Sometimes there are even cliff-hangers, like when the reality-TV-host president suggested he might just go ahead and send people back to work by Easter, and see you next press conference.
The plot keeps swallowing its own tail the curve balls keep coming. After however many weeks of the pandemic, my brain has primed itself to accept wild pieces of information: a lawmaker arguing we must sacrifice grandparents on the altar of capitalism a nation panic-buying bidets pangolins (possibly) bringing down the world economy. I do not have much disbelief left to suspend. Photo-Illustration: by The Cut Photos: Getty Images, NBC/Peter Dazeley
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