Thoughts during the apocalypse, Part One.

I'm sitting at the computer and mixing board inside what I like to call "Fulton Pond Studios," but it's actually just the dining room of my house, in which I never dine. This is where "The Owner's Box" comes from, although there have been two among the 16 episodes thus far that have been recorded at remote sites.

That, I assume, will be put on hold for a while. Nobody is supposed to go anywhere during the panic caused by the COVID-19 pandemic, but I'm trying to connect with potential guests through Skype or some new gimmicky whatzis that I just ordered from Amazon and should be here soon. And yes, I am still making daily treks to the Starbucks at Forbes Boulevard in Foxboro because there ain't no germ that's going to come between me and my coffee, no sir-ee.

Manning the board inside Fulton Pond Studios.

By the way, it's been nine days since what may have been my most likely opportunity to breathe in the coronavirus. I was at the TD Garden for the Mansfield vs. Lynn English boys' basketball game in the MIAA Tournament, and there was a significant crowd there in the lower section of the arena. I was in a luxury box quite a bit removed from the masses, but I'm assuming that we're banning large gatherings because distance doesn't make a lot of difference. And I came back the next night for the Foxboro girls' game against North Reading, rinse and repeat.

So far, the body temperature has stayed within a range of 96.0 and 97.4 (that's normal for me, as I am a cool customer in every sense of the word). I don't have headaches. I'm no more sleepy than usual (and in my retirement from print journalism, I have been a sleep glutton to make up for all those 18-hour days of the past). I can hold my breath for up to 60 seconds without coughing, and I don't cough when I take a breath. And the aches and pains apparently are what's normal for a 66-year-old who's carrying too much weight and has already damaged most of his joints over that time.

But aside from the Starbucks trips, I'm social-distancing -- which is kind of normal for me. One notable exception was on Tuesday, when I took a ride to a desolated Gillette Stadium and checked in with my long-time friend, Lisa Edwards of the NFL Network, who was practically alone within the home of the Patriots as the news about Tom Brady's departure broke.

You can listen to us talk about the visit on Episode 16 of my podcast, the links to which can be found here on the website. As you will hear, it had a very eerie quality to it -- Lisa emerging from the media workroom and walking up to the blue steel fence that separates the rabble from the inner sanctum to chat with me. If you've ever seen the movie "Red Dawn," the scene that came to mind was when Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen speak through a chain-link fence to their father (played by Harry Dean Stanton), who's detained inside a concentration camp set up outside their hometown by the Soviet invaders. The only thing missing was me yelling "Avenge me-e-e-e-e-e!" to Lisa as she walked away at the conclusion of our conversation.

I've seen some weird things, even though I haven't ventured far from my hometown. One of the strangest was the sight of people filling their shopping carts with what little available toilet paper there was inside the Mansfield Stop & Shop, and looking cross-eyed at me for looking at them. Of course, they may have noticed the disapproving look on my face. So what!

I have probably 12 rolls of TP here at the homestead. Even though I am a prodigious pooper, those should last me into May. It's just me here, so that cuts down the demand, but seriously, I felt no need to race around the county looking for untapped caches of TP. And if worse comes to worse, my thanks to Mom and Dad for having the foresight to install a bidet in the bathroom back in 1985. I still struggle at using it without the spritz of water splashing off my chin, but if I have to, I'll get the hang of it.

As for hand sanitizer, well, I can thank my own natural forgetfulness for keeping my supply well-stocked. So many times I'd go out with a friend who demands clean hands in her presence, and I'd forget to bring a small, refillable, trial-size bottle with me. So I'd stop at a CVS and grab a pack of three small bottles and bring them along, and then pile them up on a dresser in my bedroom. As a result, I have gallons of the stuff -- and it was hoarded long before anyone had ever heard the word "corona" without thinking of a Mexican beer or an old typewriter.

Still, it is boring here. I'm in contact with a lot of friends via social media and I've not heard of any infection among them yet. I really hope it stays that way. I'm a lousy cook, too, so I'm going to take a risk and order takeout for tomorrow night from the restaurant to which I've linked at the left-hand side of the web-page version of this blog. Please check it out, and if you live near Boston or don't mind the ride (should be less traffic), help keep my friend Jen Royle in business until all this blows over and we return to normalcy. And after that as well.

OK, enough rambling. Got to make a salad, or a hot dog, or something. This could be good for me if I lose 55 pounds or so over the next two weeks (ha! As if!).

Please stay safe. Don't think about Mookie Betts, or Tom Brady, or Chris Sale's Tommy John surgery. Listen to my podcasts to while away the hours. And wash your hands!