Let’s get one thing straight. There’s nothing funny about Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome itself. I should know. I spent the opening days of the global pandemic in a panic. I thought I had it. So as I write this diary, I beg indulgence. I’m not laughing at SARS. But sometimes—given the antics of hypochondriacs like myself and panicky government and United Nations types—laughter is not only an appropriate response, it’s mandatory like a Singapore quarantine order. If not a belly laugh that spreads upward and makes your cheeks ache, then a good giggle or a smile or two. It may not be a cure for SARS, but it helped with my paranoia, at least.
