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Friday, March 29, 2024

The Hobbies and Products Getting Us Through Quarantine

There's nothing like a global pandemic to make you reckon with the way you spend your time. You can only tolerate so much Netflix streaming and doomscrolling before you're forced to look into other ways to distract yourself.

Here at WIRED, our interests are varied, and thanks to the current state of the universe, our hobbies are only getting weirder. Right now we're very into outdoor gear, new ways to cook old favorites, and a copious amount of musical instruments. Here are some of the things we've fallen for while sheltering in place.

Be sure to check out some of our other advice-filled articles about how to make quarantine more bearable, like phone games for social distancing, ways to stay relaxed, and our favorite YouTube channels.

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Roller Skating

As far as quarantine hobbies go, I was a little late to the game. I waited too long to find yeast for bread making. I was too intimidated by dalgona coffee. At-home hair dyeing was already a staple in my routine. Then, somehow, I hit a stroke of luck, and after failing to find a pair online, I ordered some roller skates through a local rink. I (figuratively) dove headfirst into YouTube channels like this one, strapped on wrist guards and a helmet, and teetered my way around my driveway. Come to find out, I didn’t need baking or another way to ingest caffeine to feel good. I needed roller skating.

WIRED has a full skating guide in the works, but for my first pair, I went with $220 Sure-Grip Boardwalks, and they’ve become my clattery pals that I tote from parking lot to parking lot. The skates have supple boots and flexible footplates that allow for artistic movement, so once I can figure out how to stop falling on my butt every few minutes, I’ll be able to strut around like TikTok royalty. This isn’t about one particular brand of skates, though; if you can manage to find a pair, pick them up and take the plunge. Skating’s great for your body, but more importantly, it’ll help clear your head. I liken it to taking a hot shower or a long drive. When I’m zooming around, for those few moments I’m upright, it’s like the rest of the world (and my panic-driven thoughts) can’t catch up with me. It's cheesy, but as long as you’re OK with getting back up again, it doesn’t matter how many times you fall. —Louryn Strampe

Kindle Apps

When I was a kid, I read voraciously. My natural habitat was sitting in a corner with my nose buried in a book, a stack of five yet-to-be-read novels at my side. You can probably guess the rest of the story: I grew up, spent more time on Twitter and less time in the library, and “just couldn’t find the time” to pick up a book.

Quarantine has given most of us time in abundance. A few weeks in, I got tired of screens and constant push notifications about the latest nightmarish virus updates. I re-downloaded the Kindle app, put my phone on “Do not disturb”, and started tearing through racy romance novels. It was like something reignited. I spent my lunch breaks with Claire Fraser and Aelin Galathynius instead of bad-news Facebook and worse-news Twitter. Yes, technically, reading using the Kindle app on my phone is still staring at a screen. But this time, the screen didn’t feel like a prison. It felt like an escape. The Kindle app is free for Mac OS, Windows, iOS, and Android devices. —Louryn Strampe

Knitting

When I got a Shit That I Knit kit in March, I was hoping I would be a natural, emerging from quarantine with freshly knitted sweaters, crop tops, and short sets. Unfortunately, I just have a pile of variously sized rectangles that I sometimes try to pass off onto my cats as clothing, without much success. The lack of talent or patience to actually learn more than the basic steps is on me, not the kit, and I’m still extremely happy I found knitting at just the right time. Even before we were programmed to pick up and scroll through our phones at any moment of downtime, I was a fidgeter, always needing to do something with my hands. The craft forces me to keep my mind on something other than what’s happening outside and my hands on something other than my phone. And with no end currently in sight, who knows, maybe I’ll still make that sweater after all. —Medea Giordano

Zojirushi NS-LGC05XB

We've had the same rice cooker in my house for about a decade, a hand-me-down gifted by a fellow WIRED employee long ago. I make rice at least twice a week, so it's gotten a lot of use over those years and gathered some tremendous karma along the way. After the shelter-in-place order caused my rice consumption to jump from two meals a week to five or six, I started itching for an upgrade. Nothing wrong with the old one, I just peeked at what else was out there and realized how much rice cookers have evolved. I went with the popular choice: the Zojirushi NS-LGC05XB. It has discrete settings for different kinds of rice, multiple warming modes, and (this is huge) a timer, so I can just tell it what time I want to eat and it makes sure the rice is ready for me on the minute. It's pricey ($140 if you can find it on Amazon), but it's half the size of the ancient 'Rushi it replaced, and it's filled with an infinite number of features. The old machine—with its simple two-function Cook/Keep Warm switch and its white shell faded to a yellowish cream color—is heading to the house of a friend, where with a little luck, it will bubble and hiss its way through the next six or seven presidential administrations, probably outliving all of us. —Michael Calore

Korg C1 Air

When quarantine first started, I reacted the same way as everyone else—frantically trying to keep up with work and childcare, eating too many Cheez-Its, and doomscrolling the internet. After my parents noticed that I’d posted a few too many acerbic Facebook comments, they called and said they were sending me a digital piano. Nooo! Mom! I don’t want a piano!

But I guess I did. The Korg C1 Air is a truly exceptional instrument. (It has a price to match: $1,450.) It sounds and feels exactly like my old analog piano, but it’s less than 12 inches deep and is small enough to fit inside my 1,000-square-foot apartment. There are so many things I can’t do in quarantine— go rock-climbing, go to a concert, go to a bar with my friends. But I took piano lessons from 6 to 18, and it turns out I can still play pop songs from the Simply Piano app, over and over again. It provides hours-long, meditative, multisensory distraction. Like doing puzzles, but with old Billy Joel songs. Looks like Mom was right again. —Adrienne So

Orangewood Guitar

About a month before 2020 went from just another year to, well, 2020, I decided to write a guide to prepping for the perfect road trip. Among the things I tested was an Orangewood guitar, specifically the Oliver Jr. model. After all, no road trip is complete without some terrible cover songs around the campfire. The Orangewood is the perfect travel guitar—small, portable, and not too expensive at under $400.

It sounds great too, even if I never ended up taking it on the road. Instead, it helped me get through staying at home. I am not a very visual person, so losing myself in television and movies doesn't work for me, but music? That's what got me through my misspent youth. Every time I picked up that Orangewood and strummed a few bars of Johnny Thunder's "I'm Alive," which somehow felt like the perfect song for March 2020, I felt that dissolution of self that I think we all crave in stressful times. Whatever the case, the Orangewood rocks, and it's reasonably priced enough that I ended up buying another one for my daughter. —Scott Gilbertson

Klos Carbon Fiber Ukulele

It’s been a rough couple of weeks. Months. You know what I mean. I’ve been bouncing between hobbies and projects to keep myself busy, starting something only to abandon it a couple days later so I can move on to the next thing that’s caught my eye. Each time, I’m seeking just the right amount of escape from the constant low-grade panic of living through a pandemic. Nothing stuck, so I reached for music. I picked up where I left off as a moody teen, picking my way through “Come As You Are,” by Nirvana, and the Animals’ iconic version of “House of the Rising Sun,” but most days it felt like work. I was too present.

While working on another article, a carbon-fiber ukulele from Klos Guitars ($644) almost literally fell into my lap. I figured I’d check it out, but I’ve never played uke before. Piano, mandolin, guitar, and a doomed foray into violin, but never the cheery little ukulele. I started playing it by accident. I struck the strings when I pulled it out of its gig bag and just kind of stared at it. OK, that was a nice sound. Now it’s a week later and I spend at least an hour, usually more, with that little thing cradled to my chest. I’ve had plenty of bad days since, but each time, sitting with this little instrument and just stepping back from myself has helped. To play well, I need to let go and stop trying to remember chords and fingering. I need to take a breath and just let my hands pick and strum their way through “Riptide” or “Ocean Eyes.” It’s meditative in a way that I’ve never experienced with an instrument before.

And since this one is carbon fiber, it could also survive getting run over by a car, which is a plus. —Jess Grey

Soft Fabric Gaming Chair

At the end of the day, after eight working hours nailed to my office chair, I do the one thing my throbbing lower back wants me to do the least: sit there for four more hours playing videogames. There isn’t much else to do in quarantine, but try telling that to my screaming nervous system.

The idea of buying a gaming chair always felt ridiculous, like purchasing a gaming headset with kitty ears or an alienesque green-lit gaming mouse. Now that I'm flirting with my thirties, the gaming aesthetic is a little embarrassing. At the same time, this is the age when the appeal of words like “ergonomic” and “lumbar support” starts to grow. Arozzi sells an affordable ($350) soft-fabric gaming chair that, while enormous, doesn’t make your office look like the set of Battlestar Galactica. It’s just one color and covered with a fancy-feeling fabric that also covers two well-placed pillows. And if you’ve gained a little weight in quarantine, the seat is still plenty spacious. For better or worse, it makes 12 hours sitting in the same spot completely bearable. Pleasant, even. —Cecilia D'Anastasio

Universal Audio OX

When I’m not gallivanting around on ebikes or testing running socks, I spend a lot of time playing guitar in my basement. Problem is, my favorite guitar amp—a prototype 1965 Fender Bassman Blackface, for the fellow nerds—is 50 watts of pure tube awesomeness. Its thick, creamy tone perfectly compliments my Telecaster guitar, but the volume it takes to do so would be better suited to a small theater. Turn the volume knob past 3 and you’d better be wearing earplugs.

Enter the Universal Audio Ox, my favorite (and at $1,300, my most expensive) purchase of quarantine.

The Ox sits on top of my amp and takes its place in the signal chain between the amp and the speakers. It’s a reactive load attenuator, which essentially means it’s able to make the signal from my beloved amp much quieter without degrading the tonal characteristics that show up when it's cranked. Better still, it’s got a headphone jack and tons of built-in cabinet simulations, so I can use my Bassman at perfect near-breakup volume at 1 am on a Tuesday.

My roommates are stoked, and the cabinet simulations are so good, I barely mic an amp up anymore when recording. It’s even got an app that lets me add compression, EQ, and reverb on the way to my recording software. I just plug the Ox into my interface and get my Bill Frisell on. No volume warnings required. —Parker Hall

Sous Vide

Everyone has some fear about cooking meat, but before quarantine I had a pretty good handle on mine.

In fact, for the longest time, I thought sous vide machines were overkill. Sure, you can make perfectly drippy eggs, and they’re fun for cooking things in marinades, but I’d be lying if I didn’t prefer just throwing my pork chops or chicken thighs in a pan or on the grill. Then I had a nightmare about getting food poisoning during lockdown.

Ever since then, when it’s my turn to cook a weekly meal for my roommates, I’m more fearful than ever about undercooking it. That’s why I’ve started to deeply enjoy borrowing my roommate (and WIRED deals contributor) Brad Bourque’s sous vide wand.

It’s an Anova model ($181) with like three buttons. I initially asked him to help me figure it out, but I quickly realized a literal caveperson could do it. Just vacuum-seal (or ziplock) your marinade, look up whatever temperature J. Kenji López-Alt says is best (he’s always right), and wait.

No more meat thermometers, no more worrying I’m giving my house worms! Oh, and as an added bonus it turns out the pros are right: As long as you’ve got a cast iron pan a pancake-sized dollop of butter to sear it with, sous vided meats are far superior to pan-cooked ones.

Anyway, I’d rather spend the money on one of these than a Thermapen to make sure my meat is cooked. So sous me! —Parker Hall

Yamaha FG830 Acoustic Guitar

I’ve been mainly an electric guitar player since I plugged in my first guitar as a wee high schooler. But when quarantine locked me into solitary confinement in my apartment in mid-March without my amp, I panic-bought a Yamaha FG830 to stave off insanity, my first new acoustic in a decade. I wasn’t sure I’d want to keep playing acoustic once the pandemic abated, so I had to psych myself up even to spend just $320. It took all of two minutes to know it was a damn good buy. Hell, it was probably the best part of 2020 so far (it’s a low bar).

Credit the solid Sitka spruce top for its too-good-for-this-price sound. The top is the most important plank of wood on an acoustic, because it has the biggest effect on its sound. The FG830’s back and side planks are rosewood laminate, not only on the outside but on the inside as well. Nice touch. Scalloped internal bracing gives it a fuller tone than typical bracing. This is construction you just don’t find on acoustics until you step up to $650-800. Especially with the American brands (which, at three-figure prices, are made in Asian factories anyway), you’ll find laminated top planks that stunt the guitar’s tone. No acoustic near the FG830’s price tag stacks up. It sounds wonderful, and the neck plays beautifully.

If $320 pushes your budget, step down to the $200 FG800. It trades the rosewood laminate back and sides for nato wood (Eastern mahogany) laminate, inside and out, but it still has that same sweet top piece of solid Sitka spruce. The FG830 is just a little nicer and bassier for the money. Dreadnought acoustics, like the FG830 and FG800, are big guitars. If you’d prefer a smaller-bodied acoustic or want a more even sound across all strings while fingerpicking (dreadnoughts tend to have louder bass strings), buy the concert-sized FS830. It’s identical in build and price, except that it’s smaller in every dimension, and there’s a cheaper FS800 model, too. If you need a case, the Silver Creek Vintage is the nicest for small money. (Don’t listen to the reviews; it fits the FG830/FG800 just fine.) —Matt Jancer

Ebikes and Electric Scooters

For three whole months this year, I didn't venture anywhere further than 2 miles from my home in Brooklyn. I have yet to take any kind of public transportation (I miss the subway), and I've only taken a single Uber since lockdown started. That was to pick up an electric bike from a faraway bike dealer (this specific model from GoCycle).

Since then, I've gone all the way from Williamsburg to 36th street in midtown Manhattan for a dentist appointment on the ebike. I've actually seen my family (while standing 6 feet apart with a mask outside). I've delivered baked goods like brownies and savory pastries like samosas to friends. It's not just the ebike that's helped me get around. I'm also testing an electric scooter (EcoReco's L5+, which is on sale for $999), and both of these machines have become ways for me to safely travel around and feel some semblance of normalcy. I'll admit, these electric machines are quite expensive—not everyone can just stop using public transportation as I did. But WIRED's Gear team is testing more and more affordable models, so keep a lookout to find something that can hopefully fit your budget if you, too, are wary of public transit during this pandemic. I hope it'll give you the opportunity to feel the joy I've felt these past two months. —Julian Chokkattu

Play Day Deluxe Inflatable Pool

We’re not the first people to have thought of this. Backyard pools and hot tubs have been sold out since the lockdowns started. But the hype is justified. A month ago, I bought an embarrassingly overpriced inflatable pool off eBay. (They're around $100 new.) Every sunny day since then, my 3- and 5-year-old children beg me to set it up after lunch.

You do have to fill it every time with clean water, or else treat the water with chlorine. We also have a small electric pump, and we hooked up an extra hose to our hot water line so our kids don’t freeze to death. This pool has been a lifesaver for getting my children away from the television, outside and running around. Yesterday, they were bobbing around, playing Shark and Minnow, for two hours. Bonus: After dinner, I just squirt some Johnson & Johnson in there and pool time immediately becomes bath time. —Adrienne So

Discursive Meditation

Quarantine is fatal to routine. Perhaps that's why any routine that wasn't disrupted felt so profoundly necessary. For me that was daily meditation. I do what's called discursive meditation, which is different from the "mindfulness" meditation that's common today. Discursive meditation is not about emptying the mind, it's about focused, purposeful thinking. It's sometimes associated with religious practice—I discovered it years ago while reading writer and Trappist monk Thomas Merton—but it doesn't have to be.

If you'd like to give it a try, here are some instructions on how to get started with discursive meditation. You don't need anything but a sturdy chair. Sit comfortably straight up in a chair, not leaning against the back. Keep your feet flat on the floor, knees bent at a right angle, legs parallel. Rest on your hands on your thighs. Breath on a four count: inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four. Repeat. Let your body relax into that breath for a few minutes, then take up a theme—I generally use sentences from books, but visual images work too—and consider it in a general way until some aspect pulls you in. Follow that pull for five to ten minutes. I promise you will be continually surprised by where you end up. —Scott Gilbertson

Live Script Readings With Friends

A few weeks into shelter-in-place, my friends and I started searching for free movie scripts online, divvying up the roles, and reading them out loud via Zoom on Saturday nights. We’ve even incorporated drinking games relevant to that day's film into our read-throughs. It’s wonderfully silly and an excellent bonding experience. It reminded me of staying up late at night with my buddies in middle school to read the latest Harry Potter book aloud (that is, before J. K. Rowling started disappointing all of us LGBTQ fans). There’s something close to pre-quarantine intimacy in the act of group storytelling, especially when it involves allowing your friends to see your terrible Dumbledore impersonation. Next up on our list is The Princess Bride. —Saraswati Rathod

Dutch Oven Fried Chicken Wings

Quarantine has forced me to rethink the idea that some foods are always better restaurant-made. It’s also given me a lot of time to test out recipes for sticky-sweet Korean fried chicken wings.

Right before lockdown, I purchased an orange Lodge Dutch oven for just about $60—$300 less than the Le Creuset Dutch oven recommended by well-compensated foodies. It’s become my kitchen-sized, there-when-you-need-it Room of Requirement. Anything I want appears inside it after enough research and time. It’s manifested Tuscan kale and sausage stews, southern chicken and dumplings, sourdough bread, Agedashi tofu, and Szechuan dry-fried chicken. And thankfully, it’s durable enough for the failed experiments too, like fried whole fish. (So says my partner, who does the dishes.) —Cecilia D'Anastasio

Kombucha Brewing

I am nothing if not a product of my social milieu. I’m in my mid-twenties, I live in San Francisco, and I’m white—so of course I love kombucha. But with Bay Area rent and a nontech salary, it doesn’t exactly fit into my budget.

Enter mailable Scoby. For the uninitiated, a Scoby (or, less adorably, a symbiotic colony of bacteria and yeast) is the magic ingredient that can turn sugary tea into a tart, fizzy drink with dubious health benefits. If you have cooler friends that I do, you might be able to inherit a bit of Scoby, much like you would a sourdough starter. Otherwise, you can order a Scoby online (the lazy path, which I followed) or make your own Scoby from a bottle of premade kombucha. Throw in some glass jars, fermentation bottles, and loose leaf tea, and you’re ready to get fermenting.

All told, you only need to invest around $40, or about a dozen bottles of store-bought kombucha, to make as much home-brewed kombucha as you could possibly want. As with any home fermentation, it’s important to keep everything safe and sterile, but the acidity of kombucha is wonderfully protective against contamination. And when you make it yourself—an astonishingly foolproof process, as my own success proves—you can make flavors that you wouldn’t normally find in stores, like rosemary or camomile (both of which were absolutely delicious).

Best of all: I no longer have to pay a white billionaire for the privilege of enjoying a drink that was invented in China. —Grace Hutchins

SIC Sonic 12'6 Paddleboard (Used)

My bride Laura wanted a paddleboard for years, so I did the sensible thing and got her a cheap inflatable kayak. Just what she asked for! But instead of hiding it in a closet as I had expected, she started using the inflatable kayak on a regular basis in the Oakland estuary.

Fast-forward to Covid-19, and she finally convinced me that we needed a paddleboard. I wasn't expecting it would be that much of a departure from our anchor of a kayak, but the two vessels could not be more different. With a kayak, you are in the water. But with a paddleboard, you react to the water. It is a major difference, which I fought against for the first several weeks I spent trying to learn how to ride a paddleboard.

Now, months after owning our board, it is something I think about on a regular basis. It is isolating, it is challenging, and the conditions are ever changing. I've never felt like I was on the same type of water twice, and my favorite part of taking our board out is that for that time, the only thing I'm focused on is riding the water. The mental break from what we all are dealing with is absolutely priceless. —Ryan Meith

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