If there is anything to worry about, it is the time that it took for this man to make it from Wuhan to that airborne-isolation unit. A few days ago, Chinese scientists reported that the virus does spread from human contact. Since no one screened him at any airport, or for the four days between his arrival in the country on the 15th and when he went to see a doctor on the 19th, the risk that he transmitted this virus somewhere along the way seems real.

Trump seems unconcerned:

The truth is that no one here is talking about this. Like global warming, school shootings, systemic racism, and gender inequality, we think acutely about these global conundrums, and then a warm sense of being-distracted-by-our-own -messy-lives washes over us, and those of us who are not living in the eye of the storm quietly get on with business as usual. We are, understandably, paying attention to the ongoing impeachment trial, and, of course, are open to the general distraction of television and media. In that vein, it is perhaps a sign of the times to note the sad death of Mr. Peanut at the ripe age of 104. In the video/commercial marking his death, he sacrifices himself to save a white man (Matt Walsh) and a Black man (Wesley Snipes). In an interview, the ad agency said they killed off Mr. Peanut because the popularity of fictional characters soars once once they die. This may be the case, but there are other reasons to let him go. Mr. Peanut always resembled Neville Chamberlain, with his top hat, cane, and monocle—a symbol of the genteel planter class (I think that this was the intended pun in Mr. Peanut, who was created at the turn of the century to make the lowly peanut more palatable to a rising consumer America). I guess no one needs a Foghorn Leghorn peanut man who probably made his wealth on the backs of the working class. You can just imagine him telling Aunt Jemima to make his breakfast.