Uncanny

Isn't it amazing how the body just knows that a vacation is imminent? As if, by the simple act of handing in that little piece of paper saying, I have 2 personal days and 3 vacation days that I must use before the end of March, I am signalling to all the virulent microbes hiding in my world to suddenly leap into action. Hey! The weather will be beautiful and you will have 5 days off. Let's start with a shot across the bow of unexplained vomiting on Monday morning, followed by a day of vertigo and staying well away from subway platform edges. Then, let's fill your head with cotton batting and give you just enough of a fever to make you uncomfortably unable to concentrate on your big-corporation-mandated self-review (just use the words "collaborated," "implemented," and "impacted" a lot, make up bogus "goals" for your "career development" and you're golden. Apparently in corporate America, where I am admittedly a cynical observer, it isn't enough to be great at your job. You are also apparently required to ASPIRE to something MORE, even if all you want to do is come to work, do your job in an excellent fashion, and go home at the end of the day satisfied, so you can live your life doing whatever it is you want to do.) Then, the day before said vacation begins, those nasty little germs blow up into a full-blown factory of phlegm, so by the time you send that last email and shut down the computer, you are in the grips of a massive springtime cold.

What the hell is that about?

Having grown up with indoor-outdoor cats, I observed that the best healing seemed to take place when kitty would crawl under a piece of furniture and sleep for a few days. (We had an old black and white tom who once tangled with another animal, and staggered home with a gaping, bloody hole in his neck. My mother wrapped a clean rag around his neck, and he disappeared under the china cabinet for about a week. When he emerged, he was fine and went back to his tomcat ways). So I've adopted the same strategy -- sleep -- as my first defense against most ailments -- lots and lots of sleep. I believe it's the best way for the body to heal itself. Sure 'nuff, 12 hours of good zzz's later, I feel a little better, though the pile of snotty kleenex next to me seems to bely that fact. And a mere half dozen hours after crawling out of bed, I'm kinda ready to crawl back in...I think another 12 hours and I'll be good...

In other, less important news than my chest cold, Congress passed and President Obama signed some kind of legislation into law this week that apparently made a million wingnut heads explode. If you hear another person whining about being forced by the government to buy something from a private corporation, just ask them if they have auto insurance, and when they answer yes, ask them why. Then feel free to kick them in the nuts and walk away. But I do have to ask, what are the Republicans going to do now that they have painted themselves into an ideological corner -- they're surrounded by teabaggers with pitchforks, burning crosses, and pointy white hats, and I dont see how they can extricate themselves. See what happened to David Frum today to see what happens to conservatives who tell the truth about their FOX news overlords.

And one other unrelated thing: Jesse James has got to be the sorriest motherfucker in Hollywood right now. But honestly, look at the guy and who he used to be married to -- is anyone really surprised that old JJ has a taste for skankmeat?

And lest you think I was going to post without talking about hockey...HAHA, joke's on you! The Pens are in some weird slump, losing to teams they shouldn't be losing to -- the NJ Devils OWNED them this year, winning all 6 games they played, and the desperately-grasping-at-playoff-straws Detroit Red Wings beat them on Sunday (the question I have watching the Wings is: why is Todd Bertuzzi allowed to skate on NHL ice at ALL? Google "Bertuzzi Incident" to see what I mean). I'm not all that worried about the loss to the Capitals last night, since the Caps usually fall apart in the playoffs anyway. I predict the surprise clutch player of the playoffs for the Pens will be scrappy little number 9, Pascal Dupuis. Tonight I cruised the Rangers-Devils game for a while, if only to see what d-bag Sean Avery was up to. Unsurprisingly, he was running his trap in warmups, yip yip yip, starting up with Clarkson before the first puck drop. What an idiot.

I have to check out here because I am fading fast. Off to bed!