May Day Meanderings

It's cool, gray, and damp in Streeterville this afternoon, 57 degrees under threatening skies at the Mini. All in all it wasn't a bad day at the Outpost, however. Large numbers of students were gone on a field trip. Another chunk of Latino students were in non-attendance because of a "May Day Immigrants Rights Rally" at Union Park. The only question in my mind is, "When huge numbers of students are not at school, why is it that the clowns you want to go somewhere else are still in attendance and getting on your last nerve?" Drawing and quartering has been outlawed, so what's a guy to do?

It appears that, as special days go, I've hit a hat trick today. (Notice how I slip in that hockey terminology, even though I've never been to a hockey game in my life. Makes me sound more well-rounded. No, not my belly. We know that's well-rounded.) At any rate, It's Friday (TGIF). It's May Day (Bring on the May flowers.). It's (Insert trumpet blast here.) payday. Woo! Hoo! Does life get any better than this? I think not. Well maybe add a little sex to the mix. Then we're talking Eden, okay?

Babs went to the doctor yesterday and found out that she definitely does not have swine flu, or H1N1 virus, or whatever the current designation is. She does have a bronchial infection, but a stint with some antibiotics and that is taken care of. My nose still runs a little (Better go catch it.). Feeling better though. Magnus and I are due to run 10 miles in the morning. Invest in GU ladies and gentlemen.

Been thinking about May Day. The pagans celebrated Springtime and Fertility on May Day. Danced around a Maypole. Did other things as well, in all likelihood. You know those pagans. Can't trust em as far as you can pitch em. For a good party, though, pagans rock. Beat the hell out of Christians, Muslims, and Zoroastrians all put together when it comes to a good May Day party. Rumor has it that the Reverend R.D. was a practicing pagan (Had to keep practicing to get good at it.) before he became the titular (I love that word. Just love to say it. Titular, titular, titular.) head of the Church of There Ain't No God, But There Sure As Hell Is Morality.

But back to the point. At some point, somewhere after the Industrial Revolution I'd surmise, the laborers of the world went and usurped May Day. Forget about celebrating spring and fertility and having a good party and drinking some wine and maybe getting laid. Doggone laborers had to make something serious out of May Day. "This is a day when we celebrate the dignity of labor and plot the death of the bourgeoisie," or something like that. The Soviets knew how to make a bit of a Super Bowl type spectacular out of it, though. Remember the big May Day parades through Moscow's Red Square. Tanks and soldiers and ICBM's. They just don't make May Day parades like that anymore.

Now don't get me wrong. I respect labor as much as the next guy. I was not born rich, just good-looking, and I have performed my share of hard labor at low wages. I've been a union delegate for my school. I voted Socialist in my younger days, before I realized that those dudes were just unelectable and I was throwing my vote away. I miss the party, however. Not the Socialist Party, Nimnal. The May Day party. May Day marches and rallies are just so darned serious. Kind of like when the Christians took away Saturnalia and went with the Christmas holiday. Gifts are cool, but Saturnalia rocked.

In the latest local incarnation of May Day in Chicago, the Latino community has taken it over. They take advantage of every May Day to stage a rally in Union Park and then march over to Daley Plaza, or is it the Thompson Building or the Federal Building. Well it's one of those government buildings, whether it's local, state, or Federal. Anyway, it's become an opportunity to protest immigration policies and deportations. That, friends, is a real issue in the Latino community. Frankly, I think they may have a point. Most Latino immigrants are hard-working people. They take jobs no one else wants, just for the opportunity to have employment (Not often available in the countries they come from). They work. They pay taxes. They strive for the American dream, a big SUV and a house in the suburbs.

Even the illegal ones are paying taxes in some form. Some have fake social security numbers, and that means they are paying social security and income tax. Some are paid in cash, under the table, so to speak, but they still pay sales taxes, gas taxes, etc., etc., etc. If you're illegal you don't get government services at taxpayer expense, despite what the Xenophobes would have you believe. If the government finds out they're here illegally, they get deported. Duh! If you're working and paying taxes, and you're not a burden on society, why shouldn't you be given a green card and allowed to stay? Why can't we deport some of the native born no-goods? Exchange them for some hard-working immigrants. That's a reform I could get behind.

Now if we could just bring back the good May Day parties. Hmmm. Maybe that's what the function of Cinco de Mayo is these days. It's just a few days late. Trouble is they seem to be trying to put the kabash on that too, this year. The Navy Pier Cinco de Mayo celebration, replete with Mariachi bands and all has been canceled. Why? Swine Flu originated in Mexico. It's a plot to take away the good parties and make us all serious, I tell you. Hey, and all of those anti-immigrant sorts, you know who I mean. Now they can point to Mexico and have one more reason to keep the immigrants out. "They're all carriers!" Just one more point, and then I'll go. Speaking of carriers, it's U.S. drug users that keep Mexican Drug Cartels in the business of carrying a really serious pandemic into our country. Now leave the poor busboys and yard maintenance guys and maids and house cleaning ladies alone, and let's all go have a margarita.

Pandemic? What's that?

It's a bit gray and hazy out in Streeterville, 53 degrees at the Mini. Yet I look out the windows on the 14th floor and a dinner cruise boat is making its way around the end of the little sprit of land that holds Navy Pier and the water treatment plant. Pretty soon they'll be close enough to my part of the lake that they'll be telling people about Ludwig Mies Van der Rohe and the 860-880 Lake Shore Drive buildings. People will show up on deck and flash their cameras at my building. Babs and I just wave at them. I doubt they realize anyone on the 14th floor is actually waving at them, but it amuses us. We're easily amused.

The word today, boys and girls is pandemic. An epidemic is an outbreak of a highly infectious disease that is widespread. A pandemic is an epidemic that is really widespread geographically. Currently we have a swine flu outbreak that has gone worldwide, sort of like Bono and U2. Can they be classified as a pandemic? Hmmm.

Now this current outbreak of swine flu that apparently has elements of swine flu, but also has some DNA that is similar to bird flu. It has killed over 100 people in Mexico, and the whole world is now on the verge of panic. The CDC (Center for Disease Control) in the U.S. is busy passing on alerts to the public. The WHO (World Health Organization) is busy trying to get the whole planet on alert. On a 1-6 scale the alert was just updated from 4 to 5. The President has just said that widespread school closings are a possibility. I hear students and educators across the land going "Yeeaaaaaaahhhhh!"

Pardon me for being a little bit suspect of the whole thing, but in my lifetime I have lived through a number of "threats to the entire planet." I have seen the public get in an uproar over a great many things that, in hindsight, turned out to be a bit overstated by the media, the government, and all the resident crazies in general. This flu outbreak may be serious, for the flu, but with modern healthcare in advanced societies I really doubt it is going to be the killer of millions that it is being hyped for. Mind you, I like a day or two off from work as much as the next guy. I like a snow day every now and again. When I taught school in Guam, we had typhoon days. I have photos of some guy windsurfing in the bay in 65 mph winds. Power went out, but nothing was really hurt. Now that 8.2 earthquake, that was another story. Survived that too.

Any of you out there been around long enough to remember Kahoutek? It was going to be the comet that smacked into the Earth and the crazies were out in force at the stoplights, passing out "The end of the world is coming," literature. All I remember about the actual comet is that I never even saw it, much less experienced any negative effects from it. I believe the Hale Bopp Comet produced much the same reaction in the public at large and produced much the same results. Halley's Comet (not to be confused with Bill Halley and the Comets) recurs with regularity and every time it shows up, it brings out the doomsayers. We're still here.

In 1976, I was working at the Southern Illinois University Health Service and as I recall, we were giving away free flu shots, Swine Flu Shots. The much ballyhooed Swine Flu outbreak of 1976 turned out to be a non-event. With all of that said, it is true that over 100 people, young healthy people have died of swine flu in Mexico. Of all the cases that have been verified at this point in the U.S., most have been reasonably mild in comparison. The one verified death in the U.S. was an infant, with minimal resistance to viral infections.

So pardon me if I am a bit skeptical. I encourage everyone to be alert. Take precautions. If there is a possibility that you are developing symptoms that are swine flu-like, by all means go to a doctor. As I understand it this flu bug is susceptible to Tamiflu. You should be alright. This is the U.S.A., not a 3rd world country, not a Stephen King novel where 3/4 of the world dies from a super flu bug, and the world gets divided into 2 camps, good guys and bad guys.

Perhaps I will be proven wrong, but I doubt it. I fully expect to be going to work for the next month without losing half my students to a flu pandemic. If, however, the CPS opts to shut down the schools for a few days to ensure the health of our students and staff, hey I could use a couple of days off, provided it is with pay.

How Fragile a Flower, Life Is

April showers bring May flowers, so they say. I certainly hope so. We're mere days from the onset of May and I'm really sick of the showers. I try to keep some perspective by reminding myself of Noah. Currently it's 68 degrees under rainy skies in Streeterville. I long for those flowers, those flowers whose life spans are brief, but beautiful in the ever-changing seasons.

Today was one more Monday at the Outpost in Back of the Yards. Lately the gang activity at the school has been getting out of hand. It's an indication of what is currently going on the neighborhood at large. There have been numerous gang-related shootings. If you don't keep up on the news over the weekend, you come to work on Monday morning and get blindsided by the general tenor of the student population when they arrive. Generally if there has been a shooting, someone knows the person who was shot. Someone knows the person who did the shooting. It turns into fights in the hallway, and provides fodder for the next violent event in the streets of the neighborhood after school lets out.

Today one of my students came to class about 5 minutes late, as usual. He signed in on the tardy sheet, and sat down with as little commotion as possible. When I walked back to his seat and handed him an assignment, he whispered very quietly, "Did you hear about Zachary?" I confessed that I hadn't, but his general tone suggested to me that something serious had occurred. I asked him what happened, and he replied, "He was shot Saturday. He's dead." The whole exchange was entirely free of emotion and unnecessary nonsense. Just matter of fact. "Zachary was shot Saturday. He's dead."

It was the middle of a class and I didn't want to create a big stir. I got as much info as I could without alerting the entire class, and went on about the business of running a history class. The young man in question went about the business of completing his history assignment, and we both moved on. Bells rang. Classes changed. Zachary was still dead.

I passed this information along to my fellow history teacher across the hall and he was stunned. He reminisced a bit. "Zachary never was the kind of kid who created any trouble in my class. I knew he hung out with a few bad kids, but....." Later, at the end of the day, he told me that he had searched out the incident involving Zachary and found it in the Chicago Tribune. Apparently Zach was the victim of a drive-by shooting. A car pulled up and shot. Zach tried to get away. The guy jumped out of the car, ran up to Zach and shot him 2 or 3 more times, jumped back in the car, and rode away. Zach died in a pool of blood on the sidewalk, mere blocks from the Outpost where he went to high school. Classic gang-related bullshit violence. "I wear black and red. You wear another set of colors. You gotta die M****r F****r!"

You read about this kind of thing in the papers every day in large cities. This was no different than any of those other stories you read about, except for one thing. This kid was a student of mine. He was a friend of some of my current students. It's entirely possible that I know the kid who did the shooting. It was senseless, and another life was snuffed out entirely too soon.

How did we arrive here? How did it come to pass that teenaged boys can ride around in cars with Glock 9mm pistols, shooting at one another? How can it come to be in an advanced society that some portions of that society are so alienated and lacking in hope that they live lives of violence, shooting each other in the streets, like some perverse version of Shootout at the OK Corral? How did it come to pass that mothers must mourn their babies who die in the streets at age 16,17, 18? Why can we not put an end to the bullshit?

There are no easy answers. For myself, I try every day to reach a set group of kids, one at a time. Some you reach. Some are destined to be a shooter or the shot. Some are destined for lockup. A few will survive and get beyond it all. I try, and have tried for the last 15 years to help as many as possible to survive and get beyond it all. For those who don't make it, well...Zach, we knew you well. We mourn for you.

Running Out of Gas

It has been an odd day, as seen from the 14th floor. Woke up this morning and looked out the window. It was cloudy and the sun was trying to peek through the clouds. The reflection on the water looked a bit like the moon's reflection on a clear night. The sun has come and gone and it has rained a couple of times during the day. Currently the sun is once again trying to peek out from behind the clouds and is creating that moonlit night effect in its reflections on the water. When I came back from the grocery store, it was 57 degrees at the Mini.

Yesterday morning was the Lakefront 10, a 10 mile race along the, you guessed it, lakefront in Chicago. I signed up for the race and I actually appeared to run it, but sadly I did not have what it took for that one yesterday. I have been obsessing about this ever since. My training has suffered a bit lately. I was sick for a while. I still have a cold and some congestion in my chest. I had spring break a couple of weeks back and took a trip to Miami. Needless to say, I was not regular about running during vacation. My weight is up from what it needs to be, to be running successful 10 mile races. All of these things, and a breakdown in mental focus, may have contributed to my running out of gas before I finished the race yesterday and my packing it in early.

At any rate I was on pace for 4 miles and about then I realized that my legs were not going to keep that pace up for another 6 miles. During that 4 miles, I ran strong, but I began to obsess about my ability to finish and about my huffing and puffing. I had to stop and blow copious amounts of mucous out of my nose 3 or 4 times along the way, so that I could breathe halfway normally. At the mile 4 clock, I got so disgusted that I stopped, pulled my race number off, and began walking back to turn in my timing chip.

While I was walking back to the start/finish point of the race, I ran into 2 or 3 friends who had been behind me, and they stopped and acted very concerned. "Are you alright?" I had to admit that I was actually alright. I just was not going to finish the race in anywhere near the time that I normally do. I suppose I could have finished the race, but it would not have been pretty. After explaining that to my friends, they went off to finish the race, shaking their heads and trying to shout some encouraging words to me. I walked on, and tried to cope with the fact that I had dropped out of a race for the first time in my life. Did I defeat myself mentally? Should I have toughed it out despite my flagging energy and taken the attitude, "Well at least I finished the race."?

All of these things and more went through my head while I was walking my way back to the finish and watched the sea of people passing me, continuing the race. This sea of people was a sea of people who run at a slower pace than I. Many of them run a great deal slower than I, yet they continued on. One particular woman stopped and asked me, "Do we have to run back to the start?" I could see the realization dawning on her that not only did she have to run 5 miles out, but she then had to run 5 miles back. I expained to her, "The race course goes down as far as Fullerton Ave. and then it loops around and comes back. The mile 4 marker is just up there a little way." She looked ready to pack it in, but she drew on some inner reserve and took off running again.

It occurred to me that I probably would have finished ahead of a great many of them, even if I did not finish in the time I wanted to or in a time a bit slower than I am accustomed to. It occurred to me that I may have wussed out and should be ashamed of myself. It occurred to me that kicking everyone's ass in a 10 mile race might not be what it is all about in light of the sea of really slow people just pushing onward and being proud of the fact that they finished a 10 mile race. I began to feel a bit ashamed of myself for stopping at mile 4. I took my number and threw it in the trash. I gave my race shirt to someone else, because I had not earned it.

Then I got to the finish line just as the 2nd place finisher overall was crossing the finish line in 54 minutes. Had I continued on, I would have been somewhere around mile 6 at that point and he was the 2nd place guy. The 1st place guy had already finished a minute or two before. To these guys, I, even on my good days when I finish strong, I am one of those really slow people who plod along by their standards. Six years ago I finished the Lake Front 10 in 1 hour and 25 minutes, almost twice as long as it took those two fast guys to finish this race. That, to me, was an incredible accomplishment. I averaged 8:30 per mile that day. These guys were running 5 minute miles for the entire 10 miles.

Yesterday, I didn't even have it in me to run 9 minute miles for 10 miles and it disgusted me. I think it's time to rethink the whole motivation thing. I think it's time to get back on the horse and renew my running program. I'm not exactly proud of yesterday, but I think I learned something. Hey, fat old guys can run too. They just need to recognize that sometimes you might not have a good day and you're going to run out of gas. They need to recognize that sometimes, just finishing is good enough. Sometimes, that in itself is a victory, even if it doesn't win one a medal.

What Is Success?

The attempts at actually becoming spring are making progress. When I left the Outpost in Back of the Yards, it was 68 degrees and sunny. Unfortunately there are Southeasterly winds and when I arrived in Streeterville, it was 59 degrees. Still this is under sunny skies at the Mini. Not bad. Tomorrow the weather dudes predict 80 degrees. I'll believe it when I see it, much like the Cubs winning the pennant. The view from the 14th floor is quite lovely in the late afternoon sun, however. I actually saw little leaves popping out on trees this afternoon and a great many early spring flowers have bloomed.

There were no students at work today. We, the staff, were subjected to what is known as Professional Development, PD in professional jargon. Present and ready for PD sir! Most times PD is mind-numbingly boring. I have to admit that when the Principal of my school begins speaking, my eyes automatically glaze over and my mind goes somewhere in another dimension. Inevitably, I am forced back into our real world when I realize that someone has asked my opinion on some really dufus topic, and not having been listening, my astute response is often something on the order of, "Huh?" Then I'm always forced to B.S. to beat the band to cover for the fact that I really wasn't listening. Tried listening a few times. Never lent itself to any forwarding of mankind's knowledge or competence. Waste of time at PD. Frankly, if someone would just recognize that PD, itself, is a waste of time, and just let us do our jobs for a change, schools, in all likelihood, would improve. How about just giving us a day off every once in a while, to recharge our batteries. Send us all to the beach for a day. Buy the staff a drink and some Happy Hour munchies every once in a while. Listen to what they really have to say for a change. That would improve schools, and morale, for goodness sakes.

Oddly enough though, something came up today, during PD, that provoked some thought. The thing that came up was this, "What is success?" I honestly thought about that, in relation to our students, in relation to myself, in relation to society in general. Is there one overarching measure of success? Is success for one person, success for another? How can we measure success?

Mind you, in PD today, we were all required to swear that we honestly believe that all children can be successful, no exceptions. It's all a part of a movement, supposedly based on research that supposedly improves schools via "Positive Psychology." Does anyone really believe this crap? What planet are they from? I'm just getting over being required to read Who Moved My Cheese in another PD session. I can believe in kids ability to succeed all I want, but in a neighborhood like Back of the Yards there are some damaged children who will not live up to that expectation. All the love and believing in the world is not going to change that. Some of them will still go to prison. Some of them will still get shot. Some of them will live in awful poverty, living hand to mouth. Yet a great many of them will experience some degree of success. What is that?

For some kids success means that they will go on to college after high school and will eventually have a good job. For some of them it means they will go to a technical school after high school and that will lead to a respectable life. For some of them, being the first person in their family to graduate from high school is a success their parents never dreamed of.

Then there is the world I live in. For some people, it is enough to be happy. That begs another question, "What is happy?" For some Type A sorts, it means being richer and owning more stuff than anyone else. Remember the 1980's mantra? "He who dies with the most toys, wins." Ugly? Yes. A very real measure of success for some. Yes, as well. For some success means a PhD. For some it means being able to work at a job they like. For some it means pursuing their art and not "selling out to the man." I have met some people, for whom success means getting through the day without freaking out and committing suicide.

There are as many ways of being successful as there are people walking the face of this planet. Then the PD lady asks us all to swear that we believe that all students can be successful. The overarching tenor of society in the U.S. suggests that means all of them will make good money. Social worker sorts might suggest that means that all of them will be well adjusted, productive citizens and happy with their lot, and will stay out of prison or mental institutions. Some, more cynical sorts might suggest that it means that all of them will avoid really serious fuckups.

Truth? We, as educators, will try our level best to reach every one of them, and some of them just won't be reached. Some will do well. Some will die young. Some will live absolutely miserable existences. A great many will muddle through, like the rest of us. Somehow, in spite of it all, a poor kid from Arkansas ended up on the 14th floor with a lake view in Chicago. Somehow some of these kids will struggle and find their way as well.

We Once Were Friends

Blogging is a funny thing. You never know what is going to touch someone. I'm feeling a bit better now, but for the last few days I have felt like holy crap. I stayed home from work yesterday, and blew my nose incessantly. I slept. I read. I got tired of that and got up and posted a blog. I wasn't exactly feeling inspired, so I wrote about what was going on. I was sick. I have memories of being sick as a kid. I like being catered to when I'm sick. Apparently this strikes a chord with people. I thought I was just blathering to fill space since I hadn't felt like blogging for a few days. Well, thanks to any who read my blathering in this space, and I hope every once in a while I manage to strike a chord with all of you.

Anyway, today is a lovely day as sunniness goes. It's still a bit cool, though. When I left the Outpost, it was 63 degrees. When I arrived in Streeterville, it was 61 degrees under sunny skies. Currently Mr. Online Weather guy tells me it has dropped off to 58 degrees. Nevertheless, the view from the 14th floor is much lovelier today than yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. There is not a cloud in the sky. Lake Michigan is a wonderful shade of blue. One could almost believe that it's warm enough for al fresco dining, if one were to judge by the picturesqueness of the view. (For the record, it's still a little cool.) By Friday, Mr. Weather Guy tells us we may see 80 degrees. Then my friends, we will be dining with my friend Al, Al Fresco.

I'd like to depart a little from my usual modus operandi today. Recently I was contacted by an old friend whom I hadn't heard from in 30 years. At one time, just after I graduated from college, we shared an apartment. We had a little act, and played at parties. He played guitar and sang a bit. I sang a lot, and did in between songs patter. We moved on. He started playing with a band. I took up acting. I left the state and the next thing you know it was 2009 and old friends were contacting me via Facebook.

Now my friend in question still lives in Arkansas and I have moved around the world and alit in Chicago. He still lives for the woman he loves and his music. I have had a huge world of experience since leaving Arkansas, and I feel like I am a completely different person than I was 30 years ago. I like to write all about it. He tends to send 3 sentence e-mails once every 2-3 weeks. Anyway, I was thinking about this today, and suddenly the following poem came gushing out in a 5-10 minute spurt. I'd like to share it with you.

We Once Were Friends

We once were friends
We're different now
Not good, not bad
Just diverged somehow

Our paths once crossed
We shared a dream
We went our ways
Then came new schemes

Your life was yours
My life was mine
Came back together
On down the line

It's nice to visit
Remember times
Find out what's passed
Both yours and mine

But in the end
We all must go
Back to our lives
Where we did grow

We are the products
Of diverse paths
Must needs continue
For life goes fast

Salute old friend
Respect to you from here
For your life's troubles
And my life's tears

Just keep my image
In mind somehow
We once were friends
We're different now

R.D. Ray
4-22-09

Taking a Sick Day

The online weather tells me that it's 43 degrees and overcast out. Looking out the window on the 14th floor, it looks 43 degrees and overcast. Very gray and London-like out there. I haven't been out of my perch on the 14th floor all day. I'm taking a sick day, with all that seems to imply. That's right, the traditional runny nose, accompanied by resident sneezing, coughing, and occasional bouts of fever. Today I finally feel well enough to sit here and write something.

For the past couple of days the being indisposed thing was so indisposed that it got in the way of lucid thought. Headaches. body aches, and a general sense of malaise just seems to get in the way of sitting down to actually create sentences and string them together in a fashion that says anything of value, except "Could you take care of me? I'm sick." Babs, by the way, does an exceptional job of caring for the sick and wounded. Comfort food. Cold wash cloth for the forehead. Stupid TV when you need it. Almost makes one regret getting better and having to return to the working world.

I have some very vivid memories of sick days when I was a child. I work in a public school and it seems that kids take a great many sick days these days. When I was going to school, "back in the day," we only missed school when we were really sick. Those usually involved puking and such. This happened only once or twice a school year. When they did occur, it was a real trauma. OK, there may have been once or twice when I hadn't studied for a test and I suddenly got sick, and my mom let me stay home, but those were a few isolated incidents, honest.

My mom was not much of a soap opera person, so when I stayed home sick, there was a great deal of game show watching. I developed such an attachment to Jeopardy that I even contemplated going on that show and competing. It would be like going back to a warm fuzzy time in the innocence of my childhood when I, as a nerdy child, would see if I could answer the questions that grown adults couldn't. Alas, working for a living and responsibilities got in the way of any appearances on Jeopardy. I couldn't make the auditions where you have to take a test and prove your genuine nerdy credentials. I coulda kicked butt. I swear I coulda.

Everyone who has ever been sick has certain comfort foods that their mom fed them. Then when you get sick as an adult, people inevitably return to their childhood roots and demand those same comfort foods. Babs has an affinity for plain old Campbells Cream of Mushroom Soup or Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Sometimes she will accept Chicken Noodle Soup, but her favorite is the Lipton's variety that comes in a packet you add to boiling water. Campbells doesn't get it for her. I must admit that Lipton's Cup o' Soup is pretty much OK, but basic Campbells Chicken Noodle from the can is my childhood fave. There are those in my family who would have you believe that the only thing I ever ate as a child was Campbells Chicken Noodle Soup and plain hamburgers. I must protest this. Not so! I occasionally had Fish Sticks and Tater Tots. Oh, and ice cream. Had to have the ice cream.

But I digress. We all have foods, stupid mindless TV shows, and rituals that get us through those times when we feel like holy crap. All of these rituals started somewhere back when we were young, small, innocent, and vulnerable. It's just funny how those rituals survive with you into adulthood. Even when you are old enough to be a grandparent. Not that I am a grandparent, mind you, just old enough to be one. Even then, your childhood rituals comfort you, with a few updates here and there. We never had a 37 inch flat screen TV in those days on which to watch that stupid TV. We never had 500 channels to choose from. The experience is still much the same though. Lay on the couch. Read a little. Nap a little. Watch some TV a little. Eat something light. Make it through the day and hope to feel better tomorrow so you can go play with your friends again. Trouble is instead of returning to play with your friends, you have to go back to work.

Maybe I'll be sick again tomorrow. It'd be a real shame to waste all of those sick days I accrue at work on actually being sick. Some of them ought to be used for something good, like a Cubs game. Maybe I could convince someone else to take an accrued "sick day," and I could go out and play with my friends. I hear ballpark beer and peanuts make great comfort food. A wise man once told me, "I should have been born rich instead of so good-looking." Then every day could be like one of those warm, fuzzy sick days.

Now if you'll excuse me, I hear the couch calling to me. All of this exhaustive labor on a sick day has worn me out. Oh Babs! Babs! Could you bring me something to drink? My throat feels a little scratchy. Cough! Cough!