Cold truth

There are a lot of things I’ve forgotten as I’ve gotten older, not to mention a few I’d like to forget.

Like that spontaneous date I went on with a very attractive temp receptionist I met at an agency I was working at that shall go unnamed. Wells Rich Greene.

Because I thought it’d be an impressive thing to do, we drove the ninety-five miles from L.A. to Santa Barbara for dinner and back. Had I put a little more thought into it, I would've realized just how long a drive that is after a hard day's work, not to mention a whole lot of conversation to fill with someone you don’t know. And the Chart House in Malibu would've worked just as well and had me home a lot earlier.

Live and learn.

I might be getting off topic here. We were on things I’ve forgotten.

One of them is how to be sick.

Last week, for the first time in over two years, I got sick. Really sick. It wasn’t covid, although at first I wasn’t sure. My symptoms — runny nose, sneezing, coughing, aching, mild difficulty catching my breath — were right in line with the dreaded 'rona virus. But come to find out the months and months of masking, keeping my distance from people, tons of hand sanitizer and washing my hands more obsessively than Howard Hughes paid off. After home testing every day for the last five days, I had what I like to call a case of novid.

It wasn’t that nasty flu going around either. Although some symptoms were similar, the telltale flu fever never arrived. It was some killer cold/respiratory/bronchial thing that saw me and decided since my immune system hadn’t had a real workout in a couple years I was an easy target.

Anyway, not being able to focus on much more than breathing and trying to score two-point shots lobbing used Kleenex from my bed to the trash can, I did something I haven’t done in years: I called in sick.

Calling in sick when you’re working a 100% remote is a different experience. In the before days when I had to commute to an office, calling in sick meant sweet relief from having to get ready, fight traffic and slog through the day.

Now it meant I didn’t have to walk from my bed to my desk.

Speaking of getting older, here’s another thing I noticed: I don’t bounce back as quick as I used to. Colds, even bad ones, were always a 24 or 48 hour ordeal tops. As I’m writing this, I’m on my seventh day of it, although it does seem to be easing up.

In between watching The Social Network twice a day on HBO and the third season of Dead To Me and Neal Brennan's comedy special Blocks on Netflix, besides what being sick is like I remembered another thing I'd forgotten.

Business goes on without me.

And it’ll all be there when I get back.

A no-day work week

Last week was a four-day work week for me. I took a paid day off on Friday because I wanted to catch up on a few things I didn't have time to get to over the holidays.

And because I could.

My timing was impeccable as always. Friday was the day I came down with the flu. This is Wednesday night, and for those of you keeping count, I've been down and out with this misery for six days.

However, in a bold gesture of generosity and consideration for others, I decided not to force the issue and drag myself into work and risk giving this cold/flu-ey thing to everyone who has managed to dodge it so far. It's the kind of thoughtfulness I wish the person who gave it to me had exercised. I'm not naming names, but you know who you are.

Anyway, I'm at the point of being bored and restless out of my mind, yet not well enough to drag myself back into the office yet. Even the dogs are ready for me to be out of the house. I think the coughing is keeping them awake during the day.

So, as if I had any other choice, I'll just ride it out.

And to my colleagues who are the picture of health, working hard, exercising at lunch on the beach and taking the stairs up to the office without having to nap for three hours after, I just have two words for you.

You're welcome.

I can run but I cannot hide

You'd think I'd learn by now, but some lessons you just have to keep learning.

Let's start here. For years I went without a flu shot. The reason wasn't some protest against big pharma, some wildly allergic reaction or an irrational fear of CVS nurses wielding hypodermic needles. The reason was I never got the flu.

That all changed four or five years ago when "Is it cold in here? I have the chills." turned into "Oh my God, I'm dying! Hold that thought I'm going to the bathroom. Again." I came down with the flu from hell. Ever since, I've gotten my annual flu shot right at the start of the season. I don't care if it doesn't protect against all the strains. At least I'm not getting the ones it covers.

But, come to find out, a flu shot isn't a guarantee.

I was feeling pretty good about not having gotten sick, even though people around me at the office were dropping like overworked, underpaid flies. Then a funny thing happened. My throat got sore, my nose got runny and my sleep got sneezy. Still, because I'd taken today as a paid day off, thinking I'd get around to errands I didn't do over the holidays, I refused to entertain the thought I was going down for the count.

My thinking changed this morning when I got full on chills. Started making bathroom runs faster than Carl Lewis. And blew through (pun intended) boxes of tissues with the usual cold symptoms.

The good news, and I hate to jinx it but I'm going to say it anyway, is I haven't had any fever. And, as anyone who knows me will tell you, it'll take more than a few rogue germs to kill my appetite.

The bad news is I'm taking my daughter who's home from college and her friend to brunch at the Magic Castle tomorrow. They took a few planes to get here, and they've been looking forward to this for awhile. Disappointing them is not an option.

So I'll be mixing a little magic potion of my own in the morning, starting with a Coricidin omelette and a DayQuill chaser to get me through the day.

Then, it's back home and to bed until this thing runs its course.

I'm trying to think of a snappy line to end this post. A flu-related joke that'll leave you laughing. Alright, smiling. Okay, not tossing the laptop across the room.

But I got nothing. So instead, I think I'll go back to bed and binge a television show about a meth kingpin named Walter White.

That always makes me feel better.

Lost weekend

It's all a blur.

I wish I could say it was because I spent 48 hrs. in Vegas, non-stop drinking and gambling, maybe taking in a few shows. But sadly, no.

This past weekend was a total loss because that cold, flu-y bug that's been taking no prisoners finally came a knockin' at my door. Well, it came knocking at my wife's door about a week ago, so I knew it was only a matter of time.

Hard to imagine, but I'm not as pleasant a patient as you might think. At the beginning I'm fine—the part where it looks like I can go on with my life and work through it without having to carry around a box of Kleenex. But once we move on to phase two, the sore throat, runny nose, coughing up all colors of the rainbow, sneezing and other sordid bodily adventures, I'm not good about it at all.

I get that no one likes being sick. I just think I hate it more than most people.

All weekend long, I was taking naps in between CNN repeating news about the groper-in-chief's middle east trip and The Aviator playing over and over on HBO.

The other thing I hate is that my normally marginal level of productivity is reduced even more (I know, how would you know), and every little thing seems to take its toll.

Sunday morning, after two days of sweating through a fever and hot weather, I thought a shower was in order, not just for me but as a public service to my family. They all said it would make me feel better. It didn't. While I was in the shower it felt great, and I was tricked into thinking I was refreshed and felt good enough to get a few things done.

Come to find out it was only one thing: make a beeline back to my bed and take another nap.

The older I get, the longer it takes to bounce back from anything: colds, flu, bad movies, the price of sushi. I hate being reminded of that.

But I know that this too will end. Being the considerate individual I am, and the fact I'm still under the weather, I've decided to stay home from work today (you're welcome co-workers) and take care of myself.

Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll be back at it: showered, rested and ready to be marginally productive.

Germ of an idea

Whenever I hear "It's the season!" I know whoever said it means the Christmas, Joy To The World, Goodwill Towards All time of year. I'm all for it (except for the Mariah Carey Christmas song Macy's has on a loop).

But the holiday season happens to coincide with another, less popular one—cold and flu season.

If you work in an office like I do—with central air-conditioning you thought was your friend—you know colds and flu shoot through the workplace like wildfire.

It's basically a game of dominoes. Once the first person falls, it's only a matter of time before everyone else does.

You can't help getting sick, but you can help other people from getting sick. It's easy, here's the trick: stay home until you're completely better.

Not a lot better.

Not better than you were.

Not almost better.

All the way better. The way you were before you had any inkling you were coming down with anything. It's only common sense and common courtesy, amiright?

But as we all know, there are people who, in spite of a phlegmy, hacking cough, juicy sneezes, noses running faster than Usain Bolt, fever so high they could fry eggs on their foreheads and fatigue so intense they're asleep standing up, for some reason insist on coming to work.

I suppose they might feel a certain sense of responsibility to the job. Or have an unrelenting work ethic that doesn't allow them to put themselves before the job, which they feel must get done regardless of their current state of affliction.

Both things I know nothing about. Just ask anyone I work with.

I hate it when people do that for two reasons. First, the idea of coming to work in general is one I resist with everything I've got pretty much on a daily basis. Maybe it's because I've been freelance so long, or the fact I appreciate my freedom and want to set my own schedule. Maybe it's because I'm an only child and the world revolves around me (but you already knew that). It could be that I'm just a lazy bastard who'd rather sit on the couch and binge Breaking Bad, again, than earn money to pay my bills and feed my family.

A man can dream can't he?

Anyway, the idea of coming to work when I'm sick wouldn't even occur to me. Besides, hard to imagine as it is, I'm even less productive when I'm sick. And getting back to that common courtesy thought, color me old-fashioned, but I just think it'd be better not to pass along the creeping crud I'm fighting to my fellow workers. They'll remember it come Secret Santa time, which means better re-giftable items for me.

And since no one's giving out medals or raises to people who drag their sorry asses in while they're on their death beds, there's really no percentage in it.

Besides, can you ever get enough daytime television? I think not.

Sorry for the rant, but occasionally you have to knock some sense into people so they do the right thing, like stay home when they're sick, get well, and not infect anyone else along the way because they have. to. get. back. to. work.

I'm not saying this post is directed at anyone in particular, but I'm not saying it isn't. With any luck, maybe they'll read it while they're having a fever delirium in their sick bed.

Or at their desk.

Fan club

Since I’m certain you’re a regular reader of this blog, anxiously awaiting each days’ post with a powerful mix of excitement, dread and nausea, I know you remember the post I wrote here about being a cool weather person.

That doesn’t just apply to the great, humid outdoors. It goes for the office as well.

I love almost everything about my current gig: the location, the commute, the many lunchtime options. On occasion, even the work. What I’m not a fan of is being hot—working up a nice sweaty sheen while I’m trying to type. Sure the place is air conditioned, but it’s just not set low enough for my liking.

So I decided I'd treat myself to one of those little desk fans, and have it aimed at my face all day. Would it dry my eyes out? Numb my face? Muss my hair? Maybe. But at least I’d be cool.

When I mentioned this to the wife, she decided I deserved far better than the average desk fan I was ready to slap down my credit card for at Target. So out of the goodness of her heart, she bought me her favorite deskman: the Chillout.

This little miracle of technology not only cools things down, it actually makes me feel downright cold—no easy task. With two speeds—arctic and not as arctic—its tower design manages to create a bubble of cool air, as opposed to an air of cool, all around me without the loud racket of fan blades rattling my nerves.

In fact I can’t remember anything this cold and quiet since my high school girlfriend.

While it does the job I want it to do, I'm sure it'd take more than one Chillout to counter all the hot air you find in an agency.

But like a hundred lawyers at the bottom of the ocean, it's a start.

Calling in well

Anyone can call in sick. When you’re fighting muscle aches, nausea, diarrhea and a 101-degree fever it’s a no brainer.

Of course, we’ve all been around those people who drag their sorry selves in no matter what, looking like they just finished auditioning for Contagion II. For some inexplicable reason – perhaps an overdeveloped sense of importance, a crippling fear of being fired if they miss a day, or just to get even with everyone they work with who don’t give them the recognition they deserve, they feel it’s their civic duty to keep working until they drop.

But if you ask anyone who’s ever worked with me, after they stop denying it, they’ll tell you in no uncertain terms that’s never been my problem.

Sniffles? Home for three days. That’s the spirit.

I used to work with this guy at an agency who would occasionally call in well to work. He’d wake up in the morning feeling great, optimistic, ready to take on the world. On those days, he’d call the agency, get someone on the line and say, “I won’t be in today. I feel too damn good to come to work.”

I’m all in favor of the concept.

Some shops give you a couple mental days or personal days off a year. I suppose they think you should use those if you’re going to call in well. I think it’s a matter of expanding the definition of sick. As in, it would make me sick to go into work feeling this good.

Which brings me to another point (assuming I had one in the first place): maybe it’s time to reconsider the name “sick days.” If people are going to start calling in well – as they should – the days allotted should reflect that policy.

Maybe a combination of sick and well, a term that would define and describe the days for exactly what they are. Let’s call them Swell Days™.

Although technically, that could be any day you’re not in the office.

God nose, it could be worse

This week hasn't gotten off to a great start.

As you'll recall from an earlier post - and there will be a test - I mentioned I had a rather volcanic nosebleed about a week ago. But I saw my ear/nose/throat doctor, decided to buy some stock in saline gel and spray, and let it go at that.

And I didn't have another nosebleed. Until yesterday.

I was leaving the house for a gig at an agency I work at frequently, and I let the dogs out (guess that answers that question) one last time. While I was in the yard, I bent over to pick something up and blew a gasket. Like they say in the movies, it was a gusher.

The creative director at the agency I was supposed to start at has been great, and after having my nose cauterized (this post just gets better and better doesn't it?) today, I should be back on track Friday.

It all got me thinking about people who have it much worse than I do when it comes to nose issues. If there's anywhere size does matter, it's the schnoz, especially when it comes to colds, allergies or, for the overachievers in the audience, fire-hose nosebleeds.

I don't have a large nose or a small nose. I'd place it right in the middle. However, when I was in junior high school, Eddie Petroff decided to place it off to the side.

I was on the bus home from Bancroft Jr. High School in Hollywood. The bus was jammed with kids, and was pulling away from the stop when I saw Eddie walking with his girlfriend Dorinda, who I was friends with. Eddie saw me looking at Dorinda and said something to me, and I said something back. I figured I was fine since the bus was moving.

Well, besides being in a gang called the Diablos (so quaint, they used fists instead of guns), old Eddie was quite the little runner. He ran alongside the bus, and got the driver to stop and let him on. In slow motion, I saw Eddie parting the Red Sea of students, storming down the middle aisle making his way to me.

All together now: Oh shit.

Eddie got to me, grabbed me by the collar, said something stupid that made me wonder, again, why Dorinda was with him, then punched me in the nose and broke it. My friend Sandy was in the seat behind me, and years later, when I asked him why he didn't do anything to help me, he gave me a disarmingly honest answer. He said, "I figured why should I get killed."

Anyway, ever since having my nose broken by Eddie, I've had problems. I've had surgery twice to correct a deviated septum (Septum? Damn near killed 'em!). Apparently during one of those surgeries, my septum was perforated so I now have a small hole in between airways. Sometimes late at night, when the moon is full and the sky is clear, if the air's cold or I'm breathing hard enough, like from walking to the kitchen to stare into the open refrigerator, or looking for the remote, if you listen carefully you can hear my nose whistle.

I'm thinking about taking it on America's Got Talent. Still undecided.

The point, and yes there is one, is despite my nasal distress since junior high and this past week, it could've been worse. Thankfully, it's all manageable.

If someone were to ask me what I think of this post, I'd have to say snot the best I've ever done, but at least it doesn't blow. Sorry, couldn't help myself.

I'll take my leave now with my favorite big nose joke of all time. Pay attention, it happens early around the :47 second mark. Please to enjoy.

A little bug

My first question is why does a post-it note need a push pin? These are the things you ponder when you're sick and have too much time to think.

Being sick sucks. I started feeling bad Sunday, with the symptoms getting gradually worse. Runny nose, clammy, aching. Classic signs of a cold/flu-y kind of thing coming on.

I thought the timing was interesting, because I was sick for about a week before my last gig started. And I'm starting a new gig next week. History repeating itself.

Monday was the big surprise morning though. I let loose with a vicious sneeze, so hard in fact that I blew a blood vessel and had a nosebleed that looked like the scene of the crime. Or a Dexter audition.

So that was fun.

In the past, I've had to have my nose cauterized for a vessel that wouldn't stop, so I thought maybe that was happening again. But I got to my Ear/Nose/Throat doctor, and he said it didn't have to be done this time.

I haven't had another one - sneeze or nosebleed - since Monday.

So for the last couple days, and for the next couple, it's me, the humidifier and catching up with whatever's on the DVR. And making a brief, exhausting appearance or two at the kids final concerts before they graduate - one to college, one to next year in high school.

I know you've become accustomed to me wrapping up these posts with a snappy little line. And while I hate to disappoint my five readers, I just don't have it in me today. Sure, I know there's a joke somewhere about "nothing to sneeze at..." but I just don't feel up to looking for it right now.

Back to bed.

Things I was wrong about: Butt heaters

This time, I think I've stumbled on to a series that, as my wife would be the first to point out (can I get an "Amen" from the husbands), will give me a limitless supply of material to drone on about.

Joining the already wildly popular series on this site like Don't Ask, Guilty Pleasures, Things I Love About Costco and What Took So Long is now Things I Was Wrong About.

First up, car butt heaters.

I used to laugh at people who raved about butt heaters in their car seats. After all, it's not like we live in Minnesota. It just seemed like a useless option no one needed, a waste of money and a car fire just waiting to happen.

That is, it seemed like that until I finally got a car that had them.

Suddenly, magically, I couldn't get enough of those frigid Southern California nights, you know, where the temperature plummets to around 58 degrees. With my driver's seat butt heater set on high, driving on chilly nights became a comfy, cozy ride that I wanted to go on for as long as possible. Especially since on my car, the heat also extends to the mid and lower back. Which, if you've never experienced it, is just a little bit of heaven on wheels.

As the seat warms up, so does my attitude behind the wheel. The asshats who text while they drive, the people not signaling when they turn or change lanes, drivers with the eternal turn signal or just plain slow drivers seem to bother me a little less when my butt is warm.

I'm pretty sure Einstein had a theory about that. Look it up.

So I'll just say it. I was wrong about butt heaters. It's one of those things, like remote controls and GPS navigation systems (by the way, watch for those items in future installments), I didn't know I couldn't live without.

Until I didn't have to.

Taking the temperature

I happen to like colder temperatures. Not just at home, but at the office as well.

As long as I remember, people in offices have tried to break into that locked plastic, wall-mounted thermostat to control the temperature. And if you’ve ever tried to do it – not that I ever have because that would be wrong – it’s never been an easy thing to do. So I hear.

Occasionally, some maintenance guy will leave the cover unlocked, and you’ll have access to it for awhile. But despite the painstaking effort to put the cover back in a position that makes it look like it’s locked, eventually some thin-skinned whiner who wears a mohair sweater and scarf when it’s 90 degrees will rat you out because “it’s just soooo cold in here!” Then they lock it up again.

These thermostats don’t just control where you’re sitting. They control different zones in the office. The problem is it’s the same kind of common-sense zoning you find on Bourbon Street, or the Vegas strip. Maybe it controls the temperature where you’re sitting, as well as a corner on the complete other side of the office.

Fortunately, technology has made changing the temperature and messing with people much easier. Sort of.

Everything’s digital now, so you can set the temperature much more accurately. Instead of turning a dial, and waiting for that “pfsssst” sound, now you just hit an up or down arrow.

The problem is the locking system has also gotten better. Screens and their housings can be locked so only a designated person can change the temperature.

But the good news is, since so many agencies have drunk the Kool-Aid on the value of open office plans, which either limits the “zones” or makes them much larger depending on how you look at it, the opportunity to irritate a greater number of people in a shorter amount of time is very real.

Carpé freeze ‘em.