Batter up

I've always been an omelette kind of guy. But when push comes to shove, I'll have to admit I enjoy the occasional flapjack.

When I was growing up, my parents used to take me to the International House of Pancakes. That's what it said right on the sign. This was before the texting-friendly abbreviation IHOP cut it down to size.

They were easy restaurants to recognize, what with their powder-blue A-frame buildings. They had bottomless coffee pots (which meant nothing to me then or now), and all kinds of different flavored syrups on the tables, even though maple was the one that was always empty.

My best memory of IHOP - I'll call it that for expediency - wasn't the Half-Dollar pancakes, the sticky tabletops or the orange aprons the waitresses wore. It's the time I had breakfast there with Tommy Smothers.

Bet you didn't see that coming.

I'd met Tommy at a release party for Groucho's album, An Evening With Groucho. It was a star-studded release party in Beverly Hills, and my friend David Weitz and I were hired to dress as Groucho and work the room (if you're wondering how I met Groucho, you can read about it here).

At that party, I'd also met and spoken to Tommy Smothers. He was in fact the nicest person there. Fast forward months later. I walked into the IHOP on Fairfax just north of Wilshire, and sitting at a table by himself was Tommy Smothers. I debated for a second about bothering him. But then I realized this situation would never present itself again, so I went for it.

I introduced myself to him, and reminded him we'd met at the Groucho album release. Tommy invited me to sit and have breakfast with him.

I ordered, and we talked about the party, the Smothers Brothers and the state of comedy and television. It was an extraordinary morning. When the check came, he insisted on paying for my breakfast.

In the years since, I've been lucky enough to see the Smothers Brothers perform at both a private function, as well as the Cerritos Theater of Performing Arts. Sadly, since they're now retired, I won't have the chance again.

Since he joined Twitter, I've actually had a few exchanges with Dick Smothers. I asked Dick one time why Tommy wasn't online, and he told me Tommy is too busy with their vineyard and other things.

Whatever he's up to, I hope he's happy and healthy. I'll never forget my breakfast with him.

I'm not really sure who their mom liked best. But in my book, they're both great.

I'd like to make a withdrawal

For the past several weeks, I've had a head-dizzying, rib-aching, throat-inflaming, dry hacking cough. I couldn't get two words out without going into a full on coughing attack. In fact I wrote about it here when it first started.

Early on, I was holding onto hope it was strep throat, or some other bacterial infection I could knock out with antibiotics.

I'm a big believer in antibiotics.

I don't pay no never mind to news reports that talk about drug-resistant strains, doctors over prescribing them or patients abusing them. Antibiotics are like buses - if one doesn't work on what I have, there'll be another FDA approved one coming along any minute.

Better living through chemistry. I'm all for it.

Anyway, three doctors, two physician's assistants and one holistic healer later, I had to face the fact that it wasn't bacterial. Instead, they all agreed it was a virus.

Unfortunately they also agreed the only choice I had was to ride it out. They said they were seeing a lot of this, and it usually ran its course in three weeks. All well and good, except in an extremely rare example of overachieving, mine went on for eight weeks.

Beyond the obvious, one of the drawbacks was I went weeks without sleeping. I couldn't get through the night without waking up on the hour coughing up a lung. I finally resigned myself to the fact I was going to be walking through the world in a fugue state, even more than usual, until I got past this thing.

However after several holistic cough medicines, tons of Hall's Cough Drops (if you own stock in them you're welcome) and daily doses of Robitussin DM, one of my doctors finally prescribed this.

Something something Codeine.

Codeine has always been my friend. Besides gradually, gently carrying me off to dreamland, it found the off switch for the cough. It was a blessing to finally get a few hours sleep straight through.

Here's the funny part. I got really, really, really used to it.

So as the cough started to subside, which it thankfully has, I decided a few nights ago to stop taking the codeine cough syrup.

My body no likey.

Since I quit, I sleep about two or three hours, then bolt straight up - wide awake - for the same amount of time before I go back to sleep for a couple hours again.

And since (Breaking Bad) I watch (Breaking Bad) a lot of television (Breaking Bad) about drug dealers and addicts (Breaking Bad), I self-diagnosed what's been happening as codeine withdrawal.

Sure it's in its mildest form. And you'd think that since I grew up on the mean streets of west L.A. - north of Wilshire - I'd have more experience with this. I haven't, and I have to admit it's kind of interesting and scary at the same time.

I don't expect it'll last much longer. I've polished off the bottle, and soon I'll be back to my usual sleep patterns. But it does go to show how something so seemingly harmless can be quite addictive without you even knowing it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to Starbucks and get my double shot grande espresso, with an extra shot, and get going.