Germs, germs, germs!!!

barf.jpgI’ve been receiving email and telephone reports from outside my hermetically sealed Chamber of Super Awesome Journalism that there’s a strain of flu out there that’s immune to the flu shot and you filthy Twin Cities residents have been passing it around like an elite Frisbee football team.

Honestly, doesn’t anyone wash their hands anymore?

It’s times like this that I thank Buddha and his benevolence in allowing me to work at home where I have complete control over every single microbe in the joint and I no longer have to keep tabs on co-workers who exit the bathroom a dubious three seconds after flushing, then having to avoid them for the rest of the day, lest they touch me with their bacteria-infested extremities, forcing me to burn every stitch of clothing upon returning home that evening and taking a bleach shower out in the garage. God I miss the Federal Reserve Bank

Meanwhile, since none of you can keep your various and copious diseases to yourselves, I have no choice but to remain sequestered here, writing tedious, but absurdly well-paid corporate content and having my meals delivered at precise intervals, three times a day through my one-way, air-tight, pass-through carousel, coated in a microbial organic growth neutralizing compound. Like Buddha intended.

Actually, this bloody cabin fever is killing me. The combination of staggering workload and prohibitively awful weather has kept me rooted to my desk chair for weeks like those creepy Second Life enthusiasts. The only time I get up during the day is when I take calls on my cell phone, requiring me to walk across the room, press my head against the window and stand in the Tranquility Tree yoga position, so that the call won’t drop because T-Mobile’s coverage in downtown Minneapolis is reprehensibly weak.

But the end of the tunnel is rapidly approaching. I left the building a record three times last week for various errands and business, during which time the sun and temps in the 30s zapped the little transistor in my brain that usually compels me to go outside a minimum of three times a day in the summer. Reactivating that part of my physiology couldn’t have been timed better, because I leave for a two week “familiarization tour” to Guam and Saipan on the 20th – via a one night layover in LA – where temps are in the 80s and 90s and despite the prevailing duty-free, budget Japanese vacation atmosphere, I’ll be enjoying pristine beaches and some of the finest SCUBA diving on that side of the planet.

Then there’s the developing side trip to a curious Micronesian island called Yap, where judging from the picture gallery on the Visit Yap web site, women still wander around the island topless as a matter of course (and presumably dance euphorically for prominent visiting journalists). I answered the email invitation reluctantly, approximately two seconds after receipt, solemnly accepting the duty of thoroughly and exhaustively researching the anthropological curiosity that is Yap for journalistic posterity. I am, if nothing else, a slave to my rarified art form.

[Photo credit: PayPaul]

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Uncategorizable | 3.03.2008 10:25 | 3 Comments

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