Tuesday, February 26, 2008

a feb-flu-ary poem

Seems like the last two weeks plus I've been in fluville.

Ahem, a poem (slightly altered from the original - yes he is likely rolling in his grave) . . .


Every Flu Down in Fluville Liked Sickness a lot...
But the Grouch, Who lived just north of Fluville, Did NOT!
The Grouch hated Sickness! The whole Sickness season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his nose gets all stuffed up at night.
It could be, perhaps, that his muse seals up tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all,
May have been that his immune system was two sizes too small.
Whatever the reason, His nose or his muse,
He stood there on Sickness Eve, hating the Flus,
Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grouchy frown,
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every flu down in fluville beneath,
Was busy now, brewing a virus to bequeath.
"And they're mixing their concoctions!" he snarled with a sneer,
"Tomorrow is Sickness! It's practically here!"
Then he growled, with his Grouch fingers nervously drumming,
"I MUST find some way to stop Sickness from coming!"
For Tomorrow, he knew, all the flu gals and boes,
Would wake bright and early. They'd rush for a nose!
And then! Oh, the nose! Oh, the Nose!
Nose! Nose! Nose!
That's one thing he hated! The infiltration of his NOSE!
Then the flus, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST!
FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would feast on Grouch mucus, and rare Grouch lung yeast.
Which was something the Grouch couldn't stand in the least!
And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all!
Every flu down in fluville, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with Sickness bells ringing.
They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the flus would start stinging!
They'd sting! And they'd sting! And they'd STING!
STING! STING! STING!
And the more the Grouch thought of this Flu SicknessSting,
The more the Grouch thought, "I must stop this whole thing!"
"Why, for forty-three years I've put up with it now!"
"I MUST stop this Sickness from coming! But HOW?"
Then he got an idea! An awful idea!
THE GROUCH GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
"I know just what to do!" The Grouch coughed up in his throat.
And he made a quick Sicky Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Grouchy trick!"
"With this coat and this hat, I look just like Saint Sick!"
"All I need is a fludeer..." The Grouch looked around.
But, since fludeer are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Grouch? No! The Grouch simply said,
"If I can't find a fludeer, I'll make one instead!"
So he called his dog, Max. Then he took some red thread,
And he tied a big kleenex on the top of his head.
THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks,
On a ramshackle sleigh And he hitched up old Max.
Then the Grouch said, "Giddap!" And the sleigh started down,
Toward the homes where the flus Lay asnooze in their town.
All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the flus were all dreaming sickly dreams without care.
When he came to the first viral house on the square.
"This is stop number one," the old Grouchy Claus hissed,
And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.
Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight slouch.
But, if Sicky could do it, then so could the Grouch.
He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue.
Where the little flu bugs all hung in a row.
"These bugs," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"
Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile like old Sirus,
Around the whole room, and he took every virus!
Snot guns! And vi-cycles! Moller skates! Gums!
fleckerboards! Trinoodlers! Nosecorn! And glums!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Grouch, very nimbly,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!
Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the flus' yeast!
He took the flu-pudding! He took the flu beast!
He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.
Why, that Grouch even took their last can of flu-hash!
Then he stuffed all the vileness up the chimney with a Yeah.
"And NOW!" grinned the Grouch, "I will stuff up the RNA!"
And the Grouch grabbed the RNA, and he started to shove,
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small flu!
Little Cindy-Lou flu, who was not more than two.
The Grouch had been caught by this tiny flu daughter,
Who'd got out of bed for a tin of tainted water.
She stared at the Grouch and said, "Sicky Claus, why,”
"Why are you taking our RNA? WHY?"
But, you know, that old Grouch was so smart and so slick,
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why, my sweet little snot," the fake Sicky Claus lied,
"There's a strand on this RNA that won't spiral on one side."
"So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear."
"I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."
And his fib fooled the young flu. Then he patted her head,
And he got her a drink and he sent her to bed.
And when CindyLou flu went to bed with her tin,
HE went to the chimney and stuffed the RNA in!
On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.
And the one speck of vileness That he left in the house,
Was a microbe that was even too small for a louse.
Then He did the same thing To the other flus' houses
Leaving microbes Much too small For the other flus' louses!
It was quarter past dawn... All the flus, still a-bed,
All the flus, still asnooze When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their viruses! The strands! The trappings!
The gags! And the chinsel! The trimmings! The flappings!
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Strumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
"PoohPooh to the flus!" he was grouchishly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Sickness is coming!"
"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,
Then the flus down in fluville will all cry BooHoo!"
"That's a noise," grinned the Grouch, "That I simply MUST hear!"
So he paused. And the Grouch put his hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow.
But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!
He stared down at fluville! The Grouch popped his eyes!
Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!
Every flu down in fluville, the tall and the small,
Was stinging! Without any viruses at all!
He HADN'T stopped Sickness from coming! IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!
And the Grouch, with his grouch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"
"It came with out viruses! It came without gags!"
"It came without coughing, poxes or snags!"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grouch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Sickness," he thought, "doesn't come from a sore."
"Maybe Sickness...perhaps...can't be stopped anymore!"
And what happened then? Well...in fluville they say,
That the Grouch's small immune system Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his immune system didn't feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light,
And he brought back the viruses! And the bags of vile feast!
And he, HE HIMSELF! The Grouch carved the flu beast!

. . . I must be sick . . .

Cough, cough.

Monday, February 11, 2008

one flu over the cookoo’s desk

Tis Monday once again and time for another flu to lay me low - plugging my sinus cavities, giving me a huge headache and confusing my internal temperature regulation system so that one moment I’m burning up and the next hell is indeed freezing over.

I’ve been playing the house temperature yo-yo without success and my sweater keeps coming off and going back on . . .

Grrrrrr . . .

Suffice to say I’m not quite myself, but I will survive. Oh, and as an added bonus to feeling like a bag of wet clams I will not be in the cubicle from hell today and likely - unless Jebus himself comes down and heals me - will not be in the cubicle again tomorrow.

And no, I did not get a flu shot this year so you can sit back all smug and say “I told you so” if it will make you feel any better because it sure won’t make me feel any better.

That will come with rest, lots of hot liquids and the juice of about ten lemons which when mixed with cranberry cocktail is pretty damn palatable let me tell you.

So, on to the writing update thing. I’ve been doing some work on my “secret project”.

And due to pressure from several sources I feel urged to spill a wee bit of “the secret project” to the masses (sorry to refer to you all as mass, but well ‘science works bitch’ and you are mass, so, just saying.)

Okay then.

The wee bit of information about the secret project . . .

It is a writing project . . .

Happy now?

I may leak more details in future posts, or let you know if it died before it had a real chance to succeed. And to say any more would violate the "one" hint rule I"ve just imposed.

Now, if you will excuse me I have to take out the garbage - from my sinuses . . .

Monday, February 04, 2008

I've got a secret

Oooh, I have a secret project on the go, and oooh, I am excited about it . . .

But secrets are evil, aren’t they?

I mean now that I’ve written the fact down that I have a secret project - the human mind scanning the intertubes is now itching to know the details, or at least a hint, of what it is - right?

And you will leave dissatisfied if no further word it written on the subject.

But, and I need to stress this, this project is so above top secret that it makes project Blue Book look like a New York Best seller sitting in the store fronts of every major book chain for all to see . . .

And if I were to reveal too soon the project I am working on it could sabotage the said project before it turns into solid gold - so you will need to bear with me for a few weeks or months until I can reveal more about it.

I will only say that it would be so very cool to pull off and be potentially so very cool and now I’ll shut it and proceed to the mundane writing update.

And I used 'so', 'very' and 'cool' twice in the paragraph above - which indicates just how discombobulated I am about my newest 'secret' project.

And so I now leave off with 'my secret' and direct your attentions to my writing efforts this past week . . .

I wrote a complete short story! First one in oh, say about a year. That is good, isn’t it? Yeah for me.

My plan from this day forth (like it changes every other day so no real fear here of having to ‘really’ stick to it) is to have one complete tale for each reading night - the night our reading group gathers for food, fun and um, yeah, reading our works.

We gather once per month so I’ll let you work out the math on that one - even during a Leap Year - yeah I’m a bastard.

And if you have stuck with this post all the way down here to this point - I feel it necessary to reveal to you (and hence the entire world - well the literate world that has access to the intertubes as I’m sure some tribes in Borneo are going to miss out . . . digress much!)

My other secret - you know the one about the ‘new profession’ which is not home or car salesmen - I look bad in plaid and am not going to get a gold tooth thank you very much.

Takes a big breath.

My other secret was . . .

It was . . .

Do you really want to know?

Okay, enough chain jerking.

I was going to train as a . . .

Chef . . .

The lack of a fanfare was on purpose.

I even have photographic evidence from about 20 years ago of my desire to do this (and should I get around to it I may post the pic) - BUT . . .

There is always one 'but' isn’t there - and not just at the workplace.

But --- I am physically unable to do that sort of work as I became fully aware last Christmas making perogies.

Standing for the three hours and making them had me almost flat on my back with crippling pain for a day or two - which says to me in a big stentorian Worf-like voice - Do not do this! It is madness.

Made you see his bumpy head and hear his voice, didn’t I . . . Admit it - you did.

So, much as I would have liked to pursue that avenue - I simply can’t. This does not mean I will, once retired (68 months to go maximum) not do some serious cooking at home - it just means no pirate’s life for me . . .

Well, I’ve given one secret away and hidden another so I would call it even.

Until next week when I rave about my secret project again without revealing any details.

I already mentioned what I am earlier in the post - if you missed it you could read it again.

Did I mention I’m excited?

Okay - permission to change channels.