A Very UnHappy Life

I'm sick.

And not the "I drank too much on St. Patty's and slept next to the toilet" sick. But the body pains, head pounding, rattling cough sick. I fell asleep at 1am, woke up at 2am when my sister called me because she was throwing up from the booze and thought I would be in the same predicament (alas, I was not, no spiked shamrock shakes for me on this St. Patty's Eve...Poo...I had all the signs of a massive hangover...just no booze), woke up again at 10am to call in sick to work where I am SURE they thought I had a massive hangover, went back to bed and slept until 3:30pm. Then, when I finally mustered up the energy to lift my head I, VERY pathetically, swatted for my laptop so I could get it closer to me. It hurt to check my email. But check it, I did. I may be sick but I ain't dead. Obsession still be thrivin'. Then, I paid my roommate Jim to go to the store to get me chicken noodle soup and OJ, with pulp of course. (When he said he would do it for free, I believe my actual phrasing was "fine then buy something nice for yourself" as I shoved the food money into his hand.) I felt a lot like Samatha from SATC (two references in a week, beeyotch) when she had the flu and felt really sorry for herself that she didn't have a man to help her out (it's rare but it does happen to me.) So she called that laundry list of guys she had slept with recently. I don't have a laundry list. I just have my gay roommate Jim. And he wanted some cash to buy an energy drink so errand he did run.

Then I realized that the nasty poppopfizzin' of Alka Seltzer wouldn't be enough for me. Without changing out of my sickie jammies, putting a bra on or brushing my teeth, I slipped on my nice black shoes over my slipper socks (they were the only shoes that would fit) and drove to the neighborhood Walgreen's where the nice pharamcist lady told me that Sudafed would not help my ailment. Oh no, 'Tussin was her answer. And I laughed a little as I thought about Chris Rock and his stand up making me all better. Then I bought an unspiked Shamrock shake because I never really got to celebrate the holiday and I was feeling sorry for myself. I laid in bed with the fake green goodness nestled in my arm pit, against my chest, and sipped pathetically from the straw, without ever lifting my hand. Whimpering as I took breaths in between long, slows gulps of leprechaun jiz. I was like a sickly gerbal drinking from those little free hanging water bottles. SWEET!

Thought of the afternoon, no P.O.S. at First Ave for me tonight after rehearsal. Poo.

Considering my insane sleeping schedule, this was a long time coming. I have learned that 2 hours of sleep one night and 13 hours of sleep the next does NOT average out to two nights of good sleep. Hmmm...fancy that.

Anyway, my happy thought for the day/week/month has been the Hoot on Friday where I saw an extraordinarily inspiring set of live music. Hosted by the Mad Ripple, the guests were the Kyle family, a father, Paul, and three of his (all grown up and extremely good looking) sons who were from Belfast. The sang lovely songs about Minnesota, about New York and about their homeland. I felt as if I was on this adventure with them, loving my current home yet inspired to...I don't know...seek out adventure and growth maybe. At one point, Paul Kyle sang "The Flame Song," which had been in the running as an offical Olympics song when they were held in Sydney, AU. The Kyles were in Australia for a conference and, after a strange series of events, this song was in the running. Though it wasn't chosen, The Flame Song became the unofficial anthem for the Olympics that year. Athletes heard it. The people of Australia heard it. Paul spoke about how, as the flame would come through their towns, villages had learned it and sung it, children would dance to it. For the first time in a long time, I thought of my bootleg trading days, a year that left me with about 250 live Springsteen shows on CD and DVD, and how much I wish I could have a boot of this show. It wouldn't be perfect but it would help me never forget the beauty of that overwhelming evening.

"Does the flame burn brighter in your hand than it burns in the hand of your father when he said it's your turn?"

Now, here is what WAS chosen as the official Sydney Olympics song...

uhhh...gross...YIPES!...

Upon viewing the above video and investigating "The Flame Song" further, I began to wonder how contrived or cheesy it all was. "The Flame Song" was originally written about passing the torch of faith. As I am not a churchy religious person, that sort of freaks me out...oh god...no...I LOVE AN INSPIRATIONAL CHRISTIAN SONG! I automatically think of Jesus Camp or those weird church channels that my crappy reception gets in quite clearly. In the end, I am not so closed off to spirituality that I will automatically disregard something because it is labeled Christian, religious or inspirational. I might put it through the ringer a bit more or become more tentative when showing it to others, like it is a guilty pleasure or something. Maybe that's extraordinarily judgemental; maybe I've just questioned for too long; maybe I don't have enough faith. I certainly don't doubt the power and authenticity I felt Friday night. It wasn't about conservative Christianity to me and, much to my mother's chagrin, I'm not going to start going to church every Sunday. In the dark, intimate basement of Java Jacks, as Paul Kyle sang, played the guitar, and his sons sang backup, played drums and guitars, I thought about this one song not only connecting a family but uniting an entire country. I just felt braver. And maybe that much more spiritual.

Bruce Springsteen: "Some people pray, some people play music."

Big thoughts for a clouded brain.

Time to finish my soup, drink my OJ, take my 'Tussin, watch "Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill", fall asleep to have wild 'Tussin dreams, and pray that I don't shat out the next saviour. Poo.

Pray for me, pooheads. WOO! TUSSIN!

SICKNESS UPDATE: It's 4:15 am and I can't fall asleep. So I looked up craigslist missed connections (guilty pleasure number two) and found the most brilliant question ever asked on the internet...

"looking for the girl that gave me head at white castle in blaine 7 years ago... you out there?"

Wow. I swear to god that wasn't me. But oh how it's just too good. That combination of words is possibly the most pathetic, trashy, awesome sentence one could ever utter. Oh PostingID: 295838607...I hope you found your ho!