This Wasn't My Idea Of A Vacation

When I complained that I needed at least a week's bed rest after rubbing myself down to a nub after the holiday shopping deluge at the store this season, I hadn't exactly dreamed of spending all that time so sick I was almost physically unable to climb out of bed for an even week the day after Christmas due to strep... or bleh, whatever the hell it was I had. My regular doctor wasn't in the office last Friday so one of her fellow medical associates checked me out, gave me a strep test that came back negative, but looked down my throat and said "Well if that isn't strep I don't know what is." So she told me to stay away from work and take antibiotics and in 24 hours I should start feeling better. Well come Sunday New Years Eve I was still in agony and being it Sunday I went instead to Patient First (one of those walk-in ERs that are open every day of the year) and he told me that I didn't have strep but just a bad cold, and that's why my antibiotics weren't working. I still wasn't sure if I was completely convinced that this kind of swelling and pain was just some rinkydink cold passing through -- I'm not this much of a puss about throat pain -- but he did prescribe some Tylenol 3 which I, being so grateful for some relief after six straight days of misery, proceeded to eat like Chiclets. Which of course, made me even sicker, because I'm a idiot like that. But at that point I was willing to take nausea over pain and I do admit as ill as I felt I wasn't feeling a damn thing from the neck up all night. I vaguely remember being bundled up in bed surrounded by Kleenex, one eye open at the TV and experiencing a slight sense of horror at how Dick Clark never blinks his eyes and must therefore be an android (I predict next year he'll just be a head in a jar of formaldehyde a'la Futurama) and that Joe came into the room right at midnight to give me a smashing New Years Eve kiss, even more so for having spent the week keeping one room away from him so that he wouldn't get my cooties. I was pretty deprived of human touch and physical affection by then, and I'm convinced the healing powers of that kiss alone was what made the sore throat pain evaporate instantly by early the next morning.

Now I'm back at work, and pretty much just have a rotten cold. So yeah, not exactly the downtime I had planned for myself once the season was through. But I can't say I didn't get enough bed rest. Too much, in fact. I didn't feel much like sitting up at the computer and things got a little squirrely once I started running out of reading material in my house, with every book on the shelf read and every comic book turned over and over. I did manage to sneak out to Trilogy last Wednesday (new comix day, yo) with wool coat collar pulled up over my mouth to keep my germs containable while I picked up the latest issues of Love And Rockets, Strangers In Paradise, and American Splendor. But the thrill of new comix dies rapidly once read. Luckily my Amazon packages arrived with emergency backup literature:




Luba: Three Daughters (Love And Rockets) is the final compilation book from Gilbert Hernandez from his Luba serial, all of which except for the last two issues I have already read but here at least I get the loose ends tied up to the storyline to the continuing adventures of Luba and her relationship with her two half-sisters Petra and Fritzi. Incredible as always. Anyone who knows Los Bros Hernandez knows that when it comes to weaving intricate storylines with beautifully flawed flesh-out (and how!) female characters Beto can't be beaten.




Ellen Forney's I Love Led Zeppelin, a compilation of this hilarious Seattle-based cartoonist's solo and collaborative work with the likes of Margaret Cho, Dan Savage, and even (unknowingly) Camille Paglia, among many others. Forney has a fantastic wit about her style, and I envy her ability to somewhat alter her technique from story to story with ease, something that I have never had success with in all my years as an sketcher. Topics in this book include illustrated guides to how to be a successful call girl, how to sew back an amputated finger, and even how to rollerskate backwards, along with many other intriguing stories and humorous anecdotes.




Can't forget my new tunes, too. Roots of Rumba Rock: Congo Classics 1953-1955, a 2-disc set compilation of Cuban-tinged Congolese rumba rock (or "soukous" as they called it) from the early years. Short, succinct tracks, beautifully sung, and thoroughly groovy.

Back to work today. And I'm off again tomorrow. And as I am learning this morning, when you don't take three or four Tylenol 3's at one time, the effect can be rather... rather.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....