Christopher Street

Living on cash.

So, last Sunday, my wallet was stolen.

Now, those who know me know that I lose things a lot. I lose my wallet once a year or so. I am very familiar with the pain that is credit-card and driver's license replacement. However, this time it is different. This time someone reached into my cart at Target and took my wallet. They took it and walked off with it. Actually, the police are certain that this person was a man so I will dispense with the gender neutrality. According to the security video, after he lifted the wallet, he walked to the electronics department where he rifled through its contents, likely while I was still looking at toasters. While I was picking out a new pair of spring PJs, he discarded what he didn't want in the radio aisle, behind the CD cases. While I was frantically rummaging through my cart, panic creeping up, he was likely calmly walking out of the store.

This feels different from just losing my wallet.

In the end, though, it was my own carelessness. I am inherently trusting of people. I would never pick up a wallet or a purse or a child out of a cart, no matter how easy it might seem to do so. I sometimes see babies, seemingly abandoned by their parents, just sitting in carts and I know then how so many end up kidnapped, because it must seem so easy. Just pick up the child and walk calmly out of the store.

Just pick up the wallet and walk calmly out of the store.

However, because I wouldn't do that, I assume that others will also restrain themselves. And so, I turn my back and I kneel down to get a closer look at the box of the toaster that I want and while I am doing this, he reaches into my life and walks off with a part of it.

He was kind enough to leave my drivers license. I guess even thieves understand that there's a special place reserved in hell for people that cause other people to have to go to the DMV. He left me my healthcare cards, too. Perhaps he realized that I have a crappy prescription plan? The last thing that he didn't take was my Blockbuster movie rental card. I'm a little bummed about that, though. I owe Blockbuster so much money that if he had taken that card and tried to rent something, he would have been arrested on the spot.

As it is, I am not certain that he will be arrested at all. The police have pictures of him, but that doesn't mean that they will find him. And, if they do, what will really happen to him?

The thing that I find most fascinating is that he didn't even try to use the cards. He didn't even get a tank of gas for his trouble. If he had been a smarter thief, he would have written down the numbers and left the cards. He could have gone online with those numbers later and had quite the spree--see, I never would have cancelled the cards if they had been in the wallet when Jay--Mr. Target Security--found it. I would have blissfully thanked my lucky stars to have dodged a bullet and would have paid for my jammies and my toaster and gone quietly home. By taking the cards, though, he assured himself that he wouldn't be able to use them. In this day and age, you would think that he would know that they would be cancelled before he got home.

In any case, there are new cards on the way and all is well. As soon as the new cards arrive, I will go back and buy the jammies and the new toaster. I am still looking forward to it, just maybe not so much as before. Maybe I will buy myself a new wallet, too, one that wasn't rifled through by a stranger.

Final thoughts on the Olympics.

So the Olympics are over. I am not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I was irritated by a lot of the coverage, yes, and found many events to be better for the sleeping than a valium and a shot of Jack. However, there were some shining moments and, truth be told, I had even gotten used to old Bob Costas by the end. I think maybe he was just trying too hard during the opening ceremonies.

Just a couple of end-of-the-Olympic notes before we leave them for good:

First, I am as patriotic as the next guy but I was actually happy to see a couple of Americans not win (which is not to say that I am necessarily glad that they lost. it's a fine distinction, I will grant you that. ) First, I was glad that the Canadians won the Hockey gold medal. I dig Canada, one, and I like Mario Lemieux, two, and I think that they totally deserved it, three. I was really happy for them. I was also happy for that Canadian Guy that won the 2 short-track speedskating medals. I like Apolo Anton Ohno as much as the next giddy 15-year-old--even though I'm 35--but the Canadian Guy--Marc Gagnon is his name--was the Dan Janssen of the SLC games, having fallen in the Short-Track 500 at both Nagano and Lillehammer. That he was all nerves-of-steel-y enough to stay on his feet was cool in and of itself but that he actually won, was way cooler.

Second, I dug on the Exibition Skate on Friday night much more than I thought I would. I was missing Elvis (and missing Phillippe Candeloro, which is a whole nother story) and really not looking too much forward. But watching the Russians and the Canadians skate together was just so darned heart-warming that even this heart was warmed. That deathspiral-a-quatre was amazing and the way that the crowd reacted to poor, persecuted Anton and Yelena was just wonderful. I was hoping for a David-Yelena throw triple Sal, but you can't get everything.

Finally, I thought that the closing ceremonies rocked. I liked the skater-famous musician pairings a lot and, really, anytime I get to see Scott Hamilton skate is a good day. I was moved by Dorothy Hamill, but disappointed that we didn't get to see a Hamill Camel. I was hoping to see Peggy Fleming, though, or maybe Tai Babilonia and Randy Gardner. But, nevertheless, it was great. The 10-year-old fangirl alive and well inside me also really dug that it was Donny and Marie in the T Rexes. What can I say? :)

Placemats

A long time ago, way back in 1993, I got my first modem. It was a 2400 baud external and I hooked it up to my Mac LCII and did what we all did in 1993--I signed up with America Online.

I was Lorixxxx then and I was quite timid. I wasn't sure about this whole new internet thing. I wasn't sure where to sit, what to wear, what to bring, what kind of wine to have with chicken parm...

Well, I'm still not too sure on that last one. But I digress.

Anyway, I wandered around the aol-version of the internet for not very long before I stumbled into a message board that would change my life. Literally.

Now, you are going to laugh when I tell you what the topic was that we were discussing there, in this place that changed my life: this place was the Melrose Place discussion board. But it didn't change my life because I felt validated in my love of cheesy Aaron Spelling shows. It changed my life because also stumbling, dazed and confused, into the same board were not a few remarkable people.

We talked about Melrose Place for a while (and we talked about that other Spelling show, the one that spawned MP, the one we affectionately called ZIP) and we laughed and we made up silly drinking games and we made fun of the scripts and we lusted after the actors and actresses and we debated minutae of plot and acting ability, or lack thereof. We talked about nose jobs and boob jobs. We even fought sometimes. Although the AOL boards were pretty tame--not much flaming here--some people were rude and we didn't like them much. I got into one such battle with TVHack over my belief that she was mistreating my buddy GMBottom and her belief that I was too harsh on Tori Spelling when I called her "Donna the horse-faced girl". This resulted in Lorixxxx going away and CJoff being born. That is the coolest and most frightening thing about the Internet...if you get tired of being one thing, you can just be something else....

And so Lori became CJ and on we went. I don't know to this day if everyone ever found out. Some did, sure, but I am also sure that there are some people that wondered, at least for a time until they stopped caring all together, what ever happened to old Lorixxxx.

Our AOL interaction went on for a very long time, something resembling 2 or 3 years. Along the way, bonds were formed among the regulars. But we soon began to lose people. AOL was suddenly uncool and too expensive and there were connection problems...many reasons to go, only the one reason to stay. For many of us, the only reason we stayed with AOL as long as we did was so that we could still be Placemats.

(Placemats was a term coined by one JTBug. We were referred to by this name in at least one out-of-print book...it was very exciting!)

By late 1995 attrition had done a number on us. There were more Placemats gone than left. The show was awful and would not-soon-enough be cancelled. By all reasonable thinking, we should have moved on. Except we didn't.

As would be expected, some of us had corresponded offline, in various combinations over the years. But it wasn't particularly organized and it wasn't particularly all-encompassing. But then one day, Lolitacon sent a joke to about 20 of us. And someone replied to all with a comment. And someone else replied. And it snowballed.

And it's 6 years later. And we're still together.

I don't know how many messages we have exchanged over the years, because we didn't start tracking that sort of thing until the middle of 1999. I can tell you that we have exchanged 2246 emails since then. 2246. I think that's extraordinary. Now, we don't write as much as we used to. But when there are births or deaths or new jobs...or just a cool movie to recommend, there we are, still.

I will take a minute to say that I have had the extreme pleasure of being live, in-person friends with two of the folks from the list. They are amazing people and I treasure them. And to think that I wouldn't have met them were it not for Aaron Spelling, AOL and a 2400 baud modem.

So, here's to the Placemats: Alexia110 and PresBall and dbmelnick and Lolitacon and Drewben and Elizaname and GafBoy and Oscarfan and MSJ66 and Lacamille and ActonBell and Kmacp and gregs70 and Rudycat and LHamameh and JesseAaron and RepubNewt and TVHack and KarenLutz and VShea and RobinMo and GMBottom and SNFLDFAN and PSPhotog and especially to the much-missed JTBug for starting it all.

My company celebrates few federal

My company celebrates few federal holidays, or at least it seems that way. We actually get 10 days, but they are all bunchy--we get Thursday and Friday of Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas Day and New Years Eve and New Years Day. That's 6 of the 10 days, right there! Imagine my surprise, then, to find that we actually had President's Day off. (The other three days that we get, for those who are curious, are Memorial Day, July 4th and Labor Day).

Because of the crazy work schedule that we have been dealing with the last few weeks, I decided to take full advantage of the holiday and make a 4-day weekend out of it. Because my Friday was pretty busy, I decided to take Tuesday off instead. With 4 days in front of me and nothing that needed to be done, I had high ambitions for what I would get accomplished. While I didn't get the checkbook balanced or the Christmas decorations carried to the basement or the chair that I moved to make room for the Christmas Tree moved back, I did get many, many things done.

The tragedy that was my trip to the salon on Saturday is well-documented so I won't go into that again, except to say that, half a tube of Neosporin later, my finger is healing. :) Saturday night John and I went out to dinner, something that we rarely get to do these days with our crazy schedules. I told him that, as much as I wish he were happier at his job, I am really glad that we have been working on this same project for the last 6 months. I think that it has made us much more understanding of what the other is going through at work. I have heard so many folks on our team complaining that their marriages have suffered as a result of this implementation. For us, while it still hasn't been anything resembling fun, at least we have been able to support each other and feel each others' pain.

After dinner, we went book-shopping (and office supply shopping--I never miss working for CorpEx more than in the checkout line at Staples). I love book-shopping. Being at Borders or Barnes and Noble comforts me. I mentioned yesterday that I bought some HTML books--O'Reilly's "Web Design in a Nutshell" and "HTML Pocket Reference蚤nd I also bought a new novel that I am excited about, although its name is escaping me. I haven't started reading it, as I have been buried in the HTML stuff. I may give it a go later this evening.

Anyway, we got home Saturday night in time for the Pairs Figure Skating Medal Ceremony Redux. I was happy for the Canadians and happy that some semblance of the right thing was being done for once. It wasn't the same as if it had been done right at the beginning, but better than it never having been done right at all.

Sunday is a blur. A black hole. A vortex of lost time. I honestly have no memory of the day, at all. Ah, I did watch the new Queer as Folk at 10. Other than that, I couldn't tell you what I did, although I suspect that there was napping involved.

Monday was a pretty cool day--extraordinarily cool, actually. I have been craving kabob from this Persian restaurant in Virginia that I love and missing my friend Lisa and needing to buy a salt celler at this kitchen supply store--Sur la Table...and, well, all of these things seemed to magically converge on Monday. Lisa also had the day off so we arranged to meet for shopping and a Kabob lunch. As we entered the mall, I unexpectantly encountered...a Sur la Table store! It was kismet, kismet, I tell you. My kosher salt now has a home!

And today, I got much more done on the website. There's still not a lot of content but we're done with graphics and backgrounds. The overall style is set and the links out to external content work. Come by for a visit! Thanks to Dan H. for the work on the graphic!

My day at the spa.

I have been getting my nails and hair done by the same woman for over 6 years. Her name is Phyllis and she does a great job, reasonably prices her services and is flexible with her schedule. It has been a dream being her customer.

About 6 weeks ago, I got a phone call from her saying that I would have to make another arrangement for my hair and nails as she was having some medical problems which would prevent her from working for a while. This is bad news on so many levels, the least important of which is my need to find a new manicurist. She has a couple of teenagers, she is a very active, athletic person, she enjoys the money she makes. All of these things are going to be impacted. All of these things are more important than my nails.

However, be that as it may, I still need to find someplace to get my nails done. My brother-in-law is the general manager of a relatively well-known salon in the city. I never visit there, mostly because I know that he would insist on discounting the service and I don't like taking advantage of our relationship, however this is a crisis and so I call.

He gets me an appointment for the following Saturday (this is 3 weeks ago now) and it is bliss. The manicurist is skilled, she complies with my wish that she not use an electric drill, and she tacks on a quick warm creme hand massage for good measure. I leave feeling pampered, refreshed. I think that I can live with this, till Phyllis gets better. (Honestly, even though this is super-pampering, I'd still rather have Phyllis do it. First, she's really good at what she does; second, the conversation's better; third, I always get to pay full price...and that price is reasonable)

So, 3 weeks go by and I am in need of more nail attention. I make an appointment for this past Saturday. Unfortunately, the woman who was so fabulous last time is booked; I will have to make due with the person at a neighboring station.

This time, things are less than exciting. First, this person insists on using the drill. She is also much less skilled, and not a little argumentative. Finally, while trimming my nails, she clips too close to the skin, drawing blood. If you have ever had blood drawn during a manicure, well, it's not pleasant.

So, she's finally done and I go to pay and I notice that I have smeared my polish. I'm not about to go back in. I don't really ever want to see this person again. But then I am struck with a brilliant idea--I will buy a bottle of the polish and stop at Phyllis's. Maybe she could help me fix just this one nail, I hope.

So I call and she is home and she offers to help, as I knew she would. She tells me that I am not to even try to fix this nail myself--she's better with one hand than I am with two she tells me. She is right on that count.

It's really good to see her. We have a good visit, get caught up on all that's gone on these last 6 weeks, talk about her kids, her doctors, her PT, my crazy family, my new website, this journal. I was shocked at how much I had missed her. And, even though she was only fixing the one nail, I was comforted. I felt like she was going to get better. I felt like her life would turn out OK afterall. And, I felt good that I might still get to be a part of it.

On the way out the door, she pressed tons of hair coloring supplies into my hands. I guess she must have noticed all the grey that has accumulated during her convalescence. :) We'll see how that goes--my last attempt at home color was a pretty big disaster!

Nothing much else to report--tivogoddess.com is up with an "under construction" page and not much else. I'm going to work the rest of the weekend on getting some actual content up. I bought a bunch of very intimidating HTML books. I don't want to actually read them--I guess I'm hoping that what I need to know will magically jump off the pages and directly into my brain! Probably not, though. In any case, that is my only real goal for the rest of the weekend. By Wednesday, we will know how much of it I accomplished.

I'm so excited!

Do not fear the colors. It is just my half-assed nod to those that celebrate this goofy holiday. And before you gasp and and ask if that means that John and I don't celebrate, well, no, we don't. I don't like to have moments of affection scheduled by a card company. Sue me. :) I do like pretty colors, though, and thought that this might be a good opportunity to play with the template editor. Don't worry--we'll be back to normal tomorrow.

That's all for now. Happy Valentine's Day!

The wrong jeans and the wrong scores.

I wore the wrong jeans today. Now, I am sure that you men out there are scratching your heads at that statement, but trust me when I tell you that the women in the audience know exactly what I am talking about.

It's not possible to have a good day in the wrong jeans. You just can't. You spend the day pulling and tugging and squirming. You can't concentrate on anything, other than the fact that you are annoyed with your pants.

I should have known it as soon as I got out of my truck this morning and tried to slip my cell phone into the little 5th pocket. See, I couldn't find the little 5th pocket. It was not where it is on all the other days. Finally, distracted by something shiny, I'm sure, I just dropped my phone into one of the larger pockets and forgot about it. Later, sitting in a meeting, I ruminated about the fact that I couldn't find the 5th pocket (see, these are the things you think about in meetings when you are annoyed with your pants) and quickly surmised that perhaps, these were, in fact, the wrong jeans. Later, in the ladies room, I confirmed it.

I will try to be more careful tomorrow.

Anyway, I was watching the Olympics last night and noticed that Yevgeny Plushenko fell on his ass and still placed 4th, well in reach of a medal. Fell on his ass. On his ass. Elvis, OTOH, did not fall on his ass (although he did step out of a jump) and is sitting in 7th place. It would take a miracle for him to medal at this point. I will point out that Anton Sikharulidze stepped similarly out of a jump in the pairs freeskate and was rewarded with a gold medal for his efforts.

There are whispers, of course, that this is backlash for the controversy that is currently swirling around the pairs competition and I think that it's possible that this is true. The judges have never been enamoured of Mr. Stojko, but I have seen him step out of jumps before and it never resulted in him getting a 4.9 technical score.

Did I mention that Plushenko fell on his ass? Figure Skating is an embarassment to judged sports everywhere.

Other than that, I am finding the Olympics to be stultifying. I am TiVoing every minute of the coverage, which puzzles me because I watch so little of it. I am especially FFWing through all the Bob Costas stuff because I like Bob and I don't want all that like to slip away. He was so annoying during the opening ceremonies that John ordered him shot into space. He's the John Tesh of the SLC games. And somebody, for the love of all that's holy, get Jim McKay some new dentures.

Those Darned Russians

So, anyone but me watch the Olympic Pairs Free Skate tonight? Anyone else disgusted at the way things turned out?

With no Americans in contention, I was pretty unbiased going into the short on Saturday. I thought that the Russians skated well, as did the Canadians. I was amazed at the Chinese throw jumps and thought that Ina and Zimmerman skated far better than the marks they got. But, I was pretty sure, going into tonight, that it was still anyone's game.

Ina and Zimmerman were the first couple that "mattered" (that is, that had a prayer of winning a medal) that took the ice and they skated magically. They were innovative and the program was gorgeous. I was convinced when they left the ice that the bronze was within reach.

Then the other Russians skated and put me to sleep. Literally. I fell asleep on the chair, they were so boring. Of course, the judges, after applying the mandatory "American" deduction to Ina and Zimmerman, placed the boring Russians (so boring that I am not even going to bother looking up their names) in third place. So much for the bronze.

Berezhnaya and Zikharulidze skated next and they were OK. They were a little bobbly and didn't seem to be skating with much passion. Anton stepped out of a jump at one point and I looked at John and said, "well, that's the gold". Boy was I wrong.

Anyway, without the mandatory American deduction, their marks were way, way too high. I was getting nervous.

But then Sale and Pelletier skated. And I wasn't nervous anymore. Their program was, to quote another famous Canadian skater, from the blade. They were flawless, they sold the program, acted the shit out of the material and landed all their jumps clean. They won the gold. They knew it, the announcers knew it, the crowd knew it, I knew it.

Only they didn't. The Russians won. Oh, and the Chinese pair, Shen Xue and Zhao Hongbo, blew the quad throw sal, which was actually good because if they had landed it and won the bronze anyway (there is a mandatory Chinese deduction, too, you see) there would have been a riot.

And so, for 11 olympics a Russian or Soviet pair has won the gold. Many times before, that has been deserved. It wasn't tonight.

Even the Russians seemed embarrassed. I'm not a good lip reader, especially when those lips are speaking with a Russian accent, but Anton seemed to be apologizing to the Canadians during the medal ceremony. To me, it looked like he was saying something like, "it was all you tonight."

Which it was. So here's to Sale and Pelletier, Olympic Gold Medalists in every world except the Bizarro Land that is Park City Utah.

Good things.

One of the things I do in my spare time is moderate a web forum dedicated to TiVo. We're at www.tivocommunity.com, if you'd like to stop by. I must warn you, though--if you come visit, you may actually have to go buy a TiVo--we'll wash your brain!

Anyway, we have quite the community there, a couple thousand folks all together, a couple hundred regulars. One of the board traditions is to write "odes" to posters as they reach milestone post counts. This week, I reached a milestone (1000 posts) and was very touched to receive 2 separate odes:

from bgreen5

Lori is our TiVo Goddess
And of our mods, she is sole moddess
She's turned one grand, and no small novelty
In TiVo Land, she ranks in quality

If we do not keep our heads
She does her duty: closes threads
But always tries first to give warning
Lest our barbs result in mourning

Cheerful, friendly, gracious hosting
Contributes here with little boasting
Like from the gritty depths... a pearl
Reserves her right to "be a girl"

A manager, by trade, of training
She keeps our threads from acid raining
And manages to steer us clear
Away from ill, and toward good cheer

And, from my buddy Pan Chun, a limerick:

There once was a mod name of Lori
(A babe, but that's another story)
You'll get along fine
Just don't "cross the line"...
She'll consign you to thread purgatory!

Now, as you know, it's been an icky week. I was sick and I'm working nights and I am having this struggle with my feelings about my friend's...er...feelings. Feelings about feelings. Sounds like a bad Streisand tune.

Anyway, as weeks go, not in my top 10. And then a couple of strangers write a couple of poems about me and make it all better. :) Behold the power of the Internet!

Just to give an update on the situation with my friend, I have decided to say nothing. He's a grown man and I can't change him. I have gotten that advice from 2 people I trust (thanks Jerry and Steve) and so I am going to let him find his own way. I did make a donation to the Lambda Legal Defense and Education Fund, as I had indicated I might, in his name. While I was at it, I joined the Human Rights Campaign, PFLAG and the ACLU. I was on a roll. :)

Working nights has also turned out to be a little better than I had expected it to be. I can't say that I'd want to do it full time, especially not in 12-hour shifts, but I am almost used to it. I have been fortunate to have been compatible with my shift-mates--having folks around to laugh with in the middle of the night made the hours go a little faster. I still can't get the sleep-in-the-day thing down, though. I slept 2 hours the first night, three the second, 4+2 the third and 5+1 today (by x+y, I mean that I slept for some amount of time, woke up and then slept for some other amount). I am going to sleep a little this morning and then am going to try and stay up till midnight or so tonight, to try and get back on something resembling a regular schedule. We'll see.

I have been reading a lot of Canadian papers this week--I am so excited about the Olympics! As those who know me know, I am a nut about figure skating, and a nut about Elvis Stojko in particular. Elvis skated his way to a silver medal in Nagano 4 years ago, with the flu and a potentially career-ending groin pull. He is a true champion, a man who has used his talent for something beyond personal gain; he has tried to change the sport. For the good. And last week, he won his 7th Canadian National Title, a nice way to cap a career that includes 3 World Championships and 2 Olympic medals. A nicer way to finish would be to go out with the Olympic gold that has eluded him, once because an European judge didn't like the way he looked on the ice and once because his body betrayed him. I understand that he is skating magnificently--he landed his first competition Quad Toe-Triple Toe combo in 5 years at Nationals. By all accounts, he is lean, he is focused, he is hungry. I can't wait to watch him skate.

Well, I have decided after

Well, I have decided after one night that 12-hour overnight shifts suck.

I got home this morning around 10AM, still completely wired. I played Internet for a while and read some not too bad fan fiction while I was waiting for John to get up (he had been at work till 4AM) and then I went to bed. I guess that was around 11:30. I think that I fell asleep almost immediately, because when the phone rang 2 hours later, I thought that it had been about 10 minutes.

Now, I was asleep in the guest room, rather than in our room. The reason for that is that when John got home, he discovered that one of the cats had puked all over the bed. John loves the cats, but he doesn't clean up after them. He had left the mess for me. I stripped the bed and threw the sheets in the washer before snuggling into the bed in the back guest room. Because the back of the house faces some direction which gets tons of afternoon sun, I woke up about 3 hours later, bathed in sunlight and really, really warm. I got up, opened a window and retrieved my little black sleeping mask from my nightstand. I crawled back into the guest bed...

And was completely stymied in my attempts to sleep.

This doesn't make sense. I slept about 7 hours on Sunday night and about 2 hours Monday afternoon. I worked a 12-hour shift Monday night. I should be completely exhausted. Why can't I sleep?

Of course, it's now 1:30 in the morning and I am having a hard time keeping my eyes open. The rest of this shift is going to be interesting.

OK, to continue from yesterday, I am still really conflicted about what to do about my friend. I have spend a lot of time thinking about it. Do I want to try and talk with him about this? Does he deserve a chance to explain his feelings in a setting less intimidating than a flame war? Is there anything that he could say to me that would make me feel better? Is he worth the time that it would take for me to adequately explain why he's being perceived as a bad guy?

Jerry thinks that there is no purpose to be served. In most cases, unless they have a profound personal experience (child or sibling coming out, for example), adults aren't going to change their minds about things that are so ingrained. If I tell this guy about my own experience, how egotistical is it to think that that can make a difference in his life, in his perspective? And yet, how can I not try? How can I sit here and let him be a bigot and not even say, Jesus Christ, dude! Do you get that you're a bigot? :) At the very least, I want him to know that I am going to make a Lamda Legal Defense Fund donation in his name. :)

First things first: I feel

First things first: I feel much better. I slept for most of the weekend, drank plenty of fluids and took my meds faithfully and was rewarded today by being well enough to return to work. In retrospect, I am not sure that I did the right thing. :)

But I did and so I am here, working the graveyard shift along with 2 other lucky souls. The phone has rung exactly 5 times in the 3.5 hours that I have been here--twice it was a user with a problem and three times it was our VP checking in. It looks like it will be quiet for the rest of the night--I'm here for 9 more hours--but I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse.

Let me explain what we are doing here. I briefly mentioned the other day that we were rolling out some new enterprise software. We have been working on this project since July of 2000 and have been preparing to go live since sometime in the fall of '01. For "go live week", we promised the business that we would provide live, in-person 24x7 support. We're doing this through COB Friday. I am the IT Training Manager. The trainers and I are functioning as supplemental helpdesk staff for the week. Since we trained the application, it stands to reason that we could be useful in a troubleshooting situation. I am working graveyard because someone has to and, as the manager, if someone had to I thought it should be me. One of my trainers is here with me; the rest of the staff is on days. So, I am sitting here in a frigid conference room tricked out as an inpromptu "war room" that I will call home for 48 hours this week. I have a small TV to my left, and a half-gallon of V8 to my right and a bag of cough drops behind the screen of my laptop. Did I mention that it's cold here? It's an "outside" conference room, with 3 walls of windows. It's 17 degrees out. You do the math.

So, besides all the work stuff, what's on my mind today? Well, I'm sad. I'm sad because I have found out that a casual acquaintence is a bit of a bigot, although he doesn't see it that way. He came out on a message board, by saying some pretty snarky things about gays and lesbians. As someone who believes that the fight for equal rights for all Americans, regardless of sexual orientation, is the most important civil rights issue we face today, finding out that someone whose company I have enjoyed for many months has such an abhorrent belief structure is a little jarring. How could I have not seen this? How could I have not known that he was so...misguided? I knew that he was a pretty staunch republican but he never seemed like a monster.

I guess I still believe that he's not a monster. Monsters tie people to trees and beat them with clubs and drag them behind pick-up trucks. He's not that guy. In a very palpable way, though, he's more dangerous than that guy. That guy is vilified by a society that, while quietly suspicious of the "gay lifestyle", is horrified when bright young men are brutally murdered because they are different. This guy, my acquaintance, seems more reasonable to society. He's not violent, he just wants them to leave him alone. He'll tell you that gays should be allowed to do what they want, as long as he doesn't have to see. That what you do in your bedroom is your business, as long as you keep yourself away from kids, from positions of authority or influence. He will tell you that there is no reason for civil rights legislation because, if there's no reason for anyone to know that you're gay, then there's no way you could be discriminated against because of it. And he says it in such a calm reasonable voice that others think that he seems rational. But he's not rational. We violate the civil rights of gays and lesbians every single day in this country. We extend legal rights and protections to straight Americans that are not available to gay Americans. This needs to change. But it won't as long as we continue to listen to the calm, soothing tones of my bigoted friend.

So I have changed my mind. He is a monster, a very real and scary one. Now, I just need to figure out what to do about it.

Well. As it turns out...

Well.

As it turns out, neither my arm nor the software rollout would figure much in the weekend. I woke up Friday morning with Bronchitis.

I had gone to dinner Thursday evening with my boss and his staff, which includes my group and one other. We had a lovely time dining on Portugese food and drinking some yummy wine. I got home from dinner about 9:00 and proceeded to watch a little TV. At some point in the evening, I started to cough. It was just a little cough, but it felt kind of funny in my chest. And my throat felt a little scratchy.

OH, NO, thought I. I can't get sick. I have to work this weekend. I have to work 12-hour night shifts this weekend. There is no room for sick in 12-hour night shifts. So, I took some vitamin C and went to bed. I wasn't working Friday morning, so I thought that I would sleep in, kill what was ailing me, then go get my arm X-Rayed in the afternoon.

That plan was shot all to hell when I woke up at 7 AM with a fever and a pretty unmanegeable cough.

OK. I'm going to the doctor anyway to get my referral to get my arm X-rayed. Lynn (one of the receptionistas) had told me that if I wanted the doctor to actually look at my arm, she'd fit me in somewhere. So I called and said, you know, fit me in. :)

Unfortunately, they were very busy, so "fitting me in" meant me waiting in the lobby for 2 hours. I was pretty miserable. I mean, all I really wanted to do was sleep. In fact, when they finally led me to a room, that's exactly what I did. While waiting for the doctor, I slouched over, clutching my keys and my Janet Evanovich novel, and fell asleep.

Ten minutes or so later, the doctor comes in and confirms that I have bronchitis. She also wants me to go get a chest X-ray, to rule out pneumonia. Ok, that shouldn't be a problem. I was going to get my arm X-rayed anyway. She also tells me that I can't work this weekend. Panic sets in. I have to work this weekend. This is the culmination of 18 months of work. We're finally birthing the baby. I have to be there. I'll be in so much trouble if I'm not there.

She tells me that that's nice, but I'm not going to work. I'm contagious, number 1 and , number 2, could get very sick if I don't rest this weekend. If I rest this weekend, I can go back to work Monday.

So, armed with prescriptions, and a note for my boss saying that I have the plague and that I am not allowed with humans, I go off to the radiology center.

The wait there wasn't too bad, but mind that, at this point, I have been out of bed for 5 hours and as sick as I was, it felt like eternity. Finally, they call me back and hand me some sort of strait jacket in a bag. I mean, the thing had three arm holes. Um....nurse? I don't seem to have three arms. Could I get the regular two-armed...thing, please? After multiple tries, I did manage to spin myself into the three-armed thing, although I looked at other patients on my way to the actual room and I still think that I did it wrong.

The chest X-ray was a breeze but when it was time to do the elbow, the radiology tech starts jerking my arm around and causing me great pain. I kept telling her which way my arm doesn't bend and she kept bending it that way. As upset as I was about everything else, I am surprised that I didn't deck her.

So, I head back to my car to take stock of what I have left to accomplish. I need to get the prescriptions filled. I need to get some sick food: soup, juice, get-better bears. I need to at least pick up my laptop from the office. My laptop is locked, though, so I will either need to go in the office (probably bad, since I am contagious) or just drop the key with my husband and have him pack it for me and bring it home. (John works for the same company I do--probably not for much longer but that's its own entry). This is starting to feel complicated.

OK. There's a superfresh about a mile from the office and they have a pharmacy. I will go there, drop off my prescription, get my sick food, pick up my drugs and stop at the office on the way home. Then, merciful God, I will sleep. Seemed like a plan.

I've now been awake for 6 hours.

So I go to the pharmacy and hand them my prescriptions and my insurance card. I say loudly and with much clarity: I have never been here before. The pharmacy woman looks at me sort of blankly, but she takes the prescriptions and the insurance card and says, "20 minutes." Ok. I can stay awake for 20 minutes. I begin my trek through the store which is arduous because I can't remember from one minute to the next what I need to buy. I feel like my crazy grandfather. So, finally, armed with soup and peanut butter and juice and magazines, I check out, take my groceries to the car, and walk back to the pharmacy counter.

Where I suffer a psychotic break.

I walk up and a different person says, "yes?" and I say my last name, in the manner that people say their last names at pharmacies, in that manner that conveys the idea that one is here to pick up a prescription under the name just stated.

"Ah, yes," pharmacy goon says. "You've never been here before." I feel my sanity start to slip. Of course, I've never been here before. I told them that. "We need to get your information," he tells me. I am stunned. Please tell me that you have my prescriptions ready to go.

"Please tell me that you have already filled the prescriptions."

"Well, no. We need to get your information."

Name, address, date of birth. I start to cry. I give him what he asks. He tells me it will be 15 minutes. I cry harder. 14 minutes?, he suggests with a smirk. I cry even harder. I am not sure how I was able to at that point, but I did. Fine. 10 minutes.

I slump to the floor in the supermarket, crying. My cell phone rings. It's John. I am crying so hard that he can't understand anything except that I am hysterical. I am sick, I tell him, and the ass-monkeys at the pharmacy messed up my prescription, and I had to wait 20 minutes and now it will be 10 more and the people at the radiology center hurt my arm and I really need to sleep now and there's no way for me to do that and I can't work this weekend and everyone will be disappointed in me and Scott (our VP) will never forgive me and...

And then pharmacy dude interrupts to tell me that they don't carry one of the prescriptions.

I am going to have to go somewhere else. I looked him square in the eye and, through a haze of tears, I borrowed a phrase from my friend Leigh:

"You know, you're really busting my buzz here."

To make an impossibly long story a little less long, I dropped off my laptop key, ran into Scott in the parking lot, tried to reassure him that I wasn't a slacker, started crying again (I am sure that I looked absolutely frightening at this point), received absolution, stopped crying, went to Target, got the rest of my medicine and went home.

I finally got to go to sleep at 3:00. I had been up for 8 hours. It felt like 18.

Ow.

My arm hurts. More precisely, my elbow hurts.

I am not sure what I did to it. I woke up a couple of weeks ago feeling like I had slept on in funny, like maybe I had hyper-extended the elbow. I was sure that it would get better quickly. I was wrong. Every day it seems to hurt worse. As of now, I can't really straighten that arm all the way without wimpering and if I can manage to get it straight, I certainly can't flex my wrist or twist my forearm. What I can't do most, though, is lift anything with my arm straight.

So tomorrow, I need to go to the doctor to get my referral for the radiologist who will take pictures of my elbow and try and determine what it is that I have done.

The leading theory is that I sprained it when I fell on my porch and banged up me knee, even though that happened a week or so after I felt the initial pain. It is felt, by many who aren't doctors, I hasten to add, that maybe I did just sleep on it funny and that it would have healed on its own, if I hadn't fallen on it later in the week. Maybe.

In any case, I am off in the morning to get it looked at and to get something from my doctor for the discomfort.

Now, if managed care in this country didn't suck big, rotten, hairy eggs, I would already have something for the discomfort. Because of a recurrent problem with my shoulder, and an increasing inability to tolerate Advil, my doctor has been giving me Celebrex. If you don't know what that is, it is some sort of miracle arthritis medicine that has become de riguer among the senior set. I am sure that you have seen the commercials of the old folks doing tai chi? That's celebrex.

I love this medicine. When my shoulder flares up (I have some sort of calcification--nothing serious, just occasionally painful) or even when I have a headache or a cold--I take celebrex and the pain or the fever or the headache just goes away. And it doesn't make my tummy hurt. So, when my arm started to hurt, I naturally reached for the little blue and white pills. They helped a great deal, for a while.

But then I ran out.

No problem, thought I. I still have refills. So I go to the pharmacy and put in my request: "More Celebrex, please."

But there's a problem. At my company, we recently switched health plans. Seems my new plan only covers celebrex if you are over 65. I guess only old people have arthritis? The pharmacist cheerfully informs me that I can still buy it, I will just have to pay retail. The price isn't that bad, really--$90ish dollars for a bottle of 60 capsules--but more than I am willing to pay. So tomorrow, the pilgrimage to the doctor will also hopefully include some celebrex samples. :)

In other news, my company is rolling out some new enterprise software this weekend and we are in 24x7 support mode through next Friday. I've got graveyard shifts for the whole week--9 PM-9AM, six nights in a row. I knew that there were privledges associated with being the boss! We'll see how that goes when we're in the middle of it--I have never worked nights in my life. My director tried to tell me today that trying new things makes life exciting (although he was using that to try and bully me into trying the escargot) so I am approaching the week with guarded optimism.

I'll let you know how it goes. :)