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March 21, 2007
A Tamiflu-Induced Stream of Semi-conciousness
I have the flu. I have been glued to the couch since Friday. I will never again confuse a common cold with the flu. The flu is a very different animal. The flu comes suddenly and hijacks your body. The flu makes you feel old and like you are dying. I am taking Tamiflu and it is making me loopy and dizzy, but at least my bones have stopped hurting. I am weak. I have not showered in five days. I am a crybaby. I am not a good patient. Rafe is a good nurse. He made j-e-l-l-o and bought me magazines. I am whimpering a lot. No one is here right now to hear my whimpers. Tyra Banks is here though. I've been watching her show every day. I watched Babel yesterday too and it was very intense. Daytime television is more relaxing. I have become a very indiscriminate television viewer. I have begun to enjoy those commercials for Gibbs and the Chubb Institute. I want to order a catalogue for a hot new career but my phone has no juice left and I can't get up to charge it. I like that they're still producing new episodes of Family Feud. I think I would do well on that show. Who counts as "family"? It looks so sunny and Spring-like outside but I have no idea. I am sealed inside the house. We have a mouse in the house. He is brown and moves fast and likes to hang out near the microwave. I like to call my dad on the phone so I can hear him tell me comforting things...drink plenty of fluids, drink chicken soup until it's coming out of your ears, and promise not to go back to work for the rest of the week. I wonder if I will ever have enough energy to leave the house. I sat on the opposite end of the couch today and it felt like my whole perspective on the world had shifted. I am tired now. I need to lie down. No blogging for Debbie. Bye bye.
Posted by debbie at 3:29 PM | Comments (0)
March 13, 2007
The Thought That Counts
After lunch yesterday at Bonobos (love that tasty nutmeat), I strolled on down to the Hallmark card store to find an appropriate card for my uncle who is unfortunately undergoing major surgery soon. Apparently, yesterday was the day they unveiled their new "Journeys" line of cards. Aside from a whole category dedicated to cancer in its various types (breast, colon, brain) and stages (chemo, surgery, recovery), other new categories include:
Sympathies - On Your Divorce
Announcement- We're Divorcing
Congratulations- Starting a 12-Step Program/Rehab
Sympathies- Miscarriage
Announcement- Gay
Missing You- Iraq
Sympathies- On Getting Fired
Thank You- Donor/Organ Donation
I'm all for once-taboo "journeys" becoming topics we're all more comfortable discussing, and bravo to Hallmark for acknowledging such sensitive times in our fucked up lives, but I can't help but wonder- can people not write their own sentiments anymore? Why is it socially acceptable to just sign your name to some hokey fake cursive-penned Hallmark poem? Since the beginning, illiterate and emotionally retarded Americans have relied on greeting card companies to write the things they cannot, but this...this is too much. If you know someone well enough to know they've had a miscarriage, do you really think it a thoughtful gesture to send them a card that says "Sorry About The Miscarriage" on the front? Do you think if someone's gotten fired, they'd even want a card to remember the day by? And to whom do you send "We're Getting a Divorce" cards? I imagine it would be rather awkward to sit down with your soon-to-be ex and sign a pile of those. And would you sign your name together, like "Love, Jim & Suzy"?? And the organ donation one, what exactly is the etiquette there? Do you have to wait until you find out whether your body rejects the organ to send your thanks? Furthermore, if you have been given another's organ, have had it successfully transplanted into your body and you are now mobile enough to make it down to the Hallmark store, you can surely put your gratitude in your own goddamn words!
So I left the store perturbed, disturbed and empty-handed. I did, however, go to another store and I found for my uncle a "pull my finger" pen that makes flatulent noises when you, well, pull it, and an old-fashioned hotel bell that he can ring to summons his wife while he recovers.
Posted by debbie at 11:52 AM | Comments (2)
March 9, 2007
Friday Has Arrived
Posted by debbie at 10:29 AM | Comments (0)
March 6, 2007
First the Hiccups and Now This
I'm going to let you in on something, but please, keep it to yourself. Word has it that there's a secret cave at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. No one has ever actually seen it because it's really difficult to access and the government doesn't like people poking around down there, but it's there alright. It's a whole underground lost city full of Eyptian artifacts. Because the Egyptians were the first people to "discover" the United States, way before Columbus. It's true. I called this guy:
And he told me everything. Ok it's not nice to make fun of people, especially when they can probably find what you've written about them fairly easily. But his story, believe it or not, totally checks out.
It's amazing what you could potentially get away with under the guise of working in television...people will tell you anything and everything without even knowing your intentions or if you are who you claim. Anyhow so while talking to this character on the phone this morning, I was trying to imagine what he looked like...so I did a Google search and the image you see above was the first one that came up. And it pretty much exactly matched what I had in my head.
Posted by debbie at 1:20 PM | Comments (1)
March 5, 2007
I would love to take credit for this photo, but it belongs to another Goldberg.
It is cold outside. So very cold. I would like to go somewhere warm, please. Also, my toilet is broken. So very broken. And I don't know how to fix it and Rafe is away and I feel so helpless and I'm too scared to go to the landlord for fear that he will want to raise the rent. Vince came over last night after MAKING ME DINNER (I think this has happened once or twice in our lifetimes) and tried to jerry-rig things but I have a feeling it's not going to last. Masking tape can only perform so many miracles.
The toilet might be beyond repair. Maybe even as I write this the toilet is overflowing, a shitty waterfall is cascading down the steps, flowing out the front door and splashing right onto the head of my landlord who will then surely not just raise the rent but have a friend, probably that shifty-eyed guy in the tracksuit who hangs out on the corner all the time, come by one night, knock on the door, break Rafe's kneecaps, and then run away real fast.
God, why? I've been good. Over the weekend, we went to a Purim party with our bagel-loving friend. Girl really loves her bagels. The party was held in the wood-panelled basement rec room of an old-school synagogue down on east 6th street. If you're not familiar with Purim, think of it as the Jewish Halloween, minus the candy. The party was pretty wild, especially considering that we were right underneath God's very own house. No rabbis were present, as far as I could tell, but...there was a ton of cheap alcohol (go figure, Jews) and giant bowls full of hamentashen- you know, those dry triangular cookies filled with poppy seeds and sometimes prunes? Talk about getting the party started! And so, fueled by the fibrous cookies and drunk on one too many Manishevitz-tinis, we ended up dancing all night long. All night long. To a DJ spinning crappy early 90s music. I think they even played Color Me Badd's "I Wanna Sex You Up" (note that I knew, without even checking, that there are two "d"s in their name). The night, the mood, oh my! It was all so perfectly nostalgic, I made Rafe pretend that we were at the Bat Mitzvah party I never had. It was a fine weekend, and several fantasies were, ahem, fulfilled.
Right now I am interviewing a young lady who makes my toilet problem seem ridiculously petty. Or is her problem the petty one? Let ye be the judge. She stopped hiccuping last week, praise the lord. I don't know if I could have lived with myself if I had been made to talk to her while she was still hiccuping... 50 times per minute.
Posted by debbie at 10:35 AM | Comments (0)