that is our great reward for being the royal canadian kilted yaksmen.

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dateline: oZville

21 september 1996 10:06 p.m.

I'm definitely sick. Yesterday I was woozy all day. I couldn't eat even one taco (well, then again, it was a taco). My throat hurt from coughing. Any time I opened my mouth people thought I'd swallowed a broken kazoo. At least no one addressed me as "sir" when I answered calls at work, although I'm not sure I should have gone in (I went to class, too -- that's me, just another rat out spreading disease!). What kind of confidence does that build for people -- if you dial a hospital and a sick person answers the phone? I figured out what's wrong, though. It's not strep... it's bronchitis. How do I know? Because for the first time in about three years, I went to see a doctor before class. I swear, between Derek and my mom, I would have died of nagging if I didn't go. Of course, I'm not stupid enough to mess with papers and account numbers and frumpy counterpeople at a hospital (ironic, isn't it?). I went to the campus student health center. They're terribly cool. You walk in and type your social security number and assorted symptoms into a computer, and when the nurse calls you she already has a good idea of what's up. And my doc was a lady with a British accent. That's how I knew I was in good hands. I made my little buzzing-voice noises, she stuck her cold stethoscope all over my back, and within five minutes she'd diagnosed me and gave me a little slip that I traded in at the door for a spooky looking brown bottle. "Dihistine Expectorant." Tastes like alien piss, but it's good stuff. It's 7.5% alcohol, for one. But in addition to a lot of other ingredients I can't pronounce (each with a name with at least fifteen letters), I get treated to 10 milligrams of codeine. I was smart enough to not take any until I got home. When I eventually did get home... You see, last night was the Waikiki Ho`olaulea. The biggest damn block party of the year apart from "First Night." I used to go, and they're loads of fun (surprise -- I go mostly for the food), but since I moved into Waikiki, I hate 'em. Hate 'em hate 'em hate 'em. For this pa`ina (party), the city closes Kalakaua Avenue completely. The whole street, the sidewalks, all the side streets and their side streets are just crawling with people. The crowd's enough to make the ground under the city rumble, and there's a live band or dancing troupe on every corner. More cops per square yard than any other time of year. And don't even ask about parking. So after work, I went to visit Jen. It was like she was seeing a ghost -- I think she was going to faint. But I guess everyone who didn't go to the Ho`olaulea decided they wanted to go shopping for music, so I could mostly only wave at her while she looked back at me over the heads of fifty people waiting in line to ask if they had any "2Pac" albums left. I definitely do not miss working in retail. I spent an hour at the listening booths, and what do you know, they did influence my buying habits. After practically hearing the whole thing, I picked up the Robert Miles album I've been thinking about getting for months. I waited patiently for Jen's register, and when I got to her she tried to work as slowly as possible so we could catch up. She said she figured Derek and I'd eloped to Las Vegas. She gloated some more for setting us up, punched in her employee discount, and then jokingly tried to sell me some "cKone" -- that "unisex fragrance" from Calvin Klein. She said it's the only place on the island you can get the stuff. In a music store. Sure, that makes sense. There's a sequel to that smell, too -- "cKbe." That makes even more sense. It smells like antiseptic soap. I already smell like that most of the time. I left too early, and got stuck in traffic. By that time, everyone was trying to get out of Waikiki, but with everyone blocking intersections and Kalakaua still closed, it took me an hour just to get from Ala Moana to my street. I might've gotten home faster if I walked. So then I took my "Dihistine," and promptly passed out. I feel better today, but kind of weak. I just took more "Dihistine," too, so I'll be seeing translucent pink elephants floating through my apartment any time now. Despite my illness, though, I trudged up the block and did my civic duty. That's right, I voted. I have this little stub here to prove it. It actually has printed on it, "I have voted, have you?" I guess we're expected to show it to other people with pride. For mayor, I voted for Frank Fasi. He's losing badly (the results are still coming in), but I really don't care. All I want is for Jeremy Harris to lose. Unfortunately, he's in the lead. I also voted for Peter Carlisle, even though I still have no real idea what a "city prosecutor" does. All I know is the other two guys running sounded kind of dopey to me. We got five different ballots for U.S. Congress and state rep, because in those races we have to vote with a party and there were a huge pile of them running. Republicans? Automatically out. I didn't like the sound of the Natural Law party, so their ballot was out too. I would have voted Independent, but they didn't have candidates for some of the races. Eventually, I ended up holding just the Democratic ballot. So although he gives me the creeps, I punched the box for Neil Abercrombie. In other words, I was one of millions of Americans who finds themselves resigned to using "least of several evils" as the best criteria for voting. I've been getting a shooting pain in my right wrist -- or actually in my arm just above the wrist -- for a while. It never starts with an ache anymore, it just suddenly hits. Yesterday it was so bad the pain just made my hand clamp shut and I started to tear. Wish it'd hit before I went to the health center. I forgot to ask. It doesn't hit when I'm typing, or it hasn't yet, but I'm sure it's related. It sometimes seems like I spend all day at keyboard, and I have to stretch often if I don't want the tips of my fingers to get "warm." My right hand is the one I do ten-key on, in addition to typing, so I guess that's why it's the only one that's been acting up. Seems like everyone I know is getting CPS, or RMI, or some other work-related malaise from supposedly harmless "desk work." All the admin secretaries in my office wear these spooky looking wrist braces to try and prevent them. Too bad it takes a few million years for evolution to catch on. By the time human hands are properly designed for the "QWERTY" setup, everyone'll be using Dvorak or Wlonks (ever seen a Wlonk?), or more likely "typing" with our brainwaves. Then we'll get Repetative Thought Injuries.