UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
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Friday, January 06, 2006
[from Tuesday] A nasty cold seems to be sweeping the city, and I was so scared by the symptoms that I didn't mention the worst one until today, because I thought it was just me. But both of my bosses have a form of this beast, and its worst feature is that it makes the victim short of breath in a real scary asthma attack/ anaphylactic shock kind of way (except it's not like asthma or allergies: I got wicked spooked because my Albuterol inhaler didn't do shit, like nothing nothing, and even though I don't have an EpiPen, I am pretty sure it wouldn't have helped.)
You stay short of breath for like a couple of days, and on the worst days you can't walk more than twenty feet because you just can't seem to get enough oxygen to power your body through such a heroic journey -- you just want to sit as still as a statue until you can make do with shallow little gasps of air that only half-fill your wasted, useless lungs. Then you cough and cough and cough -- violently, deeply, diaphragm-shreddingly, hernia-causingly -- until you retch, or if you're lucky, maaaaaayyyyyybe you manage to hork up one of the syrupy lungpies that enshroud your every alveolus like malevolent mucoid raincoats. At that point you can spit out what you horked up and examine it for microscopic encoding of US Government labratory serial numbers. This thing feels like a designer disease, because it has such a weird combination of symptoms; I've never had anything like it: Clogged sinuses, headache, sore throat, but no fever, no body aches, and no sneezing. I'm picturing a computer program at some very advanced research facility. The interface is, like for all government software, ugly and utilitarian, all default colors and shapes from Visual Basic or whatever. But it does the job: the scientist (or whatever) just clicks check boxes next to a giant alphabetical list of symptoms (chills; congestion; cough, dry; cough, productive) each of which has its own "intensity" or "severity" slider, and when he's satisfied he clicks the "Generate Disaese" [sic] button at the bottom of the screen. Somewhere across a sprawling underground complex, a little slot opens along the baseboard of a white-walled cell, and a petri dish slides like the devil's own hockey puck towards a terrified arab carpet installer from Qatar whose name is the same as a suspected terrorist's. He doesn't want to get too close at first, but after two years in various godawful cages without cellmates, visitors, charges, or legal representation, the appearance of this odd cylindrical dish ranks up there as the most interesting thing to happen since eight months ago when he saw a cockroach riding on the back of a rat. And this thing doesn't look as gross. Kinda looks like a weird dessert.... 0 comments |
OTHER REVIEWS: Scrabble NEW! LATEST BOOK REVIEWS: The Game Moneyball One-Upsmanship Siddhartha You need the Fear Not Guide to Life. Buy it already. ($4) Now available! The Broomfield Variations CD ($10) or go to The UD Store 
MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" - misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT. - tattoos in the Courier font - any use of Comic Sans |