It did finally catch up with me, and yesterday during a major performance of our old patio cover obliteration service, I went into all-out sweaty nasal-drip. It's awful, with all that dust. I hopped myself up on acetaminophen, or whatever was handy, and braced myself for the next few days. Last night's sleep, wasn't.

But at least I got most of the major work done and it came on a weekend, so as not to interfere with the family business. I should be all better on Monday, and good to go again. Great! Excellent! Wonderful! Joy of joys. Misery. shame. ...pain.

Today is the day the rabbit ears died, like the old song goes. Everything switches to digital, so we can free up all those UHF frequencies for pirate Mexican broadcasting, or whatever. I am a little concerned that my office tv is analog and will not survive the day, which is a bummer, because I didn't procure one of those government coupons that would get me a discounted converter box. It is currently working, but I never watch the thing as it is up on the wall directly behind me when I sit at my desk. Still, I did go through all that trouble to hook it up, so I want it to work for the sake of pride and show. I don't know where I would put the converter box, if I did have to use it. Anyway, I seem to remember the television packaging reading something like THIS UNIT IS NOT DIGITAL - WILL CEASE TO WORK AFTER FEBRUARY 2009 and I thought, so what? Why, that's years away! Welcome to the future. Nothing works here.

Just means I'll have to go buy a new HD set for the office! I suppose it's all part of the vast socialist conspiracy to pump money back into the economy, or at least Costco. Great! I'm glad I'm doing my part, being a big Costco fan. When I'm going to get around to using that second drum of mayonnaise, I'll never know.

Ugggh, I feel terrible, but at least I don't have to go to the dump today.

The Little Digger got a nice shot of antibiotics the other day and almost immediately began pulling through, though at one point he had to suffer the indignity of having a little baggy tied to his male member so his pee could be collected and analyzed. Mrs. Ditchman reported that it was smelly. We'd had asparagus the night before and it went from the backyard grill, right through her, into the boob, into the Little Digger and out the bottom front side of him and into the baggy. A fascinating epic journey, which will end at some lab somewhere with some lab assistant going, "Ew. Asparagus." All in the name of science.

When I went to the dump yesterday I got to wear the "Carey Kienitz Memorial Gloves," which is always a special treat. Years ago I would often work with the guy, who was the only GLACFAC member who was in my wedding, and somehow I ended up with a pair of cheap work gloves that read KIENITZ on the left hand. Why he felt the need to label his glove is beyond me, but I guess he was misplacing them a lot, because they ended up in my truck. 10 years later, I still use them, and they have reached iconic status. Every time I go to the landfill, I reach into the truck bin and there they are. Always, standing out on that mountain of garbage, beneath the squawking gulls and betwixt the towering earth-movers, I have a quiet moment of silence for the gifted man, who could've made the previous paragraph about the little pee bag much funnier. Then I tell The Story of Carey to whomever is working with me that day. Some laugh, some just raise an eyebrow.

Carey recently deleted me from Facebook, which cut deeply, hurting me to my very soul. He claimed he had to lay low from Facebook for a while, that he had been "hacked, in a way," and that he would re-emerge with a pseudonym sometime in the future. It happens, I guess. One day you're happily connected on Facebook, in touch with all those good old friends and acquaintances, and then the creeping past begins to haunt you on your News Feed and you find you have to go dark like Jack Bauer. Return to the cave, Carey. Absolve yourself of past and future crimes. Be purified.

In the meantime, I have your old work gloves.




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