I HAVE A COLD

Yep, achoo, achoo, I have a cold, how bout chew? Is it a cold, a slight flu? Seasonal allergies? I’m not really sure, I don’t really care. See I’m an actor/writer/comic type fella which loosely translated means I don’t have a job. That being the case, I don’t have to formulate any kinda excuse to stay home today. Now, mind you, I’m not staying at home. No, I’m working. At a coffee shop. Nope, not making coffee, drinking it and tap tap tapping away at my computer. Yep, I’m one of those guys. You know, we sit at the coffee shop, working away on our little lap tops, looking up every once in a while to scan the shop for attractive women, potential agents or anyone we can impress by displaying our creative writing abilities. I’m that guy. It’s sad to say it, but its true and I’m learning to embrace that part of me, embrace it warmly and lovingly and just long enough to possibly smother the shit out of it.

I have been writing since I got here, have only looked up on a few occasions to view the following: (1) the armenian guy who is “writing” it seems but spending more time speaking VERY LOUDLY to his friend “working” on the other side of the table; (2) the salt shaker on the table positioned half way between myself and said Armenian guy, such salt shaker practically begging me to lift it up and heave it at captain “I can’t appreciate the volume of my own voice”, only to be dissuaded by the pepper shaker placed next to him, my own little devil/angel condiment team; (3) the fairly cute brunette woman sitting against the wall wearing too much make up and too much pink and conversing with the crazy lady who just interrupted her to find out “where’d you get that adorable computer ... oh Best Buy I need to check that out “ then after a deliberate pause “they have Best Buy here?” at which time I hastened to throw on my earplugs and take on a very unfriendly “don't fucking interrupt this writing genius” posture so that I don’t have to answer crazy ladies geography questions; and (4) the 2 year old little boy sitting with his mom next to me, working on a scone, probably trying to figure out why his mom would feed him a rock made out of flour while his mom holds him in her lap and gently kisses his head, looking, for some reason, quite sad. I kept looking up at them, stealing glances at the kid as he stole glances at me, never once changing his expression of “who the hell are you mr. and why don’t you have a job.” But they left, so did crazy lady and miss heavy eye shadow, and since I’m now listening to the Foo Fighter’s album at a volume which is likely unhealthy for my cold clogged audio orifices, I can’t really here Captain Armenian Volume ... I say “really hear” cause he is still talking so freaking loud that the pepper shaker is giving me the look of “Ok, I changed my mind, throw the salt shaker at him.” But I control myself and keep on bringing the magic. Keep on writing my rant. Keep on working.

Yep, this is work. Arguably more of a hobby, since last I checked I’m not getting paid for this. But hey, it may not pay me in money, in lira, in euros, hell it doesn’t even pay me in peanuts, but it pays me emotionally right? Right? Cause I feel good. Cause I’m writing this stuff and hey maybe someone will read it and say .. get a job. Or maybe I’ll mine some comedic gold out of it, put it in one of my sets and use it next time I’m stage, performing, for free, oftentimes to a bunch of standup wanna bees, alleged “comics on the rise” or just plain homeless drunks. But we all need clowns don’t we?

See? Now I’m getting negative. More negative than usual. And why? Why? Well cause I have that damn cold. Here’s the thing about a cold ... or more accurately, here’s a couple things about having a cold. Now before I get into it, I don’t want you thinking that I’m asking for pneumonia or bronchitis or some awful viral and or bacterial infection. But at least, at least when you have those sicknesses there is some clear outward physical manifestation of the illness. Your vomiting, your number 2 resembles number 1, your have cold sweats, you look green, people say “holy god in heaven what the hell is wrong with you” which is a favorite exclamation of mine. It’s tough to get out of bed, to walk around, to do anything. So your sick. Just plain sick. Have to stay in bed, get your rest, watch bad movies and maybe, maybe if you get the energy masturbate two or three times not because you have a problem but because you wanna make sure the plumbing's still working. But with a cold, a cold, I just vaguely feel like shit. And as an actor with a tendency towards subtle, slight and fashionable bouts of depression, the feeling like shit doesn’t seem like such a big change for me, especially from the outside. There’s a fine aesthetic line between being in a bad mood and feeling like shit. But hey I do feel like shit and I can’t fake the sneezing, the runny nose, the aches the pains ... man its frustrating. Mostly cause it makes me feel like a weenie. There’s a big part of me saying ... toughen up you loser, ignore it, fight it, overcome, stop freaking bitchin about it. That may not be me saying it, it may be you reading this. But I've got a cold, so I can say, with all due respect, “go f yourself.”

What I find even more frustrating is the “your sick AGAIN!” that I get from “friends.” I put “friends” in quotation marks, because when they are saying this I find them being less than friendly. Cause there’s more than just a little accusation in it .. “what’s wrong with you, why do you keep getting sick, are you on drugs or are you just weak?” So maybe I get a bad cold 3, 4 times a month .. I mean a year. Is it that bad? Maybe it is. I’m healthy otherwise. Had a recent physical, got a clean bill of health. Was very happy about that. Was more happy that the Doctor gave me two little presents before he examined me ... the first was when he told me that, as I wasn’t 40 yet, he didn’t have to check my prostate. Cause celebre, I’m telling you. The second when he explained that they no longer have shove a long, evil looking q-tip up my baby making gun to check for std’s. Nope, just have to pee in a cup for that. But yeah, that “your sick again” man that makes me mad. Cause I try to be healthy. I don’t eat badly - unless you ask my vegetarian girlfriend her opinion on the matter - I work out, I don’t smoke (anymore) I don’t drink (when its inappropriate) don’t do drugs (make me paranoid) and tend to get enough sleep. The most frustrating part is the working out part. I work out allot. Historically, these “working out allot” chapters in my life are somewhat inconsistent. This one has been going on for a good year or so, with variations in intensity. When I was younger, the chapters were prologues at best, which is likely why I was a husky pants wearing fat kid. But now, now that I’m older, and I tend to work out allot, it seems I catch one of these colds right after I up the intensity of my work outs, after I start getting into a good work out regimen, and after I start seeing results. Arguably, maybe my body is telling me ... take care of yourself, don’t push yourself too much, go gradual. And maybe its right. But part of me thinks my body is saying “your fat, you were a fat kid, you’ll be a fat adult, hell you were in college, and I refuse to let you make me non fat. So here’s a cold for you, lay your ass up in bed, eat comfort food, don’t exercise, play video games and get yourself back on the fast track to husky jeans.” But fuck that cold, I’m gonna rest, maybe play some video games, maybe I’ll ease up on the running or the boxing or the weight lifting for a couple days, but then I’m back at it. As god as my witness .. I WILL NOT WEAR HUSKY JEANS AGAIN. Do your damnedest, come at me, I fear you no more.

As a side note, why do we say “catch a cold” like we’re out looking for it. Let’s be honest, the cold caught me. I wish she would just give it up, but she keeps on coming back, every couple months, bitter and angry that I got rid of her and always failing to accept that I never really wanted her to begin with.

So yeah, I have this cold, this slight cough, this runny nose and I’m feeling bad about it. As my sister would say, I’m throwing a little pitiful pearl party for myself - whatever the hell that means. As far as the “friends” who will pose the “your sick AGAIN” question/accusation if I mention my ailment, maybe I'll just ignore their calls, or take those calls and respond with a healthy “yes, thanks for the concern, why don’t you go fuck yourself.” When they counter with a “well you don’t have to be rude,” I can respond with “I’m sorry, its the cold talking, and by the way the cold says those pants make you look fat and you’d never make it on American Idol and your choice in romantic partners consistently leave much to be desired.” Oh cold, you mischievous scamp.

I’ll leave this coffee shop, go back to bed, try to leave myself alone and get some rest. And maybe, maybe, like any good psychotic ex-girlfriend who I make the mistake of sleeping with, she’ll be gone in the morning and I won’t see her for at least a couple months, or the next time I do something stupid like stay up all night and get loaded.