Up In The Middle Of The Night

You learn things waking up in the middle of the nightshift. 

Some hard-drinking guy in Scandanavia on dialysis got a kidney from a woman donor. Suddenly he's doing housework and learning to knit. He's thankful for the kidney, but he wishes they had warned him about the side effects. His wife is fine with his new feminine side, but hopes he doesn't start checking out guys.

Does that mean if a criminal dies and his organs are donated there might be a risk of the recipients descending into lives of crime? Is it possible to be overcome by an uncontrollable urge to embezzle funds with a new, but criminal heart? Or write rap music with a gangbanger's liver?

For years people have complained that the recycled air on planes is what makes passengers sick after a long flight. Except now the airlines have created better circulation in the cabins to include outside air as well as a filter or something that kills germs. Apparently the real reason people get sick from riding in airplanes these days is that there are sick people on the plane with you. What a shocking discovery.

I remember waiting for a flight and noticing some woman hacking like she had TB, in between leaning on her husband's shoulder in the throes of terrible illness. Geez, I thought, too bad for the person sitting next to her. [You're getting ahead of me].

We board the plane. I walk back to my seat and there she is in the seat next to mine. Ever the sympathetic fellow passenger. I looked at her husband. I looked at her. And I said very loudly, "Are YOU SICK?"  It sounded like I had accused her of fornicating in public. She looked at me in horror and leaned as far away from me as she could. She never replied to my question.

Even better, she didn't cough, sniffle, speak or breathe for the entire two hour ride.

Ironically, at the end of the flight, there was an announcement. Would we all please remain in our seats so that someone who was deathly ill could deplane first. At that point, I assumed they were talking about the woman next to me. Instead, the guy seated right behind me got up and left the plane.

Haaaa.

Somehow, by some miracle, I didn't get sick.

Today, January 17th, is Ben Franklin's birthday. He would be 300. My dad would be ninety. Muhammed Ali is 64. Jim Carrey is forty-something.

Sixty per cent of African Americans said they celebrated MLK's birthday. Fifteen per cent of white Americans did also.

Oh look, there's Fred and Ethel Mertz from I Love Lucy shilling for the Medicare prescription drug plan, which according to the news is so f**ked up that most seniors can't get their drugs because they've been lost in the system.

Finally, football and the Golden Globes. Am I the only person who wasn't impressed with the high ranking of the Bears' defense? BEFORE the game? Sheesh. They built their reputation on the backs of losing teams. Nevermind, I can't talk about it.

The Golden Globes.  Hmmm.  Did you love Pam Anderson with her two biggest assets COVERED UP?  Remind me to find out what kind of software they used on Joaquin Phoenix and Reese Witherspoon to make it sound like they could sing. They can do that you know. In fact, I think I want to sing love songs with Barry Manilow.

Stay tuned.