I go through seasons where I have nothing funny to say. In fact, I am in one now. For weeks, I’ve attempted to hide my state of seriosity by refusing to blog. I was afraid that my condition would be discovered, and I would be chastised by the blogging community. And no one needs to be bullied around by people who have nothing better to do than to sit around on their computers and read what others have to say.
Hoping that I would soon emerge from my humor funk, I began the waiting out process. But the hours passed slowly… much too slowly for a man who was reared in the era of microwave ovens and instant coffee. Hours passed into days, and the days soon turned to weeks. Ironically, not a single funny thought passed through my brain during this nightmarish micro-eternity. At first, I thought I was just a bit ‘backed up’ – suffering from a bout of comical constipation (not that there’s anything funny about constipation – it can be quite serious). But as time went on, I finally came to grips with the haunting reality that I’m just not that funny anymore.
Step 7 in the stages of grief process is “Acceptance and Hope”, and since I’ve always been the kind of person to want quick resolution to things, I decided to skip the first 6 stages. And given my newfound acceptance of this incurable disease, I am now committing my blog to all things serious. And what can be more serious than a pandemic?
Today, I’d like to blog about pandemics. I remember when they used to call them epidemics, but apparently, we’ve overused the word ‘epidemic’ to the point that we needed to create a new word to convey what the old one was supposed to mean before we watered it down so much. Pandemics are all the rage today. Everybody’s talking about the next big one, as if life just isn’t possible without the pending threat of global infection, and I guess that stuff has a way of rubbing off on you if you let it.
My son got sick a few nights ago. For some reason, every time he has to throw up, he goes into the hall to ‘do his business’. I’m not sure what that’s all about. I usually go to the bathroom and would prefer it if he did the same. After puking repeatedly on our beautiful hardwood floors, he spent a miserable day curled up on the couch in our den. As I watched him lying there in a state of total lethargy, I had a thought… one that I consider to be a typical fatherly thought, “I hope to heck that kid hasn’t brought the swine flu into my house.”
That's right, nothing says "the father's love" more than a guy lamenting the possibility that his 9 year old son might infect him with a potentially fatal disease. I'm afraid I fell victim to the mass hysteria. Then I realized that all the doomsday crowd has been secretly hoping for a pandemic since the '90's, only to become disappointed at the lack of cooperation from the latest, greatest strain of virus. Ebola, SARS, Mad Cow, Bird Flu, Swine Flu. They've all come and gone and have been major disappointments to the folks who prematurely annointed them as 'global killers'. Think I'm being too harsh? When's the last time you saw a media outlet rejoicing over a disease going away? Instead, it's quickly on to the newest fad in sickness, as if they're desperately hoping that this will be the one. Is it just me, or are we living in an era where just can't seem to find anything good wherever we look?
By the way… for those of you who have made promises to do things “when pigs fly”… you do realize that as of about a month ago… swine flu. BA DOMP CHHHHHH! And just like that, the humor is back.
