Yesterday I took my first sick day of 2004. Besides boasting a slight fever, the mere act of exhaling produced tiny gobs of phlegm. I hacked my way through a Monday meeting, probably frightening my captive co-workers by being a continual cold virus spray. So I sacrificed a precious day of productivity to huddle in my apartment as the remnants of Hurricane Jeanne rained down on Boston.
I don’t like taking sick days. My company psychologically outwitted all of us two years ago, when they abolished the set limit of sick days and told us we could take a sick day “whenever necessary.” Sounds great, right? Well, when a worker in Corporate America has 5 sick days a year in the bank, they feel entitled to use them. But with unlimited sick days, the sense of obligation diminishes; if you call in sick to get a jump on that weekend getaway to the Cape, you’re not using one of your sick days. You’re a disloyal thief with no honor.
But I was ill. So I dozed on the couch while watching some daytime TV, a guilty pleasure of mine.
First I watched CJ (“Celebrity Justice.”) An entire show devoted to celebrity legal troubles! Legal problems are a plague to Hollywood. CJ featured stories about a sexually-harassed Barker Beauty from The Price is Right, the rock band Survivor’s frivolous lawsuit against the TV show Survivor, Elvis Costello disavowing a FBI copyright warning on his latest release, Phil Spector’s murder indictment (Spector calls the prosecution “fascists” and “storm troopers”), R. Kelly’s big court win against child sex charges, Michael Jackson (inevitably), hit rapper/deadbeat dad Twista’s child support woes, and CBS sending Janet Jackson the bill for the FCC fine. And more… and more.
Then I watched a talk show called the Larry Elder show. I’ve never even heard of Larry Elder. From the opening montage, I thought he possessed integrity reminiscent of early Montel Williams (without the explosions of morality and fixation with sending troubled teens to boot-camp). Larry’s guest was a mother concerned that her 17-year old daughter was out-of-control; she was getting phone calls from pimps, stealing money, and having sex with her “friends.” Within 2 minutes, Larry started asking the daughter “How many men have you had sex with? What do you get out of it? Are you unhappy?” All of his questions were geared to evoke as much festering emotion as possible from these poor, poor women. Within 4 minutes, the daughter was in tears and the mother was ranting “She’s destroyed her life! Whore! Whore!”
I turned to Maury Povich, an old sick-day favorite. He looks ten years younger than he did ten years ago. Today’s topic: “I’m sorry… Our Disabled Son May Not be Yours! Pt.2.” Do I need to go any further? Crying, yelling, complete devastation, destroyed families… oh dear. And what is with Maury and the DNA test? I know it’s a cliche to say Maury Povich gives a lot of DNA tests, but jesus, darned if he didn’t deliver the results of a DNA test within the first seven minutes of the show. The only way you can enjoy this stuff is if your life is more effed up than the lives of the guests.
Feeling the need to cleanse myself, I took in CNN. Apparently, during the day, the CNN network morphs into a newsy Lifetime network. Human interest stories involving hurricanes: Riveting. I dozed on the couch for a bit and woke up to lots of camera shoots of Tony Blair, who I hear many American women find sexier than George Bush. Personally, I’ve always found Danish Prime Minister Anders Fogh Ransmussen to be strangely provocative.
Then, to my delight, the Alexander Pring-Wilson trial was on Court TV (“Harvard Student Charged with Murder!”). The trial is taking place live about 1000 feet away from my apartment. Despite this, it was boring.
So I made some soup, studied GRE algebra, and coughed my way to better health. Doing algebra on a sick day? Times have changed, certainly.
