007 with a 1007 Temperature

My name is Maeda, David Maeda. I'm your secret agent of sophistication, suave, and feeling a bit under the weather. Since you've somehow managed to find your way back to this part of the newsletter, you may have already noticed that this week's issue has lacked a little flair, a little polish, a little of its usual zany humor. Well I'm sorry, you'll just have to excuse me. I'm not feeling well.

Please let me describe for you my symptoms. My head is beating like it's inside of Keith Moon's bass drum. Thumpa thumpa thumpa. Not only is that very annoying, each beat hurts, stabbing like (insert your favorite OJ joke here). Ouch. I'm clammy. That's right, clammy. Between bouts of the chills, about every five minutes it feels like I have Malaria. Clammy Malaria, I think I dated her once in college. She may have been my undoing. My joints ache. So do my elbows, knees, knuckles, and ankles. Ba doomp ba. My stomach is playin games with my head, telling my brain that it feels hungry, knowing the very thought of food makes my brain send back a message of sickness to my stomach, causing it to churn and turn. Sweaty cold, hungry nausea. There's a nice tug of war match going on within me! As I look in my mirror, my eyes appear to be even more glassy than usual.

Max the Cat has seen plenty of mopey behavior during his stint as my roommate. But even his eyes are propped open wider by the quality of moping he has witnessed these past few days. Not even laundry night had its usual luster. A normal man wouldn't be sitting here doing this newsletter, he'd be in bed. But no one in this company has ever said a normal man is doing the newsletter. Or another way of putting that, a lesser man wouldn't be doing the newsletter, but then again, I can't be any lesser a man...

But enough about me. That wasn't supposed to be the topic of this week's piece. Instead we were going to try to make a point about the traps of nostalgia, how people for whatever reason seem to cling on to false visions of the past, believing that yesterday was somehow better or more important than today. Now that we are being force fed another wave of Beatlemania, and what with another Bond movie out, the sixties (or the way I'm feeling, the "sickties") once again are being enshrined as a golden age. Enough already.

It's bad enough that this time of year is especially one where we are encouraged to become nostalgic and do our best to put a little glow on the years gone by. It's great to remember good times. Hell, there may even be a purpose to getting a history degree (but darned if I ever figured that out). But the line is crossed when whole industries are formed and people spend their time and their money dickering around in the past as their current lives could most certainly use some attention.

I'm sorry, this is going nowhere fast. As I was saying, my summer photos of the Grand Canyon really did turn out nicely. The horizon always looks better in the distance don't you think? The red sand, and vast openness of it all. Takes your breath away. One could easily fall in love in the Grand Canyon. But then again, one could easily fall to one's death in the Grand Canyon. Same thing? Don't look at me. Did I mention that currently, I'm not feeling very well? I'm not looking for sympathy, really. I just want someone to please turn down that lousy drumbeat in my head. I just wanna die with a little dignity.

Is it just me or did it suddenly get about a zillion degrees warmer in here? Brrrrr. My mouth is so dry but I ain't thirsty. Promise me, my faithful readers, that if I don't make it, someone will find Max a good home (he'll probably need lots and lots of counseling). That you'll do your best to take up the slack and drink lots and lots of Lemon Sunkist. That you'll remember me with a less critical eye, and forgive me for my role in the Royal Family scandal? Strike that, I just remember I told you not to waste your time and energy looking back. Except for the last newsletter issue of the year, keep your eyes in the forward position. Satchel might be gaining on you. Excuse me, I must go now. I need some sleep.