Why?  It’s just a cold.  You’ve had these before, right?  Yes, but the consequences are different this time, and they’ve got me depressed, lonely and miserable.

The runny nose and sneezing doesn’t bother me in the slightest.  The body aches, meh they’re no big deal.  The phlegmy cough?  No problem.  What’s really bothering me is that I can’t play with, or even get near the babies, for fear of infecting them.

If I got them sick, passed on to them even with the mildest of sniffles, we could be sunk.  It’s rough enough taking care of these two when they’re in perfect health, as ‘perfect health’ includes spells of gassiness, fussy fits, explosive yellow shits, etc.

Granted, it’s liable to happen someday, likely even, that they’ll both be sick at the same time.  Obviously though, we want to avoid this as long as possible.

So, I’ve been relieved of all baby-related duties until further notice.  I haven’t changed but a single diaper in three days.  I haven’t burped a single baby.  I haven’t been spit up on, shat upon, or riled into a frustrated mental knot.

And I miss it.  Terribly.

The first thing I head for’s the milk, because I know where it is. I rarely shop in this grocery store. I’m usually at the dirt Publix three blocks from the house because it’s closer. But, they’re closed by 9 and Sweetbay’s open, so I’m in a strange grocery store with a mission to find some nonstandard items.

On my way to the milk, I see Edy’s Grand ice cream is on crazy sale, two for seven bucks. Lunatic flavors, too… Coconut Pineapple? Cherry Chocolate Chip, red velvet style? Shit.

So now I’ve got the milk, and the ice cream, which is melting. Fiber One bars. Where the hell are those? Cereal aisle.

Not there.

I needed apples, and they’re right over there. Braeburn? Cameo! $1.39/lb – Bang.

Ice cream’s melting. Shit. Fiber One bars. Shit.

I stop two girls in Sweetbay garb, even though they’re clearly off the clock and doing their own shopping. They were cool, though, and after I looked at them somewhat frantically after getting off the phone with my wife who said, “Ask someone,” I asked them about where I could find, you know, “chewy granola chocolate chip things, like I thought I’d find in cereal, but it wasn’t there.” Aisle 5. Thank God.

Ice cream’s melting, and the lines at the register are thick, so I head back over to dairy to swap out my now-softened crazy flavored ice creams with fresher, colder ice creams from the cooler. And on my way there, I see this black dude that looks just like Samuel L. Jackson, and he’s wearing a do-rag, and a Tucci t-shirt.

Tucci, Tucci…. where have I heard that before? Oh yeah, Wanee Festival. Some local dude, like a dentist or something, with a blues band. Was this the same black dude who jammed at the campground jam, and that I’d chatted with for a while before Junior Brown’s set? No, this was a different dude.

By now, I’ve gotten fresh ice creams and decide to make a break for it. Oh yeah, Sprite Zero. The pregnant wife’s got some odd dietary habits lately. Got it, so now I pick the least of all evils and go for Checkout Lane Six.

In front of me is a guy in one of those personal scooter motorized grocery shopping go-carts. He’s flipping through the magazines and knocks all the People magazines from its shelf in the rack. They spill all over the floor. Do I help him out? After a short pause, thinking, Yeah I should help this dude, I go for it and, as I’m stooping down to pick up the strewn mess, I say, “Lemme help out with that.”

“Oh, I’m not crippled, I’m just feeling lazy today.”

Feeling lazy today? Was he serious?

Sure enough, as the line inches forward and he motors up to the conveyor belt, he stands up out of the seat to hoist a gallon of milk or six-pack of beer or something onto the conveyor. I thought for a moment whether I should say something to him, but thought better of it and just laughed inside, wondering if he parked in a handicapped parking spot outside with the same rationale.

Behind me, there’s a guy that looks like Robert Duval, wearing a CB radio type thing hanging from his breast pocket with one of those curly cords going down to some receiver on his belt. He’s talking to himself pretty loudly. I realize he’s probably talking to someone on a wireless phone headset, and sure enough after a brief moment, he turned his head and I saw the Bluetooth piece.

This wasn’t just “Uh huh,” or “yeah, lemme call you back when I’m out of the grocery store,” this was a fairly animated conversation about hauling something made of aluminum. If I weren’t helping the non-cripple in front of me, I probably could have recalled more details about his can’t-wait conversation.

Now I’m at the register, and Lazy, ahead of me, is having problems with the debit card swipe. The checkout lady, now resorting to the “plastic bag AND backwards” swipe trick, looks at Robert Duval behind me, then glances at me and all I have for her is my best Jim Halpert smirk. She smiles at me with a quiet laugh as the plastic bag trick works and we watch Lazy scooter himself out with his loot.

“It’s like a Seinfeld episode,” I tell her as I grab my receipt.

“I know, isn’t it?” she replies, as I leave the Sprite Zero sitting there, walk out to my car and drive home to remember just now about the Sprite Zero. Shit.

I just saw a commercial for a drug, I don’t recall what it was called exactly, but it was to treat this NEW condition called PMDD. This stands for Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder. As found on UnderstandPMDD.com, PMDD is…

Women who have PMDD experience a combination of emotional and physical symptoms that are severe enough to significantly interfere with how they function at school, work or in their personal relationships. These symptoms occur during the 14 days before a woman’s period.

Now, you don’t have to be too old or experienced to know that what’s described above is call Pre-Menstrual Syndrome. It’s not PMDD… it’s PMS. Emotional roller coasters, cramps, bloating, irritability, depression… seriously, historically this has been known as Pre Menstraul Syndrome, right?

Why is this upsetting to me? Because it’s further evidence that previously understood conditions are being re-labelled by the pharmaceutical industry in order to sell more drugs.

This, dear readers, is absolute bullshit.

Back in my day (a whole 20 years ago), depression was called “sadness.” Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder was called “stupidity.” Erectile Dysfunction was called “can’t get it up.” Back then, our kids weren’t doped up on Ritalin, we weren’t all doped up on Valium and Wellbutrin and Zoloft, and those of us that couldn’t get a hardon were called “unfortunate.” We LIVED with it, and that’s the way the cookie crumbled.

“But modern science has helped us understand these maladies,” you say. Bullshit, you sheep. The massive pharmaceutical companies that gross more in a year than many small nations have convinced us all through marketing and advertisements that we’re all sick… with something, and the only remedy is to medicate ourselves with guess what… their products!

Seriously, when YOU were a kid, do you EVER remember commercials for sleep aids? No, you don’t. And the reason you don’t is because back then, 10, 20, 30 years ago… people actually worked, as in physical labor, and if you do that (or excercise), you’re actually TIRED at the end of the day… and sleep wasn’t a problem. Today though, you can take Ambien and you’re all cool.

But some of the rejection of Vista is because it locks up customers, once again, into proprietary software that is expensive, Mr. Perens said. Vista is also trying lock up users with digital rights management, which will prevent the software from sharing video and music. “Unfortunately, this is very anti-customer technology,” Mr. Perens said.

Aside from its expensive price point ($200-$400) and out-of-the-box technical defects, there’s the philosophical side to this. Consumer democracy will do to Microsoft, the obviously dominant software behemoth, the same that it’s done to other dynasties in the past. Eventually more people will turn to Mac, Linux, or whatever future alternative is presented to the status-quo.

It’s technolution… the inevitable shift of preference, perspective, possibilities and priorities in the modern realms of computer usage.

Los Angeles , CA – The MPAA is lobbying congress to push through a new bill that would make unauthorized home theaters illegal. The group feels that all theaters should be sanctioned, whether they be commercial settings or at home.

MPAA head Dan Glickman says this needs to be regulated before things start getting too far out of control, “We didn’t act early enough with the online sharing of our copyrighted content. This time we’re not making the same mistake. We have a right to know what’s showing in a theater.”

The bill would require that any hardware manufactured in the future contain technology that tells the MPAA directly of what is being shown and specific details on the audience. The data would be gathered using various motion sensors and biometric technology.

The MPAA defines a home theater as any home with a television larger than 29″ with stereo sound and at least two comfortable chairs, couch, or futon. Anyone with a home theater would need to pay a $50 registration fee with the MPAA or face fines up to $500,000 per movie shown.

“Just because you buy a DVD to watch at home doesn’t give you the right to invite friends over to watch it too. That’s a violation of copyright and denies us the revenue that would be generated from DVD sales to your friends,” said Glickman. “Ideally we expect each viewer to have their own copy of the DVD, but we realize that isn’t always feasible. The registration fee is a fair compromise.

The bill also stipulates that any existing home theaters be retrofitted with the technology or else the owner is responsible for directly informing the MPAA and receiving approval before each viewing.

There come times in people’s lives when they get a pimple. For some, it’s often and ugly. For others, it’s less of a problem because they show up few and far between. Being way past puberty, I get them here and there but not very often.

It’s even less often that one appears inside my nose. For this I am very, very grateful because I liken this pain in my schnozz to a cross between a root canal and a colonoscopy, though I’ve had neither. The entire left side of my face feels bruised when I even casually bump my nose, throbbing painfully like a whole headache. I’m glad these things don’t show up too often, because this is not fun.

I want to let you know how I feel about Bridezillas, your show about bitchy brides on their way to the altar.

My wife and I’ve been married for just over a year, and she’s recently gotten interested in your show. She has a Masters degree in English Literature, and her thesis was on reality television and its impacts on society and culture. For what it’s worth, we both agree on the following about your show, and this email won’t even begin to plumb the rhetorical, philosophical depths of our collective (reasonably informed and educated) opinions of Bridezilla.

I understand that your bottom line is what counts, and making money is pretty much the only thing of concern in the board meetings where these shows are conceived and planned. The fact that these shows are popular, and your advertisers pay top dollar (maybe) for spots during this show are key to your decision making process, is very much understood and (for lack of a better term) appreciated.

However, the message you send to America is that shallow, obsessive, asshole women are worthy of attention, the spotlight, and your camera’s focus. Following them, encouraging them with attention, cameras and lights, does nothing but perpetuate what is undoubtedly the media’s influence on such horrific statistics as the divorce rate in America, and not remotely what the rest of the world thinks of Americans. Y’know what, with programming like this, and the messages that it sends, the rest of the world is right: Americans, as you promote them, are shallow, shitty, financially irresponsible, pathetic, prickish idiots that deserve the short, statistically unstable and miserably short marriages that they get.

I think it’s abhorable that for the sake of a buck, We Network has succumbed to the status quo, surrendered to the almighty buck and wantonly perpetuates promotion of people being absurdly self-centered, impatient and frankly disgusting individuals. Thanks for fucking up America even more than it already is.

It is, however, rather entertaining.