NICE HYGIENE: I have no underwear on this trip. I simply omitted underwear from my luggage. Call me "Commando." Discovered it this morning. Black sweater? Check. Black slacks? Check. Black shoes? Check. Black socks? Check. Underwear of any color? Nein.

And so I feel a little naughty today. And apparently I'll continue to feel naughty tomorrow...on accounta...

I left my computer at Microsoft after my presentation. I did not discover this until I was returning my rental car at Sea-Tac airport. I took the car back out, drove it back to the campus and, escorted by two Microsoft security guards, recovered the computer. I missed my flight to L.A. but caught the next one. And so by the time I arrived here...all the stores were closed.

I remain underwearless.

I heard the SOTU speech was blah, lackluster, no news, platitudinous. Too bad. Poor dumb Bush.

Just saw Hillary Rosen stumping for the dems. Or I should say spinning for the Dems. Never liked her when she was the unrealistic and harsh voice of the RIAA as they sued music consumers. Anyway, seeing her on the Dem side makes me feel better about not being on the Dem side anymore.

I won't vote for Hillary. Won't.

I've read ongoing analysis about how McCain can never be nominated.

I wish I had underwear. Or at least more pants.

ON TRAVEL AND POOP: Monday morning. I awoke with a random headache -- because, man, I only had like a couple glasses of that rose (think ro-zay; don't know how to make the accent over the 'e') -- but none of the pervading "sick" of last week. The Z-Pac (not to be confused with the 2Pac) has helped, clearly. Now I'm at Starbucks scotch-taping expense reports and working the e-mail. Headed to ORD in a few hours to catch a flight to SEA for a day, then on to LAX until Thursday.

A few fun C.J. scenes of late:

"Daddy, what's it called when I have a really fast poop?"

"Diarrhea."

"Oh. What about when I have a slow poop?"

"I just call that regular poop."

"Eggrahlah poop?"

"Ummm..."

"Egg roll poop?"

"Yeah, close enough."

"Daddy, I hope I have an eggroll poop soon."

And then there was this one:

"Mommy, will you change my poopy diaper?"

"C.J., you're almost four, it's time for you to poopy in the potty. Mommy's getting tired of poopy diapers."

(thinking about it)

"Mommy...will God change my poopy diaper?"

FIXED? THINKIN' YEAH: Ya gotta love a decisive doc. I'm in there for like 30 seconds, she's poking around, and then: "This is a bacterial infection run rampant. Z-Pac, 800 milligrams of ibuprofen thrice a day, and a steroidal nose spray."

Here's hoping my massive influx of drugs will have me riding high on the flight to Seattle on Monday.

WHAT STARTLED LOOKS LIKE: Yep, this is it. Expulsion of air. Wide eyes. Stomach acid marching up the old Esophageal Trail... 

START THE MUSIC: Today's an all-day meeting, starting in moments and running straight through until 6:30PM. Then I rush to the airport, dump the rental car, and try and get my butt home before midnight. Long day!

I no longer marvel that people can do this, can find the energy and will to get through a work day that starts at 7:30AM and doesn't end until almost the next day. I see it nearly every week. What I do still marvel at is that people choose to live like this. Given the wide range of available options, I'm literally startled sometimes -- as in, "Huh?" -- that there exists a class of folks, among which you may count me, that keeps putting quarters in this particular carousel.

WOKE UP THINKING: Actually had some decent sleep last night, and my throat is about 50% as raw today as yesterday. I like to think that my gargling with saltwater ("yes, can you please send up two salt shakers to room 1131? great!"), noshing on Robitussin menthol lozenges, staying regular with the Advil, and begging off dinner last night so I could just take it easy were all contributing factors. I am beating this whatever-it-is! Of course, chances are it's just that the virus is running its course, or that my bodies defenses have finally discovered a more favorable strategy. Germs are, of course, simply little terrorists who seek to engage the corpus maximus in asymmetrical warfare. And the thing that's good to remember is that these little germs usually lose time and again...

...until they finally prevail, of course.

Nothing...nothing...nothing...lasts forever, now does it?

Odd that, somehow, that simple thought manages to be both the source of greatest comfort and stress all at once.

SAY IT KEANU-STYLE -- WHOA! Lebron James' mom, in addition to being a nutter, is also two years...wait for it...*younger* than me!

REFERRAL GENIUS: In my hotel's in-room GUEST SERVICES DIRECTORY, it says:

Doctor/Dentist: An "At Your Service" associate can refer you to a nearby doctor or dentist.

Wow! Great. I'm still feeling pretty crappy, and I decide that if I feel this way tomorrow I'm going to the doc. So I stop by the front desk on my way in from an evening reception.

"I'm thinking about seeing a doctor tomorrow. Do you have a list of doctors you refer guests to?"

"Huh?"

"I think I may want to see a doctor tomorrow, and in the book in the room it says..."

"Are you sick?"

"Well, I have this lingering sore throat, and I've had a fever off and on, and...look, do you have a list of doctors?"

"There's a hospital nearby."

"Okay, so you don't really have a list..."

"Mostly we just tell people to go over to the hospital. They have doctors there."

"Uh, okay. Thanks."

IN MY PATH FOR A REASON: I'm lucky enough to be working on a corporate project with a playwright by the name of Alex Dinelaris. Seems like a very good guy, talented, upbeat. Best of all, he's about my age, and he was telling me this morning about how just a few short years ago he was a guy that felt he ought to writing plays, but he hadn't really put it all together yet. All of a sudden the stars aligned, he made the commitment, took some time off to write, finished a play...and now finds himself with a play ready to open on Broadway this summer with Danny Aiello and Rosie O'Donnell in the leads. Inspiring!

YES! I have been immortalized in the Urban Dictionary.

BOO HOO: Sitting in a Hertz Business Center at Dallas-Fort Worth airport, just about to launch my rental Taurus or 500 or whatever they give me at Richardson, Texas. Unbelievably, I'm sick again. Very sore throat and body aches. Did the strep come back? Gonna look into a doc-in-the-box by my hotel. Sucks.

By the way, does this win my most-boring-post-ever?

ON GENIUS: Here's MSNBC's pretty solid take on the glory that was the first episode of SKATING WITH CELEBRITIES.

EVERYTHING I WANT FROM TV: You know, I thought AMERICAN IDOL was the most entertaining show on TV, but after only about 15 minutes of this SKATING WITH CELEBRITIES show, I gotta say:

Goddamn! How can I be sitting here laughing like a loon, grinning like a baboon at this show! Bruce Jenner in some kind of admiral's getup! This Sir John guy affecting the grumpy Simon role! This is just too much.

I think I love it.

(Addendum: For the love of God, Willis (as in "Whatchew talkin' 'bout Willis") is about to skate! From Rikers to the rink! I love it! I love it!)

SLICE OF LIFE: There's something in the air at my hotel.

The place is packed with some serious yahoos. For a second, I thought I might be among my NASCAR brethren, this horde of rural-seeming, puffy men hell-bent on whooping it up and/or squiring their wide-eyed families through the large hotel lobby. But these folks, salt of the earth and all, are just a little too...down-market for NASCAR. These are some odd folk. I started looking at their name tags, trying to make out the logo. Hmmmm. Looked like it said they were with the PARK CONGRESS. Maybe that's it. These are national park-type people. Wilderness folk. Then I saw this sign:

Pfizer Animal Health & Hormel Happy Hour, 6:30PM

Then I stared harder at the name tags: Pork Congress. Pork. As in porcine. Piggies!

"Excuse me," I say to a man in the elevator. "Does your name tag say 'Pork Congress?'"

"Yes, indeed," he says. "We're pig people."

SPECIAL TO CASEY THE ENTERTAINER: A-ight, Case! Way to go! I'm sure Mom "had a chuckle." 

WHAT HE SAID: "Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation." - Graham Greene

WHY IS EXERCISE STUCK IN THE GYM? I'm standing at the Baggage Claim yesterday, waiting and waiting to retrieve my suitcase (so much for the PRIORITY tag they always stick on it due to my frequent-flier status), and it hits me: What about a public exercise movement?

Why can't I just drop down right there and knock out some push-ups and some sit-ups? Why can't I do some step-ups on the baggage carousel or knock out some dips on the chairs nearby? Why not?

Well, I'd look like a goof, right? But why is it that we don't feel ashamed when we do unhealthy things in public, like knock down a Cin-A-Bun or smoke a cigarette or polish off 73 frozen margaritas? Why are those behaviors more socially acceptable?

So what about it? Should I launch publicexercise.blogspot.com and document examples of people exercising in public, making their waiting time in doctors' offices and supermarket lines and so forth add up to something healthy?

The answer is no, no more blogs. But I think I'm onto something, nonetheless...

THIS & THAT: As I mentioned in my COMMENTS, I somehow had the big Mo to head down to the workout room last night upon arrival in Minneapolis. In typical me fashion, I had a bit of a spaz-out down there, using the treadmill, the elliptical, the weights and weight machines, the pool, and the hot tub. Had a nice dinner of local walleye and some veggies, and I slept pretty well. I also made the mistake of making a late-night run to the local Borders store which, according to their website, should have been open until 11PM. Alas, when I arrived there entirely frozen (no, Mom, I did not bring a hat or gloves) at 9:55PM they told me I had five minutes to thaw out on accounta: "We're closing, bub." Nice. I had head-freeze on the walk back which was quickly remedied by a big to-go glass of the house Zin. And...scene.

Just finished Michael Collins' LOST SOULS, a book I grabbed on a whim in Santa Monica 'cause I liked the cover and one of the blurbs on the back. And wow! This guy can write his ass off. Sort of David Gates meets Michael Connelly. Artistically sound, rather bleak prose that organically pulls the reader from page to page like a Grisham...with none of the aftertaste. A definite model for the kind of novel I hope to write.

PROOF THERE IS RACISM IN THIS COUNTRY: New Orleans mayor Ray Nagin is really something else. Can you imagine if the mayor of some super-white city...like, say Minneapolis or something, where I am right now, and where it's so goddamn windy and cold they oughta shut the whole city down until spring...I digress...can you imagine if the mayor of some white-guy city said, "We want to keep this city the only way it can be, white as snow!" (Yep, snow. Works for Minneapolis.) It's a wonder he didn't start a chant of "No more honkeys!"

YOU'RE JEALOUS: Off to icy Minneapolis for the rest of the week!