Germ Factory

Two bad things: first, I woke up this morning with a cold. Second, Saturday's post seems to have disappeared. You would have loved it. It was a celebration of the arcane -- as usual -- about how S. Bullock painted the dining room while I slept in. These are the times of our lives, after all. (apologies to F. Valli)

I jinxed myself this week, inwardly bragging that we, as a family, had made it all the way through cold & flu season minus and colds or flus. Next thing you know, Super Bowl Sunday gives way to Super Phlegm Monday. Real estate is on hold; magazine writing is on hold. All we have is tissues and sports radio. Maybe a library run.

I am subpar. And not my normal subpar. This is a subpar that courses through my veins like bad blood. The roof of my mouth itches. My eyes itch. Sadly, these are perhaps the only parts of the body that you cannot scratch.

This leaves me in a good position to read all of the comments left on this site by well-wishers, wisenheimers and family members hiding behind the cloak of anonymity. The good thing is that I can usually tell who the anonymous commenters are. The other good thing is that some of these comments are coming from people I don't hear from on a regular basis. So far no comments from strangers. Overall, it seems like the only thing commenters can agree on is that they want(ed) the Seahawks to win the Super Bowl.

It was not to be.

We had our own Super Bowl gathering, which included 6 former or sometime Seattlites, and we pulled for the home team. I have to say that, given the emails that have been flying around today, I didn't watch the game closely enough to blame the whole thing on the officials. Some day, Seattle, you will have your championship. When it comes, it'll eclipse the memories of the 1979 Sonics. I promise.

Amazing to me was the variety of Seattlites included in the pro-Seahawks comments. From tattooed bar owners Chris & Jeff to cerebral filmmaker Annie Fergerson (one of the original Kathleens, and, thankfully, darn proud of it) to the mysteriously proto-blue collar Dr. Bando to Lake Chelan retirees Dick & Jeannie Cheyne (my in-laws) and sporty gal Betsy Urner, all were united in their love of the, uh, teal and blue? I'm not sure. They keep changing their uniforms.

As for me, I am only a Niners fan, and so entered the contest sporting a Switzerland-like neutrality. And in fact, arrived at my own party late. I had to look at some open houses. It's my job, you know.

Side note: I don't know if you know this, but Super Bowl Sunday is also San Francisco Gay Men Touring Open Houses Day. Strange, because I know for a fact that most, if not all, of the gay men I played volleyball with in Seattle were watching the game.

Come to think of it, I've been to Super Bowl parties hosted by those same Seattle-based gay men.

As the game continued, I found myself taking the Seahawk side. After all, I did live in Seattle for 10 years. I am from Pennsylvania, but not Western PA. I've never been to Pittsburgh, though I hear they make these insane sandwiches there with meat AND french fries, all in the same sandwich.

By the end, we all had joined my commenters in sadness. The Seahawks had lost. Even Helene, who thinks Camper makes athletic shoes, was upset.

More upsetting to me, though, was the appearance of four geriatric English guys as the halftime entertainment. Didn't anyone realize that one of those dudes could have gone down and broken a hip at any time? I expect better treatment of our senior citizens. Really, it's cruel.

Mick Jagger's Grandson: Grandpa, why is my new Grandma younger than Mommy?

Mick: It's only rock and roll, but I like it.

Seahawks in '07? Gotta get through my Niners first.