Well, I blame L2 for giving me her cold; I spend a better part of the weekend with her at the movies and in the office. I am now sick as a dog. I wound up buying a box of mentholated tissues Tuesday morning, and wound up using them all in one morning. We had a team meeting and I brought the box of tissues along with my pad and paper. I hate taking medication, but by the afternoon, I succumbed and bought some Sudafed, or rather, the Duane Reade versions -- Suphedrine. I used to love the generic versions Pathmark would put out: Pathefed, Pathedryl, Pathenol, Pathvil. Duane Reade's store brands are highly unimaginative, if that's possible.
Meanwhile, on the writing front: I have been on two stories. One is the follow up to the Stonewall Veterans Association's incident with a police inspector in front of the Stonewall Bar itself. They have filed a complaint with the Civilian Complaint Review Board. Second, there was a murder of a gay white man in his fifties in Brooklyn's Fort Greene neighborhood. So I spoke with both AVP and the local police precinct about it. AVP, quite correctly, sees all the clues to it being a gay-related pick-up crime, whereas the police don't, because the man knew the two 20something men who killed and robbed him. Hmph.
Meanwhile, even though I felt like a dishrag, I accompanied A and S for S's birthday dinner at Vietnam. S used to work with us, and since the three of us love to complain, we complained with gusto and relish and felt the rewarding glow of superiority that sort of complaining brings. A and S are both very intelligent, and bristle at the mediocrity of our mutual surroundings at work, as I do. We had a nice time, despite the heat. We had ice cream in Columbus Park. We inadvertently scared off an older Chinese woman when A motioned that she might take her photo.
Days later, I still felt like hell, but the Suphedrine blocked me up like an explosion in Swiss mountainside traffic tunnel.
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