01/01/2025
We woke up sick, both of us at the same time, my wife Susan more obvious than me. Her voice scratched out “good morning“ as I tiptoed past her mattress tucked under the ping pong table in the basement. My only detectable symptom was a sore throat, and not really all that sore yet. Where do germs come from? We drove the seven-hour trip to Susan’s brother’s house two days earlier. That seems like the right incubation period. Maybe the McDonald’s burger-slinger had a cold.
When was I last sick? I caught a mild case of Covid two and a half years ago, but I barely noticed. I only tested myself because I had just worked a super-spreader event, a massive three day used book sale with thousands of shoppers. Others who attended had already tested positive. During my week off work, I went for daily bike rides and sat on my screened in porch reading novels. That was more of a vacation than an illness. This is far worse.
For the past six days, I’ve been constructing a playlist for tomorrow night’s spin class. I never put in effort like this. Usually, I just grab sixteen songs I like and plan some appropriate drills. Since this is the first class of the year, likely jammed with the New Year, New You resolution crowd, I was shooting for a different vibe. Something mellow and uplifting, not my usual abrasive punk/classic rock offerings. Instead, twangy alt-country tracks by singer-songwriters like Sheryl Crow and Mary Chapen Carpenter; haunting/moody tunes by Suzanne Vega; droning pop selections from Ace of Base. I envisioned a relaxed, sweaty mess motivated by an enthusiastic coach rather than a pounding beat. Maybe some other time, I just called in sick. A substitute instructor will take the class.
The texts rolled in all morning: Have a happy and healthy new year. I’m off to a bad start. Certainly not healthy and therefore not so happy. I’ve ridden the couch most of the day. Susan said, “It’s cold and gray, you’re not missing anything.”
I said, “Well, in the distant past, I’d be hungover and throwing up. Being sick is better than that.”
Before the internet, was it possible to go viral? In the early nineties, on a wild New Year’s Eve, I stopped by several parties and also went to the final show ever at d.c. space, a Washington DC alternative rock club. Like many of my party nights of that era—that era being marked by unbridled alcoholism—I couldn’t remember most of the night’s activities. For a few weeks following New Year’s, a group of young adults I didn’t know watched and rewatched a video recording dozens of times.
Interviewer with the camera: Hello sir, what is your new year’s resolution for 1992?
Extremely drunk guy with glasses, slurring: I resholve to never go to a party empty handed. If shomeone takes the time to invite me, I’ll take the time to put together a gift. It can be anything really; nothing’sh too inshignificant. Even a shmall dish of mustard. Next time I come to your party, I’ll bring a shmall dish of mustard.
The mustard guy became legendary. Everyone who saw the video clip fell to the floor with laughter. No one knew who the guy was or where he came from. Like a ghost, he arrived at the party, made the video, and disappeared. Weeks later, my brother connected with a friend in this group and finally saw the video. “Oh,” he said, “that’s my brother, Jeff.”
If this happened thirty years later, I would have been a worldwide meme.
Today is better than that. Happy New Year.
Previously Published on jefftcann.com
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