Today I woke up way too early and with almost no voice. I took this as a sign from wherever that it was time to call Dr. Burt, the miracle worker of my ears, nose, and throat. He had an opening at 1:45 today, so I jumped on it. Dr. Burt specializes in people who do voice work; he's worth braving the traffic to the Gilroy outlets the day after Christmas (his office is off the same exit).
When I told Warren I was going to Gilroy after all, he rushed to get ready. We hadn't expected to go there because I had to work tonight from 6pm-11pm at the radio station.
My route-planning was first rate; we got there 15 minutes early. Unfortunately, Dr. Burt was running late, so I wound up waiting an hour in which I read all of the January, 2002 edition of Rosie magazine. This is the first issue that addressed dieting at all, which, IMHO, says a lot in favor of the magazine. Even though dieting was addressed, it wasn't obsessed upon the way so many other "women's" magazines obsess. Instead, it was more like, "you can be thin, or you can be fat, but being happy with yourself is the goal."
Dr. Burt confirmed that yes, I do have a sinus infection, and had his assistant call in prescriptions to the pharmacy. Warren and I then had lunch at The World's Slowest Denny'sTM. Next we went to get his mother a slipcover for her sofa and some spices for blasting my sinuses.
We were running late, so we decided Warren would drop me at the station and take the car to his folks' house till my shift was done. I had time to spare, so I bought a TV dinner, sugar-free cough drops, herbal teas, and sugar-free lemon sandwich cookies (I really wanted Frookies' Peanut Butter Sandwich Cookies, but they didn't carry Frookies, and Murray's Sugar-Free Peanut cookies are too chunky).
The shift seemed extra easy despite my health. I think just knowing that Derrick, the regular overnight guy, would be relieving me was a relief. I hadn't seen Derrick in way too long. He and I were classmates at San Jose State and were then board ops together at the station years ago. I left the board-op ranks for Metro Traffic; he stuck around and slid into an on-air shift.
Anyhow, during one of my traffic reports the CHP had a report of a "live deer in the middle of the road." I always announce those in my traffic reports as "Bambi." If it's a dead deer, it's "Venison." It was a slow news night, so this was cool. It's just like when a sofa or recliner drops onto the roadway; the traffic report is much more colorful if you know the make and model of whatever's blocking the road.
Derrick was jubilant when he saw me. The first thing he did was clean out the old copy, leaving little else but the stories I'd written. Derrick also gave me his latest news: his wife is pregnant. I congratulated him, asked him whether he knew the baby's gender (they're going to wait till it comes out), and told him I won't tell him what to name the baby. He was curious about "my suggestions." I rephrased what I said, explaining that I only tell people what not to name their baby.
He poked, so I answered. "If it's a boy, " I said, "don't name him Adolph. Period. If it's a girl, given that your last name is "Villa," don't stick her with "Rilla." He laughed.
Warren picked me up and we went to Walgreens to get my meds. I think they're helping.