Saturday, April 06, 2002

My father was just admited to the hospital. He has had an ulcer since he was a kid. Every ten years or so it gets bad and starts to bleed. He's a tough little SOB. There's a scar accross his belly from the first surgery he had - at fifteen. He's only 5'8", thirty inch waist and 150 pounds, but all my buddies were terrified of him growing up. My dad was the one dad everybody was sure could kick your ass. Most people still won't mess with him - even now. But he has a soft side. Unfortunately that soft side is the lining of his stomach, and too much stress, too much coffee tears him up on the inside. Dad, I'm thinking of you...get well.
Jim Parisi

Friday, April 05, 2002

I'm still sick. This is the worst cold I have had in years. Thought I was getting better too. I went from feeling like shit to feeling like dirt, but now I'm back to feeling like shit. So I finally went to the doctor. She was pretty hot. Here's a new experience - I'm old enough to hit on doctors. This really sucks. I already have zero luck with the pick up. It's even harder when you just spent five minutes telling an attractive educated woman all about the color of your snot. "Sooo - hack hack wheeze - how long - wheeze - you been in California...sniffle?" I suppose that whole doctor-patient relationship thing would get in the way anyhow.
Jim Parisi

Todd reminded me that I forgot to add a few experiences to my list of requirements for adventure travel. Like trying to purchase tampons for a female companion from a deeply religious (and easily offended) Moroccan shopkeeper who doesn't speak English. I can only imagine that game of charades.
Jim Parisi

Thursday, April 04, 2002

My sister sent me a new picture of my niece, Summer. She is my second niece. I have a third on the way. As much as I prefer to live away from the chaos that is my big Italian family, I don't get to see the kids grow up. Everytime I do see them they are a foot and a half taller. I love those kids so much it hurts. And I dig the job. I get to be the favorite uncle who shows up a couple times a year, teaches them things to say that piss off their mothers, slip them ten dollar bills with a wink and a whispered "don't tell your parents", and never have to deal with the word "no". It's a good gig. Probably the best part of growing up.

Jim Parisi

Wednesday, April 03, 2002

I am sick. Again. This is the second head cold I have had since January. I used to never get sick. I went four years without so much as a sniffle. Now that I spend two or three days a week in various airports and airplances across the US, I get sick a lot more.

The biggest problem is that once I get sick, I have to stop flying until my head clears up. Have you ever flown with a head cold? Still one of the most excruciating experiences in my life. I felt like someone was drilling a hole trough my skull from the inside out when the plane began to descend. I have a lot of customers to visit this week, but no commission check is worth that amount of suffering.

This cold in particular is pretty bad. In the last three days I have used two full rolls of toilet paper and one box of kleeex to collect the mucus that has escaped my swollen head. I figure I weigh about 160 pounds. I also figure that I have created (and expelled in one way or another) about half my body weight in snot since Sunday night. Ugh.

Those customers I visit are all drug discovery scientists. Biologists, chemists, serious science geeks. I swear they gotta get cracking on this cure for the common cold. I'm tired of feeling like my head is full of peanut butter...
Jim Parisi

Erika just sent me pictures from Brazil. This one was magical.

Jim Parisi

Hey! It worked. My first step into a bold new world of digital candor. I feel so tingly.
But I suppose that's probably just the sudafed. Sniffle.
Note to self: Making out like a horny teenager with a complete stranger is a good way to get sick.
Jim Parisi

Wow. My first post using blogger. I wish I had something more profound to write than this.
Testing, Testing, Testing.
Can you hear me?
Echo! Echo!
Jim Parisi

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