and i didn't need to upload it, as all those songs are already on my computer...

I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Well, no. I’ve had absolutely no trouble sleeping from 6 am to 3 pm. That’s been effortless. I have had trouble sleeping like a regular diurnal mammal. So, in between when I decide to go to bed and I actually fall asleep, I have been getting a lot done. For example, I have upped my winning streak on FreeCell from the low to the mid 300s. But, I felt that I could perhaps be even more efficient. So last night, I decided to go through a stack of unlabeled CDs to label them.

I found some weird things. I found a mix CD that was labeled. There was “[undisclosed name]’s mix” written on the front, along with the date and the #7. The date harkens back to a more innocent time, pre-9/11 time when we had boy bands aplenty, J. Lo had not yet met Ben Affleck, and Aaliyah was still alive. Ah, the halcyon days of yore. In any case, here is the playlist (seriously, you can’t make this stuff up, folks):

1)‘N Sync – Gone

2) something Indian

3) Theme from (the original) 90210 (which you now sadly have to clarify)

4) Linkin Park – Crawling in my Skin

5) from Rent – Rent

6)‘N Sync – Dirty Pop

7) something Indian

8) Blu Cantrell – Hit ‘Em Up Style (Oops!)

9) J. Lo – I’m Real

10) ‘N Sync – Do Your Thing

11) Mandy Moore – In My Pocket (a very poor quality version)

12) ‘N Sync – Celebrity

13) Xtina, Pink, Mya, Lil Kim – Lady Marmalade

14) Willa Ford – I Wanna Be Bad

15) from Moulin Rouge - Hindi Sad Diamonds

16) Jordan Knight – Give it to You

17) Aaliyah – Are You That Somebody (RIP)

Full disclosure: the tracks showed up in my iTunes without labels. I had to look them up (by reaching into my memory and instantly knowing the songs). Also, I was trying to detect a theme for the CD. And I couldn’t even come up with a joke answer. Something using the word bling?

Also also, let’s talk about 2001 in music for a second. Napster was in full swing then. Music was apparently doomed forever, and the sale of music would never be the same. Number one selling album that year? Linkin Park. This album went like ten times platinum. Things were free and still (somehow) legal, and something like ten million people spent actual money on the Linkin Park CD. Just saying.

Meanwhile, back at the farm, I had come across something even weirder. There was a CD with just two documents on it. One was a set of notes and the other was an essay written by, well, I don’t know. Not by me or anyone I know. WHERE DID IT COME FROM? And, if you are me, you would naturally start to play out the first twenty minutes of Enemy of the State in your head. Did Jason Lee drop this in my shopping bag before he rode his bike in front of a bus?! Is Gene Hackman standing on my roof?! Are a bunch of people going to try to kill me?! What is going on?!?! (Apparently, in my head, I am played by Will Smith.) (I imagine that actually casting the role of me would involve doing a wikipedia search to see if William Hung is still around and then calling the South Park guys to see if they still have the puppet they used in Team America).

I think it was someone’s homework. I hope that person worked it out, as this CD been in a box for years. In any case, I can cross that off of my list. CDs I never look at have been messily labeled. Good. So that way when I put them back in the box and not touch them for three years, they will at least have the words “mp3s” or “pictures” scribbled on the front of them. I can sleep soundly now.

on the plus side, I can eat all the cockroaches I want

I was laid off yesterday. More on this later.

In the past couple of weeks, I had convinced myself I was allergic to shrimp. So, it was off to the allergist.

I have gone to a doctor plenty of times convinced I had some ailment which I did not. I imagine it comes a lot from my parents who dealt with a lot of sick progeny who were typically not me. So when it was me—say, the time I got a weird, puffy bug bite or the time I stabbed my hand with a pencil—it was a trip to the emergency room, just like any of the other kids. It didn't matter how minor it actually was. So now, any time I suspect something may be wrong, I visit the doctor.

The visit typically begins a long story. I don’t know if that is how most people start off a doctor appointment, but it is how I start one. “Well,” I begin, usually with a sort of a high-pitched intonation. “Well…” and then we take a nice little journey through an anecdote without a lot of the salient information but with a dash of unnecessary specifics.

“Well,” I began (after some runaround with the receptionist and the insurance card and the referral I was told I didn’t need but I did need but it was okay because they were going to fax it over). “Well, I was eating shrimp at this event we had at work where they were giving us some free food and felt funny afterwards. And later I was eating Chinese food that I had ordered in and I felt funny again. I don’t know how to describe funny. Like. Unusual.” The doctor asked, “How long ago was this?” I had no idea. A week or so. Maybe a month. No, that doesn’t sound right.

The doctor asked a few more questions about what “funny” meant (you know, funny. Not like I usually feel. Not like I felt before). Then, I took a breathing test with a little Asian nurse. There was definitely miscommunication. “What you’re going to do is…” And then the test wouldn’t read right. “No, you’re not doing it right!” “I don’t know what you’re asking me to do!” I felt like she was trying to teach me to drive for the first time. “Breathe, breathe, breathe!” “I have no more breath!” “That’s because you’re doing it wrong!” I am pretty sure she jumped up and down at one point.

Sidebar anecdote: it brought up the memory of a visit to the eye doctor in which the technician pleaded with me to open my eye wider to take a picture of it with some expensive machine and I crossly protested that I could not. “Please try!” “This is as far as they open!” Anyway. I’m pretty good at math, so it balances.

Somewhere in there, I got something usable for the doctor to see (whose door was open the whole time and I am sure could hear the whole conversation). And then came the pinpricks of allergens. One of them was “cockroach” which is disgusting one on level already. But then I found myself playing out this story in which it wasn’t the shrimp but a cockroach in my Chinese food that had caused the reaction and that garlic sauce was really cockroach bath sauce.

It wasn’t.

And I’m not allergic to shrimp. At least not by the first round of testing. I am allergic to cats and grass and tree pollen and a bunch of other things he mentioned that I hope I wasn’t supposed to memorize (what’s a tree plantain?).

So, in addition to joining the growing ten whatever percent of unemployed Americans in this economy, I am also joining the ranks of (judging by the patients I witnessed flitting in and out of the office, greeting the receptionist by name) nebbish (white) men with medically diagnosed allergies. Great.