Sorry for the recent lack of posts filled with blurry cell phone photos and talk of pizza chains. On Sunday night I came down with a nasty stomach virus. For the most part, I've been living in my bathroom ever since. Two things the past few days have taught me:

Spending an evening vomiting every 30 minutes loses its luster right around the five hour mark.

Patrick Swayze's Road House, while it does little to curb the symptoms of such a virus, is the perfect movie to watch while puking your brains out. Monster trucks, endless bar brawls, gratuitous T & A, Sam Elliot AND a scene where Swayze takes out a henchman with a stuffed polar bear- this thing has it all.

This morning....oh, God...this morning. If you didn't wind up at St. Vincent's Hospital at 3 AM clutching your stomach, there's a good chance you're having a better Valentine's Day than me. Three hours. a battle with a hospital gown, an offer a saltwater drip and a $75 copay later, I was released. The diagnosis? Dehydration brought on by excessive vomiting and, yeah, I'll throw it out here: nine straight hours of diarrhea ( a personal record!). The suggested treatment: sleep, Gatorade and slowly administered dry toast.

This afternoon I'm proud to report that I may finally be on the road to recovery. In the past few hours I've managed to hold down two pieces of toast and 12 ounces of lemon Gatorade, the most food my stomach has been able to handle in nearly three days. While I'm busy recuperating in front of TV Land reruns of Star Trek (that "Enemy Within" episode where Captain Kirk splits into two is killer) and New Super Mario Brothers, here's a few links related to every year's worst holiday:

As reported here last week, a couple did get hitched on the Portland Aerial Tram this morning. The short ceremony was presided over by Z100 DJ "Buckethead." If I'm ever married up there, I think I'd rather have Daria or Bob Miller conduct it. I'm sure they're card-carrying members of the Universal Life Church.

A few years ago, I wrote this "tribute" to a what is, hopefully, a long dead elementary school tradition. Remember being forced to hand out paper valentines to your classmates back in the day? If you don't, you're lucky.

Did the Portland Mercury print my valentine in this week's issue? They sure did (hint, it's the one that professes love for St. Patrick and his annual holiday while poo-pooing that jackass St. Valentine).

Click here for a gallery of vintage Return of the Jedi valentines and click here for more along those lines.

Oh, boy! Time for more dry toast.

Labels: flu, holidays