There are weeks.
And then there are weeks that seem so odd, bizarre, surprising, strange, exciting, discouraging, or all of the above…that all you can do is blink your eyes and say…
Call me on Saturday.
EXHIBIT 1: I was really, really close to catching the flu, big-time.
It was one of those deals where your muscles ache, your legs feel a bit like spaghetti and you have such a headache that you conduct a staff meeting and think about asking if everyone would mind if you laid your head on the desk.
I took all my vitamins, and tripled up on the Vitamin C. Drank lots of orange juice. Tried to get extra sleep. Cut down on the coffee.
So I got some medical advice, fearing I’d be bedridden until spring.
And the doctor said to stop the orange juice and go back to swilling coffee.
Could that be right?
Next morning, I felt like a colt ready to run the Kentucky Derby.
So there you go: Forget orange juice and drink coffee.
That’s my kind of doc.
EXHIBIT 2: I was reading Time magazine and somehow found myself in the section where they review plays and movies.
This was when I wasn’t feeling especially well, so I was sort of skimming, you know?
And I came across a review that said there hadn’t been widespread distribution of the film yet, but audiences had enjoyed the movie during a couple of showings in Manhattan.
There was a movie premiere here in town and I missed it?
Worse than that…our gang at The Mercury somehow missed it?
I was inventing some outrageous excuse for the boss when something floated through my mind.
That’s right. There’s ANOTHER Manhattan.
But cross my heart, when I first read the review, I never gave New York City a thought.
I’m officially a resident now.
EXHIBIT 3: You probably don’t follow professional ice hockey, but bear with me on this one.
I’m a fan of the NHL San Jose Sharks. I went to high school in San Jose and even wrote a book called “Feeding Frenzy” about the Sharks’ unique, trendy marketing back in the mid-1990s.
Right, so now the Sharks have this amazing 19-year-old rookie sensation named Tomas Hertl from Czechoslovakia.
And Tuesday night, the kid scored one of most remarkable goals EVER in pro hockey – like, the video of it has umpteen million hits already and people who watch say: “You can’t DO that…can you?”
I won’t describe the goal. If you’re a puck junkie, look up Tomas Hertl on You Tube.
But I think, in my amazed state, I may have been the first to utter a nickname for our potential rookie of the year and actually post it on Twitter: “Teenage Mutant Ninja Hertl.”
EXHIBIT 4: Yes, this one boggles the mind, but I now can find my way around Manhattan Town Center.
I can zip in and out of the parking lot – any of the 35 exits – and buzz right along without killing anyone.
To be honest, I thought I might spend the rest of my life here and never navigate the mall.
The first time I visited, I was lost so long and became so desperate to find the Food Court, I began gnawing on a sweatshirt in the men’s department at Dillard’s.
Yet somehow, in a mystical and mysterious way that I cannot explain, it’s all quite clear now.
I am writing this column outside Foot Locker, sitting on the floor and looking bewildered.
Perhaps I got overconfident.
Hey, it’s been that kind of week.