Springer Fever

Hello. I want to jump right into things but a word of introduction may be in order. However I don't feel like doing that until later so lets get to it. This is my first blog post and I have to say at the outset I question its wisdom. I suppose it would be hopeful to say that I will be the first to question its wisdom. The latter phrasing presupposes that anyone else but me will be reading it. OK then. On to non important business. I have what I think is a low grade fever that is being stoked by some sort of upper repertory infection. I get one of these every time I have a prolonged allergy attack. So I get one of these about every two years. It is miserable but I’m sure others have it worse.

It is that perfect sort of fever that tends to release the imagination from ones normal inhibitions yet not high enough to cause seizure and death. This sort of imaginative freedom is superior to that which you may gain by drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. There is not motor degradation to speak of and I seem to have reasonable grasp of my faculties. Now… um…

Oh, right… Onward.

Now for those of you that are concerned for me I do appreciate it but there is no cause for alarm. I have had accidental experience toying with the functions of my hypothalamus before. Purely natural I assure you.

Example:

In my waning days of bachelorhood I lived in a tiny apartment on Houston’s southwest side. One day while being "responsible" for myself I contracted one of these fevers. It was higher than this one and had the effect of sapping my will to take medicine. I decided to ward off the chill for some reason by turning the heat up in July. The tip top reading of my thermostat was 90 degrees and I was feeling mighty chilly so up it went. I sat on my gold sectional and watch basic cable in my plush bathrobe while I prepared to break this fever like a man. Yes, indeed I was determined to make it my bitch. But as I was sitting there shivering from the stark chill watching the intro of Jerry Springer (the fever also sapped my will to change the channel) the bloody heater cycled off! What the hell? I mean it made no sense to me at the time. It was set to 90 and I was shaking like it was 40 degrees. Of course had I bothered to check I would have noted that the temperature had topped 90 and the marvelous device known as the mercury tilt switch rolled over on me and said ‘uncle’. I was not deterred. As it turns out this fever did not sap all my will. In fact it caused it to become intensified and focused on particular activities. You have seen this in people that drink. You couldn’t move lush from a burning couch, but mention Whataburger and they are off like a rocket to get a double with extra pickles. The same was true for me. I considered it a heroe’s effort fit perhaps for Heracles himself to anthropomorphize this fever, bend it over and do what the IRS does to us all every year.

Incidentally the Internal Revenue Service is only a ‘service’ in the animal husbandry sense. Suck on that socialists.

Ok. So… Right! I demonstrated that focused will by striding (holding the wall for support. I swear it felt like the building was turning) into my kitchen and opening the oven. Turned that sucker to 350 degrees and said ‘so there’. Now we were in business, by God. I stood in the kitchen for a bit soaking in all that lovely warm (Don‘t worry. I was sans robe by this time… Enjoy the imagery… Also, be kind and bear in mind I was racing bikes competitively at this time in my life) and slowly walked from the kitchen back to my place on the sofa. I had missed the beginning of Jerry Springer and I was feeling oddly sad about that.

In time I knew why. It was a reunion show. Oh, yes. Reunions. When Jerry Springer is confronted by Saint Peter at the Gates of Heaven and asked to justify all the mischief his ‘Who’s Yo’ Babies Daddy?’, and ‘I’m Having Incestual Relations’ shows caused I hope he is smart enough to pull the Reunion Show card. That ‘s your ticket right there Jerry. Just don’t mention you paid for a prostitute with a personal check while being the incompetent mayor of Cincinnati. Dumbass.

Anyway, I sat down to see this rather portly woman alone on the stage. Jerry was there of course and Steve Wilkos by his side. I suppose incase the woman had a concealed doughnut and was prepared to use it as a weapon. It was at this time that Jerry was doing his gentle interrogation:

Jerry: Peggy, you say you have been separated from your twin sister since you were four years old?

Peggy: That is correct, Jerry.

Jerry: And you have had no luck in finding her? None at all?

Me: Oh my god. He found her!

Peggy: No Jerry. It is like I told you producer. I have lost part… [pauses to grab a tissue (I thought at first she was going for the doughnut)]… and there is a part of me that is missin’. A big hole in my heart.

Me: Oh, God! Tell her, man!

Jerry: Well, Peggy as you know here at the show we have a lot of investigators that are very effective…

Peggy: [sniffles and weeps lightly]

Me: Bastard.

Jerry: And they were able to turn up some new information in your case.

Me: You know how to use the white pages, yes, yes. Get on with it!

Peggy: Well, Jerry… Any help would be real appreciated.

Me: Oh, Peggy, you sweet fool. He found her! Bastard!

Jerry: Peggy, what if I were to tell you we had more than just new information? Maybe something that would fill that hole in your heart?

Peggy: …

Me: Son of a bitch! Don’t toy with her!

Jerry: Peggy… Say hello to your sister Terry separated from you since you were four years old!

The audience erupts as Terry walks out from back stage! She looks exactly like Peggy too. The same portly build. The same salt and pepper hair. The same comfortable clothing in which one might conceal a doughnut. They embrace in a great blubbery mess as the audience stood and shared the moment like they might at a highway auto accident except more positively. Jerry is tastefully remaining quiet but smiling like a prick!

And me?

Full on meltdown. Literally. My fever was near breaking and I was starting to thinly sweat. Tears there were also and I’m pretty sure snot. God, I hope it was snot. In any case I was crying like someone had shot my puppy!

Through my heightened temperature egged on by my apartment that had to be pushing 115 degrees I had reached a point of cathartic release that men are not meant to feel, I am thoroughly convinced. For a moment I might have actually been gay. Providence saved me from testing that theory, thankfully. I had no one there to share this good news with. The fact that I was teetering on stroke and that it was three am did not confront me. I rushed from my apartment into the frigid 87 degree weather and beat on my neighbor’s door! “Peggy and Terry have found each other!” I was heard to joyously cry. “Spread the word! Wake the goats! (fever)”. In retrospect it was good that my reclusive neighbor did not answer. Some weeks later, though I was not there to witness it, I heard that the place had been raided and a great deal of crack was confiscated at the scene. Also, I had neglected to put my robe back on.

I was drained. Sick and exhausted, yes. But now emotionally spent as well. Reentering my apartment felt like Hell’s waiting room and I instantly came to my senses. Oven off. Heat off. I was not physically or emotionally ready for the air-conditioning. But I did have a shower and part of a sandwich I found in my robe pocket. The fever had passed. I was myself once more for better or worse, and better still I yet drew breath.

I’m not sure how to end this so perhaps I’ll take my cue from Mr. Springer and give you some final thoughts.

“Sometimes in this work-a-day world of fast food, twist records, microwave cell phones and Atari video games perspective can be lost when you are experiencing a raging fever while watching a Jerry Springer Reunion show. It is times like these when we are all tempted to turn up our heat to dangerous levels and run naked through our apartment complexes sharing the good news with an ebullience that is mostly reserved for finding God. By now you should realize that I have no real point and, for my part, it occurs to me to just stop typing. But I can’t do that. Not until I say…

Take care of yourselves… *winks and nod* … and each other.”

Prick.