Superbug incubator, that's me.

My dad believes in antibiotics.

He's a terrific doctor, don't get me wrong. His patients wept when he'd move to another office. He was just so kind and caring.

I just worry about the drugs.

When I was 8 years old, my dad would dab the blackheads on my nose with a mysterious liquid from a brown vial. Two years later, he gave me Tetracycline for my acne. It made my front teeth clear at the bottom. I also took yellow pills from a round dispenser at that time. My parents thought my chubbiness was due to a thyroid problem. I'm pretty sure the weekly Big Macs, fried bacon and eggs and four donuts every Sunday were more likely to blame.

When I went to college, my dad stocked my dorm medicine cabinet with standard stuff like bandages, but he also gave me antibiotics and my own bottle of Tylenol with Codeine. If I ever felt a little icky, I took a pill without a second thought.

I don't recall when I first heard of superbugs, but I do remember worrying. I started and stopped medications all the time! I swore off everything, even aspirin. I was in my twenties, so it was easy. Young people are just so healthy.

Now superbugs are an epidemic. CBS says they're a ticking time bomb. And here I sit, taking 500mg of Cefuroxime. The Cephalexin I took two weeks ago made my sore throat feel better, but I kept coughing and feeling genuinely cruddy. Last night I had a fever and chills. I emailed my doctor to find out if I should come in. Guess what. He prescribed the Cefurexime. What if it's just the flu? What if I'm developing one hell of a superbug with all these antibiotics and Nyquil and Mucinex I've been downing?

Sorry in advance, friends. Don't say I didn't warn you.

I made LinkedIn's Top 10!

Yay?

Stubborn Strep Strain.

Those three words should send you scrambling for hand sanitizer, masks and Emergen-C.

After two weeks of The Ick, I'm about to start taking amoxicillin, prescription Robitussin and Mucinex. Hopefully, the results will be 100% restorative and I'll be warbling like a songbird in no time.

You've been warned, people. Take care of yourselves.

Define "live" music.

I was on the stage. You could hear me singing. My lips were moving. 

What more could you want?

Thanks for the bourbon, Bob

Two weeks.

That's how long I've been battling The Ick. Specifically, a sore throat. Which progressed to a sore throat plus nasal congestion. And last night, The Ick piled on aches and chills. My first-ever CD release party is tonight. Perfect.

While swaddled in blankets on the couch, I flipped to MeTV. The Bob Newhart Show was on. I used to watch it faithfully on Saturday nights in the 70's. Mary Tyler Moore, Bob Newhart, Love Boat, Fantasy Island. Ahh, the life of a socially awkward, bespectacled grade schooler.

In last night's episode, Bob's wife Emily wasn't feeling well. So he brought her a glass of juice. And a shot of bourbon. Bourbon! I don't recall Mike and Carol Brady drinking bourbon in bed. Bob and Emily, you were so progressive.

With just a few hours until call time at Off Broadway Lounge, I was desperate. So I hauled out my juicer, sliced and peeled 10 tangelos and made myself fresh juice. Then I grabbed a Flinstones jelly jar and poured a shot of bourbon.

"Cheers!" I chirped to my daughter Julia. She wrinkled her nose with distaste. But you know what? I feel better. I think. 

On the way to the venue, I'm going to pick up Kleenex. I'll surround my microphone with hot tea, a bag of lozenges, the Kleenex and Chloraseptic spray. (Which by the way, tastes like bandages, not cherries.) And whenever my throat threatens to give out, bourbon! Bourbon, one and all!

Wish me luck.

#dailyfail

I popped a mug of coffee into the microwave for a minute. When I retrieved it, the handle caught on the door. I'm soaked with coffee. At least I smell delightful.