Today’s Guest Editor: Christopher!

Greetings to the minions who read this blog on a regular basis. My name is Christopher. I am Matt’s spouse. Matt is very, very, very sick (we think it’s influenza, but it might just be mange). He is very sorry to be sick and misses you all very much. He is making great progress — really, there is nothing left to throw up at this point — and expects to return in a day or two. Thank you for your patience. Well wishes sent his way will be immediately passed along.

5 Thoughts on “Today’s Guest Editor: Christopher!

  1. Sorry to hear you’re under the weather, Matt. You must be really sick if you had to recruit Chris to notify us of your illness :( Your minions, and mini Ions, hope you’re back on your feet soon:) We miss ya too!

  2. Brad In Worcester on August 9, 2009 at 7:30 pm said:

    I’m so sorry you’re feeling all hinky, Matt!

    When I was sick as a kid, my mom would only let me have 7-Up ( in the big, glass, icy-cold 20 ounce-bottles that the tall people drank), and an (object? food-thingie?) called “Cracker Soup”– 15 Saltines, crumbled by my father’s humongous, sausagy hands (and never actual Saltines, only the cheaper supermarket off-brand that a seven-year-old just KNEW was somehow constitutionally inferior…) into dusty fragments, mixed with one simmering of cup 2% milk (which he never called “milk”; it was just “Two-Percent”, like some secret rocket-fuel designation) and topped with brown sugar, which he’d usually have to shave off of a desert-dry block because he’d never gotten the concept of keeping things fresh by sealing packages back up. This was a man who never sat while he ate– the farmboy ran too deep inside his chalky Minnesota belly— but watching him sweat like some Haute Fromagier over a bonded slab of Parmesan in an East-Side Trattoria, scraping the sands of brown sugar onto a paper plate, then surgically distributing his treasure perfectly equally over ever parsec of Cracker Soup Surface Area, made me love him even more.

    So:

    Seven AM. Mommy with bubbling soda, Daddy with steaming bowlful of hardening spackle, would plump up my Sears Percale pillows behind my swollen little neck.
    Big smiles like zombies. Like We’re Trying To Keep Up A Brave Face But You’ve Got An Incurable Disease smiles.
    Eat. Drink. Sip. Eat. Drink. Sip.
    Maybe they put knockout drops in the Cracker Soup (possible—they had LOTS of knockout drops on “Man From Uncle” you know) but after 8 ounces of soda and one bowlful of That Stuff, I’d be asleep for the next 6 hours.
    Later in the day, after “Match Game” but before Cronkite, my dad would burst into my room, big -boned perfect white grin beaming over all the cornfields on the earth, open up a perfectly creased little K-Mart paper sack, and growl something like, “Something Fast For A Slow Little Sickling”.
    A new Hot Wheels!!!!!

    Christopher: Start Your Engines!

  3. Cristiane on August 10, 2009 at 6:42 pm said:

    Aw…feel better, Matt! Watch some TCM – always makes me feel MUCH better.

    PS – Brad, what a sweet story! For me it was Saltines and ginger ale, then, when I felt a little better, chicken noodle soup – and it had to be Campbell’s. No Hot Wheels, though, alas.

  4. Egad, if it’s mange you’ll probably have to put him down. :(

    Otherwise, get well soon!

  5. Matt, I hope you are feeling better soon. Sounds like you’re in good hands. Well wishes from this minion.
    -KK

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