Recovery Day.

This time last week I was in Springfield, Missouri, supporting an Inpatient go-live. In English, this means that a hospital there had just turned on the switch on their second wave of Epic functionality, and that included some Inpatient stuff, and I was one of many Epic employees who went out to watch end users work and answer their questions about the software. It was three thirteen-hour shifts in a row. Apparently nurses regularly work twelve-hour shifts. They are also allowed to, say, read a book if there's nothing to do (which happened a lot in the dregs of the night shifts to which I was assigned), while I was not allowed to do anything except answer their questions or observe them using the system, but my respect for nurses is nevertheless hugely increased. I was almost dead by the time it was time to drive straight from the hospital to the airport and catch my flight home through O'Hare.

This time last week I was in Springfield, Missouri, all by myself. Mecha saw me off at the Madison airport, and I flew through O'Hare and landed in Springfield unaccompanied. I have flown unaccompanied many times before, but this time I broke with tradition by not being met by anyone at the baggage claim. Instead, I collected my luggage, walked to the Avis counter, and rented a car, for the first time ever. Then I drove the car to my hotel, and checked in. And took care of myself, all alone, for the next four days, until finally I came down the escalator in Dane County Regional and saw mecha waiting for me.

I can still remember when I couldn't go to the local mall by myself without having a horrible panic attack. I'd been there a thousand times before, I knew my way around it and my house was right down the bus line, but if I was by myself, I freaked out. Now I can spend four days in a city I've never seen, hundreds of miles from everyone I know, even renting a car and driving it, and nobody has to die.

That's pretty awesome.

Today is my Recovery Day, though, because I worked the whole weekend in Springfield. I slept till 9:30 and now I am finally no longer sleepy for the first time in a week. This, combined with the shiny new XBox 360 and copy of GTAIV that magically appeared while I was out of town, suggests that today (and the coming weekend) will be very nice indeeeed.

Mike Malloy Comedy Hour

Here in Madison, we have a liberal talk radio station called the Mike. We like to tune in to the Mike Malloy Comedy Hour, which is what we call Malloy's 8-11 block. We've decided that he's either drunk or stoned for every show; you could make a drinking game out of how many times he either goes silent for five seconds, mutters "Jesus, God!" and then goes silent for five seconds, or utters the term "Bush crime family". He is possibly the world's finest comedian, although he has no idea that this is true.

Just now, at 9:30 Madison time, we were listening to the music he had playing himself back in on from commercial. I wasn't entirely paying attention, and I don't know if mecha was either, but about ten seconds after the fact, we realized that said music was not the radio edit of the song in question. "...did I just hear the S-word?" I asked mecha. He replied in the affirmative. Hey, Mikey! You're on regular broadcast radio and it ain't Safe Harbor in all your markets yet!

Suddenly, the Mike cut back to commercial, right in the middle of the playing-back-in music. We laughed. The commercial ended, and nothing took its place. And nothing. And nothing. Three minutes of silence -- I counted. Doubtless, that was when stations all over the country, including the Mike, were calling in to yell at Malloy. We laughed some more.

Then they cut back in to his conversation with a caller, already in progress, so I guess he hasn't gotten himself yanked yet. But it was still hilarious.

Thank you, Mike Malloy. You continue to delight us with your own special brand of comedy.