The good news… me and mine are safe at home right now, and I’m on my way to bed very shortly.

The bad news… the minivan is a hot zone.

The horror… 11 hours into what turned out to be a 14-hour trip, Patches barfed. This was his first experience with it (at least in his working memory), which meant concepts like “aim for the bucket,” and “no, you’re not dying” were completely alien. The only bright spot was that we were only 12 miles from West Wendover when it happened, so a Chevron with a garbage can, a bathroom, and a fresh supply of paper towels was just up ahead.

Well, we took almost an hour getting cleaned up. Then, 30 minutes from home, Link barfed. He’s seven, and he knew to ask for the bucket first… the only piece of good news since the “Wendover 12” sign.

*sigh*

I’ll spare you the TMI. Just thinking about providing you with more graphic descriptions of the ordeal makes me queasy.

We’ve been RELIGIOUS about not sharing food, about washing hands (we have some hand sanitizer gel for washing hands while on the road, even), and about wiping stuff down with Clorox wipes. See, “stomach flu” (as defined by the symptoms we’ve been experiencing) is also known as “viral gastroenteritis.” It’s norovirus, which is not airborne (unless you’re projectile vomiting, and then it’s better described as “ballistic”). You CAN stop the spread if you’re careful.

Well… we discovered that one of my sick-bed “Propel” bottles got re-used as a water-bottle on Tuesday by Link. And Patches, at 2 years old, can become a vector for a dozen different plagues within two minutes of being dipped in bleach. So… the two who were most likely to get sick got sick. That leaves only Sandra and Kiki untouched so far.

Pray that Sandra stays hale, because if SHE falls ill, the whole skein comes unraveled at the corner thread labeled “Mommy.”

–Howard

Okay, maybe not. But today’s installment of Real Life was written, drawn, and saved off for upload in my presence.

Sandra and I hung out with Greg and Liz Dean in their new hideout. They got this cool apartment in Tony’s old missile silo somewhere in an unspecified Dakota. North, South, I’m not sure. (Okay, they live in Sacramento, but I’m not supposed to tell you that.)

We had sushi for lunch, and Liz made an awesome corned beef and cabbage thingy for dinner. I whipped out some sketches, and then provided Greg with fodder from which he generated the strip I linked to above.

Greg and I obviously have a lot in common, what with both of us being cartoonists (even if the only paper he ever comes near is what issues forth from his printer). Liz and Sandra also have a common interest — they both manage the business end of the cartoonist.

Umm… that came out wrong.

You know what I mean — accounting, business planning, stapling the cartoonist to his desk until the requisite work for the day has been done — that stuff.

Anyway, it was a great meet-up. We all had fun, learned a lot, and I watched Greg crank out a strip with Illustrator at a rate that was, quite frankly, astounding. Damn him and his CTRL-C/CTRL-V. Sure, he had to draw those pictures ONCE, but watching him surf his archives for poses to re-use… *sigh* I can only aspire to pretend to a shadow of such cartooning efficiency.

I’m just going to have to go out and buy Illustrator.

I’m back from Fuddruckers. Greg, Jim, Andy, Graeme, Madeline, and Eric — thanks for a great evening. I had fun, even if, strictly speaking, I was having a bit more caffeine than I ought to.

Now that the last of it has left my system, I’m going to go to bed. Graeme — it’s a good thing I didn’t take you up on that Target Masters offer this time. I started fading about 5 minutes after starting the drive back to Livermore. Handing me firearms would have been a bad idea on several counts.

Where was I? Oh. yeah. I’m going to bed now. Gnight!

–Howard

I’m feeling a lot better today. Sure, part of that is the double-dose of ibuprofen I took around noon to put a cork on the muscle pain, but hey, I’m moving around on my own.

I’m wearing my BOOTS!

So… I’m going to Fuddruckers in a couple of hours. I know it’s super-short notice, but if any of you reading this journal don’t also read the Schlocktroops community, here’s your heads-up: 5:30pm, Dublin Fuddruckers (2mi east of the 580/680 interchange). Details are in the Schlocktroops LJ Community.

The human body really is an amazing thing. Yesterday I was half-sure I was going to die. Today I feel good enough that I can’t believe how bad it was yesterday, and keep questioning my memory. “Was it REALLY that bad, you big faker? Look at you, walking around, and typing, and wearing your boots and stuff.”

Sandra told me that she didn’t feel like she was doing all that much for me, and couldn’t understand why I wanted her to be there with me. Then she read my LJ post with all the TMI in it, and realized “this is probably what it was like for Howard when I was in labor.”

Yeah, right. For my 24-hour flu to compare in magnitude to her passing entire CHILDREN, I’d have to be vomiting through my urethra. But yeah, being with Sandra during labor and delivery, I didn’t feel like I was doing all that much at the time, even though to her it was incredibly important.

Should there be a TMI warning on this post? Eh. Let’s just click the “Update Journal” button…