I Hock The Body Electric

        Consider the loogey.

Simple. Yellow(ish). Different. Nature's little care package. The germs in your throat, the flu bugs from Germany and the Far East that your body doesn't want anymore, all balled up into a little bundle of joy that you have to find a place for.

Cold and flu season are just sort of a fact of life this time of year. The weather gets cold, everyone starts talking a little raspy, and then people start disappearing from work for a few days at a time. The "creeping crud," as a dear friend of mine used to call it. But for me, it's not come with bells and bows, or even runny noses and muscle aches. For me this year, it's come with unplanned urges to cough, followed by the surprise delivery of something from my throat.

         Hello, mucus.

The cough it takes to get all this crap up sounds like the death rattle of a 53' Studebaker, and makes you feel like you unintentionally did a whippet or something. But then you're caught with this, this... thing that you've got to get rid of. The only other alternative is choking it back, and believe me -- that's not topping my list of favorite things to do anytime soon.

So for the past few weeks I've become one of those guys that has to find the time and place to hock. Like some Tai Chi ritual or kung fu move, you need to find your center. Then you say the magic word ("kkkhhruughhrhhsshgg!") and it's time to play ball!!

And the thing about it is, guys know how to spit. I don't know what it is about the male pscyhe it is that makes this one of those talents we feel compelled to pick up, but there's something in the extra chromosome that turns us into zombies unless we develop control and direction. But a loogey spit... that's a whole different animal.

The loogey spit has to be a projection. You CANNOT risk spray. You cannot go into this thing half prepared. If you're going to spit loogey, it's got to be up and out. Lift AND separate, you know? Anything less and you're going to end up hitting yourself. So you work on it, like shooting freethrows or something. And here in the south, where spitting is somehow a community activity, you get to see all kinds of flair thrown in for good measure. Guys will sort of "jump" while they spit, or whip their heads to one side. Anything you can think of to get some velocity going. There was a dude we used to surf with who used to name his loogeys. He'd shout "Here comes a spinner!!!" and we'd all have to run for the hills, lest we get caught in the path of a boomerang shot.

All of this running through my mind this morning while I stood in line at the gas station to pay for my coffee and 15 gallons of unleaded, an unexpected spinner trapped in my mouth.

There is nothing more disgusting, nothing more debasing than waiting for some guy to count out enough nickels to pay for a pack of cigarettes and not having the voice to cuss him out. All it would take is one focused breath, one surgical strike of natural weaponry and I could clear this store. Maybe I could try to hit the pack of smokes, do the guy a favor by nudging him on his way to cutting back or quitting by snot strafing his Winston 100's from 50 paces.

But no, I'm a civilized ape. I'm an adult with restraint and control. I'm an educator of young minds. (Let's face it -- I'm probably going to come here tomorrow for more coffee, so projectile spitting works against me ever getting anything close to a "regulars discount.")

         I hold.
         Dear god.. I hold.

Finally cancer boy makes his purchase, and it's my turn at the register.

         "Do I want anything else?" --- I quickly nod no.
         "Cash or Charge?" --- I hold up my credit card.

The girl furrows her brow for a second and then looks up from the computerized register at me. I'm pretty sure you can see the sweat on my brow, and notice the discomfort in my face. At this point it's like the thing in my mouth is ticking, ready to explode at any second.

         And she says to me, "Which car was yours -- the blue or the green?"