Where's my old Rockwell cassette when I need it?
As I write this, I'm sitting in a very comfortable, very hotel-like room relaxing with a South Park rerun in the background, a can of mixed nuts, on the nightstand next to me, and an overall peaceful atmosphere.
The only thing weird about this deal is that I'm not on a business trip. I'm at a sleep study institute, and there are cameras on the ceiling aimed at my bed.
Note to self: don't sleep walk or stroll around buck nekkid tonight.
I can deal with all the wires and monitors they're gonna be attaching to me in about an hour. I can deal with the fact that I'm not allowed to get up in the middle of the night to use the rest room, unless I call the nurse and she comes in and disconnects my wires first.
But I'm still a little freaked out about the cameras for some reason. In spite of the cape of skepticism I often wear on this blog, I swear I think I've totally jumped on the Big Brother's a voyeur bandwagon. I mean, we know that's partially true. Of course, right about now I'm suffering delusions of grandeur, 'cause I'm pretty sure Uncle Sam has something better to do than hack into a hospital sleep center's surveillance camera and watch me in bed...unless Uncle Sam's a perv.
Oh well. This guy got over it.