Sadly, there doesn't seem like a good way to avoid the flu - "normal" or pig variety. The bug landed at my house and proceeded to visit all four of us. I am the last to get the full-blown version, as Little Z (aka "The Riblet") started taking Tamiflu at the first sign of fever.
He and I have been home the past few days, doing our best to recover. I'm feeling much better, nothankstothenastyflubug, and should be back to 110 percent by next week. That's the dream, anyway.
You know you're sick when you're a photographer to the core and don't even feel like touching a camera. But yesterday I whipped one of mine out just for grins. Z had found an orange marker and drew on his face, legs and feet (he loves the body art). He wanted a piece of cheese for a snack, so I give you this photo: "The Legend of the Falling Cheese."
Legend has it that the Cherocheese Tribe, which invented American cheese single slices in a bingo hall in Oklahoma, revered the golden wings of the foodstuff as a blessing sent from the fake-idol god Nacho Pichu. If a piece of cheese hit the ground (or the floor), an angel got its wings.
I hope everyone's feeling better now.