One of the legal secretaries journeyed to Utah for the holidays, attending for a week a family reunion. She returned to our shores bearing a vicious plague, which is now Captain Tripsing 
through all and sundry.
I awoke with it this morning, transformed into a veritable fountain of phlegm. I hate years where I can’t even get through the first five days without being felled by some noxious non-wellness.
I know that this plague is from Utah, because I feel a powerful need to stockpile food, accumulate nine wives, and commune with the Angel Moroni.
In an attempt to exorcise this Evil, I am turning to Randy Newman’s immortal Utah chant, “The Beehive State.”
Jeebus save us.
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