I think a strange virus is traveling around my office today.

Yesterday co-worker Lin (who took over my duties while I was on vacation) was out sick. Turns out she was having back and neck problems, which are still plaguing her today.

This morning I woke up with a sore neck -- I think I slept wrong. Nothing I needed to stay home for, but still somewhat painful in an annoying sort of way. Besides, compared to my usual neck pains (blindingly painful due to arthritis in the upper vertebrae), this muscle soreness is a walk in the park.

Co-worker Chris also came into work with a sore neck today. Like mine, his pain is of the sore muscle variety. Unlike mine, every tiny little movement of his head causes severe wincing and much groaning. Why he bothered coming in today is beyond me.

Plus boss-man/coffee-buddy Dan mentioned he's been having back twinges and big-boss-man Dan C. said his neck was sore "the other day".

Is there some bizarre muscle virus plaguing our teetering department? Was it planted by an underground organization dedicated to subverting the Disney way of work? Or do I need to stop watching X-Files on FX?

Speaking of cable channels, I have to confess another crush: David Rosengarten. He's the host of Taste and Taste Test, as well as the co-host of In Food Today, all on Food Network. David is a red-headed, bearded fellow who is passionate about food and wine without being overbearing about it (unlike another "star" chef on that network, whose essence drives me the bad kind of crazy - BAM! on that, baby). Whether he is preparing something as everyday as a pizza, elaborate as cassoulet or simple as doughnuts and tea, his enthusiasm and love for food shines through. He's also a lot of fun to watch, has a cute little sparkle in his eye, is always dressed quite spiffily and is far from pretentious. What's not to adore?

Granted, there's more than a few dishes that I can't bear to watch David prepare. Seeing uncooked chicken and ribs make me more than a little uncomfortable and veal goes against every vegan nerve in my body. He'd probably find my self-imposed dietary restrictions more than a little unfathomable. (Who in their right mind would give up cheese, chicken and beef, for heaven's sake?) Still, anyone who can find the perfect wine to go with pizza (if it ain't a fruity white zinfadel or sweet champagne, I won't drink it) and loves his work and can communicate that love loud and clear to the viewing audience without assaulting their eardrums or acting superior is someone worth my undying infatuation. (Whew! That was a long, run-on sentence!)

Say, David, care to meet a female fan?

The end of the week is here, which means a little That 70's Show! paging. Which means more time with cute head page R. I saw him briefly on Tuesday, him looking as adorable as ever in a v-neck t-shirt (not the undershirt variety) and jeans, and my heart leapt the tiniest bit (I was very busy doing paging stuff, so there wasn't much time for my heart to do somersaults). Tonight he'll be in his usual tie and blazer combo, which looks ever-so dashing on him, and I know I'll be all weak-kneed again.

I really need to clamp a lid on my damned hormones.