Hola, amigos. I know it’s been a long time since I rapped at ya, but it’s been crazy at the ol’ Scaia place.

I went home to Ohio for a week around Christmas. It was our first Christmas together since my brother got married, so it was also my new sister-in-law’s first chance to really gain an understanding of our family’s dysfunction.

Every family has quirks, and ours center around the board game, Family Business. In it, each player takes control of an organized crime family and tries to eliminate the other families. The last one to survive wins.

We used to play around the kitchen table when we were growing up, and the game would usually end with me weeping because, as an eight year old boy and the youngest in the family, I didn’t completely understand why my family was trying to kill me (“Don’t feel bad. It’s just the best strategy,” my father would explain. “Now, I’m putting a hit on your last two players.”).

Now that we’re older, there’s no more weeping, but it still sort of makes us hate each other.

And now that I think about it, the Scaias probably aren’t doing our part to erase stereotypes about Italians.

Just before New Year’s Eve, I interviewed salsa magnate Doug Renfro on his family’s expansion in China. As I left, he offered a couple jars of salsa to take home.

“This is great. I can serve this at my New Year’s Eve party,” I thought to myself. “Free salsa!? What a sucker!”

But now that I’ve had the mango habanero, it’s all I think about. I’ve gone through, like, three jars since the first of the year. The Renfros have more than recouped their initial investment. Well played.

There’s a message there for journalism students: don’t get too close, man. Don’t become part of the story.

More recently, many of my co-workers have been struck down by the flu. One guy even got a second flu shot. He thought that’d make him less susceptible. More likely, I suspect the fact that he’d had the flu about three weeks earlier made him less susceptible.

As a result, I was frequently called into Dallas to fill in. And I made sure to walk around telling everyone how I felt fantastic.

“Slept like a baby last night! Thanks for asking!” I’d call out above the groans and coughing.

My boss showed up with a bunch of Lysol and Clorox. He sent an email to everyone warning us to wipe down the equipment regularly.

Needless to say, I disregarded his email and started breathing heavily all over everything. I figure whatever I’ve got going on is what we should want to spread. My germs, I theorize, would make everyone else at the station feel better. Even better, in fact, than than the usual spike in morale anytime I walk into the newsroom.

On the streets, however, another epidemic threatens our very way of life: reporters standing in front of Walgreens doing “man on the street” interviews with people who may or may not have had a flu shot.

There are ways to protect yourself against this plague, however. First, recognize the signs: if you spot a tripod, don’t take any chances. Immediately get back in the car, rev your engine and speed toward the device. Remember, if you destroy the tripod, it can’t hurt anyone else.

If you can’t avoid the reporters, keep in mind that they’re no happier to be standing in front of Walgreen’s than you are (loyal Scaiaholics will recall my position on whether MOS, as we call it, really counts as news), so try one of these hilarious responses to spice up their report:

– “I don’t know why people wait so long to get a flu shot. I got mine more than a year ago.”

– “I don’t worry about the flu. I had it when I was a kid, so I can’t get it again.”

– “My son has the flu, but it’s not all bad. He likes being allowed to eat all the ice cream he wants.”

– “People at my work have even been wearing surgical masks. I’d never resort to that. They look ridiculous, and I tell them so right before I go back to operating on the patient.”

– “I was going to get a flu shot, but then Stephen King showed up at my house and told me to steal an atomic bomb and blow up Las Vegas instead.”

If you want to add to this list, you could send me an email, but the most efficient option would probably be to go stand in front of a Walgreens. A television news crew will arrive within five minutes to document your horrifying experience.