Don’t worry, this’ll all be interesting when I’m dead.

Have I ever told you about the first time I acted?

I was in high school. Senior year. I had interest in taking the drama class for a few years but it wasn’t open to underclassmen until I was actually IN senior year. Bugger.

The first half of the year was spent mainly reading plays in class at our desks, watching movies and plays on film. By the time mid-terms came up, we were ready for our first big assignment: To perform a soliloquy from either MacBeth or Hamlet. If necessary, we could use another classmate to read a line or two during it. If I remember correctly, there had to be at least 32 lines or something within the soliloquy. I chose MacBeth.

I chose the part which includes “Life is but a walking shadow…” and quickly memorized the surrounding 31 lines, but it wasn’t enough. There was still a lot more to this scene and I couldn’t just stop there. I went on to memorize the entirety of scene 5, act 5, and I enlisted the help of Mary Falls to play the part of Seyton and a messenger.

SCENE V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.

Enter MACBETH, SEYTON, and Soldiers, with drum and colours

MACBETH
Hang out our banners on the outward walls;
The cry is still ‘They come:’ our castle’s strength
Will laugh a siege to scorn: here let them lie
Till famine and the ague eat them up:
Were they not forced with those that should be ours,
We might have met them dareful, beard to beard,
And beat them backward home.

A cry of women within

What is that noise?

SEYTON
It is the cry of women, my good lord.

Exit

MACBETH
I have almost forgot the taste of fears;
The time has been, my senses would have cool’d
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse and stir
As life were in’t: I have supp’d full with horrors;
Direness, familiar to my slaughterous thoughts
Cannot once start me.

Re-enter SEYTON

Wherefore was that cry?

SEYTON
The queen, my lord, is dead.

MACBETH
She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Enter a Messenger

Thou comest to use thy tongue; thy story quickly.

Messenger
Gracious my lord,
I should report that which I say I saw,
But know not how to do it.

MACBETH
Well, say, sir.

Messenger
As I did stand my watch upon the hill,
I look’d toward Birnam, and anon, methought,
The wood began to move.

MACBETH
Liar and slave!

Messenger
Let me endure your wrath, if’t be not so:
Within this three mile may you see it coming;
I say, a moving grove.

MACBETH
If thou speak’st false,
Upon the next tree shalt thou hang alive,
Till famine cling thee: if thy speech be sooth,
I care not if thou dost for me as much.
I pull in resolution, and begin
To doubt the equivocation of the fiend
That lies like truth: ‘Fear not, till Birnam wood
Do come to Dunsinane:’ and now a wood
Comes toward Dunsinane. Arm, arm, and out!
If this which he avouches does appear,
There is nor flying hence nor tarrying here.
I gin to be aweary of the sun,
And wish the estate o’ the world were now undone.
Ring the alarum-bell! Blow, wind! come, wrack!
At least we’ll die with harness on our back.

And with that last line, I swung my back to the class and walked away towards Mary Falls, waiting in the back for the scene to complete. My eyes widened as I approached her, as did hers. My arms stretched out, as did hers, and we just hugged as we squealed. I was filled with electricity and adrenaline like I’ve never felt before.

But it was when I turned back around, to face the class and my teacher, which took me to another level. I turned and saw my teacher get up as he clapped… briskly walk towards me with his hand held out… and he vigorously… shook… my hand. He shook it with a combination of excitement, pride, and (if I may say so) amazement. The class had risen to their feet with him as they continued to clap. I was so overwhelmed, it was as if I was hit in the gut and had the air knocked out of me. The emotional release of the powerful scene with the addition of how the performance was accepted by my teacher, I can’t remember what happened the rest of that day but I will always remember that moment.

I aced that mid-term. The 2nd half of the year focused on the play we’d put on for the school and community at the end of the year. I played a crotchety old man, still in love with his crotchety, old wife as they reflected upon their lives together in a play entitled “Breaking Up Is Hard To Do.”

I left high-school with a clear indication of what I loved. This was a passion greater than music or art or anything else. Above all else, THIS felt right. This fulfilled me in ways nothing else could. But I couldn’t pursue it when I left school. I had shift-work jobs that were unpredictable in the times and days I would work, preventing me from committing to any sort of community theater. When I did have set schedules, I worked too far from home to allow sufficient time in my evening to commit. Then I got the job I’m at now and learned a co-worker acted in a theater close to our job. But I couldn’t because I had the band.

I realized just last Friday that I can now do this. The time is finally right. It’s been over 10 years since I left school, though. It’s a very scary thing. But I have to do this while I still can.

So, I went to an audition at that local theater last night and for the first time in 10 years, I acted again.

It would be sad if I don’t get a part in the play, but in a way, it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t really about getting the part. It was doing it. It was going. And man, what a fucking rush. Just like the soliloquy, each time I walked off stage I was shaking and unable to focus on anything or anyone. I was totally filled with adrenaline again. There was no applause for anyone during these auditions, which I found slightly rude, but maybe that’s just the way things are there. Regardless, I found it very interesting that I could still feel this way even without any praise. It proved to me it was not about that. It’s just being up there and doing it.

As for this audition, I don’t know if I was supposed to get a call today/tonight or not. I’m waiting to get confirmation on when I would receive a call, if I were to be cast. Whatever the case may be, I am proud of myself right now and I can’t remember the last time I felt that.

DumbVantage! Amiright, folks?

I’ve always been pretty happy with at&t’s VoIP system called CallVantage (see: Vonage, Comcast Digital Voice). I’ve had it since it first came out back in ‘04 or so. But lately there’s been a few things just not working right. Actual performance issues. But I haven’t ever said anything because I rarely ever use the landline.
But I wrote them an email yesterday in which I totally didn’t mention any service issues and just asked a question about how I’d prefer my voicemails to be sent in mp3 format rather than wav.

My email:

The voicemails are emailed in .wav format.
Can these be offered/emailed as mp3s instead?

If not available now, may I suggest this feature for the future? Switching to mp3 will greatly reduce the file sizes anyway, which would be beneficial to the at&t servers which are storing them.

I received the “We received your email and will get around to it within 48 hrs.” standard form mail. I waited a day. This was the response I just got:

Dear Carl Baldwin:

In response to your bill inquiry, Tracking Number: ##############, requesting information on account: ############, the following information has been obtained:

We apologize for the inconvenience you have experienced with your service. Please contact our repair office to resolve your issues. You can reach this office by calling #############.

Thank you for choosing AT&T.

Really? REALLY?
This, along with my actual problems with the service as of late just may cause me to switch to Comcast. At least maybe then I’ll stop getting 3 Comcast junk mailings a week (of which I asked to be taken off that list a year ago, too).

This is very difficult for me, because I have no idea what I’m going to write.  I usually have a few points; a few ideas or moments I want to convey before I sit down for something like this.  But I’ve not a single moment that stands out among the rest.  This is kind of the reason I am doing this; to connect back to it, to embrace it, to understand what made a difference and where I detached.  My therapist tells me this is important.  I agree.  I wasn’t going to do this.  I never seem to write about the big, huge events in my life.  Not because I intentionally try to avoid them, but because by the time I realize I should write about it, it’s not affecting me and seems boring and self-gratifying.

It’s also not usual for me to preface something prior to writing it.  My prefaces usually are written afterwords.  Maybe I’ll add something here before giving it to you.

So, as I attempt to even think of where to start I’m realizing there wasn’t a single moment where I had any heightened emotion and to try and document this thing one step at a time would be the absolute most boring thing I’ve ever written and you’ve ever read.  So this may go a little differently than we expected.

I acknowledged what was about to happen.  The week leading up to the surgery was pretty hellish.  It began with a dental examination and pulmonary (lung) exam on Thursday which was made in an attempt to figure out why I cough up blood all the time.  Without much warning I would just begin to feel my lungs fill up with blood and I’d have to cough it all up while I wait for it to stop.  It went on for 2 and half years and no one could figure out why.  I was giving these doctors a week to figure it out.  They told me to have the surgery and see if it still happens.  So I wasted 4 days worth of hotel costs.  Hotel costs that, by the way, were up in the 3 star price range but 1 star quality.  Thanks for that, doc.

The wind chill outside was -22.  Temperature was -1.

The dental examination led me to an emergency endodontist’s office the next day, Friday, where this other guy could give me 3 root canals, back-to-back-to-back in one sitting.  This resulted in a missing tooth just left-of-center in my smile.  Except for dealing with the missing tooth, there wasn’t much pain involved and it didn’t affect me too much.   They needed to do this in order to ensure I’d have no infections in my mouth which could travel down to my heart while it was vulnerable during post-op.  A fairly common precaution, actually, and could be fatal.

The sprinkler system malfunctioned in the hotel on Saturday.  The alarms were going off everywhere.  I rushed out of the room and attempted to find a stairwell. No one else was out of their rooms.  No one was in the stairs.  Wh… ummm…what?  The stairwell I found led to an alarm-sounding door to the outside.  This didn’t seem right.  The fire alarm stopped. I went back upstairs.  Still no one was around, so I went to the elevators and took them to the lobby where there I saw the glass vestibule walls were cascading with a constant flow of water.  I had no idea what was going on until I asked the girls at the front desk.  Seems to me this would have been a good time to utilize their P.A. system and announce there was no fire, everything’s OK.  But apparently those types of thoughts don’t occur to these girls.  I developed a severe migraine and the Eagles ended their playoff run that night.

Sunday night began a fasting.  I had a bunch of tests the next day and wouldn’t eat again until Monday afternoon.  I also met with my cardiologist who promptly ordered a neurological exam and colonoscopy because of some passing comments I made about two recent, odd events: a Transient Ischemic Attack and a little blood in my stool one day.  Nooooooo.

After the testing I’d fast again because I had a heart catheterization the next morning, which turned out to be a bigger procedure than I expected.  That’s where they shave your groin area, cut a hole and shove a tube into your femeral artery.  They guide the tube all the way up your torso and into your heart.  Then they inject dye while they take x-rays to see how the blood flows.  I was in the waiting room for this procedure while Barack Obama was being sworn in.  First I stood with another 20 or so people as we all gathered around a TV hanging on the wall.  Then was guided to another area where I was sitting with another 10 or so people, some of which were foreign.  The swearing in occured and there was some silence for a moment until one lady decided to start clapping.  I would have started it myself, but really, when you don’t know other people’s feelings on the subject, I didn’t want to get into any arguments.  But most everyone joined in the lady’s clapping for a few seconds and we continued to watch the ceremonies until I was led into the cath lab, which was pretty much an operating room.

I awoke to the inaugural parade and enjoyed it from my recovery bed.  This was not exactly how I wanted to enjoy these historical events, but whatever.

A couple hours later I began the preparation for a colonoscopy which was scheduled for the next day.  But I hadn’t eaten!  So I ate something and then waited a certain amount of time before drinking the god awful “medication” to clean me out.  Talk about binge and purge.  This was literally like drinking water straight from the ocean.  It’s not that bad if you get one or two mouthfulls. But a gallon?  In like, an hour?  Can’t be done.  Not by me, at least.  I drank about 75% of it and went to bed.

Woke up Wednesday morning and went to the neuro exam.  He orders a CT scan on my head and declares the TIA I had was probably not TIA and just random numbness.  Then the waiting began as I was unable to get to my next appointment on time to meet with the surgeon and had to wait until he got through with a surgery.  When he finally showed up, it was brief but friendly.  I also got to meet with his scheduler who’d been more of a help to me throughout this whole process than anyone else.  I had every intention to send her a thank you card, but still haven’t yet.  Dammit.

Well, I ran from his meeting downstairs to where my colonoscopy was schedule and to which I was late for.  I gained some sympathy from the attractive, young nurse — which reminds me… holy crap, the nurses throughout this complex were all so pretty.  Many could easily have a side career as models.  My completely deshevled appearance made for a much easier time interacting with them because I knew I had no chance in hell.  And yet, I was conflicted because I was still embarrassed by my situation and even still OK with gaining their sympathy, like it would somehow lead to some fleeting romance while I limped from the hole in my crotch, smiled awkwardly due to the hole in my smile, and tried to contain the air buildup from the probe that was just inside my ass.  Yes, yes… please love me.  Aren’t I adorable and helpless??? 

*pause for sarcastic effect*

So it was all done.  All the testing, at least.  I could finally eat again, too, but not for long because tomorrow was the big surgery; the reason I was really there, 400 miles away from home and 400 miles from anyone I knew.  To repair a damaged heart, in the most literal of ways.

You can see all the photos from this period in my life here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/auxzealot/Myectomy2009#

This is a true account written just after Christmas 1999 about an event which happened a few days earlier.
Being the shut-in that I was at the time, please put yourself in the shoes of someone who really tries to avoid contact with most everyone for unexplainable reasons.

Thursday Night, December 23rd.

I go to my psychologist’s office for my weekly session. I’m a little early so I sit in my car for 15 minutes or so puffing away on a cigarette. In that time I spot a girl who looks to be in her early 20’s inside the lobby’s big glass doors. She’s sitting on the steps with long brown hair, as she ties her shoe. She grabs hold of the railing and lifts herself up. Her legs are wobbly as she grabs onto her wheeled walker and slowly pushes over to the door. She has a tough time getting out of the heavy door, as I watch her — unable to get the courage to help her.  She walks over to the payphone not 30 feet from my car to make a phone call. She struggles to get her hand inside of her pocket for some change. She goes to put the quarter in the phone and it falls to the wet concrete below her. She strains to get to the ground safely to try to find where the quarter had dropped, all the while holding on for dear life with one hand to her walker. Yet still I cannot get the courage up to go and help her as I try to look away from this sad sight. She picks herself up and walks back into the building.

A few minutes later, I finish my cigarette and go into the building. I walk up the stairs and down the long hallway to the door of my doctor’s waiting room. I open the door, and who’s sitting there talking with the doctor? It was that girl. I felt ashamed that maybe she saw me in the car and hates me for watching her struggle. I fear she will give me a dirty look. Though, I receive a small smile from the girl as she goes back to talking with the doctor about her lack of transportation.

They make a few calls together, as she probably has trouble dialing the phone. “Let me try my roommate to see if he’s home.” She says, and they do so. There was no answer. The doctor calls me in as she sits down in a chair and sets her walker next to her. He explains her situation briefly with me, and tells me that her “cab service” hadn’t shown up, so they tried calling them again. I continue with my hour-long session and walk out only to find the 20-something girl still sitting there.

I look at her for a second and ask if she needs a ride. She agrees with a quick glance for reassurance from the doctor.

The community service bus comes around as I am folding up her walker into my car. I send him on his way and explain that I will save her some money and apologized for this inconvenience to him, but subtly remind him that it had been quite an inconvenience for her to wait for what I found out later to be 2 hours for them.

We talk a lot during the ride, though it seems like a small battle to get every word out at the same volume for her. Her name is Kristen, though I’m not sure if she spells it that way. She is a patient of the same doctor I see and it was her second visit to him. We talk about smoking, we talk about Fiona Apple, and we talk about the winter solstice and the moon. She tells me she’s not looking forward to this Christmas. “It hasn’t been a good year at all.” I ask her if her handicap is due to a disease, or….

As it turns out, Kristen has Multiple Sclerosis.  She developed it in ‘93, but that’s not why she was seeing the psychologist. She added, “I don’t want to talk about bad things.” So I dropped it. We also talked about her “cab service” and that it is not reliable at all. I ask if she always has to rely on this service and if she has any friends that take her around. “No,” she says, “not really.” We get to her house as she thanks me immensely for about the 4th time.

As I pull into the driveway to a fairly nice sized house, I ask if she has anyone waiting for her. She replies with another “No”.

I help her out of the car and set up her walker for her. I walk her into the garage through the automatic doors and to the door leading into the house. We shake hands and exchange best wishes for the approaching holidays, though it seems mine will do no good.

And that was that.

I got back in my car and I said to myself (and whoever else was listening) “See? I did it. I missed it the first time, but I got it.”

It was an experience I don’t think I’ll ever forget. I felt good. I felt spirited, and alive, and real. I want to do more for Kristen. I’d like to take her out but I’m afraid she’ll get too attached. Or perhaps I’m afraid I will get too attached. It just doesn’t feel right that that would be the only time I see her. I didn’t get the feeling she’d be around for much longer.

Carpe Diem, folks. You can do more for someone than you think you can. And for yourself, too. Looking back at all the gifts I got this year, I couldn’t have asked for a better one than the opportunity I had to help out a girl like Kristen.

For the record, I never did see her again. But I do contribute to The MS Society from time to time.

I made a LOLcat with Keenan, my new kitteh. It’s the first of many to come, I’m sure.
I thought I’d share it as well as other random photos that I captioned. Keenan’s the first one.

Enjoy.

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures

And even though I didn’t make the following ones, they make me crack up every time I see them. Definite favorites:

moar funny pictures

moar funny pictures