The Wyrd Sisters

This is a hilarious article on the Unitarian Jihad.  Thom and I have been to a few Unitarian services–I knew there was a reason we liked those crazy kids.

Check out Oh My God It Burns! for an experiement involving vodka, brita filters, and some nerdy drunks.  Good times.

Man, it’s weird looking at your own face on film.

I did the second shooting of this student film project at Holy Cross this afternoon.  The first time we shot, "technical errors" wiped out the entire session.  Luckily, it was a mock-news broadcast that required one set and one actor.  So it was easy enough for me to come back a second time to finish the project for the director.

After we shot, she took a look at the tape to make absolutely sure all was copasetic, and as I looked over her shoulder, I realized how strange it is to see yourself talking.  Normally, you look in the mirror when you brush your teeth, check your clothes, do your hair/make-up.  And while you’re looking, you’re making the most attractive face, looking at the best possible you. 

You’re not talking.  You’re not creating dimples where there aren’t usually dimples.  You’re not forming your mouth into shapes you’ve never seen before.  In short, you’re not looking like the most ridiculous thing imaginable.

But no one ever tells you how silly you look when you talk.  You have no clue until you see it for yourself–guard down, completely truthful.  Not the self-conscious pep-talk you give to yourself or the comic, "You talkin’ me?" routine.  The dirty, flawed, utterly strange You.

Of course, no one thinks you look strange, because that’s how you always look.

It’s really disturbing.

I suppose I better get over it if I want to have a chance at a film career.  After all, look at Paul Giamatti: he’s pretty funny-looking and he’s on top of the world now.

(No offense, Paul.)

I should really be working on lines for this industrial I’m filming in two days, but it’s so gorgeous outside right now I’m having a hard time focusing.  So instead of going outside and taking a walk or sitting at a cafe to people-watch, I’m sitting inside, avoiding lines by surfing the web.  Real productive.

This is the problem of not having a 9-5 job (not that I’m complaining!)–you really have to be self-disciplined.  I’m usually pretty good about making use of my time, but when your workday isn’t defined by getting in your car and "arriving" and you don’t have a boss looking over your shoulder, it’s hard to know if you’re doing to best you can.

I’ve tried making a structured plan for my days before, but it’s never really worked out.  Either an audition or job interrupt it or I just get bored with the plan.  That’s part of why I chose a career as an actor–I love the variety.

So, for today I’m going to make a compromise.  Out to the deck, where I will dutifully work on both my script–and tan–lines.

I just realized that I’ve maintained this journal for a month!  Yeah!  Go me!

(some moments later)

… And now that momentary sense of victory has been crushed by a fruitless half hour search for a stupid piece of clipart.  I found the picture (cute little dancing party hats and balloons), but was thwarted in my attempt to post it here.  Now I can only mark the occasion with the mingling scents of stale pride and pungent shame.

Enjoy.

I love the recent MoveonPac contest regarding Bush’s social security plan:

Bush in 30 Years

It’s a fun and informative source for the anti-privatization view.  I’ve gone back and forth on the idea myself.  I’m inherently skeptical of any plan of Bush’s, but the idea of creating private accounts for retirement didn’t initially seem off the mark. 

After all, I think this country has become too dependant on the government taking care if it.  It’s one thing to have a safety net and another thing entirely to feel entitled.  People don’t take responsibility for their own situation.  Social security shouldn’t be treated as a retirement fund—we’re supposed to create those ourselves.  Social security should boost people out of hard times, to care for those who have had suffered unforeseen misfortune and can turn to no one else for help.

But I also think there are better ways to deal with the problem than scrapping the system and gambling that money on the stock market.

I just really wish this country could have an intelligent conversation about real issues instead of screaming matches, fought by two minority extremes who will never listen to each other.

I’m actually starting to feel like a working actor.  Not that I’m getting paid, but I’m working nonetheless.

I went on three auditions this weekend and booked three jobs.  One is a student film and I’ll be the principal in a newscast-type deal.  Another is work as background/atmosphere in a short indie set in the 20s–not such a challenge, but probably worth it just for the costumes.

But the coolest opportunity came on Saturday by an utter fluke.  I was needed for a role in an indie short to be submitted to a festival by Wednesday.  I met with the director and other actor Saturday night, rehearsed for a couple hours, and showed up to film Sunday morning.  We were at it for 15 hours yesterday and came up with a product that I hope will be very good.  It’s a pretty scandalous comedy, which I’m sure will make me blush to watch it, but I was glad to have a chance to push my boundaries.

The best part was that the director really seemed to know what he was doing–he focused so much on the performance and not just the camera work.  It was a rare treat.  The other actor was great and made me laugh, and I feel really great about the experience.

My feel are killing me, though.  That many hours in freaking high healed shoes and I can barely walk today.

So after much nail-biting we’ve come to find out that Edgar has had some sort of "vascular accident" which is much less severe than the "spinal lymphoma" that was also a possibility.  Essentially, he will have a tough time using his back leg for a while, but eventually should recover most of his mobility.

It’s amazing to me that cats have the ability to repair damage to their spinal cords so that limbs that were once paralyzed can become fully-functioning again. 

Crazy!

I’m so thankful that it’s not much worse than it is.  We could be looking at months of drugs and chemotherapy for our poor kitty.  I feel like we’ve dodged a bullet somehow.

I’ve had a pretty emotional weekend so far.  It started on Friday morning when I woke up.  All was well with the world–I was up early and looking forward to my workout.  I had plans to start working on a screenplay that afternoon, and I was getting ready to drive Thom to work.

Edgar and Poe (seen below) had been let into our bedroom and they were looking for attention.

They were hanging out on the bed as usual and I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.  I closed the door behind me and after a moment I heard a loud thump.  Now, thumps are not unusual in our house.  Most of the time, it’s Thom or I knocking something over, dropping a book, or tripping on a carpet.  We’re a clumsy family I will freely admit. When the cats cause a thump, it usually means a flower vase has tipped or they’ve discovered some urgent cat-issue which needed to be resolved with a pouncing.  So I let it go while I finished spitting and rinsing, then I walked out to investigate.  I must have startled them both because Poe cowered on the floor next to the bed and Edgar quickly scooted away from me. 

Only, it wasn’t his normal scoot.

Instead of walking on all four legs, he tucked his back left leg underneath him and pushed himself forward on his hip.  He was frightened and disoriented and went trudging down the stairs from our bedroom pretty quickly.

Obviously all was not right with my baby-boy.  I’ve had Edgar for 10 years now.  I got him as a Christmas present in high school and he has been a devoted companion since.  He’s just about the laziest cat you’ve ever known (I swear he spends 22 hours a day sleeping and the other 2 begging for food or love), but he’s also the sweetest.  He has no pretences of independence (I’m not saying that’s a good thing, but it does make for a friendly cat) and he likes nothing more than a warm lap.

So when I saw my sweet, fluffy, darling boy ambling around on his hip I was obviously distressed.  I inexpertly diagnosed him with a sprained or broken leg and knew that an emergency room visit was in order.  My hypothesis for this dramatic development was that he had been jumping to a dresser across from the bed and slipped, landing badly on his leg and causing the thump that I’d heard.

I should have known better.  Never in my time with him have I seen Edgar exert any more energy than necessary to do something playful or curious unless it involved dinner.

I drove him to the emergency vet and thought of the funny orange cast he would have on his leg when we left.  I’d seen it before on one of my childhood pets that had taken a nasty fall, and though it would be uncomfortable at first, he would quickly get used to it.  I was curious that Edgar didn’t seem to be in pain, but hopeful that it would make this whole thing easier for him.  When we got into visit the doctor, he looked Edgar over, took his temp and weighed him.  He asked about why we were there and he examined the faulty leg.  And at some point during this time I started to realized that something wasn’t right.

Edgar didn’t cry when the doctor pushed and prodded on his leg.  Surely a break or sprain would cause some pain when touched.  Then something in the polite, but cautious voice of the doctor started to make me feel uneasy.

"We should do some more tests," he said.  "I want to x-ray the leg to rule out a fracture or torn ligament."

Rule out?  What was there to rule out?  If he didn’t have an injured leg, what could he possibly have?

So on we moved to radiology.  After a while someone came to the waiting room and took Edgar away and I sat there becoming increasingly nervous.  I was certain that they were going to find a small fracture in his hip or some muscle that’d been torn, but at the same time, my stomache was doing flip-flops and telling me I needed to prepare for the worst.  It’s so unreasonable, I was thinking to myself, why do I feel like I’m going to lose my cat when he just has a hurt leg?

I guess I waited an hour in that stark little room before the doctor came back with the results: Edgar doesn’t have a sprain or a break.  It appears that he has suffered an Event that has caused damage to his spine.  That could be a stroke or a tumor or a slipped disc or any number of terrifying-sounding conditions.  And as I listen to this very kind doctor telling me there’s something seriously wrong with my cat it doesn’t really occur to me that I might not be able to fix him.

It’s a few days later and the plan now is to take him in for a neurology exam tomorrow followed by and MRI.  It’s so frustrating knowing there is something devastatingly wrong with my sweetheart, but having no clue what that is.  And until we do, there’s really nothing we can do but make him comfortable.

Right now he’s lethargic and depressed.  He doesn’t seem to want affection and I know he must be so confused.  He’s gaining mobility in his leg (which means he probably had a stroke) but he’s just so sad.  He wants to sit alone and sleep all day, and no amount of attention has made a difference.

I just feel so useless right now.  I hate the idea that he might be suffering and I wish there was something I could do.  I’m terrified by the idea that he might leave us before I’m ready and I hope that I’m strong enough to make the decisions that are best for him.

I guess for now it’s just a waiting game.