Spam

Just catching up on some of my spam, and I have some questions.

Isn't "Viagra Soft Tabs" an oxymoron?

Should I even consider a stock tip sent to me by "Mature Slut Greasy"?

Isn't "Christian Women Who Want To Do You" just inherently wrong?

Should I refinance my home with an organization that misspells "refinance"?

Should I forward to all my friends a message whose subject is "I bedminster leflors" or "it jenkinsville those milton"?

Admittedly, I am flattered that a host of russian women are interested in me, but isn't it curious that Evgenia, Lutvinka, Tatians, and Nadia all refer to me as "dear friend", and are all interested in "meeting the man of income and breeding, who is family and merry"?

Given the quantity of porn that pretty much arrives daily in my inbox, why would I actually pay for it?

Why do I send messages to myself, offering myself a deal on replica watches?

How does anyone get anything done on eMail anymore?

Cleverish

Though this blog is more journal than public blog, and though it's (far) more intended for myself than anyone else, one can't help being aware that others do pop in, now and again, and read one's thoughts.

So.

How to be clever today, when I'm (barely) neural? How to be interesting and literate for that sparse but not-nonexistent audience?

Poetry?

There once was a man from Nantucket.....

Mebbe not.

A haiku?

Tapping upon my keyboard
the smell of boring
permeates my cubicle.

Well, I don't actually have a cubicle, but the structure of haiku, so forth, temporarily cyberly placed me in one.

How 'bout porn?

He placed his quivering hand upon her thigh, his eyes greedily taking in her goodies. She smiled at him, and offered him what he so desperately desired. As he placed his hot mouth upon it, the taste of hot, wet roast beef filled his senses. It was a hell of a sandwich.

P'raps one should not write porn on an empty stomach.

Then how about an HNT?

The world is an infinitely better place when I keep my actual clothes on; but I was thinking of posting a snippet of a performance -- me singing "The Quest (The Impossible Dream)" from "Man of La Mancha". The quality (especially the sound) of this ain't great, but it is what it is. I, personally, can't even watch it -- I've learned from (bitter) experience that seeing a performance of mine ruins it in my memory, since I always judge it with mondo harshiosity. Still, it's me, it's what I did, and I'm posting it, I think.

Posting this -- and I'm still deciding, even as I type this -- is at least as scary as posting any picture of myself could possibly be -- and, frankly, WAY more naked.

(brief pause)

Okay. I did it. I uploaded the scene to YouTube, and if I do this properly, the embedded video should appear below:



God, is this ever scary!

Iconic me?

Well, we've begun rehearsals of this Christmas show I'm doing. I've never played a part like Santa Claus before.

Interesting, by the way, that the author misspelled Santa's name consistently throughout the play....not sure what, if anything, that tells you.

Well, having begun the rehearsal process, it might not be that bad of a show. In fact, it'll be fine; and moderately entertaining. The only thing is that there's nothing special about it....it's not really different from 143,000 other Christmas shows....excepting the one thing: as Santa, my first 4 lines in the show are simply loud, resonant, lingering belches.

I've got those lines, at least, memorized already.

The biggest concern is that this show will be, I'm afraid, woefully under-rehearsed. I think I'll be fine -- I've done enough shows by now that I kinda know my way around the stage. Remains to be seen how the rest of the cast is, though.

As I said, I've never played an iconic part before -- basically, everyone has an idea of how Santa should look and sound, and I daren't vary too far from that....and yet, I don't want to let myself slide into Santa caricature.

By the way, is it too much "method" if I let myself gain a ton of weight in the next several weeks? I"m already growing a (very unattractive) beard for the part.

Why do I agree to these things?

God.

I -- under much peer pressure and duress -- agreed to play the part of Santa Claus in a Christmas play to open in July.

Yep. Christmas. In July. I suppose that may tell you all you need to know about it.

Actually, it's a world premiere of a Christmas show, and the idea is to attract theatres to produce it in December, so it's showing now....so it's not quite as dumb as it sounds.

Still, though, it's going to be amazingly under-rehearsed. Our first rehearsal is tonight, so I'll have a much better feel for how good the rest of the cast is after the read-through.

As for my role, I'm playing a Santa that mostly lounges on the couch, watching TV and burping. It'll be a hell of a stretch for me, but I suspect I"m up to that challenge, anyway.....

Yet More Dad

So.

The doctor wanted to regularly check my dad after the accident -- after all, being in his 70's and having busted himself up on a motorcycle seems to demand some attention. It was on one of his normal follow-up visits when the doctor noticed a "spot" on the x-ray.

Yup.

It was bone cancer -- one of the most painful forms of cancer (and one of the most difficult to treat). His pelvis was riddled with it, and he had other areas that were starting to show metastasization. The doctor was not optimistic, right from the start. He told my dad that remission from this type of cancer with this much advancement was rare.

"But not unheard of?" my dad asked.

"No, not unheard of."

That was all my dad needed to hear. He underwent all the standard protocols -- the chemo and radiation, so forth -- and got all the standard effects -- the hair loss, the nausea, so forth. Complaints from him? None.

Well, one. He (frequently) pointed out that he now, finally, had less hair than his son. Of course, he also pointed out that his would grow back, whereas mine was a vaguely fond memory.

Now, the backstory to all this is this: in between his accident and the appearance of the cancer, I had moved back from Dayton to Cleveland (about 4 hours away). Until our Dayton house sold, though, my sister was kind enough to let me stay at her place while my family stayed in Dayton. As soon as our house sold down there (which we hoped would be very quick), I'd get a house in Cleveland and my family would move up to be with me.

Well, that process dragged and dragged. The economy in Dayton was pitty; and there was not much market for a large (and somewhat unusual) home. What had looked to be a short stay with my sister became an extended stay.

Anyway. When the cancer appeared, and he began to weaken a bit, I moved from my sister's to my parent's. It was a win-win -- rather than being a burden to my uncomplaining sister, I was able to be a help to my parents.

Of course, I was not prepared for all that....I had no training, of course....and I also was not prepared for the emotional bruise of watching my father -- who had never been sick in my memory -- become progessively more dependent. Oh, trust me, it was a privilege to be able to help him....but it was also painfully difficult.

I went through a miasma of emotions; and I finally reached the point where I didn't think I could take it any more....