Today was my follow-up visit for the skin cancer surgery. I've been dutifully following the directions my doctor gave me for wound care, and he said today he could see that I had done a good job. I had developed, however, a hematoma (?) that was causing some of the problems with continual bleeding. He seems to think that he solved that problem today. Unfortunately, it makes the site of the surgery look even worse than it did before. I won't describe it; you should be spared some details, trust me.
I didn't sleep much at all last night, worrying that the area had become infected or that the "flap" surgery didn't work out or...well, just everything that could go wrong. But the doctor reassured me that everything was fine, and I'm on my way to recovery. We'll just have to wait and see how well it recovers, what it might look like when it's done and what we might have to do as a result. He says it has to heal from below first, so I'm going to do all of the things I've been doing (the vinegar-and-water soaks, the antibacterial ointment, the bandages, the no-vitamins-or-aspirin thing). I just have to keep doing it for the next two months or so.
As an aside, I know that the dermatologists want you to look at the site of the problem so that you can understand what they're talking about. I just don't know if I can handle it. I've managed (mostly) to keep myself from tearing up about this, about the prospects for my nose and face as it heals, about the way that I look now, but looking at it makes that very tough to do.
And while I'm a bit off topic, why does Kaiser put dermatology in the same building as pediatrics? It's that way in Panorama City and at my usual medical office down on Venice Boulevard. Is there some connection that I'm unaware of?
So I guess I'm going to work on Monday morning after all. I'll have to get up earlier to get through all of the process that I undergo each day now. And I'll have to take some back-up stuff to campus with me. I had originally thought about calling in sick for the next week, but really, that's just postponing the inevitable. I'll be bandaged throughout the rest of the semester, so I'm going to have to explain it at some point. Might as well just get it over with. Let them say whatever stupid things they want to say. Let them point and snicker. Let them do whatever. I'll manage somehow to get through the days until I can take this bandage off for good.
I've been feeling a lot of regret this week. Regret that I didn't take better care of my skin when I was younger. Regret that I didn't get this treated sooner. Regret for so many other things too, I guess. I know I have almost all of the common risk factors for skin cancer. I guess there are some things a bit beyond one's control, but had I known more when I was younger, I might have tried. (The most interesting thing my mother said to me when I was first diagnosed with skin cancer four years ago: "But you don't even like going out in the sun." True. I was always more of an indoors guy.)
Do I need to ask you again to stay out of the sun? Or, at least, use as much sunscreen as you possibly can? No one should have to go through this. Most of the people in the dermatologist's office today and last Friday were older people, yet each year the statistics are picking up younger and younger people (some in their teens) with skin cancer. Please don't add yourself to those numbers.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Being Alive
One pleasure that I have enjoyed during this week of recovery/hiding is getting to see some of the stuff saved on the DVR. I finally watched the version of Company that was shown a few weeks ago on Great Performances. It's a filmed version of the musical revival from about a year ago. I'd never seen the entire show, just snippets of it here and there. It was a delight to see an entire production although I would have loved to have seen it live. Maybe there will be a touring company of it that makes its way to Los Angeles soon.
I was already familiar with the songs (as are most people, I think), having owned the original cast show album with Dean Jones (!), Larry Kert (who replaced Dean Jones), Elaine Stritch, and Beth Howland, among others. Yet I didn't know all of the plot points that link the songs. But such songs: "(Not) Getting Married Today," "The Ladies Who Lunch," "Side by Side by Side," "Another Hundred People," "Being Alive." Wow. You almost don't need a plot when you have songs like those. It is Stephen Sondheim at his best.
Here's the basic plot: Robert/Bobby is a single man in New York City in his mid-30s, and he's grappling with the subject of marriage. He seems to like women very much (so he's not gay, despite overwhelming circumstantial evidence to the contrary), but he doesn't seem to like the thought of marriage too much. And almost all of his friends have marriages that do not serve as good models for him to follow. At the end of the musical, it appears that little has changed for Bobby himself (my opinion, mind you) although a great deal seems to have changed for his friends.
What I want to talk about, though, is that aside from the great music and the interesting story, there's an amazing lead performance in this production by Raul Esparza. He's a great singer, he has tremendous charisma and stage presence, and he's entrancing to watch. There's hardly a moment when he isn't on stage during this production (well, all of them are on stage for this entire production, but that's another story), yet he's so fascinating a performer that you'd miss him if he were gone for any extended period of time. I particularly loved his performance of "Marry Me a Little," but he gets to show the greatest emotional fireworks during "Being Alive" at the end of the show. And he's quite the piano player as well. (The members of the cast serve as the orchestra as well, playing all of the instruments required for the musical numbers.)
What I keep remembering about Esparza is his face. He's a great "reactor." If you get a chance to see this production, watch him as his friends tell their stories. His face is so malleable; you always know what he's thinking. I particularly enjoyed his expressions during the performance of "The Ladies Who Lunch" by Barbara Walsh, but don't miss the dialogue they have after she finishes. It's priceless to see his reactions then too. And he and Elizabeth Stanley as April turn "Barcelona" into a heartbreakingly beautiful duet.
I keep wondering what it must have been like to see Dean Jones (he of "The Love Bug" movies) in this part back in 1970. Mind-boggling.
I don't know if Esparza will stay one of those performers who is only known for his work on the Broadway stage or not. Some people never make the leap, and there aren't that many musical films in production these days. There are even fewer chances on television unless you're in your late teens or early 20s. I can imagine him as a star during the earlier years of Hollywood, a time when singing and dancing and acting were expected of almost every performer. (Even Joan Crawford danced and sang, for heaven's sake--I didn't say she did either of them well, did I?) Yet he might wind up never getting to use the full range of his talents if he comes to Hollywood and stars in his own sitcom, for example. I'm remembering what they did (have done? are still doing?) to poor Nathan Lane after his series of big successes on the stage; his best role is probably still as a cartoon meerkat. Esparza has the looks of a leading man and the voice to make him a star, regardless of the medium. Until that happens, I'll just continue to relish his performance in Company, the one instance of him on film that I've managed to see.
I was already familiar with the songs (as are most people, I think), having owned the original cast show album with Dean Jones (!), Larry Kert (who replaced Dean Jones), Elaine Stritch, and Beth Howland, among others. Yet I didn't know all of the plot points that link the songs. But such songs: "(Not) Getting Married Today," "The Ladies Who Lunch," "Side by Side by Side," "Another Hundred People," "Being Alive." Wow. You almost don't need a plot when you have songs like those. It is Stephen Sondheim at his best.
Here's the basic plot: Robert/Bobby is a single man in New York City in his mid-30s, and he's grappling with the subject of marriage. He seems to like women very much (so he's not gay, despite overwhelming circumstantial evidence to the contrary), but he doesn't seem to like the thought of marriage too much. And almost all of his friends have marriages that do not serve as good models for him to follow. At the end of the musical, it appears that little has changed for Bobby himself (my opinion, mind you) although a great deal seems to have changed for his friends.
What I want to talk about, though, is that aside from the great music and the interesting story, there's an amazing lead performance in this production by Raul Esparza. He's a great singer, he has tremendous charisma and stage presence, and he's entrancing to watch. There's hardly a moment when he isn't on stage during this production (well, all of them are on stage for this entire production, but that's another story), yet he's so fascinating a performer that you'd miss him if he were gone for any extended period of time. I particularly loved his performance of "Marry Me a Little," but he gets to show the greatest emotional fireworks during "Being Alive" at the end of the show. And he's quite the piano player as well. (The members of the cast serve as the orchestra as well, playing all of the instruments required for the musical numbers.)
What I keep remembering about Esparza is his face. He's a great "reactor." If you get a chance to see this production, watch him as his friends tell their stories. His face is so malleable; you always know what he's thinking. I particularly enjoyed his expressions during the performance of "The Ladies Who Lunch" by Barbara Walsh, but don't miss the dialogue they have after she finishes. It's priceless to see his reactions then too. And he and Elizabeth Stanley as April turn "Barcelona" into a heartbreakingly beautiful duet.
I keep wondering what it must have been like to see Dean Jones (he of "The Love Bug" movies) in this part back in 1970. Mind-boggling.
I don't know if Esparza will stay one of those performers who is only known for his work on the Broadway stage or not. Some people never make the leap, and there aren't that many musical films in production these days. There are even fewer chances on television unless you're in your late teens or early 20s. I can imagine him as a star during the earlier years of Hollywood, a time when singing and dancing and acting were expected of almost every performer. (Even Joan Crawford danced and sang, for heaven's sake--I didn't say she did either of them well, did I?) Yet he might wind up never getting to use the full range of his talents if he comes to Hollywood and stars in his own sitcom, for example. I'm remembering what they did (have done? are still doing?) to poor Nathan Lane after his series of big successes on the stage; his best role is probably still as a cartoon meerkat. Esparza has the looks of a leading man and the voice to make him a star, regardless of the medium. Until that happens, I'll just continue to relish his performance in Company, the one instance of him on film that I've managed to see.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
From Rufus with Love
I haven't written much about my time with Rufus Wainwright this past year. I know I spent considerable time blogging about his Hollywood Bowl performance, but that's only one of the four times that I've seen him since last April. As my friend J puts it, I've seen Rufus more times in one year than most people ever see their favorite performers. I've just been lucky because he's been touring in support of his CD Release the Stars, and he's stopped by the Los Angeles area a few times. And the ticket prices are reasonable (not like the several hundred I've had to pay each time I've gone to see one of my other favorites, Barbra Streisand). He seems to enjoy performing here, and I'm glad to take advantage of those times when he's around.
Each time I've gone to see him perform has been different. The first time was last spring at the El Rey, which is so close to my apartment that I just walked to the show. His opening act that night was his friend Teddy Thompson, son of Linda and Richard, and he's also very good. Rufus played all of the songs from the CD, which was brand new at the time, and a couple of other favorites. He even did a couple of Judy Garland numbers from the then-forthcoming Carnegie Hall tribute concert, including my favorite "If Love Were All." He was there with his band, and they all seemed to have a great time playing together. However, the El Rey doesn't have seats except for those reserved for industry types (who, oddly enough, never seem to sit in them for long). I had to stand for the entire evening, and if you go to the bathroom, you lose your spot. I've pretty much decided that's the last time I plan to stand for an entire concert. Sorry, Rufus.
The second performance was the already-somewhat-famous Hollywood Bowl appearance. There's an entire blog about that, so you can read that again if you like. Rufus sang none of his music that night, just songs that Garland had performed more than four decades before at the same venue. He had the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra to back him up, as well his mother and sister and Judy's daughter Lorna Luft. It was an unbelieveable, almost impossibly wonderful evening. I can still recall almost all of the details vividly.
This spring I've had the chance to see him perform twice. The first time was at the Wiltern, a lovely old Art Deco theater at the corner of Wilshire and Western (yes, hence, the name). Again, Rufus had a full band and sang mostly the material from the CD. However, this time he also performed more of the songs that have become people's favorites over the years, and he even threw in a couple of songs from the Garland concert, including his drag version of "Get Happy." He then stayed in drag to perform "Gay Messiah," perfectly capping the evening. Brilliant way to end the show, by the way. His opening act that night was someone French with a band named Tour de France or some such. She sang in French, a language I know very little of, so it was a bit of a stall for me until the "real" show began.
The Wiltern, by the way, has seats. Even though they look like chairs for a hotel banquet room, they are still seats. And you don't have to stand until the show is over. And you don't have to hold your spot by holding your bladder for three hours. What a blessing. If I'd had to stand next to Drunk Sweaty Fat Guy all night, I don't think I could have stayed. Since we were sitting all night, he kept shifting in his chair, much to the annoyance of his date, I'm sure, but much to my relief when I didn't have to smell him for a few minutes. I actually hadn't been to the Wiltern since before the Northridge earthquake of 1994 (is that right? wow), and it was a delight to see this beautiful gem again. I'd love to go to another performance there even if I had to sit next to Drunk Sweaty Fat Guy again.
One interesting side note about the Wiltern concert: I kept seeing teenage boys (like 14 or 15 or so, maybe even younger) with older women who must have been their mothers. I, of course, had to make up a scenario wherein these young guys are already out to their families, and their moms are supporting them by taking them to hear their favorite male singers. Wouldn't that make a lovely world? I hope that's exactly what was going on.
The most recent show happened only a couple of weeks ago at my alma mater (well, one of them), the University of Southern California. Rufus performed solo in Bovard Auditorium as a part of the Pride Week celebration. He also picked up an award that night from the One Institute, the gay and lesbian archives affiliated with the university. It was just Rufus and his piano and a guitar. And it was glorious. He's still just as fascinating when it's just him sitting at the piano as when he has a full band or orchestra behind him. He doesn't need anyone besides himself to make a full night's entertainment. The crowd seemed very knowledgeable, recognizing almost every song from the first few notes. Maybe these college kids are smarter than I gave them credit for being.
The opening act was another friend of his, Julianna Raye. Rufus seems to keep his friendships over long periods of time. He's had several of his friends perform with him. I think that says a great deal about his character. She wasn't the most talented singer; of course, I was in the balcony and she was singing so softly at times. That may have influenced my feelings toward her performance. I never could figure out what she was saying in between songs, but the rest of the audience seemed to enjoy it, so I guess that's good enough.
Rufus would sing three songs at the piano, punctuated with his charismatic ramblings between them. He would then stand to perform three songs with the guitar, and then he'd return to the piano. He kept this rotation up throughout the concert, but he never seemed tired or at a loss for what to say. My favorite comments had to do with his outfit, which he described as "amazing" but then warned had not been properly hemmed and was in danger of becoming unbuttoned at any moment.
Rufus is gone from Southern California now. He's back in Europe, I believe, touring and making the crowds there happy. I'm certain he'll be back again in Los Angeles, and I'm pretty confident I'll be buying tickets to see him again too.
My friend C (who's making somewhat regular appearances on this blog now) says that we fall in love with our favorite singers or stars. I think she's right, to a degree. I don't think I'm truly in love with Streisand "in that way," but I empathize with her in most of her performances and I can certainly relate to the subjects of many of her best songs. With Rufus, though, it is different. He is charming, talented, handsome, wickedly funny--the list goes on. How could someone not fall in love with him? I listen to his music or I watch him perform, and suddenly I'm a younger man again. I'm in my late 20s with all of the possibility of love and romance ahead, despite a number of heartbreaks and regrets already. His music and his performances make me forget for a while that I'm a 44-year-old single gay man in Los Angeles. And that's reason enough to love him right there.
Come back soon, Rufus.
Each time I've gone to see him perform has been different. The first time was last spring at the El Rey, which is so close to my apartment that I just walked to the show. His opening act that night was his friend Teddy Thompson, son of Linda and Richard, and he's also very good. Rufus played all of the songs from the CD, which was brand new at the time, and a couple of other favorites. He even did a couple of Judy Garland numbers from the then-forthcoming Carnegie Hall tribute concert, including my favorite "If Love Were All." He was there with his band, and they all seemed to have a great time playing together. However, the El Rey doesn't have seats except for those reserved for industry types (who, oddly enough, never seem to sit in them for long). I had to stand for the entire evening, and if you go to the bathroom, you lose your spot. I've pretty much decided that's the last time I plan to stand for an entire concert. Sorry, Rufus.
The second performance was the already-somewhat-famous Hollywood Bowl appearance. There's an entire blog about that, so you can read that again if you like. Rufus sang none of his music that night, just songs that Garland had performed more than four decades before at the same venue. He had the Hollywood Bowl Orchestra to back him up, as well his mother and sister and Judy's daughter Lorna Luft. It was an unbelieveable, almost impossibly wonderful evening. I can still recall almost all of the details vividly.
This spring I've had the chance to see him perform twice. The first time was at the Wiltern, a lovely old Art Deco theater at the corner of Wilshire and Western (yes, hence, the name). Again, Rufus had a full band and sang mostly the material from the CD. However, this time he also performed more of the songs that have become people's favorites over the years, and he even threw in a couple of songs from the Garland concert, including his drag version of "Get Happy." He then stayed in drag to perform "Gay Messiah," perfectly capping the evening. Brilliant way to end the show, by the way. His opening act that night was someone French with a band named Tour de France or some such. She sang in French, a language I know very little of, so it was a bit of a stall for me until the "real" show began.
The Wiltern, by the way, has seats. Even though they look like chairs for a hotel banquet room, they are still seats. And you don't have to stand until the show is over. And you don't have to hold your spot by holding your bladder for three hours. What a blessing. If I'd had to stand next to Drunk Sweaty Fat Guy all night, I don't think I could have stayed. Since we were sitting all night, he kept shifting in his chair, much to the annoyance of his date, I'm sure, but much to my relief when I didn't have to smell him for a few minutes. I actually hadn't been to the Wiltern since before the Northridge earthquake of 1994 (is that right? wow), and it was a delight to see this beautiful gem again. I'd love to go to another performance there even if I had to sit next to Drunk Sweaty Fat Guy again.
One interesting side note about the Wiltern concert: I kept seeing teenage boys (like 14 or 15 or so, maybe even younger) with older women who must have been their mothers. I, of course, had to make up a scenario wherein these young guys are already out to their families, and their moms are supporting them by taking them to hear their favorite male singers. Wouldn't that make a lovely world? I hope that's exactly what was going on.
The most recent show happened only a couple of weeks ago at my alma mater (well, one of them), the University of Southern California. Rufus performed solo in Bovard Auditorium as a part of the Pride Week celebration. He also picked up an award that night from the One Institute, the gay and lesbian archives affiliated with the university. It was just Rufus and his piano and a guitar. And it was glorious. He's still just as fascinating when it's just him sitting at the piano as when he has a full band or orchestra behind him. He doesn't need anyone besides himself to make a full night's entertainment. The crowd seemed very knowledgeable, recognizing almost every song from the first few notes. Maybe these college kids are smarter than I gave them credit for being.
The opening act was another friend of his, Julianna Raye. Rufus seems to keep his friendships over long periods of time. He's had several of his friends perform with him. I think that says a great deal about his character. She wasn't the most talented singer; of course, I was in the balcony and she was singing so softly at times. That may have influenced my feelings toward her performance. I never could figure out what she was saying in between songs, but the rest of the audience seemed to enjoy it, so I guess that's good enough.
Rufus would sing three songs at the piano, punctuated with his charismatic ramblings between them. He would then stand to perform three songs with the guitar, and then he'd return to the piano. He kept this rotation up throughout the concert, but he never seemed tired or at a loss for what to say. My favorite comments had to do with his outfit, which he described as "amazing" but then warned had not been properly hemmed and was in danger of becoming unbuttoned at any moment.
Rufus is gone from Southern California now. He's back in Europe, I believe, touring and making the crowds there happy. I'm certain he'll be back again in Los Angeles, and I'm pretty confident I'll be buying tickets to see him again too.
My friend C (who's making somewhat regular appearances on this blog now) says that we fall in love with our favorite singers or stars. I think she's right, to a degree. I don't think I'm truly in love with Streisand "in that way," but I empathize with her in most of her performances and I can certainly relate to the subjects of many of her best songs. With Rufus, though, it is different. He is charming, talented, handsome, wickedly funny--the list goes on. How could someone not fall in love with him? I listen to his music or I watch him perform, and suddenly I'm a younger man again. I'm in my late 20s with all of the possibility of love and romance ahead, despite a number of heartbreaks and regrets already. His music and his performances make me forget for a while that I'm a 44-year-old single gay man in Los Angeles. And that's reason enough to love him right there.
Come back soon, Rufus.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Missed Anniversary
I let an anniversary pass in January without much notice. Sometime during that month, I finished my twentieth year of teaching. That's probably some sort of milestone. I can't quite believe it myself. There are days when it feels like I've been teaching twice as long, and there are some days when it feels like I've only started my career. I have been teaching full time only since August 1994, but my first day to enter a classroom as an English teacher was in January 1988.
If you've heard the story before, I apologize. I've shared it a few times with other people, but I have no idea who is familiar with it and who isn't. I had just started graduate school in English at Mississippi State University, thanks to the encouragement of the graduate student advisor, with whom I'd had a couple of classes. He asked me if I were going to get my master's degree, and I said I hadn't really thought about it. He said that if I applied and got accepted, I could teach a couple of classes of freshman composition and my tuition would be paid for by the university. So I would get a salary for teaching and I wouldn't have to pay for school? Sounded like a pretty good deal at the time.
I already had a job, by the way. I was working as a reporter and editor at the Starkville Daily News (affetionately known as the Starkville Daily Mistake). I had previously worked for the Commercial Dispatch in Columbus (affectionately known as the Comical Disgrace). So I had work to do. That wasn't what motivated me. I just wanted to learn more, and it seemed that graduate school was the way to go. I loved going to school; I think that's why I always try to encourage people to stay in school and learn as much as they want rather than graduate early.
That first day I got myself ready for class by putting on what were my nicest clothes (other than the one suit I owned). I think I even wore a tie. I put all of my copies of the syllabus in the briefcase my mother had bought me for Christmas, along with my textbooks, and I headed out to class. We had offices (shared, of course) in Lee Hall, and my class was in another building (I can't recall which one at this point). I was feeling a bit nervous before I left home that morning, but the nervousness grew even stronger the closer it came to the moment I had to leave for class. On my way, I threw up. Yes, threw up. I was so nervous that I made myself sick. That must have been a pretty sight for everyone walking by me on the sidewalks of MSU.
I pretty much decided then that I couldn't do this. I was going to have to give up going to graduate school because I couldn't get over my fear of standing in front of a classroom full of strangers. And I had done that sort of thing before. I'd been in public speaking contests and had taken speech in both high school and college. So I was no novice. It was just the thought of being responsible for all of the students that got to me, I think. So I made up my mind that I would go to class, take roll, and come back and tell the director of freshman English, the legendary Mary Ann Dazey (Miss Dazey, to everyone she ever met) that she would need to find someone else.
Then it happened. When I walked into the room, I saw that they were all more afraid than I was. The look of fear on their faces was overwhelming. Here they were, college freshmen, away from home for the first time, taking a class in writing at the university level, scared out of their wits by this teacher who was going to judge them. My heart went out to them immediately. I felt such a bond with them. I decided then that I had to pull myself together for them. They needed me. I know that sounds ridiculous now, but if you had only seen their faces that morning, you would have felt the same way.
I got over my fear, of course. Now I actually look forward to the start of each semester. New faces, new ideas, new people to teach, new attitudes--it's all exciting. Yet somehow I let the memory of that first day pass this January, and it was probably about the same day that we started the spring semester too. Perhaps I'll remember and do something more monumental when I reach 25 years of teaching. It's not that far away, after all.
If you've heard the story before, I apologize. I've shared it a few times with other people, but I have no idea who is familiar with it and who isn't. I had just started graduate school in English at Mississippi State University, thanks to the encouragement of the graduate student advisor, with whom I'd had a couple of classes. He asked me if I were going to get my master's degree, and I said I hadn't really thought about it. He said that if I applied and got accepted, I could teach a couple of classes of freshman composition and my tuition would be paid for by the university. So I would get a salary for teaching and I wouldn't have to pay for school? Sounded like a pretty good deal at the time.
I already had a job, by the way. I was working as a reporter and editor at the Starkville Daily News (affetionately known as the Starkville Daily Mistake). I had previously worked for the Commercial Dispatch in Columbus (affectionately known as the Comical Disgrace). So I had work to do. That wasn't what motivated me. I just wanted to learn more, and it seemed that graduate school was the way to go. I loved going to school; I think that's why I always try to encourage people to stay in school and learn as much as they want rather than graduate early.
That first day I got myself ready for class by putting on what were my nicest clothes (other than the one suit I owned). I think I even wore a tie. I put all of my copies of the syllabus in the briefcase my mother had bought me for Christmas, along with my textbooks, and I headed out to class. We had offices (shared, of course) in Lee Hall, and my class was in another building (I can't recall which one at this point). I was feeling a bit nervous before I left home that morning, but the nervousness grew even stronger the closer it came to the moment I had to leave for class. On my way, I threw up. Yes, threw up. I was so nervous that I made myself sick. That must have been a pretty sight for everyone walking by me on the sidewalks of MSU.
I pretty much decided then that I couldn't do this. I was going to have to give up going to graduate school because I couldn't get over my fear of standing in front of a classroom full of strangers. And I had done that sort of thing before. I'd been in public speaking contests and had taken speech in both high school and college. So I was no novice. It was just the thought of being responsible for all of the students that got to me, I think. So I made up my mind that I would go to class, take roll, and come back and tell the director of freshman English, the legendary Mary Ann Dazey (Miss Dazey, to everyone she ever met) that she would need to find someone else.
Then it happened. When I walked into the room, I saw that they were all more afraid than I was. The look of fear on their faces was overwhelming. Here they were, college freshmen, away from home for the first time, taking a class in writing at the university level, scared out of their wits by this teacher who was going to judge them. My heart went out to them immediately. I felt such a bond with them. I decided then that I had to pull myself together for them. They needed me. I know that sounds ridiculous now, but if you had only seen their faces that morning, you would have felt the same way.
I got over my fear, of course. Now I actually look forward to the start of each semester. New faces, new ideas, new people to teach, new attitudes--it's all exciting. Yet somehow I let the memory of that first day pass this January, and it was probably about the same day that we started the spring semester too. Perhaps I'll remember and do something more monumental when I reach 25 years of teaching. It's not that far away, after all.
Friday, March 14, 2008
A Normal Guy's Nose
I look like a toucan. Or I look like I'm wearing one of those fake noses (you know, with the fake glasses and the mustache attached, but without the actual glasses and mustache).
I am, of course, severely bandaged up because I had my Mohs surgery this morning. I was in Panorama City for about five hours today having a rather substantial hole dug out of the tip of my nose and then having "flap" surgery to cover the hole back up. I drove home after making a spectacle of myself at the CVS pharmacy closest to the medical offices. Who knew how many people would want to see the guy with the big nose bandage buying white vinegar (it's for cleaning the wound, apparently, and I don't keep it around the apartment) and non-adhesive bandages? I have since been at home going in and out of consciousness. I snuck downstairs earlier to pick up the mail, but I'm thinking I may stay indoors for the remainder of the weekend.
The doctor was a very nice young man. Well, nice and very young might be more descriptive. He looked like he was about the same age of my students, but he's also very talented. It only took two times to get all of the cancer out, so he's a good cutter, I guess. He trained in Birmingham, Alabama, of all places, so we got to talk about the South while he was "excising" (such an odd word for such a strange procedure).
I've written before about the numbing shot that you get. Even the doctor admitted today that it's probably the worst part of the surgery. It does indeed hurt, and I had to endure it three times today, once for each of the excisions and once more for the flap. The good news is that I didn't feel a thing while all of this surgery was going on. The bad news is I'm feeling it all now. Thankfully, I have some pain pills to remedy that a bit. They are the generic version of Vicodin, so I guess it might be accurate to call them "Fake-odin." Doesn't matter, though, because they help to numb the pain. Doc told me that I didn't have to take them if I didn't want to, but who is he kidding?
Actually, I think the worst part this morning was having to look at myself. If you're squeamish, you might want to skip over this part. The doctor showed me the wound when we started discussing, as he put it, "how to put me back together." I managed not to cry this time, but it was far deeper and larger than the last time I had this cancer removed. It looked almost the size of my thumbnail. I wanted to cry, don't get me wrong, but not in front of him and his wonderful nurse and the two very kind lab technicians, who have to be in the room at all times to run the tests to make sure the cancer's all been removed. I couldn't imagine this deep of a hole healing as well as it did four years ago, so the flap it was. (The doctor didn't think a graft was a good idea given the location.) The other bad time with the mirror was after he had stitched me up (which took quite a while and a lot of stitches, believe me) and showed me my nose now. I looked like a mug shot. I hope this doesn't scar, but there are jagged lines up and down the right side of my nose. I'm so very grateful to be on Spring Break next week.
The week ahead looks to be a weird one. I have to wear this "pressure" bandage for two full days, and I'm sure it's not going to be pretty when I remove it. Then I have to clean the wound every day with a vinegar-and-water mixture and bandage it up after using a lot of antibacterial ointment. (I still think that's a funny word: "ointment"). The stitches are dissolvable, but if any are left next Friday when I return for a check-up, the doctor will take them out. Right now my nose is so swollen I can't breathe out of the right side at all. I'd imagine that's going to take a while to go down, given how much work there was involved.
I'm going to be all right. I know that it's so much better for me to have that cancer removed. I know this will all heal, and if it doesn't heal perfectly, I still have plenty of options to make it look all right. I know all of this. I do. Don't worry.
You want to know about the title of this posting, I suppose. The doctor told me that I probably healed so well the last time I had surgery to remove this cancer because I have "a normal guy's nose," meaning that it's pretty oily. The trick is keeping the wound moist, apparently, and this greasy skin is just the thing for that. Who knew that it would actually come in handy someday? I'm just hoping that when all of this is done, I still have a normal guy's nose.
I think it's time for another Fake-odin. And another nap.
I am, of course, severely bandaged up because I had my Mohs surgery this morning. I was in Panorama City for about five hours today having a rather substantial hole dug out of the tip of my nose and then having "flap" surgery to cover the hole back up. I drove home after making a spectacle of myself at the CVS pharmacy closest to the medical offices. Who knew how many people would want to see the guy with the big nose bandage buying white vinegar (it's for cleaning the wound, apparently, and I don't keep it around the apartment) and non-adhesive bandages? I have since been at home going in and out of consciousness. I snuck downstairs earlier to pick up the mail, but I'm thinking I may stay indoors for the remainder of the weekend.
The doctor was a very nice young man. Well, nice and very young might be more descriptive. He looked like he was about the same age of my students, but he's also very talented. It only took two times to get all of the cancer out, so he's a good cutter, I guess. He trained in Birmingham, Alabama, of all places, so we got to talk about the South while he was "excising" (such an odd word for such a strange procedure).
I've written before about the numbing shot that you get. Even the doctor admitted today that it's probably the worst part of the surgery. It does indeed hurt, and I had to endure it three times today, once for each of the excisions and once more for the flap. The good news is that I didn't feel a thing while all of this surgery was going on. The bad news is I'm feeling it all now. Thankfully, I have some pain pills to remedy that a bit. They are the generic version of Vicodin, so I guess it might be accurate to call them "Fake-odin." Doesn't matter, though, because they help to numb the pain. Doc told me that I didn't have to take them if I didn't want to, but who is he kidding?
Actually, I think the worst part this morning was having to look at myself. If you're squeamish, you might want to skip over this part. The doctor showed me the wound when we started discussing, as he put it, "how to put me back together." I managed not to cry this time, but it was far deeper and larger than the last time I had this cancer removed. It looked almost the size of my thumbnail. I wanted to cry, don't get me wrong, but not in front of him and his wonderful nurse and the two very kind lab technicians, who have to be in the room at all times to run the tests to make sure the cancer's all been removed. I couldn't imagine this deep of a hole healing as well as it did four years ago, so the flap it was. (The doctor didn't think a graft was a good idea given the location.) The other bad time with the mirror was after he had stitched me up (which took quite a while and a lot of stitches, believe me) and showed me my nose now. I looked like a mug shot. I hope this doesn't scar, but there are jagged lines up and down the right side of my nose. I'm so very grateful to be on Spring Break next week.
The week ahead looks to be a weird one. I have to wear this "pressure" bandage for two full days, and I'm sure it's not going to be pretty when I remove it. Then I have to clean the wound every day with a vinegar-and-water mixture and bandage it up after using a lot of antibacterial ointment. (I still think that's a funny word: "ointment"). The stitches are dissolvable, but if any are left next Friday when I return for a check-up, the doctor will take them out. Right now my nose is so swollen I can't breathe out of the right side at all. I'd imagine that's going to take a while to go down, given how much work there was involved.
I'm going to be all right. I know that it's so much better for me to have that cancer removed. I know this will all heal, and if it doesn't heal perfectly, I still have plenty of options to make it look all right. I know all of this. I do. Don't worry.
You want to know about the title of this posting, I suppose. The doctor told me that I probably healed so well the last time I had surgery to remove this cancer because I have "a normal guy's nose," meaning that it's pretty oily. The trick is keeping the wound moist, apparently, and this greasy skin is just the thing for that. Who knew that it would actually come in handy someday? I'm just hoping that when all of this is done, I still have a normal guy's nose.
I think it's time for another Fake-odin. And another nap.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Six-Word Memoirs
My friend C told me recently about this concept of a six-word memoir. Apparently, the goal is to sum up one's life in only six words. Smith Magazine apparently started this movement, which has been publicized by NPR. There's even a book entitled Not Quite What I Was Planning (count the number of words in that title) that compiles these compact memoirs from the famous and the non-famous.
In the spirit of this movement, here's mine:
Happily, a long way from home.
In the spirit of this movement, here's mine:
Happily, a long way from home.
A Virgin No More
No, not that kind of virgin. Please.
Last week, I finally saw a performance of the musical Pippin with my friend N. That may not sound like much of an accomplishment, but I had never seen the show before. Ever. I realize that lots of people could perhaps claim that as well, but I have seen quite a few musicals in my time. I'm a fan of musical theater, after all, so why wouldn't I have seen Pippin before now?
What's even odder is the apparently large number of productions of Pippin that must be going on around the world even as we speak. Several years ago, I went to see a production of Jesus Christ Superstar that featured two of my friends. It was in a church somewhere down in Orange County, and there wasn't much to do besides talk to a few other people in the audience whom I knew and read the program. I noticed that several members of the cast and crew had been in productions of Pippin. Since I had been living in the Southern California region for about 10-12 years at that point and most of the cast and crew were also residents of the area, I began to wonder where all of these productions had been.
After that performance, I started to read the programs more carefully when I went to see a musical. I was looking for someone, anyone, who had also performed in Pippin. It turns out that at almost every musical theater production, at least one cast member or someone on the crew has a connection to this musical from the early 1970s. Try it yourself. The next time you go to a musical, especially a "professionally" produced one, look in the program to find the people with Pippin in their past.
I thought I had found a production with no connections a few years ago when I went to see Wicked at the Pantages (during its first stop in Los Angeles, not the current "open-ended" run). None of the cast members had ever performed in it; none of the crew had ever worked on it. I thought I had at long last found the only non-Pippin performance ever, and then I read the bio for the songwriter, Stephen Schwartz. Yes, that's right. The same Stephen Schwartz who wrote the music for Pippin almost 30 years earlier.
(I have, by the way, since found a musical theater production with no connection to Pippin whatsoever: The Color Purple at the Ahmanson downtown this spring. Go figure.)
Since all of these people had been in Pippin or worked on it, I wondered why I had never even heard of a local production or even a touring company production. I just had no access to Pippin because no one ever seemed to be performing it anywhere near me. Finally, my college decided to "revive" the show for its opening production of the spring semester. N and I sat in the third row in the center of the theater, and I guess I can now say that I have been deflowered. Pippin got me at last.
I can't say that it's a great show. Only a couple of the songs seem particularly memorable: "Magic to Do" and maybe "No Time at All." The guy playing Pippin was no great singer and not really much of a dancer either. The girl playing his stepmother was a bit too nasally for my tastes as well, a sort of Fran Drescher type. A couple of former students were in the company, and they are really quite talented dancers. The staging was, as always, interesting, and I thought the way the musical played with the conventions and expectations of musical theater was clever. Still, I can't believe it took more than 44 years for me to lose my Pippin virginity. They say you never forget your first time, but sadly, sometimes the first time isn't all that memorable.
Last week, I finally saw a performance of the musical Pippin with my friend N. That may not sound like much of an accomplishment, but I had never seen the show before. Ever. I realize that lots of people could perhaps claim that as well, but I have seen quite a few musicals in my time. I'm a fan of musical theater, after all, so why wouldn't I have seen Pippin before now?
What's even odder is the apparently large number of productions of Pippin that must be going on around the world even as we speak. Several years ago, I went to see a production of Jesus Christ Superstar that featured two of my friends. It was in a church somewhere down in Orange County, and there wasn't much to do besides talk to a few other people in the audience whom I knew and read the program. I noticed that several members of the cast and crew had been in productions of Pippin. Since I had been living in the Southern California region for about 10-12 years at that point and most of the cast and crew were also residents of the area, I began to wonder where all of these productions had been.
After that performance, I started to read the programs more carefully when I went to see a musical. I was looking for someone, anyone, who had also performed in Pippin. It turns out that at almost every musical theater production, at least one cast member or someone on the crew has a connection to this musical from the early 1970s. Try it yourself. The next time you go to a musical, especially a "professionally" produced one, look in the program to find the people with Pippin in their past.
I thought I had found a production with no connections a few years ago when I went to see Wicked at the Pantages (during its first stop in Los Angeles, not the current "open-ended" run). None of the cast members had ever performed in it; none of the crew had ever worked on it. I thought I had at long last found the only non-Pippin performance ever, and then I read the bio for the songwriter, Stephen Schwartz. Yes, that's right. The same Stephen Schwartz who wrote the music for Pippin almost 30 years earlier.
(I have, by the way, since found a musical theater production with no connection to Pippin whatsoever: The Color Purple at the Ahmanson downtown this spring. Go figure.)
Since all of these people had been in Pippin or worked on it, I wondered why I had never even heard of a local production or even a touring company production. I just had no access to Pippin because no one ever seemed to be performing it anywhere near me. Finally, my college decided to "revive" the show for its opening production of the spring semester. N and I sat in the third row in the center of the theater, and I guess I can now say that I have been deflowered. Pippin got me at last.
I can't say that it's a great show. Only a couple of the songs seem particularly memorable: "Magic to Do" and maybe "No Time at All." The guy playing Pippin was no great singer and not really much of a dancer either. The girl playing his stepmother was a bit too nasally for my tastes as well, a sort of Fran Drescher type. A couple of former students were in the company, and they are really quite talented dancers. The staging was, as always, interesting, and I thought the way the musical played with the conventions and expectations of musical theater was clever. Still, I can't believe it took more than 44 years for me to lose my Pippin virginity. They say you never forget your first time, but sadly, sometimes the first time isn't all that memorable.
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