Near Death Experinces and Bad Spelling

After last night's show, a bunch of us, as we are often wont to do, went out for a bit to eat or tasty beverage.

I decided to try the Chicken Pita wrap, which sounded generally good. There was a reference to "tabulae" in the description, but everything else sounded delicious: chicken, tzatziki, feta cheese... Yum. I must admit that I felt like a bit of a loser for not knowing exactly what "tabulae" was. Then I realized that those around me didn't seem to know either.

So I asked the waitress about it and she assured me that everyone likes it or, in her own words, "doesn't even notice that it's there". So I went ahead and decided to take a risk on it. Again, she didn't seem to be able to give me a clear description of it, just that everyone seems to like it or doesn't realize it's there.

So my wrap arrived, and it was filled with chicken, tzatziki, feta cheese ... and onions and tomatoes. I wasn't thrilled, truth be told, but figured that's what I get for trusting in the ambiguous nature of this mysterious "tabulae".

Then I took one more bite.

Or tried to.

I chomped down on something in my sandwich. Something hard. Something wooden.

So I pulled it out.

What had I had almost inadvertantly consumed was a four-inch length of bamboo skewer. FOUR-INCHES of skewer which was apparently overlooked. How does one not notice a four-inch piece of wood in a sandwich?

When the lovely waitress returned (and she was lovely, to be sure), I asked, "What exactly is in tabulae?" which she responded, "It's chopped parsley and stuff."

"Are you sure it doesn't mean onions, tomato, and WOOD?"

Now there are a few things which must be addressed regarding this whole adventure.

1. Waitresses are funny.

Since that what they call "tabulae" (see below) is pretty much onions, tomato, and a pinch of parsley, calling it "chopped parsley and stuff" and completely glossing over the tomato and onion content, is sort of like saying, "I had a lovely rosemary dish last night" when you really mean the chicken.

2. Wood in a sandwich gets less reaction than you'd think.

The waitress returned from the kitchen following my near-fatal bite of the wrap, and reported back that the bamboo skewer is just from the way they cook it. At least it wasn't random. REALLY? The chicken skewer was in my food because the chicken was on it? Thank you for that amazing revelation! I had no idea! Again, she was quite lovely, I just found it a curious report to be given. Also to her credit, she did not charge me for the salad and 1/3 of a wrap I'd eaten following the traumatic experience of unexpected tomato, onion, and tree product.

3. "Tabulae" does not exist.

Well, it does, in that it's Latin for "tablet" but that's about it. Having gone online to investigate further, I've discovered that they really mean "tabbouleh", "tabouleh", or maybe even "tabouli". Yes, there are three variant spellings, none of which are "tabulae". I had been intrigued by the word in the first place, since I desperately wanted to pronounce it in the Latin way, but knew that "tabouli" existed (despite not knowing exactly what it was) and figured that's what they'd meant, which they did. Furthermore, having now looked at what it really is, it's a bit of a misnomer for them to be calling what they put in that sandwich "tabouli", no matter the spelling.

On the upside, chick peas made no appearance in my meal, for a change. Whew!

Placeholder

All three of you are probably convinced I'm the least dedicated weblogger on the planet, and I'm not saying you'd be wrong. The truth of the matter is that, while I have been very busy lately, it's not quite the same as saying there's been much to write about.

I work.

I do the show.

I go and have iced tea afterwards.

Then I go home and do it again.

Today I slept in.

That's about it.

Still, it's all good.

On a Variety of Subjects

Well, it's been a bit busy as of late, between opening weekend and paperwork, but things are on the upswing once again. Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to be crazy busy, but it'll be more of the good stuff and less ... well ... paperwork.

I have found myself today with a bit of a rough throat. Isn't it funny how sometimes it seems one's body can sometimes seem to say, "Oh, NOW I have time to give in whatever's been waiting on the doorstep"?

In other news, I've found this season of HEROES a bit befuddling. Don't get me wrong, I'm still liking the show, but I've been mildly frustrated by the Maya and whatever-her-brother's-name-is storyline in which they just seem to wander around being hyper-emotional. Tonight's episode was very, very good, though (perhaps partly because they were not involved in any way?) with a few little twists thrown in for good measure. I AM interested in how they will integrate with the other storylines in the end. That's what's great with the show, it keeps one guessing.

That's about all I have to share, other than to say, "How much am I looking forward to seeing Sweeney Todd both on stage AND in the movie theatre?"

Sharing the Joy

This is more funny than it ought to be.

Gun, and the Jumping Thereof

Know what bugs me? No, seriously, have you been paying attention?

Okay, so this is something new. I was visiting the old bank machine (ATM for the Americans out there) and I put the old code in, request some cash, and then our little computerized friend says, "Your transaction is complete. Please remove your card."

Hold it right there, Astroboy. My transaction is complete? Really? 'Cause I'm noticing a distinct lack of cash in my hands. Oh, I'm working on faith that you're going to give it to me, but to say that my transaction is complete is a bit premature of you, isn't it? I mean, come on. I would say that it's definitively incomplete until I've got the money.

Then there's the whole "Do you really know what you're asking?" problem. Thankfully I'm seeing a reduction in the following annoyance, but it's still out there. What is it? I'm thrilled that you asked.

I hate it when the bank machine (or ATM) misphrases its request for input regarding the desirability of another transaction (usually before the preceeding transaction has been truly completed, might I add ... see above).What is this offensive phrasology you ask? My, you are full of questions today, aren't you?

I hate it when the machine says:

"To complete another transaction, press: YES / NO"

What? Either way, I'll get to complete another transaction? I can choose YES or NO in order to proceed with this aforementioned new transaction? Sweet Vicki Lawson! Who writes the on-screen text for these things? Yikes.

And that's my random tirade for today. I trust you have all listened closely and felt somehow edified by the experience.

Z is for Zu Wah!

At long last, I've made it to the end of the infernal English alphabet! Yeesh. The pressure's finally off!

There were subjects which I fully expected to deal with (like Unnecessary Signage) that just fell by the wayside, but really, what does it matter? In the end, I just wanna hear a good beat.

Now the question will be, what on earth will I have to talk about? Life is crazy, hectic busy, but that's not the same as saying I have a lot to discuss.

"Gee...I'm doing more paperwork. Again. Seriously."

or

"Um ... I had another rehearsal."

or

"You know how about an hour after you kill a man, you start to think, 'Was the fondue fork really the way to go or was that just style without substance?'"

I'll do my best, people.

Y is for Years

It's astounding.

People, not old people, exactly, but people older than I, always said that the years fly faster the older you get.

They weren't kidding, were they? Yikes!

I recently received a pension update and realized that I'm more than a third of the way through my career, providing that the pension rules don't change (which they well may). On the upside, if I don't take any extended leaves of absence I'll be able to retire young enough to continue having fun for quite some time. Yahoo!

Still, an odd thought, to be thinking about retirement in fractions and about dates which at one point seemed so far away, but now seem relatively soon. Hmmm.

I just hope I can maintain the illusion of being young and lively between now and then. Heaven forbid people should actually figure out that I'm getting old!

X is for X-Rated

I know you're entirely intrigued by the title of this entry, so let's get straight to it.

I've been sitting on something for a little while now, not entirely sure that I wanted to broach the subject or deal with the topic at all, but have decided that it's better to throw it all out there and choose to have a good laugh at it rather than give more power to things out of our control than they deserve, so here goes.

About a month ago, a friend of mine e-mailed me with a bit of a curious inquiry. It seems that someone looking suspiciously like me had turned up on a site of candid photos. Candid photos taken in a locker room. Candid photos taken of individuals who were unclothed whilst in a locker room.

Of course, I laughed it off and replied that, no, I was not on any such site.

Then I was sent the URL for the site and told to check for myself. Being a bit amused by the prospects of being an international celebrity, I went ahead and looked.

There, about three-quarters of the way down the page, was the individual in question, a short series of photos in a shower room.

Indeed, that individual did look rather suspicisouly like me. That individual shared certain scars from certain operations which seemed rather suspiciously like mine. That's when I started to look at the surroundings as well, and realized that the area in which this individual was taking his innocent yet secretly observed shower was strikingly similar to a gym which I once attended shortly after having surgeries on my hands. A gym not far from where I live.

I was struck by a multitude of emotions. #1: What the heck was someone doing spreading pictures of ... um ... someone so similar to me on the internet? #2: WHY would the general be interested in pictures of ... um ... someone so similar to me in the buff? #3: How oblivious does one need to be to have photos taken without being aware of it? I mean, these were no blurry camera-phone shots, the discolouration of scar tissue was quite clear in a couple of them!

Needless to say, whatever the raging emotions, I was disctinctly annoyed and, after taking a few days to gear up some nerve to discuss such an unpleasant topic, went to speak with the gym's management. Basically, I was told that there's a policy against photography in any part of the gym (duh), but that it was virtually impossible to enforce short of installing surveillance cameras, which would somewhat defeat the purpose of eliminating photography. (An unpleasant but fairly logical truth.) They said that in the few years since the photos must have been taken, circulation of gym staff through all areas of the gym has been increased in order to reduce the opportunity for breaches of privacy. (I guess that having staff roam in and out of the rooms where people are wandering about naked is better than having pervs wandering in and out taking permanent records of it.) Suffice it to say that the end result is "well, them's the breaks".

In truth, how many people do I know who are going to stumble upon pictures of someone who ... um ... resembles me in such a state? Not many. I'll survive, I'm sure.

Of course, none of that was true. I didn't really have anything to write for the topic letter X, so I thought I'd give you something interesting to read. Let's be honest, though, some of you have been rather intrigued by the whole prospect of my being involved in something so off-the-wall. I might have even been somehow raised in your esteem if I had been photographed nude at the gym! Of course, if you enjoyed that, I've got a GREAT story to tell you about some birds...

W is for Weekend Update

Well, at long last, I was able to sleep in ridiculously late today. Ahhhh! Things as of late have been a trifle busy, but things are going well and looking up for a bit more down time. Woohoo!

Work's keeping me busy (both jobs) and rehearsals are going well. Thankfully, if I'm going to be working all day and rehearsing all night, I might as well be doing it with people who are enjoyable, and I'm certainly in that position.

This past week I also took a quick trip with a small crew of folk to see Batboy: The Musical in Buffalo. It was surprisingly enjoyable! Very fun, with its tongue firmly planted in its cheek. One could tell that the theatre where it was showing was well aware that it was a bit of a departure for them from their usual fare, but those of the audience who stayed to the end -- and that was certainly most of them -- seemed to enjoy it greatly.

This morning, I was lounging about in a bathrobe (I told you, I slept in ridiculously late for the first time in a month) when I had the pleasant and unexpected surprise of a quick visit from Linda and Tim from Ottawa. Who knew they'd be in my living room this weekend? Woohoo!

Given how hectic things have been, I know that things have piled up a bit with which I must now deal, but things are looking good. Laundry's been done, paperwork is slowly getting completed, and I'm still enjoying life... Hey, I can't complain.

V is for Vomit

In deciding what I could possibly write about for the letter V -- violins? the victrola? vehemence? -- I thought of something which could very well have been part of my seven random things list. Vomit.

Fear not, this won't be a post full of gory details about the act of puking. I won't talk about the sweat that breaks out on your brow as you lurch fitfully down the hall towards the bathroom, each step rocking you with another clench of your esophagus as you seek to suppress your aching need to expel the contents of your stomach. I won't get into the moment when you realize that the act is not going to be denied any longer, when you throw your face into the gaping maw of the toilet bowl, hearing the rasps of your throat and the gurgling of bile echo all around your ears, amplified by the acoustics of porcelain and water. I won't even begin to discuss the way you finish off, hacking like a hairballed cat, expectorating, expectorating, and expectorating again, trying in vain to rid your mouth of the foul, sour residue of your experience.

I won't discuss any of that, because I don't vomit.

That's right.

I.

DON'T.

VOMIT.

It's been over twenty years since my last barfimonious experience, and I anticipate going considerably longer yet. I sometimes feel nauseous, I sometimes feel ill, but I do not vomit.

To shift gears just a little, my dear friend Keltie once sent me a short academic essay which analysed and compared the manners in which humans and cats vomit. It was one of the funniest things I've ever read, and I'm sure that those who were walking by my dorm room on that afternoon as I sat inside and laughed aloud more enthusiastically as can be called "cool" were wondering, but it was pure gold. Somewhere in the catacombs of my life, I have that essay packed away somewhere. I'll probably be 98 and in a home and some dear loved ones will come to visit and, through a haze of scant recognition, I'll hear them say, "Jerome, we found this in a box of stuff we're selling on eBay. We thought you'd like to read it." They'll hand me two typewritten pages, stapled together, and I'll read it quietly to myself and, through my own drool, I'll start to laugh my raspy old guy laugh, then it'll grow and grow until my frail frame aches and quakes uncontrollably in my metal-frame bed. Somewhere a little beeping alarm will start to sound, and my room will be set upon by young, patient nursemaids who will try to settle me down, strapping my arms and legs to the frame for my own safety, but it'll be too late and, as tears of joy, memory, and laughter stream from my eyes, I'll bellow my last laugh with more strength than I will have mustered in years, my chest will arch up towards the ceiling, and I'll expire before their eyes, a toothless grin upon my face and Keltie's writing clenched in my hard, cold fist.

Thanks a lot, Keltie. You're going to be the end of me.