Crawling out of my diseased hole
Well, I got myself sick. It's viral and coming to an end. I'm convinced it was the work of a waitress at The Harbor House (where I treated Joy to a birthday dinner) who shall be known as Typhoid Mary and shamed forever, should I die from this.
I'm probably not going to, but that's not stopping me from being paranoid about it. Every time I get sick and hoarse and miserable, it's either death or the loss of my voice forever. Usually, it's the voice that gets all the paranoia. I test things out on day three. After day one of runny nose, day two of post nasal drainage and unbearably sore throat, I've got tickly, annoying cough by then. I warm up the voice, have trouble with the highs and lows and wonder if THIS IS THE DAY that I found out I've lost my livelihood. As much as I spent the last entry about singing whining about the annoyances, I really like my job and would hate to lose it FOREVER due to the fact that my range has become a half-octave all suddenly. It doesn't end up that way. I always bounce back (even saying that, the east coast theater major inside me has just made me knock on wood frantically).
This time around, I took a walk on the even more tragic side. See, I decided on a Scrubs rewatch (not season 9 because it never happened) as something safe and familiar. I sometimes think that show doesn't get enough credit. It pretty much had the best bromance ever before bromance was even a thing. Its use of music was almost perfect at times! It really cared about its characters and explored how they related to each other. I'm not even a fan of medical shows, but I really enjoyed it. Then I watched this scene while sick...
Even knowing, based on obsessive looks at sickness-mapping websites, articles on mucus, and pictures of sore throats I can never unsee, my sickness is viral and on the way out, this scene is fucking with my head. I mean, I know I won't die, but do I know for sure? Maybe I do, but am I sure enough?
In case my untimely infectious demise fantasies are totally justified in the end, I want you all to make sure to spread the word that my laptop goes to my sister and all search histories containing Jon Hamm, commando, and Hammaconda are purged so my family can still call me "Baby Precious" without rolling their eyes... more than usual (Yes. That is/was my family nickname).
In other news, in a fit of optimism, I'm going to PA for my birthday. I'm getting on Priceline and doing my plane ticket tomorrow when I'm less foggy. I need to get it done by then for sure. My dad's taken a week off work and he and my stepmum are planning a big party that I hope everyone will stop fighting with each other long enough to show up for.
Anyway, with all this disease and optimism, I am much less upset about Jennifer Ehle showing up in Fifty Shades of Shit (even though she must not need the money so bad as she was just in Zero Dark Thirty, will be in the Robocop remake, is nominated for a Tony every time she blinks, and is way too good for this shit).
This will be like Kyle Maclachlan (who I kind of love) being in Showgirls. It's a career misstep, possibly a career-destroyer, but people with talent will rise above it in the end.
Damn it, now I have to watch the Showgirls dogfood scene. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7zNmkTWeDk) It's such a brilliantly awful study in how idiots think women talk. I like to think 50 Shades will be like this -- engrossing in all its horror.
OMG, why isn't Elizabeth Berkley in this movie? She was MADE FOR IT.
I'm probably not going to, but that's not stopping me from being paranoid about it. Every time I get sick and hoarse and miserable, it's either death or the loss of my voice forever. Usually, it's the voice that gets all the paranoia. I test things out on day three. After day one of runny nose, day two of post nasal drainage and unbearably sore throat, I've got tickly, annoying cough by then. I warm up the voice, have trouble with the highs and lows and wonder if THIS IS THE DAY that I found out I've lost my livelihood. As much as I spent the last entry about singing whining about the annoyances, I really like my job and would hate to lose it FOREVER due to the fact that my range has become a half-octave all suddenly. It doesn't end up that way. I always bounce back (even saying that, the east coast theater major inside me has just made me knock on wood frantically).
This time around, I took a walk on the even more tragic side. See, I decided on a Scrubs rewatch (not season 9 because it never happened) as something safe and familiar. I sometimes think that show doesn't get enough credit. It pretty much had the best bromance ever before bromance was even a thing. Its use of music was almost perfect at times! It really cared about its characters and explored how they related to each other. I'm not even a fan of medical shows, but I really enjoyed it. Then I watched this scene while sick...
Click to viewEven knowing, based on obsessive looks at sickness-mapping websites, articles on mucus, and pictures of sore throats I can never unsee, my sickness is viral and on the way out, this scene is fucking with my head. I mean, I know I won't die, but do I know for sure? Maybe I do, but am I sure enough?
In case my untimely infectious demise fantasies are totally justified in the end, I want you all to make sure to spread the word that my laptop goes to my sister and all search histories containing Jon Hamm, commando, and Hammaconda are purged so my family can still call me "Baby Precious" without rolling their eyes... more than usual (Yes. That is/was my family nickname).
In other news, in a fit of optimism, I'm going to PA for my birthday. I'm getting on Priceline and doing my plane ticket tomorrow when I'm less foggy. I need to get it done by then for sure. My dad's taken a week off work and he and my stepmum are planning a big party that I hope everyone will stop fighting with each other long enough to show up for.
Anyway, with all this disease and optimism, I am much less upset about Jennifer Ehle showing up in Fifty Shades of Shit (even though she must not need the money so bad as she was just in Zero Dark Thirty, will be in the Robocop remake, is nominated for a Tony every time she blinks, and is way too good for this shit).
This will be like Kyle Maclachlan (who I kind of love) being in Showgirls. It's a career misstep, possibly a career-destroyer, but people with talent will rise above it in the end.
Damn it, now I have to watch the Showgirls dogfood scene. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m7zNmkTWeDk) It's such a brilliantly awful study in how idiots think women talk. I like to think 50 Shades will be like this -- engrossing in all its horror.
OMG, why isn't Elizabeth Berkley in this movie? She was MADE FOR IT.