I find that there is a moment where you get to forget everything around you and just be. No, it isn't in that half asleep/half awake part of a massage, it is that half terrifying/half perfection moment when you can tell from a stage that a group is responding to you. Or an old man asks you for your CD as he collects local artists, and he really would love to have my "sound."
I can tell my voice isn't quite where it needs to be, but I'm working my way back, right?
Here is a little taste--not as good as I want them to be, but for a practice, they are alright.
Realize these were shot by my iphone leaning against a strawberry lemonade bottle, so turn off the JEs.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
The Depot return
Tonight I'm practicing at the Depot for the June 9 gig. Summertime, Walkin' After Midnight, and I'd Rather go Blind. If you are bored, and near the Depot in Hillsborough tonight at 8ish, swing by.
All from my set list!
Bocci, June 9, 2012:
Also at the Ackland as a duet act on June 17.
All from my set list!
Bocci, June 9, 2012:
1. Ain't Misbehavin
2. Bewitched, Bothered, Bewildered
3. Don't Fence Me In
4. Girl From Ipanema
5. Stormy Weather
6. St James Infirmary
7. Can't Take That Away From Me
8. Favorite Things
9. All of Me
10. I'd Rather Go Blind
11. Up a Lazy River
12. Dream a Little Dream
13. Lover Man
14. After You've Gone
15. St Louis Blues
16. Stardust
17. Can't Help Lovin That Man
18. Black Coffee
19. Georgia on My Mind
20. Closer Walk with Thee
21. Glory of Love
22. Autumn Leaves
23. It's Only a Paper Moon
24. Button Up Your Overcoat
25. Mean to Me
26. Summer Time
27. Stompin at the Savoy
28. Fly Me to the Moon
29. Walking After Midnight
30. Mack the Knife
31. You Don't Know Me
32. If I Had You/Dixie Knows
Also at the Ackland as a duet act on June 17.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Monday, May 7, 2012
Color in your cheeks
Your sister walks in (6 ft radius!), and you obviously haven't done much besides take a shower that day. "Wow! You look better."
"Um, liar."
"No, really, there is color in your cheeks. You don't look as. . . pale."
"Wan?"
"What is Wan?"
"Really pale."
From m-w.com:
"Well, you were looking nearly dead for a while there."
"I kind of noticed."
"But you are looking better, now!"
"Kind of like a person?"
"Kind of like a person."
And that, my friends, is what a couple days of thyroid meds will do for you. Let you sleep, and make you feel kind of like a person.
Thanks for all the help so far, friends and family! We've got three more months until I am at full person status, but kind-of-like-a-person status has been achieved (and thank you so much to J.B.L. for a chocolate shake and fries on Saturday night, that was the highlight of my weekend).
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Funny things you notice late at night
You are too tired to lift an eating utensil. Eating has become a chore you need to do, but not that you want. However, as you scarf down a bowl of fruit your sister has brought up to your door, you realize it is the best thing you've tasted in forever, and that you are, in fact, hungry. Sadly, you have to rest for a while between bites because you really are that tired.
You start to wonder if this is really some kind of hazing ritual, and you don't really have cancer--they just want to see how long you can hold out with a quarantine of 6 ft. and severe hypothyroidism.
You are too tired to read or even watch tv, but your body aches so you cannot actually sleep. You don't want to talk to anyone as your moods flail wildly and your tears would be extra radioactive, so they rather you don't cry if you can help it. Also, talking requires energy, and you don't have any.
You are back in the bath, praying for the thyroid meds you get tomorrow, and again wondering when the bathroom clock stopped at 9:43 and you've missed it for how long now?
And you kind of wish not to feel your left foot again like it was after surgery, as it is the one that won't stop throbbing and let you sleep. You are stuck playing Draw Something with random strangers as it is all you have left--that or dominoes because endless counting to fives is easy...
Is it morning yet?
You start to wonder if this is really some kind of hazing ritual, and you don't really have cancer--they just want to see how long you can hold out with a quarantine of 6 ft. and severe hypothyroidism.
You are too tired to read or even watch tv, but your body aches so you cannot actually sleep. You don't want to talk to anyone as your moods flail wildly and your tears would be extra radioactive, so they rather you don't cry if you can help it. Also, talking requires energy, and you don't have any.
You are back in the bath, praying for the thyroid meds you get tomorrow, and again wondering when the bathroom clock stopped at 9:43 and you've missed it for how long now?
And you kind of wish not to feel your left foot again like it was after surgery, as it is the one that won't stop throbbing and let you sleep. You are stuck playing Draw Something with random strangers as it is all you have left--that or dominoes because endless counting to fives is easy...
Is it morning yet?
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Freezing and almost radiant
After sitting in a tube in the most uncomfortable position for over an hour (and feeling like they have dislocated your arms), you are moved into a room, where there is the most random list of magazines and no blankets. Despite the fact that everyone in the hospital should hear your teeth chattering, you sit shivering by yourself taking "grounding breaths" to keep yourself calm. And you haven't even gone radioactive (well, completely) yet...
As someone who doesn't normally get cold, it is really upsetting to be cold deep into your bones. When you finally beg for a blanket, the heated one they bring to you has to feel like what heaven is--nestled in love and warmth, and grateful to not just feel sterile cold around you--that smells off...
The guys working on the ducts make so much noise you rethink every time you've rolled your eyes at spy movies where the protagonist crawls through huge air vents. It sounds like there is a small pygmie village in the walls.
Despite trying to keep a good attitude, you've been frozen, contorted, startled, ignored, and ordered about for four hours, and it is starting to wear thin. And despite calming music playing on a loop, being in the basement is killing your battery life, and all you want is for them to come check your license, so you can drink down a large radioactive dose of iodine.
Side note: magazines called Bird and Bloom and Opera Digest are real things! Gas Engine magazine has a gorgeous masthead.
And you finally drink down your dose, so a nice tech named Mike can tell you it is so late today, you have to wait two more hours before drinking anything (or eating) despite the fact that you haven't really eaten most of yesterday and all of today, and then the doctor tells you you have to wait yet another day for cheese, and oddly that is the point where you want to scream that it is all too much and you cannot take it anymore!
But you let Mike the tech run you over with a Geiger counter and "escort you from the premises," and it is all over, at least until next Wednesday when you have to do it again.
Sigh... I wish I weren't so cold--hospitals should stock complimentary snuggies.
As someone who doesn't normally get cold, it is really upsetting to be cold deep into your bones. When you finally beg for a blanket, the heated one they bring to you has to feel like what heaven is--nestled in love and warmth, and grateful to not just feel sterile cold around you--that smells off...
The guys working on the ducts make so much noise you rethink every time you've rolled your eyes at spy movies where the protagonist crawls through huge air vents. It sounds like there is a small pygmie village in the walls.
Despite trying to keep a good attitude, you've been frozen, contorted, startled, ignored, and ordered about for four hours, and it is starting to wear thin. And despite calming music playing on a loop, being in the basement is killing your battery life, and all you want is for them to come check your license, so you can drink down a large radioactive dose of iodine.
Side note: magazines called Bird and Bloom and Opera Digest are real things! Gas Engine magazine has a gorgeous masthead.
And you finally drink down your dose, so a nice tech named Mike can tell you it is so late today, you have to wait two more hours before drinking anything (or eating) despite the fact that you haven't really eaten most of yesterday and all of today, and then the doctor tells you you have to wait yet another day for cheese, and oddly that is the point where you want to scream that it is all too much and you cannot take it anymore!
But you let Mike the tech run you over with a Geiger counter and "escort you from the premises," and it is all over, at least until next Wednesday when you have to do it again.
Sigh... I wish I weren't so cold--hospitals should stock complimentary snuggies.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Becoming Radiant
So they have to do one more blood test and I have to wait for an hour... Fasting, of course.
So, I need some help y'all. Peter Parker is Spiderman (radioactive spider bite); Bruce Banner is the Hulk (Gamma rays); and the X-men have fun names (genetic mutation), so as I will shortly have radioactive blood, I need a Superhero name. Please throw all ideas in the comments, and we'll vote this week during quarantine...
So, I need some help y'all. Peter Parker is Spiderman (radioactive spider bite); Bruce Banner is the Hulk (Gamma rays); and the X-men have fun names (genetic mutation), so as I will shortly have radioactive blood, I need a Superhero name. Please throw all ideas in the comments, and we'll vote this week during quarantine...
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