So my mother called to let me know that my Economic Stimulus check came. I was expecting $300, but they sent me $600. Huzzah, I guess.

This money the government gave me- it’s got some very strange conditions attached to it. Namely, the government doesn’t want me to pay down my credit card debt, or even fill up my gas tank. They want, nay DEMAND that I buy a flat screen TV. If I buy a flat screen TV, you see, that $600 gets spread around the country- the clerk who rings it up gets a cut, as do Best Buy investors, LCD TV manufacturers, shipping companies, accountants, so on and so forth. If I’m the average American and use that $600 towards my $9200 credit card balance, I’m not even helping myself in any noticeable fashion, much less my country.

To summarize then, the government is asking that we all do our part by practicing fiscal irresponsibility. Ask not what your country can do for you, indeed. Then again, the federal government is nearly 10 trillion dollars in debt, so they may know a thing or two about maintaining economic prowess in the face of massive debt. Far be it from me to assume to know better. All things considered though, I’ll take my debt free life over the alternative, even if that precludes me from experiencing the lush color density and life like resolution of a flat screen TV.

As for me, I don’t have any credit card debt to pay down and rarely drive, so I actually could use that $600 on something like a flat screen TV. But I’m not going to. I’m buying Euros instead.

I told you last year that if there was one show you HAD to see this year, The Cody Rivers Show was it. Happily, tons of you came out to see what I’ve long considered the best sketch duo in the country.

I’ve seen them a half dozen times so far, and I’ve yet to see the same show twice. Each one has been better than the previous. They are an absolute inspiration if you are at all interested in doing sketch comedy. Please. I beg you. Don’t miss this.

The Cody Rivers Show Presents: Sticks Like Glue
Thursday 8:00
Friday 8:00, 10:30
$14, $5 for iO Students, reservations HIGHLY recommended.

…I can’t see what was so hard about school.

1. Teacher tells you things.
2. You remember them.
3. Teacher gives tests where you tell them what they told you.

Am I missing something, or was school 100% about remembering? And if so, why the hell did I major in Theater?

Title: I Know It Sounds Cliché, But It Really Is The Little Things

• Stretching Out On My Bed

That’s a wrap for this subchapter of my blog. Tomorrow morning, let’s all just get up and act like none of this ever happened.

Cheers,
-mb

Well, friends, here we are. The end of a meme. I’m packing up, waiting for the discharge papers and for the IV’s and monitor stickers to get removed so I can get the fuck out of dodge. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank some special people for their support and/or professional services over these past 9 days. So, here’s the winners of The 2008 Awards For Excellence In The Field Of Medicine, Nursing, & Support. I haven’t nicknamed the statuette yet, so if you’ve got an idea, feel free to submit them. Billy Crystal’s hosting. Joan Rivers is making fun of the nominees’ clothes. E! has a generator out front. Let’s start the show.

Best Supporting Technician - The Star Wars Girl
I can’t remember her name, but she’s my friend on MySpace now. She had the honor of taking my vitals 6 times a night, and the privilege of seeing me in one of my patented contortionesque sleeping positions. All of that sounds fairly intimate, which makes me feel like a bit of a tool for not remembering her name. Well, I’ll always remember how excited she was to show me the trailer for the Star Wars CGI film.

Best Doctor - The Leader
No offense to Dr. Attending #2, but The Leader takes the cake. Obviously a good cardiologist, yet somehow not an insufferable ass. His is a life of walking contradiction, such that I’m pleased to praise. Huzzah, physician.

Best Nurse - Brittany
It was close, but Brittany gets the nod over Monica by way of her subtly slipping a reference to her husband into one of our conversations to make absolutely sure that any illusions I may have had* of anything more than a professional relationship were quelled. It saved both of us a lot of time and heartbreak.**

Best Visitor - 31-way tie
I couldn’t possibly thank enough those of you who came down to visit, brought food or reading material, or donated poker games*** or star wars hats **** or called in from far-away cities to see how I was doing. In all honesty, and in all sincerity, thank you. It means a lot.

Best Mom - Mom
I give my mom a lot of grief. We’ve been through a lot with this illness over the years, and I think it’s harder on her than it is on me. So I try to push her away to give us each space. She refuses. And offers to get me milkshakes. Or sandwiches. Or to yell at my doctors. When you’re sick, nothing beats a good Mom. And when you’re really sick, you’re fucked without one. Thanks, Mom.

Best Quote - “…Just me and my dried titties.” - Nurse Monica
I mean, really, this line is totally at home in a Judd Apatow movie, and it was delivered in character, impromptu, with conviction and clarity. No way this line was going to lose.

I have one last post in store for this story, then it’s back to snarky commentary on current events, wordless posts of youtube videos, and the occasional over-verbose prose essay on mundane real life goings on. Thanks for reading, and I’ll see you in the real world as often as I usually did before this. Starting in about three hours.

* - none
** - seriously, i didn’t have any
*** - thanks, bro. let’s do that show.
**** - role reversal, dudes. my turn to bring comfort.

Last one, and I’m not even remotely sad. Roll it.

Celebrating Every Single Item I Plan To Steal From The Hospital

Counting The Hours

As it turns out, no. Between the time I wrote the title for this post and the first line, The Leader came in and said it’s going to be one more day. 48 hours ago I was a mess, so they’re nervous about letting me go with just one good night under my belt. That said, everything looks good, and I feel 100x better so we’re on our way. And by we, of course, I mean me and you, the reader(s) who’ve been tagging along on this strange journey of alternating revelation and coping mechanism nonchalance.

All things considered, I’m pretty lucky to be going home this soon, so I shouldn’t complain, but still the thought of spending a(nother) whole beautiful Sunday here “just to be safe” is a little maddening. C’est la heart disease, I guess.

Well, it took a week, but it looks like I’ve finally turned the corner, cardiovascularly speaking. I’m on a delightful new drug called Mexiletine, and it’s helping quite a bit. For the record, I’ve only had 2 runs of VT in the past 24 hours (compared to 15-20 per day the first six days I was here), and I’ve been pain-free all day. I’m off the oxygen (woot!) and getting out of bed (though not doing “laps”. You cheapskates have yourselves to blame.)

I’m thinking about starting to complain about going home tomorrow. I honestly feel good enough to do so now, and this is always the part of the hospitalization I hate most; when you’re on the mend and just want to go food shopping and water your plants and get back to work but you’re just not allowed to. It’s a strange thing, having an illness like this, that’s totally incapacitating and deadly but at the same time banal and commonplace. Yet another juxtaposition in a life full of them, I suppose.

Okay, enough Dr. Phil bullshit, let’s rate some of the staff here:

Nurse Monica
Monica is of Carribean decent- I can’t quite place her accent, but she’s really fond of dropping F-bombs, both at me and at the doctors, and no one, and I mean NO ONE crosses her. She runs this place with an iron fist, and she not once, but twice referred to her “dried up old titties” to visitors of mine. Rating: 4 hash pipes

Nurse Brittany
Brittany is exactly like a Lauren Lapkus character- so much so that it kind of creeps me out. She’s like 6′2, 110lbs and speaks in this really drawn out, awkward vowel sound dialect that is a spot on for what I call Lauren’s BizCas Neutral. She can’t pronounce my medicine, and says “Thank you, very much!” everytime she leaves my room- usually after sticking me with a needle or something else that indicates either sadistic pleasure or rapid onset short term amnesia. Still, I think she’s great. Rating: 7 Lauren Lapkus headshots.

Team Electrophysiology
This trio of doctors comes in once a day to tell me the same thing and then refuses to come back. There’s “The Leader” who sits backwards in his chair and leans in to give me “the news”. The Apprentice, who’s got product in his hair and is NOT comfortable one-on-one, and the hip American of Indian Descent with a casual demeanor and a pleasant, conversational tone. When they come in, they “block” themselves appropriately, with the Leader at the foot of my bed, the Apprentice on my left side way up by my head, and the HAID standing in the corner like James Dean. Electrophysiology is a subset of Cardiology that focuses explicitly on rhythm disorders. Cardiologists are kind of snobby, so these guys have right to be extra snobby. The Apprentice is, but the other guys aren’t. I wish they had warm-up suits on instead of labcoats. Rating: 3 Bundles of HIS

The Attending
The new novel by John Grisham? Nope. The Attending is the doctor who oversees my care. They take a step back and maintain my case from a neutral corner, making sure Cardiology doesn’t overstep their bounds and encroach on Electrophysiology’s turf. My first attending was Dr. Moor, who was just downright giddy to be here. He kept me in dilaudid, and for that, I’m thankful. My new attending is Dr. Aguinek, who’s actually a DO instead of an MD. I met her for four minutes this morning and from that, I cannot successfully find anything to make fun of. Rating: 2 John Grisham Books.

Sweeny Todd
I don’t know his real name, but there’s a guy who comes by here once a week, pokes his head in your room, yells “Haircuts! Shaves! Baaarrrber services?”, waits 10 seconds for your reply, then leaves. My curtain was drawn when he came into my room, so I don’t even know what he looks like, but his existence is enough to warrant mention. Rating: 5 Worst Pies In London

Bon Apetît

Course One: Applesauce? *

Course Five: A Noseful of Oxygen? *****

I was told today that I can start “doing laps” as tolerated.

Doing laps in the hospital is the single frailest looking thing a man can do; toting one’s IV pole and oxygen tank, dressed in a hospital gown with gaping holes, a bit hunched over and dizzy, and walking in gentle steps around the floor.

Since this is too embarrassing to do without financial gain, I’d like so solicit sponsors for my laps around the cardiac floor. This could be the “Charna Halpern pitches in $5 a lap for heart disease research” kind of sponsorship, or it could be the GoldenCasino.com face-tattoo for a thousand bucks kind of sponsorship. At this point, I really don’t care. I just know I’ll need more motivation than a wormy doctor telling me to, if i’m to make this kind of pathetic display of myself.

So. Any takers?

A quick one because today was mostly in surgery and waiting for report from doctors….

Charna Responds To Sherra’s Lead

Roomie Chris Comes By To Bro Out

Chris, Mama Baz and Me After Dinner

Yes, being in the hospital sucks. But if you have to be in a hospital, Northwestern is the one to be in. No doubt about it. First of all, it’s got a great rep, second of all, it’s got ab-fab amenities, and third of all it’s got a rich comedy history.

How rich?

How’s about this place employes Rex Graff? It’s true. Anthony DeVries saw him carrying a cooler full of blood yesterday, and today he popped in to tell me his current job here is timing how fast old people walk.

How’s about this place used to employ Pat O’Brien? This is secondary info, also from Anthony, that POB used to work in a research lab, and convinced a certain Medical Doctor to take classes at iO. Which Medical Doctor, you ask?

Why Dr. Anjali Dhurandhar, of course. Who became a good friend of mine years back during her training; she remains a good friend to this day.

Did I say rich comedy history? I meant spotty comedy history. And did I say liveblogging this hospital stay would be entertaining? Because I meant the opposite of that.

Quick update for the medically inclined:

Phase one of the surgery did not go very well. The V-Tach I’ve been having has gone “multi-focal”, meaning it’s starting from more than one place, and they couldn’t induce a stable rhythm. This means phase II of the surgery is unlikely to work, either.

So it’s back to the drawing board. Starting a new drug tonight (Mexilatine) and seeing if that cuts down on the symptoms enough to get me home.

Hooray?

Still waiting for the surgery to start, and having been NPO (which naturally stands for nothing by mouth) since midnight last night, I was “treated” to a styrofoam cup full of ice chips. Believe it or not, they’re pretty good. A cool nose, cool body and a cool finish. If nothing else, it’s a consistent experience across the pallet. And it definitely pairs well with today’s episode of The View.

Sherra takes a commanding 2-0 lead on Charna in Hospital Photo Essay Appearances

Photobooth’s Bounty

This recap of day three is brought to you by Iams. Love your pet the right way. Love them with Iams.

I had a cardiac MRI today- a simple procedure for most people, but for anyone with a pacemaker or an ICD (read: me) it’s a rather risky deal that’s only been attempted a handful of times in America. Today I got to be at the center of what will probably be a banal medical procedure article in some journal I’m not legally allowed to subscribe to. Basically, since my defibrillator is made of metal as are the lead wires from the defibrillator which are implanted in my heart muscle itself, there’s a small chance the magnet would rip them from my body and cast them aloft, as if it were a scene in a comic book movie. In order to avoid this, they’ve developed some kind of protective mathematical algorithm and some various adaptive devices as well. There was a big crowd in the room, and frankly it was the most intense 30 minutes I’ve experienced lately. In the end, I’m still in one piece and the doctors got the pictures they needed, so everybody wins. Except those orderlies who bet on me getting killed by the MRI machine. Their kids are going hungry tonight.

Today also saw an end to my externally imposed hunger strike. I got my hands on some sweet anti-nausea meds and used my brief reprieve from grossness to enjoy a meal of staggering variety. The highlight? A cold, tall glass of San Pel. Coming in a close second? The Milk Duds Charna brought me yesterday.

In other news, my cell phone was “misplaced” during my MRI today. Conventional wisdom has the cell phone being balled up in the laundry while they were changing my bed. I should probably be pissed and definitely be more suspicious, but I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

The first part of a two-part surgical plan to restore me to health is tomorrow morning. Using the MRI images obtained today, the docs will identify and examine scar tissue in my right ventricle, and devise a plan for removing or modifying the scar tissue to reduce the number of arrhythmic episodes I’m having. For this procedure, I will be sedated, NOT anesthetized, and I’m in negotiations with the cath lab nurse to annotate a blog entry from the operating room. The best part is, I’m telling them my job is writing blogs about celebrity crushes, so I’ll be dictating a monologue about just how awesome Shia LaBeouf is. I’m hoping he’ll ask me how to spell “McSqueemey”

I actually feel better today than I have recently, so that’s nice. I was able to get out of bed and walk around a bit, and found myself with precious little time to mope around. Times like this, that’s all we should hope for. That, and of course that something, ANYTHING will pre-empt the second hour of Judge Judy.

Lessons Learned…

6. Joined at Yon Giblet

Who’d have thought I’d have a hard time keeping this up? Not me. But I am. My mind has been sufficiently altered by drugs the past couple days, making it very hard to hold onto a thought long enough to find something interesting enough about that thought to write. So here’s a bullet list of thoughts that didn’t quite make threshold:

• Those little oxygen things they stick up your nose in the hospital? Thumbs fucking down.
• Those pain killers they stick up your veins in the hospital? Thumbs fucking up.
• Free hospital wifi comes with an odd tick; it doesn’t work for AIM or email.
• Toothpaste is such a hard thing to screw up. The hospital has found a way.
• Average response time from pressing nurse call to nurse coming in: i dunno, but it’s pretty fast.
• Thom Vacca just ordered the following dinner for me:
1. Chicken Noodle Soup
2. Chicken Salad Plate
3. Non-color specific Gelatin Cubes
4. Coca Cola Classic (not on the menu)
• There’s nothing like having nothing left to do but watch tv to make you want to do anything but watch tv.

Coming soon, my first inpatient photo essay.

By the way, this is a live blog, so we can take calls. Call in to share your thoughts at 312-926-1510. If the line’s busy, try again! We’ll be here ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL night.

I mean, why not?

Long story short, I am a Make-A-Wish kid, diagnosed with a particularly dangerous kind of heart problem when I was 13 that progressed to “Make-A-Wish” worthy levels in high school. In 2000, I received my first Automated Implantable Cardioverter-Defibrillator, which has saved my life 14 times to date. It all sounds very dramatic, and in all likelihood is, but I’m used to staying in hospitals- it was a common event growing up. Familiarity breeds boredom- even in an event that usually incites tears or anxiety or drama.

So the posh-as-all-get-out Northwestern Memorial Hospital cardiac floor has the mother of all creature comforts: “free” wifi! I figure why not live-blog this hospitalization? Seems as good a thing to do as any while I’m here. So stay tuned for…unflinchingly honest gab about my health? Hallucinations from pain meds? Photos of in-your-face hospital room action?

Yes, yes, and only if you’re lucky.

It’s been a while since the previous smatter, so let unto it this chorus we rend. For previous smatterings, click here.

Henry The First: My Epic Epoch
May 8th was my 29th birthday. My last birthday I’m permitted to be happy about, or so Maxim magazine tells me. Like all good Italians, I look upon my birthday with a shrug and a hair-toss. This year, I threw a poetry slam birthday party that was well attended and even better reviewed. Wine flowed, words floated, feelings were expressed. It was quite a success.

Henry The Second: Lord Stanley, Lord Stanley, Drown Me In Brandy
I can’t complain. My beloved Pittsburgh Penguins made a deep run, pushing the Detroit Red Wings to six games in the Cup final before giving way. Game 5 was fucking legendary. Triple overtime. Game-tying goal with 30 seconds left in regulation. Multiple broken noses. I damn near cried when they scored halfway through the third overtime. It was, in an evening, everything that is great about pro hockey. Best sport on earth. Fuck off if you feel different.

Henry The Third: Sexism Schmexism
So Obama won the nomination. And a battalion of first and second generation feminists responded by promising to vote for John McCain. I’m not going to pretend to know what it’s like to fight your whole life for something only to have it taken away, so I won’t judge too harshly, but I’d imagine that even Betty Friedan herself would have taken a shot or two at Harriet Christian.

Henry The Fourth: Grow! My Media Fixation
New David Sedaris!
New Bonnie “Prince” Billy!
New Pixar!

Henry The Fifth: A Monologue Sourceforge For The Strapping Male
I recently agreed to do a little acting for a friend who’s on his way out of Chicago. He wrote a wonderful little play called Francis And Wild Gil: A Francis and Wild Gil Story. I play Abraham Lincoln. On Stilts. Playing the accordion. I can’t imagine a world in which you, the reader, needs more reason than this to attend. I mean, an 8′7″ Baz with a chinstrap beard and playing The Beer Barrel Polka? Come on.

Henry The Sixth: When A Thing Is Wick
Dude, you should totally see my house. There’s shit alive in every room. The orchid I keep on the window sill by my reading chair is in double bloom, with two flowing branches and five or six flowers per stem. It’s heaven. I’ve got a new cactus and a bonsai ficus in my bedroom, tomato plants, basil and parsley on the back deck, and a zombie peace lilly and palm tree in the parlour. I don’t think I appreciated houseplants until very recently, and I also don’t think I’ve really lived until recently. Coincidence? Also, the art and wine collections continue to flourish, bringing me ever closer to the celebrated yuppie trifecta. I should be eligible for condo ownership within six months.

Henry The Seventh: On Dragging Out A Meme For Completism’s Sake

Just a quick shout out to a fun little piece from Slate magazine:
How To Win The New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest.

Most people who look at the winners of the caption contest say, “I could’ve done better than that.” You’re right. You could have. But that doesn’t mean you could’ve won the caption contest—it just means you could’ve done better.And if your goal is not to win the caption contest, why bother entering? There is one mantra to take from this article, worth its own line break:

You are not trying to submit the funniest caption; you are trying to win The New Yorker’s caption contest.

My summary: brilliant.

I was reading a few promo pieces on the Sex And The City Movie, and was struck by the prevalence of exclamation points attributed to the cast.

“We had a ball!”

“It was so great to work together again!”

“Of course not, silly!”

Like entertainment news is wont to do, this got me thinking. Specifically about what criteria the writers used in determining which sentences deserved the exclamation point or, where applicable, italics. Is there a physical tip of the hat that indicates exclaim? Doesn’t that give the reporter unfair license to the interviewee’s intentions? Consider the difference between the following:

“We love working together.”

“We love working together.”

“We love working together!”

I’m not saying this is a bellwether issue that requires immediate attention. Just saying we shouldn’t leave context to the same profession that’s known for at least the occasional fit of exaggeration. My solution? Limit punctuation marks in interview-based journalism to periods, commas, one variety of colon (semi or full, but not both), and the hyphen (but not the dash). Formatting should likewise be limited to alignment and font size must be universal. Will this cost us a measure of variety in what’s likely the average American’s only exposure to the written word on any given day? Yes. But the alternative is a world with widely disparate interpretations on how great it was for Shia LaBeouf to work with Harrison Ford. If that’s not a good enough reason, I don’t know what is!!!!

Via Stefan Lawrence

Oh, it’s just hometown pride.

I have a little iPod speaker system in my bathroom which I use exclusively for showering. I have a playlist called “Trust Me” that consists entirely of songs that I’ve either a) played more than 10 times or b) gave four or more stars. I set this playlist to random, and can’t skip songs whilst bathing, so I usually get two or three good songs out of it. Last night’s in-shower playlist:

1. “Your Move” - Yes
2. “Throwing It All Away” - Genesis
3. “Evil Woman” - Electric Light Orchestra

I’d like to note that these are the only Prog Rock tracks I own*, and the Genesis and ELO songs were on this list by virtue of my night job, moonlighting as an ironic DJ. I did a couple of sarcastic parties and that bumped their play count. “Your Move” is a fine song, and I don’t feel I need to explain that one away.

The question before us is this: since prog rock always, ALWAYS “meant something”, what was the lesson my iPod was trying to teach me in the shower? If it helps, I just finished working out (yoga, abs, push ups, bench presses, curls, military presses, inclined flies) and I have to admit that I spent a (literal) second admiring my muscle tone in the mirror before starting the shower proper.

* - Admittedly, I have all of Genesis’ populist mea culpa Invisible Touch, but I discount albums purchased for humor purposes, or in this case, ripped from my dad’s CD collection for humorous purposes.

I just right now decided to expose you to some of my more talented friends who aren’t improvisers. They’ll be dropping by in the form of Guest Bloggers. Our first GB is the illustrious Amy Mariaskin, a person I claim as my BFF although we only speak a few times a year. I consider the true measure of a friendship not how often you speak, but rather how not-awkward your time together actually is. Seeing as we hug like twins and never fall victim to the seven-minute lull, I’m pretty secure in saying we are, in fact, BFF’s. Also, I’ve now officially known her for twenty years. Here she recaps the highlight of the last time we got together, a little thing we like to call ManScouts.

ManScouts Meeting, Chicago chapter. Our mission is to be real men like Bear Grylls and to eventually live in Tijuana for two days on $20. Here we are learning to tie some manknots.

This is why the Psychology and Neuroscience department paid for me to go to Chicago.

Amy is a doctoral candidate in clinical psychology (I think) and will be completing her studies at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Amy is the author of landmark zines Southern Fried Darling and Altocumulus Undulatus and the now-defunct webcomic The Houndly Nugget, and is a founding member of the seminal terriblecore 90’s band Teddy-O-Snaps. She currently lives in Raleigh, North Carolina with her beagle Cleveland.

Becky Poole, star of SketchCamp ‘08, emailed this to a select group of friends, of which all you readers are apparently now a part:

“people wonder what kind of work there is to be done in seattle well, check out this link…”

She plays the short-haired account executive AND the pretend Courtney Cox. A starmaking turn, if you ask me.