In Absentia

Hi. This is the artist formerly known as TiZ. I haven't been around much recently, have I?

Mi dispiace.

I've been spending my time doing so many things that scare me out of my wits, that I haven't had time to place my fingers on the wee keys and send you little missives comprised of 0s and 1s through the interweb.

Mi dispiace.

Two of the things that have scared me out my wits?

I have hung my reiki shingle. Please contact me for more info.

I did a reading of my play last night for a room full of equally beautiful and terrifyingly smart people.

It went well.

I lost two pounds.

And they were kind and brilliant and insightful/inciteful and helped me in ways I could never have imagined. I'm embarrassed by the riches.

See you soon.

P.S. My claim was denied. That theater can go fuck itself. TTFN

A Tale of Two Theatres, Redux

It was the best of times...

At the San Jose Rep. So many good things to say about this theater, including the little gifty they sprang on me two weeks ago.

Because I did two extra days of work for them at the beginning and end of the run, they sprang for...wait for it...another week of health insurance, bringing me to 20 weeks, which gives me a full year of health insurance. Because they did the right thing, they just saved me anywhere between $1900 and $3800 depending on when/if/how I Cobra'ed.

Who knew Cobra was a verb?

An actor does.

It was the worst of times...

When my blog went off-road, y'all had to know a situation was bad. And basically just kept getting worse. So many bad things to say about this theater (that goes unnamed...somewhat akin to Beetle Juice), including the little gifty they sprang on me two weeks ago.

A denied Worker's Comp Claim. The insurance company didn't deny it on their own, the theater did first. While I was working for them. While I still had three weeks under their employ. Did they cop to it whilst I was in their presence? Of course not.

Because that would have been the right thing.

I spent the morning in a teleconference with their state's Industrial Commission. We actually had some laughs at that hour. Do I think it's going my way? Probably not. But it was a real nice clambake.

I'm leaving behind the foolishness, incredulity, darkness, despair, nothingness and Hell.

Forward, March.

When Worlds Collide

O-ho-ho-ho-kay.

Who needs fiction when you can take a gander at my goosey non.

Because I’m not sure anyone is creative enough to make this shit up.

First of all - Theater, meet Ob/Gyn. Ob/Gyn, meet Theater.

Secondly - I have heard of doctor/patient confidentiality. But is there a similar code for patient/doctor confidentiality?

And C - Will Swenson,* I’m so sorry for what is about to commence.

I had an appointment today at the coochie doc—just an annual** to check on the state of the tumbleweed in my sahoohoo. (Do I share too much?)

All was fine in the saddle and we were trotting along nicely when all of a sudden (just around the boob spot check) we broke into full gallop.

He saw "Priscilla."

Seems he’s a fan of Bette’s, attended the extravaganza and LOVED it. (MWJM, 70s.) He was even seated next to a politica, who posed the question, “Are all the men in the show gay?”

TiZ - “Well, I don’t know about the other guys, but Will Swenson is definitely not.”

And that was the end of any semblance of professionalism, barrier or sanity. Just me and my Docteur de HooHoo reveling over the glory that is Will Swenson.

I was pretty much naked.

As we segued to “Hair,” (Will, he had no idea you were the same guy. Kudos to you. And he was thrilled to hear you are lovely.), he realized he’d left another patient hanging and excused himself.

I dressed, sat myself in his office, and the festival of love soon continued. After he politely asked me to close the door, we sang both “Masturbation” and “Black Boys are Delicious.”*** He momentarily segued to “Threepenny Opera” (My doctor is quite gifted.) and then…back to “Hair” with help from the cast album on his iPhone.

There was a slight detour on the hospital network computer to Google Will. Much was learned thanks to Wikipedia.

Thanks, Wikipedia.

If you’re looking for a feast for the eye, Google Image “Nick Adams.”

TiZ – “To answer the politica’s question, I think HE’S gay.”

Doc – “Ya think so?”

Thanks, Google Image

Then the obligatory phonecall to his wife where “All Things Will” are discussed.

Finally, close to an hour later, we’re back on the subject of little ol’ me. I know, I KNOW, my friends, you’ve spent the entirety of this blahg post worrying about the state of my sahoohoo.

It’s quite healthy, thank you.

But the rest of my life? Just a little bit off.

TiZzy…Queen of the Desert.

* Yes. I know TiZ and AsS was declared a “name-free” zone, but Will’s name is imperative for humor and understanding. This will never be Page 6. Instead let’s call it, “TiZandAsS Post, Page Sex.”

** Way close to anal, right?

*** We actually sing most every visit. It’s our thing. Don’t judge.

A Tale of Two Theaters

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way..." --Charles Dickens

Blog post to come.

Pajama Party

I know that in the past you have heard tales of my "alone days." No, not sad, pop ballad "All By Myself" salad days.

Glorious alone days.

Where I do nothing. See no one. Utter not a word.

It's my time to decompress.

As "alone days" are going to be hard to come by for quite a while, I've developed a bit of a new regimen.

The Pajama Party.

It is now 1:30 in the afternoon and I am still in my pajamas. I've been out, I've seen and I've uttered, but I've done it all from the comfort of my pajamas.

Don't be dirty.

And in my own time. I am master of my domain.

Don't be dirty.

A working vacation in a manner.

Don't be...

Until the next glorious alone day, this will have to do.

And it do me good.

...dirty.