matthearn.com

Why, oh why, did I not go into dentistry?

I was getting my molars scraped and poked last week, drool puddling on my chin and dripping onto my collar, when it occurred to me that being a dentist might just be the best job in the history of mankind. Unless you have a particular aversion to putting your fingers in and your face next to somebody’s filthy mouth, I can’t imagine a better one. It wouldn’t bother me in the least; having changed hundreds of Charles’s diapers, halitosis holds no terrors for me.

(I should point out that my dentist, Dr. Bond, is a fantastic tooth man; I’ve been seeing him for something like 20 years with no complaints, and one of these days he’s going to retire and I really don’t know what I’m going to do at that point.)

It seems like dentists have all the benefits of doctors (high salaries, exalted social status, cool acronyms after their names) but without most of the stresses. Doctors have sick people showing up all day, blowing germs on them; who goes to the dentist when they’re sick? Doctors have to deal with actual emergencies, like people getting shot or catching TB or something; dentists have to be on-call to replace chipped crowns. Worst of all, doctors occasionally have to tell people they’re going to die, or tell family members that somebody’s already dead. The worst thing a dentist is going to tell you is that your gingivitis has turned into periodontal disease and you’re going to need seven root canals and a gum scraping.

(I don’t really know what a gum scraping is, but my mom’s had a couple of ’em to reduce gum inflammation, and it apparently hurts quite a lot.)

Meanwhile, dentists get to make the same ridiculous money and buy the same awesome boats and beach homes as specialists. The only thing I can imagine being more lucrative is orthodontia, but then you have to deal with annoying children all day. (Having a child, I’ve found, does not decrease one’s disdain for poorly behaved kids. In fact it seems to heighten it.)

I wonder if HW would allow me to quit my job and go to dental school. We’d have to live in poverty for a while to pay off school loans. I’ll ask her later.

In a related story: is it just me, or does dental work get more painful as you get older? Maybe it’s just the newer technology, but when I was growing up, I’d go in for a cleaning and they’d scrape off the plaque and send me on my way. It was all very gentle, and I always got a cool new toothbrush out of it, with Transformers on it if I was lucky, and dental floss that I threw into the bathroom closet and never used. (To this day there is probably 50 sample-size containers of spearmint flavored floss in the back of my mother’s bathroom closet.)

Last week I went in for a routine cleaning and checkup, and they:

Got out some kind of sonic-screwdriver-water-pick that scraped away tartar and plaque with all the gentleness of a jackhammer;
Stabbed some kind of miniature ruler in between each of my teeth and my gums to measure inflammation;
polished my choppers with some kind of miniature angle grinder.

It hurt like the dickens, though of course being a stoic, John-Wayne-type manly man, I took it with nothing more than a grimace. Of course, I had cavities, so I had to go back later in the week to get drilled and spackled, and I swear to you on the souls of my cats that the dentist put a die grinder in my mouth.

Did my mouth just become untenable for the less intrusive techniques? Or did dentistry become more sadist?

Are you coming to see The Wizard of Oz at Brandywine High School? It’s running tonight, 4/10, to Saturday 4/12, nightly at 7pm, with a matinee on Saturday at 2. If you AREN’T coming, you better live far away, ’cause I’ll be making a list of everybody I know that doesn’t show up and KICKING THEIR ASSES. But I’ll make exceptions for people of great distance ’cause it’s just not worth the drive.

(Note: I’m no more capable of kicking an ass than I am of impregnating a tree. But did I at least sound tough and manly? It’d be a first!)

The show is going pretty well, although having all the extra rehearsal time we have this year (the shows are roughly 3 weeks later in the year than the last spring production, which went up in mid-March) actually made us a little lackadaisical for a while. Learn that chorus? Bah, we’ve got three months! Oops, now it’s April. Still, Sarah was able to teach all the choreography in record time, which was nice, and I got all the chorus stuff taught pretty early, for me.

In the end, the show came together, as shows always seem to do. We had our touch-up rehearsal yesterday, which went a long way towards polishing things, so I’m looking forward to tonight, not least because I spend the few hours before a performance trying not to throw up, but once it starts I’m too busy to think about how nervous I am. I know what you’re thinking: Nervous? Matt Hearn? That’s ridiculous! It’s true I don’t often get nervous before I have to SING anything, but then you have to remember that I’m a REALLY good singer, but a mediocre conductor at best. I consider a show a success if I take the tempos slow enough that none of the dancers hurt themselves.

Don’t let the possibility of injury dissuade you from coming, though, ’cause remember: I’LL BE KICKING YOUR ASS. (No I won’t.)

It’s been so long since somebody emailed me one of those pointless quiz forwards that I had completely forgotten how AWESOME they are. Awesome in that they give me the means of producing a “hilarious” new post in a matter of minutes because I don’t have to come up with an amusing topic. Heck YES! I got this one courtesy of my sister, whose responses were even funnier than mine, but I shan’t be reprinting them ’cause that wouldn’t be original. Also she’d kill me, ’cause it mentions the time she sharted on her halloween costume.

Completely Useless Facts About Me

Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?
Open, because the pile of clothing and shoes in there prevents the door from closing.
Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotels?
Of course. What do you think “complimentary” means? It’s a miracle I don’t steal the remote and the Gideon Bible.
Have you ever stolen a street sign before?
One, that I remember; we tried to get a number in high school but were foiled by rusted bolts. I think we stole a stop sign from a school once. Don’t ask about political campaign signs; I think the BHS band single-handedly altered the 1994 New Castle County elections.
Are you eating anything right now?
Drinkin’ me a diet grape soda; thinking about maybe a beer and some dried fruit. (Update: I had a sausage sandwich as well.)
Who do you think reads these?
Both of my readers, hopefully!
Do you have a calendar in your room?
Bedroom? Nope. In my office I have a couple, to mark paydays, holidays, duty days, etc.
Where are you?
My criznib! It’s mad pimped!
What’s your plan for the day?
Seeing as it’s now 4:32pm on a Friday, my plan consists of finishing up some work, finishing this, cracking open a frosty brew, watching some baseball, maybe ordering some food. I know: exciting.
Are you reading any books right now?
I just finished Far From The Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy; now I’m working on Immediate Fiction by Jerry Cleaver and Damn! Why Didn’t I Write That? by Marc McCutcheon.
Is it cold out?
Moderately chilly, if you’re a wuss. (I’m a wuss.)
Do you ever count your steps when you walk?
Only on staircases. Most of the time I’m avoiding cracks. I’m OCD about the stupidest thing. Why couldn’t I be OCD about, say, cleanliness? No, not me. I have to fear sidewalk cracks and toothpaste.
Have you ever peed in the woods?
Hell, I’ve peed in bushes in my backyard during dinner parties.
Do you ever dance even if there’s no music playing?
If my wife needs me to give her choreography ideas. (They’re always AWESOME, and usually inspired by something in a Justin Timberlake video.)
Do you chew your pens and pencils?
I don’t write by hand much. Also, I had a number of bad experiences with leaking pens in high school, so I’ve learned my lesson there.
How many people have you slept with this week?
Let’s treat this question literally and say one. My main old lady.
Favorite place to buy make-up?
Joker’s Wild. They have a nice selection of stage items that I use to make myself look pretty when I “act.”
What is your “Song of the week”?
Heavens, I dunno. Let’s check iTunes for my most recent addition. Oh right: “Falling Slowly” by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova. It won an Oscar! Yay Irish people!
Is it okay for guys to wear pink?
I am, even as we speak. It makes me look pretty, like the little girl Daddy always wanted me to be.
Do you still watch cartoons?
Sure. Simpsons, Family Guy, American Dad, yaoi, etc. (Note: don’t Google yaoi. Just…don’t.)
Whats your favorite love movie?
Grosse Point Blank. Does that count? People fall in love. Other people get shot! It’s great!
Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some?
In a S&P500 Index fund. Earn 8% on that shiznit, yeah.
What do you drink with dinner?
It depends on the meal. If it’s good gourmet stuff, wine. If it’s meat-and-potatoes, probably beer. If it’s a sammich and chips, probably a diet soda. I don’t really drink water because it makes my teeth hurt. (Yeah, I have no idea. My body is bizarre.)
What do you dip Chicken Nuggets in?
Honey, if available. Everything else goes into mayonnaise.
What is your favorite food/cuisine?
That’s like asking someone to pick a favorite breast. They’re all pretty awesome. I’ll eat just about everything. (Food, not breasts. I am legally obligated to avoid all breasts but those owned by my significant other.)
What movies could you watch over and over and still love?
Grosse Point Blank. People get shot! It’s great!
Last person you hugged/kissed?
Either my wife, or a Thai hooker, I can’t remember. So much of my life is a blur.
Were you ever a boy/girl scout?
I was a Cub Scout for like a year, until I realized they were never going to let me hunt and kill my own bear.
Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine?
Sure. I don’t really have shame when it comes to my body; most everybody know has seen me nekkid at one point or another. Whether or not anybody wants to see me nude is a different matter. (The prevailing opinion is, uh, no.)
When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?
Golly. Probably the late 80s. I had a penpal for like a month until I realized she was never going to let me hunt and kill my own bear.
Can you change the oil on a car?
Yup. Haven’t done it in a while though because I like to make sure the cars get all the safety and other checks that they do, so I don’t have my brakes fail at 70mph with my son asleep in the back.
Ever gotten a speeding ticket?
A bunch, but I’ve been lucky enough to space them carefully so I don’t lose my license.
Run out of gas?
Back in high school I had a 1972 Pontiac Grand Ville that got something like 4 miles per gallon. I would fill it up on Monday (took over 20 gallons, plus a quart of fake lead additive, for a total cost of like $22) and drive it maybe 80 miles during the week, mostly to school and back, and the gas would be gone. It was ridiculous. Anyway, one time I was driving around with my boy Josh, hoping we could make it home to borrow money from my mom before we hit bottom, and the thing died. Josh’s mom was kind enough to bring us a gallon to get it going. Later on I was trying to make it home from a rehearsal, in the rain, and same thing happened; I had to walk, in the rain, to my friend Andrea’s house, so she could drive me home. I still miss that car. I occasionally dream about it.
Favorite kind of sandwich?
Probably a turkey club. That shiznit is so good. Bacon and mayonnaise should have been two of the ancient elements.
Best thing to eat for breakfast?
Bacon and anything. Pancakes, eggs, waffles, all fantastic, but bacon is a must.
What is your usual bedtime?
It floats a bit, but usually somewhere around 11. If there’s a particularly good Family Guy on we’ll stay up until 11:30, or at least I will; Sarah inevitably falls asleep.
Are you lazy?
I’ll get back to you.
When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween?
The best costume I ever had was in first grade, aka 1984, when I dressed up as DangerMouse. Mom was so awesome to whip that puppy up for me.
How many languages do you know?
I guess it depends on how you define the word “know.” I studied German and Russian in high school, but remember little of each.
Do you have any magazine subscriptions?
Bon Appetit, I think. I never get around to reading it, though.
Which are better, legos or lincoln logs?
Construx.
Are you stubborn?
Not as much as I should be. I’m pretty easy-going, really, which means I tend to try to make everybody happy. I fear confrontation.
Ever watch soap operas?
My wife is a big Days of our Lives fan. It’s often on in the background.
Afraid of heights?
Yes and no. I’m not scared of bridges or planes or anything, but climbing trees and ladders makes me nervous. I can usually fight through it by not looking down. Also by drinking a 12-pack of Dogfish Head.
Sing in the car?
Heck yes. I am the John Mayer of car singers.
Dance in the shower?
Heck no. That’s a good way to slip, blow out a knee, and knock out 4 teeth on the edge of the tub. I’m clumsy.
Dance in the car?
I am a past master of the car dance, but I tend to do it only for the amusement of my passengers. I’m more of a car drummer; my Saab’s steering wheel is surprisingly resonant.
Ever used a gun?
A surprising variety for such a liberal-minded soul. I have a bunch of airguns that haven’t seen the light of day since we moved into a neighborhood where using a real-looking pistol in the backyard would have the neighbors calling the cops, and I like to go to Targetmaster and rent pistols and ammo whenever I can, which isn’t very often. (It’s kinda expensive.) Went hunting once in Texas and shot me a deer, which I then ate part of. It was pretty rad.
Do you think musicals are cheesy?
It depends on the musical, but the genre is mostly about being over the top. I mean, it’s a little farfetched for someone about to go into a murder spree to pause and sing a 7 minute ballad about it, but it’s a common feature of musical theater. Doesn’t make it any less awesome, of course.
Is Christmas stressful?
Yeah, I get pretty busy with musical endeavors, plus of course all the shopping and cooking and eating of cookies.
Ever eat a pierogi?
Yeah, but I forget where.
Do you believe in ghosts?
Hard to say. I’ve never seen one, that I know of, but I hope there’s SOMETHING after we die. If it consists of walking the earth sneaking into ladies’ bathrooms, that’s not ideal, but it’s better than some of the alternatives.
Ever have a deja-vu feeling?
All the time, when they change something in the Matrix.
Take a vitamin daily?
No, but I should. The only thing I can count on eating daily is bacon.
Wear slippers?
I have a couple pairs, but they’re not really my thing. I don’t see the point in wearing a shoe I can’t wear outside without ruining them. I’d rather be barefoot or in socks, just like most of the time I’d rather be buck naked, wandering the house letting my genitals enjoy the air.
Wal-Mart, Target or K-Mart?
Target, dude. It’s mad pimp. I shop at Walmart occasionally because there’s one like a half-mile from me, but I always end up wanting to throw the other shoppers into a display of off-brand pasta. How hard is it to control your eleven children? And how hard is it to NOT park your cart sideways in the aisle so nobody can get by? Morons.
Ever kissed someone of the same sex?
My son, on many occasions.
Can you curl your tongue?
Yep. Comes in handy when I . . . nevermind.
Own any record albums?
Not in my home. There’s a couple left at my parents’ house, I think, including a pretty well-worn copy of “Merry, Merry Christmas” by the New Kids On The Block.
Hot tea or cold tea?
Cold tea, unsweetened, with just a soupçon of bat guano.
Are you patient?
Not in the least.

Bill Simmons, of whom you may have heard, does a podcast every few days in which he interviews amusing folks on various topics. Sometimes they’re national sports figures (usually media personalities), but often they’re just his old college buddies; for example, every week he calls his buddy JackO for a segment he calls “Johnny, Are You Worried?” in which they establish, on a scale of 1-10, how worried JackO is about his beloved Yankees.

Seeing as how the baseball season has just started, and the Phillies bullpen fell all over themselves to give up 5 late-inning runs to the Nationals and lose 11-6, I figured I’d establish how worried I am about the Phils chances this year. Right now, I’m hovering at about, oh, an 8. The problems are manifold and detailed, but in as few words as possible: inconsistent offense, and horrible, horrible pitching.

In spring training (which of course has as much bearing on the regular season as monsoons in Burma do with rainfall in Kevlavik, but still), the lineup seemed equally likely to get shut out as it did to score eleven runs. They scored nearly as many runs against Toronto on 3/23 (15) as they did in the following 5 games (a total of 17). Hopefully they can smooth things out and score between 4 and 7 runs a game consistently, but until they do, they’re gonna lose a lot of games because the pitching staff isn’t likely to keep many opposing offenses under 5 runs.

The pitching staff consists of: Brett Myers, Cole Hamels, and 8-10 guys who may or may not be able to throw a baseball through a barn door from 60.5 feet on any given day. They keep saying Brad Lidge will be back, and then he kneels to tie his shoe and they have to carve more shrapnel out of his knee. If I see 20 saves out of him this year I’ll consider it a remarkable feat. Gordon, meanwhile, looked shaky in Spring Training and has a 2008 ERA of 135.00 (allowed 5 runs in 1/3 inning on Monday). Myers looked fantastic in preseason action (ERA of 1.13), but only went 5 innings on Monday and allowed three.

Hamels is, well, Hamels. He’ll be fine. People are praising him for being a more vocal leader, but frankly most of the time he sounds to me like he’s whining. Whining about his contract, whining about not having an on-staff chiropractor, etc. Being a leader is about saying positive things to the media, and dealing with the negative stuff behind the scenes. All of this will be forgotten, of course, if he strikes out 240 guys this year with an era of 3.20, wins 18+ games, and gets the team to the playoffs. Then he earns a permanent spot on “Hearn’s List Of Dudes He Would Go Gay For” (which includes Chase Utley and Justin Timberlake, amongst others).

The rest of the rotation? Kyle Kendrick had a spring training ERA of 9.68. The Artist Formerly Known As Adam Eaton posted one of 7.41 and didn’t win a single game. Jamie Moyer is 45 years old and has over 3500 innings in his arm, but he’s failed to start at least 30 games a season only once in the past decade. He’ll win at least 12 games, but he’ll probably also lose at least 12 games.

The best guy in the bullpen? Probably Ryan Madsen, who I once watched give up 10 earned runs in 1+ inning. On the other hand, I’ve also seen him come in in the 7th and get three quick outs, two of them Ks. So his appearances will always be interesting, in that it’s always interesting that my left arm goes numb when he enters the game.

So how do I foresee the season shaping up? I foresee another slow start in April, with the team fighting to play catchup the rest of the year. I foresee Utley, Rollins, and Howard making the all-star team. I foresee Pat Burrell playing reasonably well, but spending time on the DL. I foresee a bullpen ERA in the mid-5s. And worst of all, I see Johan Santana winning the NL Cy Young and the Mets winning 94 games.

Spammers are getting tricky, I tell you! It wasn’t enough to send us emails from people who could TOTALLY be folks I know, like “Reginald M. Jabberwocky” and “Anthouse Maltextract, III”, and putting in totally enticing subject headers like “u r smal? get girth fastly!” Now they’re appealing to everyone with a guilt complex. Today I received the following email subject, from a kind lady named Emilia Rudolph:

Why are you not replying?

I felt ashamed. All she wanted was for me to write back and console her tender heart. Perhaps she had been the victim of some kind of malfeasance, like a Nigerian spam scam, and just needed someone to whom she could pour her soul. So, I opened the mail1:

Hello! I am bored tonight. I am nice girl that would like to chat with you. Email me
at Louise@BestGolova.com only, because I am using my friend’s email to write this.
Would you mind if I share some of my pictures with you?

Well, this sounded like an opportunity! If there’s anything in this world I love, it’s nice girls willing to share their photography portfolios with me. Perhaps she had some nice architectural shots, or even some nice still-lifes! So I began writing my reply:

Hi Louise! Superb to hear from you. What sort of pictures do you have? I’d love to see them! I work mostly in a digital format, because my amateur eye isn’t capable yet of spotting the really quality shots until it’s often too late. My DSLR makes it so easy to just hold the button down and wait for the beauty to happen! Write back soon!

But, just before I hit “send,” I thought to myself: hm. Using her friend’s email? That seems a tad…shady. Perhaps I am setting myself up to be a victim of malfeasance, or VOM! That would be unacceptable. I do have a family to think of, after all. Damn you, Emilia/Louise, and your tantalizing offers of photography discourse! DAMN YOU TO HELL!

On a completely unrelated note, what the heck, Weather? Isn’t today an Equinox, aka One of Two Of The Mediumest-length Days Of The Year? Make with the springtime, Mother Earth! It’s like 45 degrees outside, and windy as all get-out! Unacceptable. Looking at the 10 Day Forecast for New Castle, it looks like we’re barely even getting out of the 50s by April. I can’t speak for anybody but myself (and possibly my cats, who defer to me as I am the Supreme Lord and Governor of Hearn House and they are my subjects), but after the tepid, nearly snow-free winter we’ve had, I’m ready for some warm weather, shorts, and slightly translucent beach shirts. (I like to make sure as many people as possible are aware of the tragedy that is my nude torso.) In short: it’s cold, and quit it. The end.

Oh, and happy End of Lent, for those of you who celebrate such things. I’ll be at church tonight and most of the weekend, doing my utmost to stave off damnation. Hope you manage the same!

Footnote 1: I open all my mail in a PHP web browser, not some stupid product like Outlook, so I’m not terribly concerned about viruses and malware and all that good stuff. Worry not: I know what I am doing.

Who’s the king of unfulfilled promises? (Points to self) This guy!!! Here is the batch of Charles pictures I promised would be up on Friday. Forgive me; I know not how stupid I am.

Go see “In The Heights” on Broadway, as it is totally rad. Don’t believe me? Here’s what the NY Times had to say on the subject. I think they’re pretty much spot-on, which means I agree with the Times on something, a scary thought. The music and dancing are FANTASTIC (the pit orchestra is particularly good), the dialogue reasonably funny, the plot sort of predictable and disjointed, but it’s Musical Theater, not an Albee play.

It doesn’t hurt that our friend Shaun is in it, primarily as a chorus member but also an understudy for two of the leads. So go see it.

We drove up last Saturday, a day those of you on the Eastern Seaboard was mostly one long torrential downpour. The drive was stressful. Two hours of driving at 60mph on horrible New Jersey roads, not being able to see more than about 100 feet in front of the car. Seriously, NJ, is there any reason why your roads have to be bumpier than my face? The Jersey Turnpike is one long rumble strip. It was particularly nice when the wind would blow from right to left, and I’d steer to the right to keep in my lane, and watch in wonder as the car continued to drift to the left because the front wheels had started hydroplaning. I’d lift off the gas, the wheels would stick, and the car would jerk to the right. One poor soul almost spun his Jetta in front of me, would would have resulted in Death and Dismemberment for all concerned.

We finally arrived in Manhattan, parked at a reasonably non-shady parking garage near Times Square, and walked the half-block to the DoubleTree Suites. My parents were up for the weekend as well and had already checked in, so we just grabbed a room key from the desk and headed up. Thank SGLBJ for high-speed elevators, says I, because we were on the 29th floor. The view was fantastic, and I had my camera, so it’s a surprising oversight of mine that I didn’t take a single picture of anything all weekend. Sorry about that.

I plopped myself in a chair to try and bleed off some stress, while Sarah mixed me a tasty intoxicating beverage from the stash we’d brought with us (because if you’re going to open the minibar at a hotel anywhere in the world, and triply so in New York, you may as well just start wiping your ass with twenties). After we changed clothes and relaxed a bit, we headed out to meet our friends for dinner at “El Deportivo,” which sounds like some kind of place the INS takes detainees for a last meal before shipping them back to Nicaragua. We ordered drinks, met up with our friends, and then I left.

I had to work, you see. Some application guys had scheduled a major upgrade for the weekend, and needed someone to run a backup of their system first, and I was the guy. I’m always the guy. Remember when I said I’d been working too hard? Yeah, having to interrupt drinking and fun to go do work is not good times. Luckily, it went superfast, so I ran back out to meet up with the family and friends at a bar near the Richard Rodgers theatre named “House of Brews,” which had cask ale. This is not something one normally finds in America, so I had one, and it was fantastic. Man…English beer. Good stuff.

The theatre was pretty bumpin’, a good crowd for the last preview show before Opening Night (which was on Sunday). We had pretty decent seats, on the lower level, good view of the stage. My knees were pressed hard into the back of the seat in front of me, which kinda sucked for the guy sitting therein, because I have a tendency to start pretending to play the drums when I hear funky latin beats, and my bass-drum leg was making that poor fellow’s seat bounce up and down like Carmen Electra on a trampoline. He almost turned around to say something and I realized and stopped, but it was an effort to remain reasonably still for the remainder of the performance.

Luckily, it was captivating. Like I said, a little predictable, but who cares about that. I know how “No Country For Old Men” ends (I read the book), but I’m still beyond stoked to see the movie. “In The Heights” is the kind of show that I almost hope doesn’t have too long a run, because it’d be nice to have MTI or Tams-Witmark get hold of it so I could do it at Brandywine High in a few years, although we’d have to have one HELL of a pit band to pull it off. It’s just fun from beginning to end. And the guy that wrote it, and stars in it, is all of 28. Speaking as someone who is slightly older than 28: I hate him. Go see the show.

After the show, we met Shaun at the stage door, and he was able to take us inside and show us the set, which was ridiculously detailed. One of the leads had brought in a high school portrait of herself which they hung in the shop owned by her character’s parents. There was an ATM with graffiti on it (it appeared to have signatures of the cast and/or crew all over it in bright neon colors). The sidewalk upstage had GUM STAINS ON IT. These are the kind of details you can do, I guess, when you have months to construct a set. (My favorite set of all time, although I’m hardly an expert on such things, was the one they had for “Sunset Boulevard” where a house descended from the rafters. Not a small house, either, but the entire downstairs interior of a Hollywood mansion, covering almost the entire stage, simply dropped into place, with Glenn Close walking around on it as they did so.)

Sarah and I took the opportunity to bust a few moves on the stage, so we can now say (and in fact have been telling everyone we know) that we have Danced On Broadway.

Afterwards, Shaun took us to a club named either “W” or “The Whiskey,” I’m not entirely sure which. The confusion stemmed from the fact that it was all basically one club, but with two completely separate environments: a 7th floor lounge, where we stood around for a while and were bored, and a basement dance club, where we found ourselves around midnight and simply threw down the moves for upwards of 90 minutes. I awoke on Sunday with crippling thigh pain because of my unstoppableness on the dance floor. Eventually, we tired, and some folks had to take trains and cars to get back to their normal lives, but the rest of us headed to a pizza place, where I ate half a pie and part of another to soak up the staggering amount of gin I’d taken in by that point. Eventually, Sarah and I made it back to the hotel, where we crashed hard on the pull-out bed.

The next day, we managed to actually get up, get breakfast, and get on the road shortly after noon, and aside from an incident where I did something stupid in the Lincoln Tunnel and almost caused an accident, made it back to Delaware safe and sound. Whoo. The next day, I went back to work, and nearly wept at my desk.

Tomorrow: the final installment of pictures of Charles from like 2 months ago. I’ll have to take some more; he’s probably grown an inch since then.

Okay, so here is what has been going on, and it is crazy.

We have a new customer at work, about whom I can basically say nothing, except that

it’s actually a pretty cool client to work with, and
contractual obligations have required us to have things in place on an INSANE timetable.

So, in short, I’ve been working ridiculously hard, something that is anathema to my very soul. This has left little time for sleep, not least because the stress prevents me from sleeping very well, and when coupled with the spring high school show we’re doing again this year (Wizard of Oz, April 10th,11th,12th, be there or be crushed by a flying house) and the supposedly-only-21-months-old-but-the-size-of-a-3-year-old toddler that’s destroying my house, I end up doing things like writing 89-word run-on sentences with multiple nested parenthetical asides (like this one (and this one)).

Luckily, things at work have slowed JUST a teense (although I still have some stuff ramping up that I’m hoping to get ahead of before it gets too insane), just in time of course for the musical to get super busy. Extra-luckily, we learned from our mistake with last year’s show (doing it in mid-March after only about 2 months of rehearsals, many of which got snowed out) and are doing it almost a full month later this year, plus not many rehearsals got snowed out, so we’re in good shape. Of course, we have to deal with spring break in the middle of rehearsals, because Easter is about as early as it can possibly be, but that’s a small price to pay for, say, not opening this weekend, which would have me cutting my legs like emo girl.

Plus, I found a little time to start working on a novel. Yes, I’m writing a novel! As you might expect, it’s pretty bad! Like, almost painful. But I’ve decided that dammit, I’m gonna finish it, even if it’s just a practice one. If it turns out to be not a complete embarrassment, I might share it with you. If after about 17 drafts it actually ends up being half-decent, I might send it around to some publishers, as soon as I figure out how to do that. This is not likely, however, as so far the only redeeming quality seems to be that some of my fishing reel trivia is correct.

See? I told you. BAD.

Later this week, you’ll have one more righteous picture update from Charles, and I might actually take a break from going insane to tell you all about going to see “In The Heights” on Broadway last week. Hint: I HAVE DANCED ON THE BROADWAY STAGE!

Charles has been busy, again. Woo!

In lieu of actually writing something (things continue to be INSANE at the office, and I end up either spending all evening doing work, or actively avoiding computers at all costs), I give you a recent update to CharlesHearn.com. Enjoy! There will be more in weeks to come.

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