Monday, January 23, 2012

The Week in Sabers

Thursday I was surrounded by geeks waving light sabers. Saturday I was with a room full of fencers waving sabers of a more traditional kind. All part of my New Year's resolution to meet new people and do new things.

First came pub trivia with Geeks Who Drink. My team was at a bit of disadvantage with some of the 21st-century pop trivia questions, but when it came to naming the metal grate that barred access to a medieval castle,* we were aces. After briefly being in the top 10, we ended up No. 11 for the evening (out of 14). A less than stellar debut for me, I admit, but that just means there's room for improvement next time.

Then I got in touch with my inner swashbuckler at Laguna Fencing Center. Actually, I confirmed my suspicion that I wouldn't last long in a real pirate battle, but with blunted blades and protective gear and comparably unskilled opponents, it was a lot of fun.

Tuesday, January 17, 2012

I had a blog once.

Looks like nobody's been here for a while, eh? From 2005 to 2010, I used this blog to report on and perhaps promote my endeavors as an entertainer. I'm afraid that part of my life has been rather neglected lately as I became distracted by things like earning an income, finding a place to live, eating, and other such nonsense, which is why there were no posts here in 2011. I figured no one was interested in the mundane trivia of my life.

Then again, considering the lack of traffic this place had during the peak of my posting, no one was much interested in my entertainment career either. So here goes the mundane trivia.

Having major medical insurance again after a long, nervous hiatus (Have I mentioned my "entertainment career"?), I went for my first doctor visit in years. The assistant took my blood pressure and left me by myself in the exam room. From what I remembered about physical exams, you're supposed to take off your clothes, so I set there thinking how embarrassing it would be to have the doctor walk in and say, "Why the hell are fully dressed?" Not nearly as awkward as having him walk in and say, "Why the hell are you naked?", I decided. Then again, it was surprisingly warm in the exam room, and I began to think naked might actually be more comfortable. So I compromised by unbuttoning my shirt so I could just be sitting there casually when he came in and play it like I was just starting to get undressed or simply making myself at ease, whichever seemed more appropriate. Then I started to creep myself out a little because it was starting to feel like I was setting up a seduction scene, so I rebuttoned my shirt and rolled my sleeves up to my elbows in a manly fashion.

When the doctor came in, he asked me why I was there and I started explaining that I just came in because I hadn't been to a doctor in a while, which suddenly seemed liked a totally insufficient reason for taking a day off work and wasting the time of busy professionals, so I mentioned that I had a couple of moles on my back.

Suddenly, I had a reason to take off my shirt and the doctor had a reason to examine me. Everything was falling into a place, and our respective roles and motivations were crystal clear. He excused himself and said he would remove the moles after his assistant collected some blood samples. She came in, and drew three vials of blood, while I sat there wondering why I hadn't put my shirt back on.  She kept her shirt on the whole time off course, and there I sat feeling exposed and inappropriate. I'm sure she's seen worse, I told myself. Then again, maybe she hadn't. Maybe this was the kind of medical practice where patients stay fully clothed unless nudity is medically necessary. There certainly wasn't any of the head-turning and coughing that I remember from previous physicals. I wasn't about to ask anyone to hold me in that special way, either. That would just seem cheap.

After she left the room, I put my shirt back on, walked to another room, took off my shirt, and had my moles snipped off.

Is it odd that I miss them? I didn't even notice they were there most of the time, but know whenever I move my left arm and the shirt rubs against the spot where the bigger one used to be, I can't feel it there, or I can feel it not there.

Well, at least when I take my shirt off this summer, people won't be staring at those moles.