The Bloody Doors Off

This map shows the concentration of visitors to my blog in the past 365 days.

Does anyone know?

I mean, this guy used to be in everything.

Remember The West Wing?

He was there.

And.

Uh.

He was in a lot of shit.

When you needed a non-offensive, milquetoast sort.

I never mentioned my brief foray into acting.

Or, to be precise, my failed attempt at an acting career.

My agent, whose name I forget — I remember the acting/modelling agency was on Dufferin Avenue north of College Street. That’s pretty fucked. I can’t recall my only agent’s name but I remember where the converted house was.

(Like the time I transcribed for Sharon, Lois & Bram back in my early 20s. I introduced them to Billy Vera and the Beaters’ jazz cover of Peanut Butter, and they absolutely fuckin’ loved it. Which I have searched for in vain these past years. Like it’s been erased and only I remember it.)

I had to go back and reread the post to remember where I was going.

I sure as hell derailed this train.

Right. My agent.

She did alright. Landed me two gigs. One was an improvised pilot for one of a plethora of Hot Judge shows.

Sample dialogue:

Her: You don’t do anything around the house.

Me: I garden.

Her: Pulling up weeds from the tile isn’t gardening.

That never aired.

And then there’s the commercial that went national in the U.S. for Ultra Dove dish detergent. I was SOC, and landed the part when i “finger-gunned” the camera, winked and clicked my teeth.

They used it in the final take.

I never got to see it, because it only aired in the U.S.

But, you say, wouldn’t your agent have gotten a copy of these for your reel?

You would be correct.

And she would have.

If she hadn’t quit the agency while I was vacationing (briefly, another story) in Dublin.

And I found out from my buddy John, who’d taken residence there a few years earlier.

And the modelling/acting agency became a modelling agency once more.

At least I got paid for the commercial.

But I took it as a sign.

It didn’t matter how many acting classes I took, I was no Sir Ian McKellan. Or Don McKellar.

Or Paul Reubens.

Okay I’m tired.

My cat just told me to fuck off.

I’m going to bed.

I clean up nicely. Glad I got a haircut in before the Ontario government decides to shut everything down again.

Oh c’mon, you know it’s gonna happen.

Gods I’m tired.

Woke up at 6am.

Can’t fall back asleep.

Well I could.

If I didn’t have “All Star” by Smashmouth running through my head.

Somebody once told me
The world was gonna roll me
I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed

I’m definitely in ‘buyer beware’ mode of late.

I question everything, when it comes to money.

Which I suppose could be useful.

Making more thoughtful purchases.

But the more impulsive side of me, the problem I have when I’m manic, looms large.

I still haven’t decided whether or not to take Lithium.

Granted, I’ve been weening myself off the Abilify. So far, that’s been going fine. No adverse side effects. My mood hasn’t nosedived.

So naturally I wonder if it’s been having an effect on me at all.

Hmmm. I increased my Wellbutrin just before. That could be balancing things out.

I should consult with my pharmacist before starting Lithium, just to check for possible interactions with other medications.

Right. Time to veg on the couch and hope work comes in.

Oh. And haircut today. Huzzah.

I got nuthin’ tonight.

Yet another consequence of Covid is not seeing my family in person.

Maybe twice this year I’ve seen my brother Kevin mask-to-mask, where we’d socially distance-drink Tim’s coffee and play Scrabble.

And we got to visit my mother-in-law Renee last month. Again, socially distant, all protocols taken.

But for the most part, it’s been phone calls and DUO (because I adamantly don’t want an iPhone, we can’t Facetime).

My want of an Android phone is ridiculous.

Even Kevin switched over to iPhone. And he’s the less tech-savvy one of the three brothers.

I digress.

But I haven’t been in the same room with my father or step-father in over 400 days.

Wayne and Donna are living in Alberta, to be with their kids and grandkids.

He and I just talked.

Wayne says they are coming to visit in either late September or late October, provided Covid keeps waning.

That’ll be an emotional homecoming.

Ever see the show Hello/Goodbye? There’s multiple versions of it around the world. The premise is the host walks through Pearson International Airport and talks with people who are either waiting for a loved one to arrive, or sending one away. It never failed to tug at my heartstrings. Shame it wasn’t renewed.

I never got to say goodbye to my mom.

She passed on October 5th, 2016 from a heart attack. When we got to the hospital, the doctor told us there was nothing they could do, and to fortify ourselves and say good-bye.

But as we prepared to the leave the waiting room, a nurse entered and told us she’d had another heart attack and they couldn’t revive her.

We still went in to see her.

I remember mum’s face, contorted in pain. Her eyes open, as if staring into the great beyond.

But it wasn’t her any more.

I still miss her.

I always will.

Today I provided my recent credit card statement to the business partner who is discussing the situation at the company.

In doing so, I discovered a NEW suspect charge on my card. $180 to a photography studio.

Even the name of the company is suspect.

I’ve blocked my card and asked for a replacement. Also opened a dispute, which is gonna take up to a month to complete.

To the hacker who got a hold of my card:

Don’t press me, motherfucker.

I’m feeling dangerous stupid.

I figured out the charge.

Okay.

I have a title for today’s post.

I’ve entered the Toronto Fringe based on a title alone.

AND got in.

So. Yeah.

(8 hours later.)

Yeah. I got nothin’.

Even my dreams were boring.

Not that I can really remember them.

When I was a kid, I had such vivid dreams.

Flying, just high enough to clear the overhead wires.

A continuing story about arriving on a parallel earth.

That one was fun.

I had such an imagination as a child.

And today?

Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Zilch.

Bupkiss.

I can’t help but think.

If it’s this bad now.

What happens when I take lithium?

I need to be creative.

It’s my lifeblood.

My soul.

Take that away.

And what am I?

I’m feeling frustrated vulnerable tonight.

I just had the most interesting conversation with myself.

I was witty. I made valid points.

I changed my own mind.

I’m in trouble.

Aren’t I.

Fuck that noise.

It’s a panic attack.

Harold is riding in on a horse.

I recognize it’s a panic attack.

That’s a good step.

I can deal with that.

Because it’ll pass.

Music.

I need music.