Also, last week Fark, a site I really like, linked to Raymi's drinking article on Rocketpack. That was a nice surprise and since I read Fark every day, it was a bit startling to see this site listed on there. Very cool.

Two weeks ago I had my 4 wisdom teeth removed and an unnervingly large hole in my jaw repaired. Before I went in for the operation, I talked to a lot of people who had had their own wisdom teeth out, and everyone said it wasn’t so bad. Although, my operation was slightly different because it was considered “complex” due to the hole in the jaw that needed to be filled, I figured it probably wouldn’t be too painful.

But, I was wrong.

I've spent the last two weeks wavering between searing white hot mouth pain and giggly pain reliever highs. Actually, the pain reliever highs weren’t too bad, but they only last for a few hours at a time, and apparently they cause liver damage. Brilliant.

At least they’re out now, and I never have to go through the procedure again. And as long as I never have to have any kind of medical work done on me again for the rest of my life, I’m sure I’ll be just fine.

He did say there was a small chance that there may be a "tingling" in my lower jaw for about a month after the procedure, which of course is just doctor talk for "there is a pretty good chance your jaw will fall off"

I guess I could blame my absence on being very busy in the real world with work and rehersals and school and things like that. But the simple truth is: I was asleep.

One day, a few months ago, I curled up in to a big pile of warm laundry and fell into a deep slumber.

And then, thanks to the warm rays of spring sunlight, I awoke from my winter nap to the sound of snow melting and baby chicks chirping, and reentered the world of the living, looking for berries and fresh fish to replenish my weakened body.

In Macbeth I played a messenger. My job was, at various points, to run up and give Macbeth bad news. Then he'd get enraged and throw me across stage. Even though it was a small part, a fair number of people I don't know have recognized me and said they liked the job I did. Except for one old lady, who (so I hear from one of the ushers), didn't like the fact that I was the only person in the cast to use a fake English accent.

Trouble is, that's my real accent. Everyone else on the cast was just fine using their regular Canadian accent, so it hadn't occurred to me that my own accent would stick out.

When I heard about what she said, I felt a little bad, like she was criticizing my acting or something. Except the accent has nothing to do with my acting, it's just there. It's like someone criticizing your makeup when you're not wearing any.

After a few seconds of maniacal screaming and swerving, I realized I could kinda make out the red lights of the car in front, so I followed that car until it got into the city and could park and wait for it to de-fog again.

..and I can't get to sleep because this game keeps tempting me to play it. It's like the original Kickups game, except with a soccer ball. (I think the soccer ball is what makes it addictive).

In other news, I'm going to be in a play... Macbeth. We had the first rehearsal earlier tonight. I'm not sure what my role is yet and I may be playing multiple parts, so I've categorized myself as "misc," or if it turns out I don't have any lines: "stage eye-candy."

Unless he's all-powerful and all-knowing, like God. Which then raises some wacky theological dilemmas.

I just did all my Christmas shopping earlier today. I went with a friend, and we decided the best way we could both get our shopping done is if we took turns in buying our gifts. This was a bad judgment call on her behalf since, while she took about 10 minutes to find each of her presents, I took a solid 40 minutes or so for each of mine. We started at midday and finished at around 9pm.

And the thing is, I even planned out what I was going to get everyone for their presents. Yet when it came down to it, I ended up getting them all completely different things.

My friend was very patient with me. I’d spend half an hour waffling over to buy my brother either the new N*Sync CD or a velvet Jesus (both of which I assume he probably wants), and then, as soon as we went shopping for something she needed, I would get all fidgety and bored after 3 minutes.

I also got around to using my credit card finally. Ever since I signed up for it, it’s been sitting in my wallet just along for the ride, waiting for it’s opportunity to help me build a healthy credit rating (or to put me into a spiraling, uncontrollable debt. Whatever.)

Which brings us to.. a famous Toronto drag queen is running to be the leader of the Canadian Aliance party political party. This is nothing to unusual, except for the fact that the Canadian Aliance is usually made up of extreemly conservative non-drag queens.

And before you yell "bah, she'll never win!" (why are you yelling?), it turns out she placed 3rd out of 25 when she ran for mayor of Toronto.

• Blogger's been really flaky for us recently, and it was becoming a pain to post anything. (Although we still hold a place in our hearts for blogger since they did make us as a blog of note and put us on the map.. well, a little map).


• Now there's a searchable archive. We also moved the old Blogger generated archives (March 2000 to November 2001) to the new system, except those archives aren't searchable (but all the new stuff is).


• Commenting on individual posts is possible by clicking on the 2 comments link bellow. The Dirty Rumors message board still works.


• We be looking pretty now. The old NY skyline layout was jarringly outdated all of a sudden, and the more recent rocketship-just-floating-on-the-page layout was a bit boring. Now, thanks to the moon, we look good.

There were two pickle jars. One of the jars was fresh, which was the one we were going to be eating our pickles from. And the other jar was pure set decoration, and had been sitting in a warm corner of the theatre for a several weeks.

I carefully measured out the pickles, so there was exactly 1 pickles for each performer, no more, no less.

However, for many of the pickle eating scenes, I was backstage, unable to see what was going on.

After the show I noticed there was still one pickle left in the jar. I know we'd all eaten a pickle, so why was there one left over?

Somebody ate one of the old, stale, mouldy pickles.