Wheeeeekend Recap

Friday was a long-ass day. Aside from being ridiculously busy, an announcement was made that means more Big Upheaval, and if I didn't see the writing on the wall before, it's damn clear now. Omens, people. Pay attention to them.

Anyway. This is about Baltimore. Baltimore was fun. Mike came to pick me up and our ride down was fairly uneventful, save the Finnish Metal music that I just couldn't handle. Somewhere in Maryland I snapped and plugged in my iPod and forced to Mike listen to real music.

We were the last to arrive, everyone was already gathered in the kitchen when we arrived, sipping beers and being jolly. Al was cooking. Lauren was helping. Nina and Dave were speaking at the decibels expected should one of them be in North Dakota, arguing about God only knows what. Mike joined right in. Teresa could do nothing but laugh. And I hauled out my camera immediately.

Al, because he is a frickin' genius, made The Best Damn Sangria I've Ever Tasted. I'm sort of kicking myself for forgetting to get the recipe from him.



Notice how it is GONE. We drank 2 pitchers of this stuff. It was light, sweet, refreshing, and most importantly, alcoholic. Al made chorizo con queso, which I think was made with Mexican sausage, cheese, and awesomeness. He made an out-of-this-world bean dip, a fiery salsa that caused Dave to cry, and the fixings for both chicken and beef tacos. I've said it before and I'll say it again: If Teresa hadn't already nabbed him, I would so marry Al and live out my days eating anything he cooked and being a jolly fat woman.

Speaking of Tree and Al:



They're rather adorable. Hosts with the most! Anyway, Dave came with a play he's written and asked us to do a table reading to help him iron out problems. This allowed for Mike to perform his Orson Wells impression and allowed Al to showcase his old timey-radio voice. As you can imagine, this led to a lot of laughter.





Or maybe that was just the sangria. After a lot of eating, drinking, and chatting, we made our plans for Saturday and headed off to bed.

Saturday morning brought about some girlie time, and us ladies headed off to an Herb Festival at a local park.



Plants were everywhere, Teresa bought at least half of them, we confused fennel and dill, Lauren nearly became orgasmic smelling the Mexican sage, I took a frillion photos, and we had a fabulous time. As we were following the path through the park, we turned a corner and suddenly OWLS.



They were just there. And really close. And having lived all my life in the vicinity of owls, strangely enough I've never been really close to one like this before. It was kind of cool. Lauren called them "cat birds" because they were so alert and...wiry. It felt like they were about to pounce at any second. There was a wee tiny screech owl that I wanted to keep in my pocket.



After all the herbs, we headed back to the house and began planning the rest of the day. Al decided (okay, okay, we begged him) to make homemade Dark Chocolate Rum Walnut ice cream (I KNOW) and this led to Lauren and I accompanying him on a quest to get the ingredients. When we got back, Al began cooking again (bless you Al, bless you) and we went to the back yard/park to play frisbee.







Plum tuckered out from frisbee, we came back, sat on the front porch and feasted on organic hot dogs and hamburgers, with the aforementioned ice cream for dessert.

Sunday, after a big breakfast Dave and Lauren left us (losers) and the remaining cool kids headed to the streets of Baltimore for an art festival. More precisely, SoWeBo -- South West Bohemian Art Festival. And here my camera exploded because I took SO MANY pictures.











After the arts fest, we went off to grab some dinner. We went out for Egyptian food, which was fantastic. I had fata with lamb. I am still unsure what exactly fata is, but whatever the hell it was it was delicious. Then we walked around a local book store (of course I bought 4 books, Jesus) to kill time before going to see a movie.

A word about the movie. I had already seen the movie (Pirates) with Jim and Stephanie on Thursday, and I didn't mind seeing it again. However. I was beyond fan-girl excited that we were going to see it at The Senator. See, The Senator is the last big movie house in Baltimore. It seats a thousand, and the interior is all art deco and cool. But I knew about The Senator because it's the theater my boyfriend worked hard to save and has many of his movie premiers/fundraising screenings there. So when Tree suggested we go to see a movie there, the very first thing that popped out of my mouth was, "That's Edward Norton's theater!" Outside of the theater they have squares of sidewalk showing the movies that have premiered there, designed to look like the movie titles and such, with the key actors names signed in the concrete ala Grauman's Chinese Theatre. I may or may not have reached down to briefly touch one of the obviously fake EN signatures. Shut up.

Shut UP, I tell you.

The theatre was great though. I'd forgotten what it's like to see a movie with that many people -- I vaguely remember seeing some movie as a kid in a theater like that. I'm sure it was soon replaced with a multiplex. It's a whole different energy in a place like that. It was grand.

Monday Al, Mike, and I headed to more bookstores for good deals (...and I bought 4 more books...leave me alone) while Nina and Tree planted the plants purchased at the herb fest. After book goodness (Atomic Boooks was closed due to holiday, bah), we ate Indian food and headed back to PA.

All in all, a fantastic weekend. Happy Memorial Day!

Gah

I just spent the better part of the day sifting through photos from the Wheeekend only to have the CD I was saving the images on come spitting out of the computer for no reason. Meaning I lost all of those lovely images I had just resized. Meaning I have to start all over again.

Fffffft.

Stay tuned. Goodness to come.

Wheeekend!

After a couple of days laying low, I am so ready for the weekend, which I have dubbed WheeeKend (to be pronounced with emphasis on the Wheeee!). This is not to be confused with the WiiKened that I am sure Renee is going to be reveling in.

Anyway. I'm determined to have a good time this wheeekend. I'm headed to Baltimore to visit this sweet girl and her husband, along with a bunch of other Cabrini/141 fools. There are loose plans for the long wheeekend, including, but not limited to:

• attending an Oriole’s game
  
• geocaching
  
• attending an herb festival
  
• Games that this nutcase will make us play just so he can house us in trivia. Dude. We've already come to terms: you know every piece of useless information in the universe. You win.
  
• Me being wholly obnoxious and constantly snapping pictures of everyone and everything
  
• Drinking
  
• Delicious food
  
• 17,576 occasions for laughter

And really what more can you ask for? Have a good wheeekend you guys.

Self Diagnosis

This morning Miss J observed, "You're Katie without all the Katieness. You're not up. You're down a couple of notches. Are you all right?"

My answer was just to shrug and say, "I guess."

The truth is, I feel very, very weird.

It started this past weekend with all my crazy mood swings. Come Monday I was definitely down and grumpy. Coupled with severe cramps and aches, I assumed it was part of that lovely time of the month. But then Tuesday evening brought on severe anxiety and worse, the onset of nausea. Before bed I took some Pepto Bismo and hoped for the best. Falling asleep was difficult as I kept feeling sweaty one second and then freezing cold the next. Vaguely, as I drifted off to sleep, I thought that I had a fever. I went on to dream of being in a clean white hospital being tended for by a tall comforting man. I woke in the middle of the night feeling cool, calm, and dry. I rolled over and fell back to sleep.

When I woke up yesterday morning I felt like hot death. My nausea was back with full force. I felt light headed and dizzy, cold and clammy. And it felt like someone was jamming a rusty screwdriver into my forehead repeatedly. I went to the bathroom, where I discovered that the Pepto Bismo had turned my tongue black, something that initially my brain didn't connect and caused me some slight panic, seeing my tongue all black for apparently no reason.

I felt so sick and awful, even vomiting a little bit. And stupidly, I went into work, clutching a bottle of ginger ale. But even I knew it was retarded. I saw my boss and told her, essentially, "I feel like ass' ass, I'm completing XYZ and if I don't feel better afterwards I'm going home." And she said, "Forget XYZ, go home now if you don't feel well." Considering that in the 3 years I've been here I've only ever taken 1 sick day, I decided she was right. I sat for awhile trying to get some work done anyway, but between the pulsing headache, the continuous nausea, and the slight stars I was seeing, I wasn't getting anything done. I gave up. Because I am a complete ninny, I took home a copy of the guide, thinking I would work on it later when I was feeling better.

I went home and collapsed on the couch. And truthfully, I don't remember much about this time, except that it felt very long waiting for one minute to pass and the next to begin. Eventually Mike came down stairs and asked if I was sick. Somehow it was 2:30 in the afternoon, and I felt a loss of time because I know I hadn't slept, but I have no idea where those two hours went. I went upstairs to bed at his suggestion and then I did sleep, a deep long sleep that lasted 4 and half hours. When I finally woke up, I felt better. My headache was still lingering, but my nausea was almost completely gone. I was still wary of food, so I settled in on the couch with some more ginger ale and the UK version of The Office on DVD. Ricky Gervais and Martin Freeman -- they'll cure what ails you. By then I felt well enough to try eating something, but nothing seemed appealing. Eventually I settled on some corn flakes, which stayed down. I made Mike sit through the Lost season finale (a separate post will be needed for that) during which I confessed I was worried about going to bed and not being able to sleep since I had slept so long in the afternoon. Mike promised me he had good drugs that would help me get to sleep should I need them -- one of the nice things about having a roommate who is a paramedic. It turns out that I didn't need them. As the 11 o'clock news was coming on I could feel my eyes getting heavy. I went to bed and slept the entire night through.

Today only slight remnants of my headache remain, nothing I can't live through with a couple Advil, and some stiffness in my muscles. I also feel a bit tired and washed out, sort of like I've been through the ringer. And while I don't feel nauseous anymore, I don't really feel like eating either.

Tammi tried explaining it as my body catching up to all the crap I've been through all year, pointing out that hardly a weekend goes by where I don't have plans coming out the wazzoo. And she's not wrong. However, in my hypochondriac "you're not dying you just can't think of anything better to do" way, I've searched the internet and come up with another diagnosis.

I've just had my first migraine.

I've always sort of thought as migraines as nothing more than severe headaches, with sensitivity to light. Since the light wasn't bothering me, I didn't think this was a migraine. And since I'd never had one before I didn't realize how rotten they were and how long they can last.

This migraine brought into sharp relief that I need to take better care of myself. Because on one hand, Tammi’s right. I have run myself ragged this year. But more than that, I haven’t been to the doctor in close to seven years.

Seven. Years.

I’m so like my father sometimes, it’s scary. Going in for “just a check up” seems silly, and if I’m not seriously ill, why bother? So the last time I was in a doctor’s office was for my mandatory hepatitis shot for college.

Recently, my aunt was diagnosed with some thyroid problems. My grandmother, my great grandmother, my great aunts and my cousins all have thyroid issues. This is something that is hereditary, and more prevalent in females. Looking it up on Web MD, some of the symptoms are weight gain, mood swings, fatigue, and migraines. There are also symptoms that I don’t have, such as yellowish skin, thinning hair, and memory problems.

I’m probably projecting some of this, being a hypochondriac. Most likely I’m fine. And even if I do have these thyroid problems, it’s nothing that can’t be treated and handled with some medication.

In either case, I think it’s time to make an appointment.

UPDATE: I am feeling much, much better. A doctor's appointment has been made, regardless. And since my mother just sprang the news on me that thyroid problems also run on her side of the family it's more important than ever to get that checked out, just for safety's sake.

Cheering up, a bit

How could I not, when I've just seen this?

Weekend Recap: Addiction, Avocadoes, Gooooal!, Lonliness

People, this is serious. I have a problem. I can't stop buying cameras. Somehow I managed to acquire 4 cameras in less than 48 hours. It started when I bought the pop-art camera and the DIY Pinhole camera because I had been wanting them for a little while. Then talking about it with my friend, she told me her Mom had a 1950's Brownie Bullet, and would I want it? Damn skippy. I even found a place online that still sells 127 film (albeit for $6.99 a roll plus shipping, yikes). Score! Saturday brought a flurry of flea markets and yard sales where I found a sweet little Vivitar for only $3! And just this very second, while looking online for a photo of that Vivitar, I discovered that camera is worth about $89. I think I got myself a bargain. And you all know that to me thriftiness and bargains are like obtaining Nirvana.

Friday night was a happy hour that initially I had been looking forward to, but once there found myself feeling less than enthusiastic. I ended up feeling sort of detached and out of place, something that was not helped when I coworker who I don't get to see much sat down next to me and started in on the whole "So why are you not dating anyone" line of questioning. Two drinks and an appetizer later I was ready to book out of there. I settled in at home on the couch with Dill and a book, cozy and content until I realized that the couch, Dill, and the book are all very probable reasons for why I'm not dating anyone.

Saturday morning was filled with the aforementioned thrifty goodness. After several good finds (I also got books, shocker, and an interesting piece of original art) I headed to Whole Foods to buy the necessary ingredients for guacamole (second only to perhaps Maryanne's, my guacamole is AWESOME, yo), only none of the avocadoes were ripe. Seriously, none of them. I must have stood there for 20 minutes and felt up all the avocadoes. Then I remembered Rachel Ray saying something about forcing avocadoes to ripen if you keep them in a paper bag for a couple of hours. So I bought everything anyway and tried my hand at it. I am here to tell you that Rachel Ray LIES. Or else I am smoking crack and was imagining her telling me that. The avocadoes remained as hard as rocks, and no matter how I tried — microwaving them, whatever — they remained that way, making for the worst guacamole I’ve ever made in my life. I headed over to Stephanie’s then, damned guacamole and all, for the FA Cup finals where I learned that Manchester United is like the New York Yankees of football. No matter, Chelsea won, in overtime and even though Yahoo! Sports effed up the timing for us, we managed to celebrate the win anyway by downing Heinekens and a viewing of the British Acting Mafia in Love, Actually.

After all the British fun and goodness I raced home to change and headed off to an Anniversary party where imbibing two chocolate martinis, two glasses of chardonnay, and a glass of champagne reminded me that alcohol is a depressant and despite an awesome darts victory against Christopher earlier in the evening, left me feeling sad. Once at home I tried to rectify my mood with some cherries and a couple episodes of My Name is Earl, but nothing doing. I glumly headed off to bed, where I lay listening to moody music on my iPod until Fate stepped in. Fate had Becky call me at 1:30am on her way home from bar hopping, and while we didn’t talk about my depressing mood (I doubt I could have put a finger on what was bothering me anyway) just hearing her voice and chatting helped me immensely. After hanging up, I switched my iPod over to Monty Python and drifted off to sleep feeling much lighter.

Sunday I woke up early and grumpy. Of all the things that I could do on Sunday, the last thing I felt like doing was heading to a bar. But deep down I did want to go to the bar because I know that my time with my cousin Sean is limited (in the fall he’s headed to the University of Limerick to study Irish music). I dragged myself to Kildare’s where a cup or two of coffee and the brunch buffet dragged my emotional funk away and left me feeling happy and fond of everyone around me. A few Strongbows helped that feeling even more. Sean played excellent and to a good crowd since Cabrini’s graduation was that morning and everyone was coming in for post grad lunches and celebrations. Emma, who usually plays the flute with Sean and Caitlin wasn’t able to come and so a very attractive fiddle/banjo player filled in for her. I think I said all about two words to him, mostly because I was intimidated by him. He was my age, completely self taught, and phenomenal on both instruments. I can’t imagine being that good at anything I’ve taught myself.

It was later than I thought by the time we were done at Kildare’s so I headed home where I crashed out on the couch for a late nap and then a viewing of Match Point, which again somehow managed to depress the shit out of me.

I think I’ve decided that I’m manic-depressive.

Windy City

Dear Chicago,

STOP STEALING ALL MY FRIENDS AWAY, DAMN YOU.

OK, sorry. So fine. You can steal them away but only because I know they will be happy in you. But you better treat them nice. OR ELSE I'M COMING TO BEAT YOU UP. For real.

Also, can you re-adjust yourself so you're closer to Philadelphia? Just a smidge? Please? Just asking. Think about it, kay? Cool.

Be nice to my friends,

EightK

Big Decisions

PROS
It's a writing job
It's more money with bigger yearly bonuses
A chance to see my work get published on a monthly basis
Good networking opportunities
Possibility of travel
Looks great on my resume/good foot in the door for more serious magazine work

CONS
Technical writing, so it's boring and not creative at all and I don't care about subject matter
If I get the raise I expect next month, the money and bonuses pretty much equal out
I would work in close contact, on a daily basis, with someone I really dislike
In fact, this person would be my boss
And this person drives me insane as it is
And the work I would be doing is all his bitch-work that he really should be doing anyway
I would have to work on a PC (yes, this is a most definite CON)
I actually like production work and I would miss it a great deal
High, high stress levels


I think I know what my decision is. What would you do?

I has a fort

Oy. I had several ideas simmering for new entries, since it's been a full seven days (!) since I've posted anything. But then this morning I got an email that made me sad, and now it all seems kind of silly. Without going into too much detail, think some good thoughts about my friend. Do it because I say so and because you love me and I love her and she needs good karma/energy/whatever right now.

Since I don't feel like writing much, instead I give you photos, from recent Flickr updates. The first of which gives us the title of today's entry:



Dill has an unnatural attraction to my laptop bag. I'll come in and find him sleeping on it, kneading on it with his paws, or batting and chewing on the straps. Here, Dill has very cleverly constructed himself a fort using my laptop bag and the breakfast table. And I mean that quite literally. He somehow managed to flip open the flap of my laptop bag so it rested on the table (even though that means he probably had to stand on the table to do so WHICH HE IS NOT ALLOWED TO DO, DAMNIT DILL) and then curled up underneath and looked at me all, "What?" when I discovered him.

A bunch of photos from a recent Slaymo show, featuring my good friend from Cabrini days of yore, Mr. Mike H on the bass:









These are shown in black and white because, once again, they came out blurrier than I intended. I attribute this to the fact that I (1) need to stop being such a retard and figure out how to use my shutter speed/apature correctly since I refuse to use a flash, or (2) they were rocking SO HARD they made my camera malfunction. I'm going with #2. Although I do think I need another workshop with J.J. and I need some better lenses and a professional flash. Who wants to give me a big box of money?

After a certain point, I embraced the blur, as they say, and began to futz around with photoshop some more, for some interesting results:





And by "interesting" I mean, "photoshop brushes are my chrystal meth."

And hey, if your band is performing in the greater Philadelphia area and you want someone to photograph it? Drop me an email. I'm as cheap as free!

I took a bunch of shots of this adorable little boy at Beltane, because he totally stole my heart:



I mean, for real. Look at that face!

And just because I'm evil, I present this photograph of my roommate, Mike, drunk off his ass:



But before you think too poorly of me, may I add that the fool asked me to get my camera, because he "wanted to [hiccup/slur] document this."

And that, my little schmoopies, is all for now. I promise to update again soon, with a non-photo entry of substance when I'm feeling a little less sad-by-proxy.

It's nice having a birthday

"What do you want to do for your birthday?" Renee asked me on Saturday.

"I dunno," I replied shrugging.

"Well," she began, prompting me the way you set up a small child to answer a series of questions. "we should do something. Would you like to go to the bar? A party? Bowling?"

"I dunno. I just want to be with people, I guess." I hadn't really thought about it -- I was pretty ambivalent about the whole thing. I mean, 26 isn't a milestone or anything. Plus my birthday falls on a Monday, of all days. I hadn't planned on doing much of anything.

"It's YOUR birthday. What do you want to do?" she asked me again, this time with a little exasperation in her tone and a look that clearly said Lady. We are CELEBRATING, dammit. Now think. Of. Something.

"Mini golf?" suggested Haven.

"Yeah! Mini golf!" I latched onto that idea, eagerly. Mini golf is fairly cheap, outdoors, a crowd pleaser, and with sufficient goofiness that laughter and shenanigans are bound to erupt. Plus there's a kick-ass ice cream place right next to the course. Every birthday should have ice cream.

And so that's what we're doing tonight. Renee, bless her, organized the entire thing within 24 hours, so I don't have to do anything but show up. Plus, she's missing Heroes tonight to celebrate with me. Thank you, Renee!



Kelly, meanwhile, has proven to be the most awesomest roommate ever. She made me (delicious, moist, fantastic) cupcakes to share at the office, ala second grade when you would bring treats in for your class. She also completely surprised me by having flowers delivered to me at the office!

When I arrived at my desk, I found a batch of double chocolate brownies waiting for me from my former boss. And then! Stephanie sent her husband in with some homemade vegan chocolate chip cookies that are so soft and chocolately I want to die. I've seriously eaten, like, 3 of them now.

And the day just keeps getting nicer. I ran home on my lunch break to grab the check I keep forgetting to deposit at the bank and also to grab my camera and found a package waiting for me from QK. In it was this book that I've been coveting ever since I saw it on Renee's coffee table. How fun!

I've gotten a zillion text messages (including one from my brother, who is currently across the Atlantic in Ireland -- like, THANKS FOR TAKING ME WITH YOU, JEEZE), myspace messages, facebook comments from well wishers. I can't stop smiling. It's a beautiful day.

Plus, since my boss is away at a conference and Miss J is in Chicago (probably getting a tattoo as we speak), my birthday celebration is extended for the rest of the week, until we all can get together for birthday lunches.

Man, I didn't think turning 26 would be this nice. You're all making me feel so special. And as sappy as it sounds, my birthday wish is that I continue to be blessed enough to continue having you all in my life. You guys are the best.

Mahlvelous

All the culture I'm about to drop on you with this entry has just been made null by the horrible pun in my title.

Last night I attended a sold-out performance of Mahler's Second Symphony ("Resurrection") at the Philadelphia Orchestra.

Now, I'm generally pretty stupid about music. Out of everyone in my family, I'm the only one who doesn't play an instrument. I look at my cousin, my aunts and uncles, even my dad, all of whom are so talented and I wonder, "Am I adopted?" The gene skipped right over me, for real. There's just this defect in my brain wiring or something. I can't read music. I don't understand the way measures and notes, tones and sounds, scales and keys come together. My aunt argues with me, telling me that I just haven't been taught properly, likening it to a light switch that hasn't been flipped yet. "One day, it will all come together for you, it will click and you'll understand it all." I don't think so. I've been in the dark long enough to know that the circuit is broken. That's okay. I don't need to understand to enjoy.

Whenever I'm invited to the orchestra, I try to study up on the piece a little bit —— if nothing else to help me understand context since I don't get the technicality. This was such a last minute invite that I really didn't have a chance. Going into it, all I knew was what the Doc told me when he invited me, "You won't want to miss this one. It's a doozy."

He wasn't wrong.

You don't need to be technically proficient or musically apt to know that there are moments of pure unadulterated genius in this. Being such a musical tard, I don't know precisely how to word it, but like, how did he think up this stuff? I mean, the IV and V movements? He busts it all out. Chorus, organ, a collection of musicians offstage. It's overwhelming. It was said that at its premiere performance in Berlin it caused grown men to openly weep. And while I didn't see anyone in the audience crying, you could feel the collective tension and release of your fellow audience members as the piece progressed. There were points where I was holding my breath, and when I realized I was holding my breath I didn't want to exhale because in some silly part of my brain I was worried the sound of my breath escaping from my lungs would be disruptive to the piece. I am not kidding about this.

The piece is a dramatic, joyful, recognition of everlasting life. There are obvious religious overtones and messages ("I am from God, and I will return to God"), but interesting enough, during the entire performance I was thinking more of phoenixes and starting over than being welcomed into heaven. Regardless of what you believe or what you think of when you hear it being performed, the music is beautiful.

One of my favorite parts of going to the orchestra is watching the musicians perform. Heck it's the reason you go see any live performance, instead of just sitting at home with your CDs. But watching the orchestra perform is especially fascinating to me. Watching them elicit these sounds from their instruments just captivates me. The way they tilt their heads, hold their hands, curve their fingers, arch their backs, lean in time. It was clear last night from watching them that they were excited to perform this. The score is filled with all kinds of wowee musical stuff that my ignorance won't let me describe properly. Boisterous crescendos, arresting codas, atypical use of instruments. This is their recess.

Upon completion the audience was on its feet applauding. No less than four standing ovations later, I turned to the Doc and jokingly said, "Eh, it was OK. Aren't we missing ER right now?" He laughed at me and mouthed, "Not bad for six bucks," referring to our student understudy tickets that allowed us entrance into the concert hall and to sit in the seats of season ticket holders who didn't attend.

The performance runs until Sunday. Amazingly enough, there are still tickets available for Sunday's performance. This will not last. Even though we were (barely) able to make use of the understudy tickets, I've never seen Verizon Hall so packed. If you have the time, I would recommend snapping yourself up a pair. It's worth it, trust me.

One in Ten

Bugger.

Left-handed Women Have Shorter Life-span.

When I go with Leslie/Renee/Miss J/Shanna/or whoever when they get their tattoo, why don't I get one too? I'm trying to decide between either "DOOMED" or "LEFT-HANDED FREAK."

Staggering Irony

In 1989, Nick Park, who would later go onto direct the beloved Wallace and Gromit short films and movie as well as hits such as Chicken Run, made a short film called Creature Comforts. The film, showing various zoo animals being interviewed about their living conditions, was voiced by residents of a housing development in Britain. Later, clay animation was applied to the recorded interviews for the 10 minute short film. The film went on to win an Academy Award.

In 2003, Aardman Animations developed a television series from the short film. Airing on ITV, the series followed a similar format – unscripted interviews with the general public of Britain recorded and then clay animation of animals applied to the voiceovers. Sometimes you can see episodes of Creature Comforts on BBC America. Usually late in the evening, about 10 or 11pm.

Like many successful British shows (The Office, Coupling, Red Dwarf, Fawlty Towers) the idea was presented to develop an American version. In February of 2006, it was announced production for the American version of Creature Comforts was underway, beginning with the recording of interviews from the general American public. I have no idea how they chose people to interview, how many people they interviewed, or how they decided who to keep and who to cut.

One of the people interviewed and recorded was The Doc. This is before we knew about the cancer, before the cancer that had been silently and viciously breeding in his throat overtook his vocal cords, before we would have the first inkling that anything was wrong. It was early in the year, when 2006 still looked fresh and promising, with no hint of the struggle to come.

I don’t know how they found him or who nominated him for this or what. What I do know is that they really liked his voice. How could you not? The Doc’s voice is so utterly distinctive: high and lilting, pitch expressive and offbeat, full of teasing, yet peppered with intellect. Even more than the sound of his voice is his manner of speaking: The Doc knows how to tell a story, how to hold an audience, how to captivate a class. His pacing is deliberate, vocabulary selective, his inflection characteristic, pauses timed, fingers tapped for emphasis. This is the reason the cancer was so devastating. In addition to worrying about his general well-being (cancer is scary, period), we were mourning the inevitable loss of his ultimate teaching tool, the singular part of his being, the extraordinary nature of his voice.

Naturally, the Creature Comforts people loved him. All told, they did several 3 hour recording sessions with The Doc, with him talking about Lord only knows what. They recorded something like 9-12 hours of material from him.

A few months later, The Doc got what he thought was “laryngitis,” which was later diagnosed as a “severe sinus infection,” and then “thyroid cancer,” before hitting the true illness Salivary Gland Cancer. You know the rest of the story.

When I think of The Doc’s voice, I now think of his cyborg voice. I’ve heard it enough that I associate the electronic sounds emanating from his throat as a voice and not just as the feedback from the vibrations of his simulator. Truth be told, he’s very good with his simulator, and I know him well enough that my ears and brain fill in the gaps where his inflection and timbre should be. His cadence and timing remain the same, although at times I see him struggling for emphasis and enunciation. He’s getting better at it every day, in the fall he will be teaching again, cancer be damned. It doesn’t matter. This is his voice now, we all might as well get used to it. Moving on, whatever.

Yesterday, the Doc got a check in the mail. Residuals from Creature Comforts. An email followed shortly thereafter. The series has been green lighted for a June 4th premiere on CBS, 8pm. The Doc’s “character” is definitely featured in the premiere episode, and I wouldn’t be surprised if his “character” pops up again in the course of the 7 episode series given how much they recorded of him and how unique and captivating he is.

In November on the eve of his sojourn to New York for cancer treatment, wracked by worry, grief and sadness, I wrote, “After tomorrow, I will never hear his voice again.” This is something that I had to reconcile with — the knowledge that I wouldn’t ever again hear the voice of someone who had guided and mentored me for nearly 6 years. It was something that was seemingly impossible to wrap my head around. I can’t imagine what it was like for him, trying to understand and come to terms with never speaking normally again.

Yesterday, I learned that I would hear his voice again. Only now I have to come to terms with hearing it again, after saying goodbye. I also have to wrap my head around the fact that this voice that has been so crucial in my academic and personal development will now be coming out of a claymation chipmunk or giraffe or something.

Welcome back into my life, Irony. Sometimes you are about as subtle as a cast-iron skillet to the skull.