It's been getting a little steamy in the bedroom lately. And by steamy, I mean moist. And by moist, I mean damp.
Let me explain.
As you'll recall, I've posted lately about my nasal woes and my trips to my ear/nose/throat doctor to remedy them.
One of the directions I was given after he cauterized my nose - besides stop whining - was to keep it moist with saline sprays and antibacterial gels so it would heal properly. He also wanted me to use the device you see here while I'm sleeping.
It's the Family Care Humidifier. It's job is to turn the bedroom into a rain forest.
Simply fill up the tank, flip the switch and in no time a fine mist of warm steam is rising up to the ceiling, eventually making the room twenty degrees warmer than the rest of the house.
Sure, it's good for my nose, but bad for the t-shirts I sleep in (Yes Rich Siegel, they're black). I wake up drenched in sweat, as if I'd been doing an extreme workout. Now that I think about it, for me sweating is an extreme workout.
Anyway, the wife doesn't care much for the tropical climate of the bedroom these days, so she's camping out someplace cooler until my schnozola heals. It's either the living room or an oceanfront suite at Shutters. I'm sound asleep, so I really won't know which until I get the VISA bill.
I think at this point I've said all I want to say about my nose. And I'm certain I've said all you want to hear.
Thanks for putting up with me while I've been venting about all this. I'll make sure my next post doesn't have anything to do with my nose. In other words, it shouldn't be mist.
Where does the time go? One minute it's baby bottles and diapers, the next it's Starbuck's cards and Trunk Club subscriptions.
My boy is graduating high school next month. Of course, he's not the first kid to do it, and he won't be the last.
I did it - one of the very few items on the short list of things I've actually finished. But I didn't have nearly the celebration he's going to have this weekend.
There's a reason for that. High school now isn't anything like what it was back then.
I never had the hours and hours of homework he's had to navigate through. All while participating in and student directing school plays, playing in the school jazz band and orchestra and being president of the student council. Not to mention the guy who brings four dozen donuts to the rehearsals at 7 a.m. (I drive him to those morning rehearsals. Where's my donut?).
It's a whirlwind just writing about it. Back in the day we had homework, but it wasn't a second career. It was just, you know, homework. Then time for TV.
Anyway, just a quick post tonight to say I'm so proud of my guy. I love him like crazy.
And while he's off to one of the country's top film schools at a major university in the next few months, I hope he'll remember and take to heart the one thing I've tried to drill into him over the years while he's been so consumed accomplishing so much.
"When you direct your first Marvel movie, daddy wants a big house."
As you'll recall from an earlier post - and there will be a test - I mentioned I had a rather volcanic nosebleed about a week ago. But I saw my ear/nose/throat doctor, decided to buy some stock in saline gel and spray, and let it go at that.
And I didn't have another nosebleed. Until yesterday.
I was leaving the house for a gig at an agency I work at frequently, and I let the dogs out (guess that answers that question) one last time. While I was in the yard, I bent over to pick something up and blew a gasket. Like they say in the movies, it was a gusher.
The creative director at the agency I was supposed to start at has been great, and after having my nose cauterized (this post just gets better and better doesn't it?) today, I should be back on track Friday.
It all got me thinking about people who have it much worse than I do when it comes to nose issues. If there's anywhere size does matter, it's the schnoz, especially when it comes to colds, allergies or, for the overachievers in the audience, fire-hose nosebleeds.
I don't have a large nose or a small nose. I'd place it right in the middle. However, when I was in junior high school, Eddie Petroff decided to place it off to the side.
I was on the bus home from Bancroft Jr. High School in Hollywood. The bus was jammed with kids, and was pulling away from the stop when I saw Eddie walking with his girlfriend Dorinda, who I was friends with. Eddie saw me looking at Dorinda and said something to me, and I said something back. I figured I was fine since the bus was moving.
Well, besides being in a gang called the Diablos (so quaint, they used fists instead of guns), old Eddie was quite the little runner. He ran alongside the bus, and got the driver to stop and let him on. In slow motion, I saw Eddie parting the Red Sea of students, storming down the middle aisle making his way to me.
All together now: Oh shit.
Eddie got to me, grabbed me by the collar, said something stupid that made me wonder, again, why Dorinda was with him, then punched me in the nose and broke it. My friend Sandy was in the seat behind me, and years later, when I asked him why he didn't do anything to help me, he gave me a disarmingly honest answer. He said, "I figured why should I get killed."
Anyway, ever since having my nose broken by Eddie, I've had problems. I've had surgery twice to correct a deviated septum (Septum? Damn near killed 'em!). Apparently during one of those surgeries, my septum was perforated so I now have a small hole in between airways. Sometimes late at night, when the moon is full and the sky is clear, if the air's cold or I'm breathing hard enough, like from walking to the kitchen to stare into the open refrigerator, or looking for the remote, if you listen carefully you can hear my nose whistle.
I'm thinking about taking it on America's Got Talent. Still undecided.
The point, and yes there is one, is despite my nasal distress since junior high and this past week, it could've been worse. Thankfully, it's all manageable.
If someone were to ask me what I think of this post, I'd have to say snot the best I've ever done, but at least it doesn't blow. Sorry, couldn't help myself.
I'll take my leave now with my favorite big nose joke of all time. Pay attention, it happens early around the :47 second mark. Please to enjoy.
I come by it naturally, being a member of the tribe and all. But I'd like to work on worrying about the things that merit it, as opposed to cluttering my anxiety with things that don't.
For example, my son is going off to college soon. And frankly, I'm thrilled for him but not so much for me. All the worry I have about my kids on a daily basis - the usual parent worries - now have to travel across twelve-hundred miles, two time zones and the fact he'll be a plane ride instead of a quick drive away. But I think that's a legitimate worry, as long as I don't let it be all consuming.
A good example of something I didn't need to worry about was getting to the theater on time today before Tomorrowland started. First, because the theater wasn't even half full on a holiday weekend, and - SPOILER ALERT - I could've gotten there when it was over and it would've been fine.
Despite how it reads, I'm getting better at not worrying so much about the things I can't do anything about. Like crazy, cell-phone using drivers on the road. Or crazy, cell-phone using creative directors at work.
I've found the best thing I can do for myself to get the anxiety needle out of the red is adopt the Elvis Costello theory: I used to be disgusted, now I try to be amused.
Plus I'm told one of the benefits of less stress and anxiety is a more youthful appearance (still waiting for that to happen) and a longer lifespan. Crap, now I'm worried about having to buy younger looking clothes and if I'll have enough money for those extra years.
Oh yeah. Son in college. Guess I don't have to worry about the money.
I know what you're thinking. Italian movie star? International fashionista? VP of Marketing for Ray-Ban? None of the above.
This is my beautiful friend Jayne.
I've known Jayne ever since junior high school, but we've only been friends for the last two or three years. I know what you're saying: how could you have possibly known her that long and yet only been friends for such a short time?
Easy. I thought she hated me.
Jayne and I ran around in different groups in high school. But high school being what it is, there was some cross-pollination of the people in those groups and we knew of each other. In fact sometimes I'd actually be right there in a group with her, but we never spoke.
I thought she hated me.
Fast forward to one of our high school reunions. I don't remember who spoke to who first, but we wound up talking a little bit. Then we became Facebook friends. Jayne would often make funny, sarcastic and intelligent comments on things I posted. And as you may or may not know, I'm a sucker for attention, and a pushover for funny, sarcastic and intelligent people I think hate me.
So Jayne and I wound up having lunch and catching up. Here's the first thing I said to her: "I always thought you hated me."
Much to my relief it wasn't the case. Come to find out Jayne was painfully shy, and had a tough time talking to new people, even though technically I was a long way from new.
Anyway, we talked about our lives, our spouses, our jobs, the fact neither of us had aged a day (true fact) and a certain friend who always posts in all caps (seriously, you just have to press one key).
I'm happy to say we really are friends now. We speak often, mostly online. Her wit, wisdom and sarcasm are on serious par with mine (I know what you're thinking - what wisdom?). If I ever write a book (I'll wait until the laughter dies down), I'm pretty sure Jayne will be my go to editor to read it, be brutally honest, ask me what the hell I was thinking and then make it better.
But since I won't have a book finished anytime soon, I hope we manage to speak in person before the next reunion. When we do, I know there's at least one question I won't have to ask.
Now that most television shows have aired their season finales, the question is what do I do with all the extra time I'll have on my hands.
There are always the go-to programs like a 6th binge of Breaking Bad, or a 2nd binge of House Of Cards. There are shows I never made time for like Treme and Shameless.
But I was thinking maybe it's time to tackle a more intellectual pursuit. Reading. Schopenhauer once said, "We buy books because we believe we're buying the time to read them." If that's true, I've bought myself a lot of time.
On the nightstand next to my side of the bed, which with a wife and two dogs is getting increasingly smaller by the minute, is no less than 27 unread books. I bought every one of them with the intention of cracking it open when I got home from Barnes & Noble.
And yes, I still buy books and I still go to bookstores. Never read a book on an e-reader, never will.
Here's the thing: I go on book jags. I don't read one for a while, then I plow through six or seven in a row. Even when I'm short on time, when I'm on one of the jags I make a point of reading a chapter when I wake up and one before I go to sleep.
Admittedly it requires discipline. Which explains the giant stack of unread books by the bed.
But I've been at a place for a while where not only do I know how Walt and Jessie wind up, I also know every event, character and line of dialogue that gets them there. So it's time to read.
Maybe I'll start with Walt Whitman's Leaves Of Grass, the collection of poems Hank was reading in Gliding Over All, the eighth episode of the fifth season of Breaking Bad. The one where he's on the toilet when he discovers Walt is actually Heisenberg.
Alright, maybe one more binge and then I'll get started on the books.
There's this friend of mine who's a writer and also writes a blog. Well, sometimes he writes a blog. A lot of the time he just captions pictures. But he's putting it out there and often the captions are quite funny. It all counts - at least he's making the effort.
Which, if you read this blog on a regular basis, know that's something I rarely do.
Anyway, like many other blogs including this one, he posted about David Letterman today. Here's one of the things he said about Dave when he left Late Night at NBC: "But then the real Dave moved to CBS, and the middle of the road with his humor and he lost a step. And he lost me."
I'd agree with him, except then we'd both be wrong.
I don't believe he lost a step. I think it's clear he found his footing. I'm sorry he lost you pal, because that means you missed some of the best, most subversive and defiant comedy ever put on network television.
Dave's master plan was always to bring his brand of innovation, lunacy and comedy to a wider audience. That audience's address was 11:30. After he was wrongfully denied the Tonight Show (and by the way, if you're calling anyone's humor middle-of-the-road you might want to start with Jay Leno), executive Howard Stringer at CBS gave Dave the platform and freedom to do his show his way.
A lot of it meant bringing over staples from the NBC show (Top Ten List, Stupid Pet Tricks, Stupid Human Tricks, Jack Hanna). But since NBC claimed the intellectual property rights and threatened to sue - which turned out to be an empty threat - Dave was forced to do something he would've done anyway: continually stretch the boundaries of what a talk show could be.
I'd argue he did more innovations to the format and pushed the boundaries - sometimes to the breaking point - more in the CBS years than ever before that.
The beauty of it was that unlike the boot-licking, let's not offend anyone host Leno became, Dave was always Dave. If he didn't like a guest, we knew it. And if he loved a guest (I'm looking at you Julia Roberts), we knew that too.
On a personal note, when Paris Hilton appeared on the show just after her release from prison, Dave made a point of repeatedly asking about her ordeal. I don't think she'd been that uncomfortable since someone accidentally called her smart in the fifth grade. It's some of the finest eight minutes ever aired. You can see it here.
Yes, Dave went from sports coats and sneakers to suits and leather shoes (still with white socks though). If you're going to live at 11:30 you have to dress for the occasion. It wasn't just college kids and stoners watching anymore. It was the world.
Jay Leno built a career out of copying bits, routines and ideas Letterman had years before. Maybe that's why there is no Jay Leno legacy, aside from mediocre political jokes. There were no tributes. There was no emotional investment in Jay Leno. He didn't influence a generation of performers in the way Dave did. Once he was gone, he was forgotten.
Something no one will ever be able to say about Dave.
