Thursday, March 29, 2012

Awareness FALE

Clover Noir has a show this Saturday. I put this flier in the break room at work.

A developer approached me later and said "I didn't know you played the violin! I thought you played the cello"

So I said "No Jon, I play the violin. I don't know how to play the cello."

Now. I've worked with this dude for over 2 years. For 6 months of those two years, we worked in the same friggin ROOM. A glorified conference room crammed full of computers, developers and me. There was also a singing bass on the wall, but that is irrelevant to this story.
Each week I bring my violin to work. Most times I go straight to rehearsals after work, I have it with me. And now with multiple projects, I sometimes bring it multiple times per week. The "tommy gun" jokes have gotten a little old. Thankfully people have stopped commenting.

"So you mean to tell me that the time I came to your concert to watch you, you weren't playing the cello?"

::blink:: "No."

"You mean I watched the wrong person that whole time?"

Seriously? I mean, I know it's slighty vain to think that he is THAT in tune with what size the instrument I'm lugging around is, but... c'mon. Our cello section is all guys and one old lady. Plus - yeah, I can't get over the size difference. Violin is to cello what fun size reeces cup is to regular size cups. Clearly noticable. AND THE HAIR! I KNOW for a fact that the size of this poof has made me discernable in a huge crowd, don't tell me you couldn't pick me out.

Was your inner monologue something lilke Hmmmm this sure is pretty music. But why does Natasha have gray hair and a bald spot? HEY! Look, there is someone else in the Orchestra that looks JUST like her - but - she's not playing some other... so... SQUIRREL!

ps - come to my show on Saturday!

Tuesday, March 27, 2012

"Planter who's a fuck it?"

My left foot is doing A LOT better but it was touch and go there for a few weeks. At the worst moment - some time mid January - as I was crawling around my apartment, refusing to cry, I had to remind myself that no one ever died from plantar fasciitis.

"Planter who's a fuck it?" you ask?

It's ok - I had no idea what it was either. I explained to someone why I was limping, she said it sounded like plantar fasciitis and when I responded "Planter who's a fuck it?" she said to google "my foot hurts."

At this point there had been a mild to moderate pain and stiffness in my foot that had not gotten better after two weeks of "walking out" the pain. Actually it had gotten worse. Go figure. I had an ace bandage that provided some relief but mostly the thing that made it feel better was not being the fuck on it.

So, I web-diagnosed myself and the verdict did, indeed, come back with the dreaded PF. After extensive research (I think I went to like 8 or 9 websites) I decided that I could recover without seeing a doctor. I just needed to wear supportive shoes, stretch the muscles and buy shoe inserts! I was as good as healed.

So I stretched. I stretched it EVERY way there was to stretch. Sitting stretches, standing stretches, walking stretches. There was relief. At first. Maybe I was over-zealous (who??  ME???) and I went bat-stretch crazy. When I heard (and felt) a loud "POP!" one afternoon, I didn't think too much of it. Then my foot started to hurt a little bit extra. And no amount of stretching was making it feel better. In fact, the stretching was now making it feel worse.

"Could it be broken?" Asked a co-worker. I assured him that I had gone to WebMD and was certain that it was Plantar Fasciitis. "You're lucky,' he said "every time the internet diagnoses me I have terminal cancer."

It was the next evening that I abandoned using my feet. Crawling was my mode of transport. My foot was so swollen and couldn't stand any... ANY sort of weight to be on it. I cried myself to sleep. It was pathetic. The next day, after confessing to Megan that my food looked a little pregnant, I went to see a doctor.

She confirmed the Planter who's a fuck it diagnosis but said that I also had a pretty bad sprain of my inside deltoids as well. I relived the POP I had heard a few days ago. I hadn't even sprained my ankle in a cool way. I sprained it STRETCHING. Least sexy injury ever. Maybe second to getting whiplash from a mega sneeze. The sprain had to fully heal first before I could get the PF any better. She gave me an air-cast and I borrowed a cane from a friend and I had a new lease on walking! I was still way slow and gimpy, but I could move!

My sprain is good and healed and my foot as a whole it doing a lot better. I still have to wear sneakers with support insoles. One of the most important things to heal properly is to stretch the foot (maybe a bit more gently this time). The Doc prescribed stretching every day and showed me a few stretches to do. "Also, write out the whole alphabet with your foot. That will be a great exercise."

You guys... and this is the whole point of my story... every time I start in on my foot-alphabet, I get to the  "K" and I start spelling my last name. And don't even notice for another 4 or 5 letters. EVERY. TIME. Somewhere around the "H I J K" I fall into auto-mode and start spelling "Derka Derka Muhammad Jihad Allah"

Surprised? Amused? Concerned? I haven't decided.