Aug
16
August 16, 2007
When I was around 18 or so I worked at a movie theater in downtown Portland—the Broadway theater, for those who might live in the area. Its fishbowl-like ticket selling stand and central location made for some great people watching, although unfortunately many out-of-towners did tend to treat it like an general information stand for the city (Helpful Tip: surly minimum wage earning teenagers forced to wear clip-on polyester bow ties are not your best bet for getting accurate directions on locating your tourist destination of choice).
During my stint as cashier/popcorn hawker/inventory counter-wronger (I remember being continually assigned to count the inventory in the stock room, which involved, among other things, visually tallying the number of paper cups in a giant stack—I’d get about two feet up and blink, then have to start over. And over. And over. Don’t even get me started on the giant case boxes of Twizzlers and the impossibility of accurately counting those motherfuckers), I saw a number of quasi-celebrities at the theater, including Willem Dafoe (in town, I think, to film the oh-so-unwatchable Body of Evidence), who is even shorter than you might guess; Lori Petty; Ed “Pale Eyebrows” Begley Jr; and most exciting of all (hey, it was the 90’s), Keanu Reeves, who I sold a ticket to and observed the social phenomenon of a crowd of people suddenly recognizing a movie star in their midst—it was freaky, like a pile of metal shavings being exposed to a magnet.
Since then, I once met Patrick Warburton outside his beautiful ranch house on the Rogue River, I saw Sinbad come by my company’s booth at a streaming media tradeshow, and last year at Macworld I saw Robin Williams.
I think that’s it, as far as my personal brushes with fame. I’m telling you these boring anecdotes in hopes that you’ll share your own celebrity encounters, for no particular reason other than I have the feeling some of you will have some interesting stories. Dish!
Aug
13
August 13, 2007
I had an ultrasound scheduled for this morning, for which I had been previously given a helpful sheet of instructions commanding me to drink four (!) 8 oz. glasses of water one hour before the appointment. Now, I remember doing this specific ultrasound last time, and I also remember sitting in the waiting room far past the scheduled time, until I had to pee so badly I actually heaved a little sob of anguish when I went up to the receptionist and begged to be allowed to go to the bathroom. They did let me go pee “just a little bit” (you ought to try that sometime, by the way, peeing just a wee tinkle or two when you’ve got Lake Superior sloshing around in your bladder — it’s like the Olympic event of Kegels), then forced more water in me; I couldn’t even begin to enjoy the ultrasound because I was so preoccupied with using the Force to keep from spraying down the entire room each time the tech pressed on my abdomen.
This time I just chugged most of a Dasani as I drove to the hospital, and the entire experience was far less traumatic. I definitely had to pee by the time they were done, but it was more of a “Whew, there’s a bathroom” and less of a “TAKE COVER! MY GOD, DON YOUR SELF-CONTAINED UNDERWATER BREATHING APPARATUS!” situation.
This ultrasound was primarily done for the nuchal screening, which I hadn’t realized was an optional test—it was just scheduled for me last time. I’m with a different OB this time, who presented it to me as an option. I chose to do it partially because if there was a problem that could be revealed at this point, I guess I’d like us to know sooner than later in order to prepare and educate ourselves, and also because HOORAY ULTRASOUND. Other than the whole bladder-exploding thing, I love ultrasounds and would get one every day if it were possible.
Everything seemed normal according to the technician, so that’s a relief. And because the technician was learning how to use a new machine she took a nice long time to review everything, which she kept apologizing for and I kept saying “It’s okay! No really, it’s fine!” because I got many, many tantalizing glimpses of my grainy black-and-white innards (although . . . listen, I know ultrasounds are not for the patient’s amusement, but would it kill them to provide a second screen, maybe one projected from the ceiling? I’m just saying, my neck hurts).
There was Smalltopus (Secondtopus sounds a little too secondary, so I’m going with Small for now), wriggling, waving her/his arms and legs. Wah! So awesome. It was wonderful to feel that joyous excitement and to be reminded that I am in fact gestating a human being and not just suffering from a spectacular case of gas.
This pregnancy is different for me in so many ways—I often feel a little bad that I’m not nearly as consumed as I was before. When I saw the baby’s heartbeat today, I remembered that when I was pregnant with Riley I rented one of those heartbeat doppler things and used it constantly to make sure he was, you know, not DEAD or anything (after, of course, immediately scaring the bejesus out of myself when I picked up my own heartbeat and became convinced the baby was experiencing some sort of horrible cardiac malfunction). This time, I guess I just have this blind faith that Smalltopus’s heart is beating, that he/she is growing and thriving and doing the things a fetus does (playing solitaire, whistling idly, using umbilical cord as double-dutch rope, etc).
Either I am far more distracted, or I’ve learned that it’s pointless to obsess over things I can’t control. It’s probably a good trade-off, I might not be giving this pregnancy as much mental air time but I’m also not quite as focused on the various Unspeakable Tragedies that could be happening to the baby right this minute.
As a final note, during one of the ultrasounds in my last pregnancy, three (apparently harmless) gallstones were revealed. This time, no mention of such a thing. Have I somehow absorbed them? Did they migrate somewhere disturbing, like maybe the part of my brain dedicated to remembering every single lyric from “Paul Revere”? It is a mystery.
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