Something Lousy

I feel bad about something from a few days ago. I had a morning audition, and after I woke up it occurred to me that I should print the script for the commercial in question. I never manage to replace the spent ink cartridges in my printer, so that means going elsewhere to print something. I would have gone down to use my friend's printer, as they're usually amenable, but they don't live in my building anymore. That leaves the print shop down the street.

They're nice guys, and I walk past a nearer print shop to reach it because I know the drill at this other one. I put the file to be printed on a flash drive, then I go in and plug it into one of their computers to print it. It's awfully cheap, and it's a system that has worked for me in spite of them almost never being on the way. This time they were, more or less, so I thought things would be fine even though I had only a few minutes.

A Man Left Behind

I had a terribly unhappy experience the other day. It may have been a week or more ago at this point. I was on my way to someplace I can't recall now. It may have been improv class. In any case, I know I was at the subway station at Hollywood and Western in Hollywood, and i was heading east on a connecting bus. I was mentally preoccupied, or I assume I was. I ordinarily don't make such mistakes as I did on this occasion.

I habitually bring a book when I expect to have time for reading, and a bottle of water to places where I suspect I need it. Keeping possession of them is not typically a problem. This time, it was. I came up out of the subway station, perused the farmer's market there, and set my bottle down on a newspaper vendor rather harshly. I thought at the time that someone could have noticed that, especially as things worked out.

The Accusation And The Crow

I am not sure of why it is that the crow is tied to admitting that you are wrong. In other cases, there is a concrete reason why the name of an animal seeps into popular imagination in conjunction with a particular human concept. It's easy to grasp why someone with keen vision is said to be eagle-eyed, or why someone who reaps benefits by exploiting the fallen might be characterized as a vulture, but why is exuberant bragging also known as crowing? That's really an extraneous question, because the crow gifts us with two such expressions, and it's the second one that interests me. As I said, one must 'eat crow' if they have to confess being in the wrong. I should do so often, but frequently refuse.

The most common case of being wrong that immediately comes to mind is when something is missing. Naturally my first thought is that someone has moved it or stolen it outright. This happens at my parents' house, where professionals are called periodically to clean. On my most recent visit, minutes before I had to leave, a library book which I had to eventually return on getting back to LA was missing. I could not find it where I believe I had left it, and so naturally I pinned the blame on the aforementioned cleaners. I stalked the house in the foulest, darkest mood, muttering awful things and thinking worse. Of course the book turned up in a different place entirely when I remembered having had it in the car.

I'll Show You: Part One

I was reading an old post from this blog today. That post was about an early improv show in which I performed. It holds up better than much of what I wrote then. I don't often go back and look at such things, particularly from as far back as that. Sometimes I find myself reading a post after it turns up in a search I conduct to see whether or not I've written about something I have an idea for. I hate the idea of repeating myself, so I do my best to avoid it. In this case, I stumbled on something that was interesting to look at in light of more recent developments. I've just recently done my latest show, and while I haven't written about those so much since the early days of this blog, it seemed worth doing this time around.

There ought to be a record of this kind of thing, and regrettably a technical glitch prevented our segment of the showcase from being videotaped. I won't be able to objectively and thoroughly convey it as that would have, but I'll do my best. The day did not start as well as it might have. The day before, I had been on set acting in a film, and I believe I left the case for my cell phone in the car which drove me home. I don't care for complainers who harp on that sort of thing, but you have to know that to appreciate my frantic, obsessed journey out of the house the morning and afternoon the day of the show.

"Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey?"

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I reflect on that whenever there's someone or something missing to me. I certainly see the truth in it, or more accurately feel the truth in it. I've felt it often when there was someone I wanted to have near and couldn't. I've felt it keenly with things as well as people. I remember the phantom impulses I constantly felt to do something on my computer for a long stretch when I knew full well the computer was unquestionably and completely out of action. Sometimes when possessions have been not just inaccessible but physically present, it's been difficult to think of anything else or have proper perspective. It's often been something trivial, such as a library book or something lost in the mail.

Recently there was just such a situation. That is to say that something was lost in the mail. To be truthful, I knew where it probably was. It was a dvd I had rented- the first one since I moved to my present quarters. Consequently, I had not updated my address on the website. After I realized this, I figured that the disc would find its way to me anyway thanks to the forwarding request which I did have the forethought to fill out. It seemed a sure thing that this would solve the problem, remembering as I did an incident from the past where I had made such a forwarding request to my address at college. An attempt to have my movies sent back home while I was on vacation failed when the post office caught them and sent them to my college dorm. I was very concerned until I got back to Chicago for the next semester. Anyway, I was sure that there would be no trouble this time given the trouble I had that time.

The Only 'Lost' I Care About

The pain of losing personal effects is something that I have experienced many times going far back into childhood. It began with a long string of jackets which each in turn went missing mainly at school. As time passed, the items lost began to be of greater and greater value as I got older and starting having nicer things. Of course, that levels off, so I haven't gotten to the point of losing mink stoles and sports cars as the initial pace would have projected. Even so, the modest things I lose today are no more pleasant for being of humble value.

What happens during the tempest of losing something? It begins when it's not where I expect it to be. I very reasonably check the couple of slightly less likely places it might be. If it's not there, I continue checking down the imagined list with greater concern. Upon reaching the end of that, I start re-tracing your steps and praying to St. Anthony. Should that fail to resolve the matter, I break down and start checking with other people. If this doesn't turn it up, the next steps depend on the item.