Providence Improv Festival Recap

Three Hole Punch did two sets we felt really good about, and played for packed houses both times. We didn't take home the (gigantic!) trophy, but we were really proud that the troupe that did was also from Boston. Congrats to our friends in Bastard's Inc! And to everyone else.. hope to see you in New York in August!

My heart is beating like a jungle drum. . .

As I sit in the conference room of the new Improv Asylum third floor office space I am absolutely pretending I live here. If I were more of a city girl this could be my home office. The wall behind me is almost entirely window, the rug is zebra print and the other walls are a lively green and have a three dimensional texture. Every wall has a window into one of the other sunny spaces, making the room seem much larger than it is.

I'm up here working on a video project for my day job at Boston Health Care for the Homeless. Although my function with the program is as a nurse, I have been called in on the creative side of an educational "flu prevention" video. I have rehearsal in about an hour downstairs. If I were at home right now this video would not be getting done.

My room, usually clean and simple is the messiest it's been in a while. The floor is carpeted in laundry from half a week in Costa Rica and then a weekend in Providence. There is a new jewelry making project shoved halfway under my desk that involves dozens of sharp bottle caps. Books have piled up like small altars to linguistic gods near the already full bookshelf; and my dresser is covered in leftover colones giving it the appearance of a pirate's open treasure chest. Anchoring the chaos is my unmade bed, the soft purple sheets tossed in a way that is suggestive of calmer days as well as their sudden interruption. The room is an interactive testimony to a life of action and intrigue.

So... this spacious and clean office is a much more productive environment for media editing.

Earlier today I met with Norm to discuss my short and long term career plans. I think plans are funny things. Every time I make serious overtures towards plans they change anyway. That's why I bother with them very, very scarcely. My life is a lot more whimsy than you might think from the outside looking in. Or maybe not. Maybe you know all about people like me.

Either way, Norm brought up some interesting points about my current goals and how to pursue them. I got butterflies as he spoke. Real shivers.

It reminded me of a day not a full year ago when I first received the phone call that IA wanted to put me on mainstage. It's funny, because I wrote in my blog that day that this year might be "my year," but I didn't elaborate because I didn't want to jinx anything.

Now here I am and Norm had just asked me back for another show, but he also thinks I need to decide about when I'm going to leave Boston and move towards another goal.

I've told people for a long time that I don't believe I need to chose between nursing and acting, but for that to be true it means I can't have either one all the way. I will never live in Africa caring for children with AIDs; I will never be in a movie with Tina Fey.

My next move is probably either to Chicago or L.A. The things I need to do in Boston are almost the same either way. Still I fantasize about working as nurse in a clinic in Costa Rica. Still I miss the classes I used to teach at Thacher Montessori.

I really wish we didn't have only one life to live sometimes...

... it would also give me more time to clean my room.

I wonder if I'm getting too old for this...

For anyone who hasn't seen me in person yet, I am back from beautiful Costa Rica. Stories to follow! I have been going almost nonstop since before I got on the plane. In fact, the last really great, full night of sleep I had was in Jaco. Since then I've had a ton of adventures with naps in between . Still, I couldn't stop myself from going right to Asgard for some karaoke when I got home Wednesday night.

After working Thursday I had a show at IA and got caught out quite late. Friday saw some adventures with Caroline at the German Embassy because she is on crutches and was unable to take herself. Friday night called for two more shows at Improv Asylum and Saturday morning it was back to work.

Saturday night Three Hole Punch took off for the Providence Improv Festival. After the six finalists were announced (at midnight), I realized I had left my keys in Shannon's car, which was now long gone to Boston. Steph graciously has put me up at her house in Lexington where we are dining on strawberries and cinnamon buns. After church (me) and a jog (Steph) we'll meet with Shannon and head back to Providence for round two!

Last night I was the most tired I have been in a really long time, which induced a couple of visual hallucinations and resulted in that kind of deep sleep where muscles feel paralyzed. I forgot that could even happen and apologize to anyone I have ever tried to wake up from such a sleep* . Steph and I have scheduled a nap into today. That will be nice. Really nice.

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* For example, my brother Brian seems to always be in this sort of sleep state right when I want him to wake up and help me throw a dance party or bring me a pie.

making friends in Jaco

Today I took my first surfing lesson of what is sure to be a long and prosperous surfing career.

I also sustained my first surfing injuries. (Obviously.)

A group of ticos who had been watching me surf (and no doubt saw the Great Wipeout) met up with me as I left the beach.

¨Your leg is bleeding¨, one of them pointed out.

´I know¨, I responded.

¨You can use my shirt¨, he said.

¨No, gracias¨ , I exclaimed, ¨I can´t use your shirt for that!¨

¨Yes, I would let you¨, he answered in English, ¨that´s how much I care for you.¨


Everyone here is so friendly!

Pura Vida

In the morning, in a few hours really I am leaving for Costa Rica (again!). I will be back next week some time, so in the meantime updating will be... well, it will be just as spotty as it has been.
Honestly, the whole eye ulcer thing threw me for a loop this week.
This is why I will never be a published writer.
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That being said, you are not getting a review of Nurse Jackie right now, but I can sum the whole thing up by saying that I'm hooked.
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In other news, Three Hole Punch got accepted to the 2009 Del Close Marathon. Our set will feature all four of us despite the taller half of the group picking up and moving to Chicago this summer.
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In other, other news my ulcer is healed and today I got cleared for contact lenses. Walking out of Mass General this morning you would have thought I had never seen anything before. It reminded me of the first time I got glasses and driving home with my father I exclaimed "look at all the trees! They have so many little leaves!"
Dad said, "You couldn't see that before?"
And I told him "not for a while now," but didn't take my eyes off of those trees because the tiny little leaves were so wonderful.

Nurse Jackie

I read about the new Showtime series Nurse Jackie in the newspaper the other day, including a mini interview with Edie Falco, who plays the title RN.

Then I forgot all about it until I was catching up on Weird Nursing Tales today. Tex posted the preview for the series and commented that "Nursing will suffer another setback," because of this television show.

I went ahead and watched the preview and then found the whole first episode online.

I'm going to post the preview here, but then I'm hoping you'll also watch the whole first episode.
Tomorrow I'll post my thoughts. This show is probably going to be a hot topic at nursing water coolers for a little while at least.

The eyes have it...

... an ulcer that is.

The doctor I saw at the Emergency Ward of the Mass Eye and Ear Infirmary on Sunday afternoon says that the ulcer formed over a short period of time, maybe less than three days.

The mild pain and redness Saturday plagued me all during the 7p and 9p at Improv Asylum.
As the irritation persisted into the all night Mission reunion party at Shannon's house I poured Visine on it and ignored it*. In the morning, when the redness still stared back at me in the mirror, I wondered with clinical detachment if I could have a bacterial infection.

When I stepped into the sunlight and was reduced immediately to tears by stabbing pain in the back of my eye - I had no idea what to think.

The ulcer is small, but at the front of my eye. The stabbing pain was related to my iris having small spasms. Secondary to the ulcer I have an inflammation of the iris. To treat the spasms and pain the ER doc used scopolamine, and as a result my eye is no longer sea sick or addicted to heroin.** Also, my pupil is dilated. Light no longer causes agonizing pain in my eye but I've developed an aversion to light a vampire would envy.
Driving the other day at sunset was like driving in a blizzard while a small child played peek a boo with my eyelids.

I've taken to wearing my sunglasses at work under the fluorescent lights. I think it makes me a cooler nurse anyway. Like maybe I'm just as likely to drop some beats as I am likely to irrigate your ulcer. Maybe.

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* Don't do this.
** Pharmacology jokes!

Urine Trouble #2

Scrolling through the comments, I could not believe the number of people who don't even know Debbie making the most rude and crude criticisms imaginable. Some people accused her of trying to get her name in the paper. Which is funny since Debbie turns bright red whenever she's the center of attention and shakes when she has to give employee recognition speeches once a year. One person said that "Thornton is the type of person.." who would get upset if someone said a church steeple was "erected." That one was also funny since Debbie no doubt, like most nurses, left behind the prim and proper at the door a long time ago. Nursing is no place to be coy or prudish. Professional, yes. In denial about bodily functions? No.

It was hard to see so many strangers rip Debbie to shreds on the internet so casually. As they sipped their morning coffee they typed noxious generalizations about a woman they don't know. Either stealing from their desk jobs by surfing the net at work, or sitting at home in their underwear they judged Debbie soundly with definitives about what kind of person she is and whether or not she should be in the profession she's in.

And they weren't just rude to Debbie, even some of the people who backed her up said things about the MBTA that were unfounded and hateful. Debbie doesn't think that all MBTA drivers are "lazy," or "stupid," and she certainly didn't imply, as one commenter did, that the man was "intoxicated." Why the hate? Then, when people couldn't agree about a point, they turned on each other - the jurors in this imaginary trial devouring one another before a verdict could be reached.

How quick we all are to judge. In some cases it's a good thing, it's why our brains are hardwired to do it in the first place. Is that berry poisonous? Will the man approaching me on the street strike me dead or wave hello? But we've done something wrong when we can sit at home and hang people with mere keystrokes. Especially people like Debbie, a nurse who has spent her life taking care of other people, and most recently in her career, people for whom few others have any pity, any compassion or any time.

Then again, most educated people know that the rumblings of idiots in the comments section of Boston.com articles mean very little. They are rendered immediately useless by the casual access of the authors. And isn't my blog, by definition a bit of the same? In condemning those rude commentators aren't I exercising the same right they were?

In the end, we should be thankful that we're allowed to call to report things that we believe are wrong. And... we should be thankful that people are allowed to argue in a public forum over whether or not it was really wrong. Because we could be living in a police state. We could be living in a country like China right now. We could be in any number of small dictatorships all over the world but instead we're here.

Thankfully Debbie was able to laugh about the majority of the comments as we scrolled down the list in her office this morning before work. She's a very strong woman, a great leader, definitely not a prude or a "peeping Jane," and will not be quitting the medical field any time soon. Or definitely not before it becomes legal to just pee anywhere you want, no matter what you're doing or who's around.

Sorry, Boston.

Urine Trouble - #1

The DON was in the news last night, but not for anything that had to do with our work.
I usually refer to her as the DON, but in this Globe article her full name is stated, so I guess we can all be candid from here on in. I'm not going to get to my point until the last paragraph or so, so settle in for a long winded ride on this one.

Debbie is in the news because she reported a bus driver in Boston for getting off the bus and urinating on a city street.

At first I wasn't sure why this was newsworthy, but one glance at the comments section of either the article linked above or this one, will explain everything.

People are furious. And they are either furious at the man... or in many cases, at Debbie. In fact, the article was mostly about Debbie, and the comments are ALL about Debbie.

The criticisms of Debbie range from making no sense at all...

"Leave it to a nurse to complain," writes reindeergirl.

"Seriously, Ms. Thornton you work in nursing. You should know better."

... to personal attacks:

"Thornton..I hope someday you have to go so bad you can't wait and you embarrass yourself in front of everyone.....you are a snob!"

"Thornton you really need to focus on yourself. I'm blown away by how inconsiderate you are. I hope at your job you aren’t given normal bathroom breaks. Wow..."

Some people even tried to drag the homeless into it:

"She works with the homeless and is complaining about this?
If one of her clients were arrested or disciplined for the same behavior I bet it would be quite a different story." *

And more than one person stated straight out that she shouldn't be allowed to be a nurse. This is one of them:

"This could happen to anyone including you ms. thornton. Maybe you should resign from the medical field because the compassion you show here should never be allowed in a hospital or a medical facility."

I promised myself I'd get right down to the point I was trying to make, but I want to rip on this one for a minute.

First of all, Debbie is in her forties and has never gotten out of a car in downtown Boston, dropped trou, squatted and peed. So "this could happen to anyone even you," is a little silly.
Then the other half, "maybe you should resign from the medical field..." Seriously? Since Debbie is a nurse she has to be okay with public urination? What if your nurse in the hospital relieved himself in a potted plant because he couldn't make it to the staff bathroom? How compassionate would you feel? Would you argue that maybe your nurse has a bladder problem and invite him to pee on your flowers every day? Would you be okay with someone saying "well he did his job, so let him alone?"

Compassion is good and fine, and has it's place but if nurses ruled only with compassion without any thought to best practice, boundaries, or greater community good then everyone who said they had a little back pain would be high on vicodins, no one would have to pay for health care and there'd be no beds left in the hospitals because people would just be living there treating the CNAs as hired help. Compassion doesn't mean letting everything all go to hell in a handbasket.**

Now listen. If you don't agree with what Debbie did, that's fine. I know a lot of people would have looked the other way.
They're thinking "the guy is human! When you gotta go, you gotta go!"
But why take out your outrage about the human condition in working class America on Debbie? Get outraged about the long hours for MBTA drivers. Or about the general rush of American life which made the man feel like he couldn't pull over for a more legal or legitimate bathroom break.

There are also a number of people who side with Debbie on the issue, most of those comments for some reason are left on the second article, whereas the more scathing quips are on the first.

The people who agree with Debbie point out that the bus driver was in uniform, abandoned his post, and didn't explain anything to the worried passengers.

"I agree with person who reported this; an unscheduled stop for an emergency is one thing, an unscheduled stop to urinate in public is quite another. It is an incredible display of disrespect to have a bus with people on it wait while you urinate in a public place."

Others chimed in that if the bus driver had explained what was going on, it would have been more excusable. Still others mentioned the fact that the man, in fact was breaking a law.

And friends, you can argue til the sun goes down about whether or not it's a stupid law but it is still a law and the law is that you can NOT urinate in public here. I think plenty of laws are stupid***, but they're still laws. And if we're going to have laws, we need to either uphold them or protest them until they are no longer laws. Otherwise they're just suggestions.

I'm not going to tell you how I feel about the issue with the bus driver because that's moot. I don't even want to talk about whether or not a bystander should report public urination. I want to talk about people.

(See next post)

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* Actually when homeless men or women urinate in the street it's because they are intoxicated or mentally impaired. Most people without homes when sober and right minded are actual hyper vigilant about dignity and privacy because of the social stigma they already face. (Sigh).
** Or a puddle of urine.
*** Plenty.

Publish Post

Shannon and Gus

At lunch later in the day Saturday we ate at the Tavern and discussed losing a pet.

"It's hard, because it feels silly to say you know, he was a cat," Shannon trailed off.

"But you feel the loss just the same," pointed out Steph.

We all nodded.

Everybody look at me cuz I'm sailing on a cod.

"I'm on my way home from the gym," I told Steph as I crossed the street.
"Miiiiisch!" yelled Steph into the phone, "I'm on my way down there - don't go home! James is coming! And Scott! Don't go home!"

And so it came to pass that instead of napping I soon found myself standing at Long Wharf with a group of college friends, a couple of whom I hadn't seen in ages.

Two of our friends from UMass currently work as actors on the "high speed thrill ride," in Boston Harbor known as Codzilla*.

The premise, for those of you who have missed this three year old Boston Harbor attraction, is that you are taking a peaceful tour of the Harbor that keeps getting interrupted by a salty sea captain who wants to talk about the dangers of giant mutant codfish. (The character is Quint-esque, including a monologue that recreates beat-for-beat the tale Quint tells about surviving the USS Indianapolis.)

The boat's actual captain drives you and up to 134 other passengers around the harbor while the "tour guide" and "sea captain," argue and banter. Once the boat is past the no wake zone the jams are pumped up through a pretty great speaker system, and the captain takes off at incredible speeds out towards Deer Island.

The music is loud, the wind is salty, and it's pretty easy to imagine you're on a New England version of Miami Vice at this point. Oh, also, the boat is painted like a giant, neon codfish with huge teeth.

In the waters off of Deer Island the boat is attacked by what may or may not be a giant cod, and the ensuing chase involves more high volume, fast paced music while the boat captain guides the craft through ten minutes of tricks including 360 degree turns, dime stopping spins and other really impressive maneuvers.

As you escape the cod (sorry, spoiler), you are treated to some amazing views of the Boston Skyline while the boat's heading back to the wharf.

It wasn't my first time, but it was just as good as I remembered it.

After cruising around the harbor laughing at Conor and Kevin's characters banter, fighting off a giant cod, and getting our fair share of wind and salt whipped across our faces, we were ready for food. Luckily, the wharf isn't too far from the North End.

By this point I had forgotten about my nap. I forgot about how I wasn't dressed weather appropriately and every other reason I had for going home. Most of my friends are leaving Boston fairly soon and days like this will be only memories.

Walking through Haymarket I bought some cheap avocados, and we lingered on the edge of a crowd gathered for a festival at Government Center. A Beatles cover band was playing as Bostonians and tourists sampled food, sipped Dunkin Donuts and sang along.

"I love this city," said Steph, polishing off her gelati.

I couldn't agree more. After all, this is my city. I grew up here. This is where I come when I say I'm going home. When everyone ended up here after college I was doubly blessed - I got to have my roots and my branches all in the same place.

Still, I can't help but wonder if I will love it the same way by next summer when everyone's moved on.

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*Fun fact: Scott and Rachel also used to work on Codzilla, when it was first being created in Boston. My first summer out of school, I had a job as an actor on Margarita's Mystery Murder Cruise and our boats docked next to one another!

We thought it was great that we had all come to the city and immediately got paid acting jobs - on boats.

Horseback Riding, or Why Mom doesn't say No

Mom and I walked around Jamaica Pond the other day until I had to leave for a show at IA. "It's just as well," Mom said, pausing to stretch her leg, "my knee's been bothering me since the horse incident."

Mom, Jack and I had a leisurely lunch and got on a van that brought us to a reservation of sorts across the street from one of the entrances to the Arenal Volcano National Park. Once we had all mounted horses and gotten a quick orientation to riding them, we were off.

Cantor, I thought humorously as the guide explained how to make the horse cantor, yeah, I'll be needing that a ton.

My experience with horseback riding is nonexistent save a trip up a mountain in Vermont when I was nine. My horse was tied to the back of an experienced rider and all I had to do was hold on.

The way to the top of the mountain was a mix of open rolling hills with staggeringly beautiful panoramic views and steep rocky trails through a primary rain forest. We started off walking, but soon we were trotting and cantering over the gorgeous landscape. The guide surprised us by signaling vocally to all four horses to just make a run for it. At first this caused a lot of chaos (Mom and I almost ran into each other), but then I got hooked on the cantering, finding it easier than trotting and more practical for long stretches than walking.

As a result I rode up front with the guide a lot, and occasionally even went on ahead with his permission.
This freedom combined with the guide's praise at my "quick learning," as you might imagine made it even easier to fuel some ridiculous fantasies about a small cowgirl, a faithful horse and a rain forest.

(Photographic evidence , courtesy of our guide, indicates that I in fact resembled a cowgirl in almost no way).

I wasn't the only one with the romantic visions, Jack lit a cigarette and asked us if he looked like the Marlboro man. Then he added, "Man, I tell you, cowboys have little balls." He readjusted in his saddle and smiled uneasily at the guide unsure if he had offended him.

The guide spoke mainly Spanish but tried his best to point things out in English. Occasionally he would speak Spanish and I would struggle to translate for Mom and Jack, the improviser in me not willing to give up without a try.

We saw wild pigs, a deer, turkeys, toucans, parakeets (an entire flock of them), and a family of howler monkeys (with whom we stopped to communicate). We rode right into a stream (my cowgirl delusions multiplied), and passed a sulfur lake covered in lilies.

At the summit of the climb we let the horses drink and eat while we did the same. There, at the top of the mountain, was this open air stone chapel. I was fascinated. It had no walls, and where the pulpit and altar would be was only empty space overlooking Lake Arenal and rising above the lake, the Volcano itself. Like the Volcano is going to sermonize, I thought. Like the Volcano might try to break Bread with us.

The day was so cloudy the top of the volcano was lost, but the peace and magnificence was not. In my journal I wrote: How can you see something like this and not acknowledge the existence of God? It was impossible to sit, surrounded by so much beauty and not be overcome with humility and thanksgiving. And also to not feel like a cowgirl.

When we got back on the horses, something happened to Mom's knee. She's not sure what, but it was a Bad Thing. This made her trip downhill less pleasant. Still, we all laughed when Jack hit a particularly hard part of the road and quipped to his horse, "It's okay, Tonca, I didn't want any more kids anyway."

I mentioned that the guide flattered my fast learning, and he even gave me a small lesson in galloping, which was exhilarating. And although I'm sure my form was nonexistent, he complimented me anyway.

As Mom dismounted at the end her knee took a turn for the worse. As the guide helped her down her foot missed the bale of hay and she fell.

She recently recounted this tale to her aunt, my great Auntie Mame. "I'll bet you never do something like that again," Mame clicked.

My Mom told me she responded resolutely that she absolutely would do it again and in a heartbeat.
"You see," she said, "I know what it's like to not be able to walk at all."
I nodded grimly. My mother has Multiple Sclerosis and the time she is referring to in 1996. She woke up one morning unable to walk. The paralysis was temporary, limited to a few days, but after that she was on Canadian crutches for a while.

"I didn't know if I'd ever be the same again," she says now. "And with MS, I never know if that's going to happen again. Or if it will be for good." She paused, "so, no I wouldn't say no to horseback riding again, or anything else."
"That's also what made me try the zipline*."

There are only a few things more spirit lifting than rising a fast and fleet footed horse through a rain forest and up a mountain with sky all around.

Equally spirit lifting is knowing that my mother is the great person she is. It's incredible to me that I get to be her daughter. Here is a woman who refuses to give up, give in, or quit living her life despite any obstacle that gets in her way.
All I have to do is think of that and the journey becomes easier, the sky becomes clearer and everything is more beautiful.

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*Story coming soon to a blog near you.

This Guy Liked Our Show

Shannon was bored and googling the other day and came across the website of a man who saw our Three Hole Punch set at the Chicago Improv Festival and blogged about it.

As I said in my post about the CIF, Three Hole did a set we felt good about.
It wasn't out best work though, so to have some stranger write about us by name is kind of cool.

In a few weeks we're heading to Rhode Island for the Providence Improv Festival. Bloggers, start your keyboards!

Fasting for the Homeless

Kip Tiernan, the founder of Rosie's Place in Boston, is fasting for three days to raise awareness (and donations) for the homeless.

The source of this bit of news is here at WBZ's website, and does not include any information on how you can help, so I took it upon myself to get some more information.

For the next three days (including today) you can go directly to Boston's Old South Church (link to directions) and drop off non perishable food items or monetary donations.
You can also join the fast.

If you aren't in town, or don't have time to stop by the church, you can always donate online.

Please consider giving some food or money to Rosie's Place. They are an amazing asset to the homeless women of Boston. I personally know many women who have been helped by Rosie's and who need our help to keep it going.

Thank you.

artificial life in the market, articficial life in the marketplace

Recently the Washington Post ran an article called The High Cost of Poverty. The author describes it as a "primer on the economics of poverty," and I recommend it as such.

The gist of the piece, if you haven't already clicked over and read it yourself, is that the more poor you are the more expensive day to day life is. It's not new news, but it's something those of us above the poverty line might not think about day to day.

Convenience costs money, and many of us (in the middle class) gladly pay small fees for an easier life. We drive to the grocery store rather than walk or take the T, because it's quicker. A person who does that has decided that the time and hassle saved by driving is worth the price of the gas.

Sometimes the choice isn't about convenience but rather about options. Perhaps there's a 7-Eleven on the corner, but driving to Trader Joe's is worth the gas money to you because you'll save overall on the price of individual items like milk. Plus the fruit will be fresher, and you have your choice of better meats.

But what if you didn't have a car? Or what if you couldn't afford that gas AND groceries AND the electric bill this month?

Every day, many people often have to make those choices. And more often than not they end up having to choose not only a less convenient option, but also a more expensive one.

And the expense comes not only in the form of money but in time, energy, quality of life and health.

An example used in the article is that people in higher income brackets often have direct deposit as an option whereas poorer people do not. They have to receive or pick up their check and then bring it to a cash checking location or a payday loan place. Just the other night I was waiting for a bus on Mass Ave near BMC at 11:30pm and an older woman was waiting with me. She worried aloud that the check cashing place might close before her bus came. Finally, she decided to take a cab.

The effort costs time (which could be allocated to other activities), energy (walking or taking public transportation), and money in transportation and check cashing fees.

The article also touches on quality of life costs, pointing out that most "affordable housing" options are in neighborhoods where day to day living can be hazardous. (Think the lyrics to "Skid Row" from Little Shop of Horrors. "Downtown, where the cabs don't stop/Downtown, where the food is slop, Downtown where the hopheads flop in the snow/").

However, a signficant cost of poverty, barely touched on in the article is health.
Nutritious food is expensive and hard to find. Unhealthy food is cheap and at almost every intersection in the form of a Dunkin Donuts or MacDonalds. Try telling a homeless patient with hypertension to cut salt out of their diet. Try telling a single mother working two jobs with two kids living at grandma's that she needs to spend money on fluoride rinse, or buy chicken that doesn't have any growth hormones added to it. Try that with food stamps.

Not to mention that when health problems do arise, not many people below the poverty line have "sick time," and most of them are working in occupations which are hazardous to begin with. I've seen countless patients of mine rush back to work with not quite healed limbs, wounds or infections because "I can't afford to be away from work this long." Or "if I don't go back today, my boss said I might not get my job back."

Every day I come in contact with many people who either can not or will not hold themselves accountable for their circumstances. Excuses abound for these individuals, and their problems are never their fault. (To be fair, some of these people are my homeless patients and some of these people are comfortably housed people I meet in other areas of my life. Laziness and immaturity span financial divisions, as do drugs abuse, ill advised lifestyle choices and apathy.)

I say this because I want to acknowledge that those people do exist.
But I want to stress here that not everyone who is poor was born that way, and not everyone poor got that way through their own choices.

The fact of the matter is that being poor costs a lot more than most people give any thought to. It takes a lot of strength, determination and will power to make ends meet when you live paycheck to paycheck. And our country is full of those people. And I'm not just talking about homeless people anymore. I'm talking about the lower class. They have homes, they have jobs, they aren't (necessarily) on drugs, but they're struggling. Because of unemployment maybe, or a physical handicap, or for whatever reason, but they struggle every day.

And I'm not sure how to make it better.

patterns

Only in the interest of patterns do I bring you a rundown of the way every evening ended this weekend:

Friday night was Liz Caradonna's going away party at the Tavern on the Square in Central Square. It was a motley crew, and a fun one. Every time someone entered the room I was surprised and delighted to see them. The biggest surprise of the evening came from Three Hole Punch founder (and close friend) Amy "Butts" Koske arriving all the way from Amherst to celebrate with us.
Liz and I had planned to leave by 11pm so I could drive her to Danvers, MA. Her family was waiting at a hotel on Route 1 with the UHaul she would drive to Chicago in the morning.

We left the party half an hour late, got lost on the way to Danvers and ended up in the worst midnight traffic jam of my life on 93N. 93N, by the way, being the wrong highway to take to get to Danvers. After singing, laughing, reminiscing and finally saying "see you later," (never "goodbye"), I dropped her off. Wiping away tears I proceeded get myself lost coming home. A night that should have ended much earlier didn't see me in my bed until about 2:30am

Still I was up early and miraculously arrived at work on time for my 7am shift.
By 10:45pm, having put in a nine hour day at work, gone to church in the North End, and then performed in two shows on the mainstage at IA I was ready for bed. The shows had been tight, sold out and well received. My adrenaline was still rushing as I changed my clothes in the greenroom. However, work that day had been especially rough and now that I was offstage I was also already mentally preparing for Sunday. I declined invitations for rabel rousing and headed for the train station. Unfortunately, on my way there I found a man passed out, possibly hypoglycemic and definitely drunk, laying across a sidewalk. I did not get home right after the show.

Still this morning I had high hopes.
"Only a twelve hour shift," I said to myself, "and then I'll be home and I'll go straight to bed!"
However, by the time 7pm rolled around I had gotten my second wind. We were understaffed for the evening shift, and I volunteered to stay because I was (seriously) genuinely just having such a good night at work. It wasn't an easy sixteen hours at all. In fact I rarely sat down during the two shifts combined. But sometimes that's when I feel like I'm doing my best work. Plus, once your mind is in that kind of zone, it's better to just follow it through to the end. So I did.

I don't regret the decisions that led to it, but it struck me that every night of this weekend ended significantly later than planned. And yet I'm all the better for every single night. I don't regret a minute of any of it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to quietly collapse.