Today was Casting Day!
Not big Hollywood type casting, but rather oh-my-god-my-arm-is-broken-and-crooked-and-sweet-christ-how-are-we-going-to-keep-it-from-moving type casting.
The hour or so drive to the orthopedic was spent discussing Doctor Who and wishing we could attend Comic-Con International in the near future.
X-rays were taken, we were told the arm is healing well and the cast was applied. The boy wanted green and was devistated to hear the nurse say “Oh, I think we’re out of green!” before she left to see what colors they did have.
She returned with a little bag marked “Green”.
The boy was happy again. Even happier when he learned we were eating Mexican after his appointment.
Speaking of Doctor Who, we’re caught up on this year’s series. We’re right on schedule with Britain (you needn’t know how) and looking forward to the latest episodes.
The more I see David Tennant as The Doctor, the more I realize he’s one of my favorite Doctors so far. Tom Baker is a hard one to top, though. I’m not sure I can say the words “I like him better than Tom Baker” aloud without choking on them.
Here’s a bit of Doctor Who geekness that had me giggling like a fanboy this morning:
That’s the Tenth Doctor, David Tennant, meeting the Fifth Doctor, Peter Davison, in the wacky sort of way you meet a past version of yourself whilst flying around time and space in your TARDIS (have I mentioned I love Doctor Who?).
I was introduced to Doctor Who at the same time I was (sort of) introduced to Anime.
I was a teenager watching PBS late one evening (as I did quite often and still do, from time to time), when I saw an episode of an animated show called “Urusei Yatsura” and fell in love (I’d seen anime prior to this, in the form of Voltron, Robotech, Speed Racer, and Astro Boy, but this was the first time I’d seen something subtitled).
After Urusei Yatsura was Tenchi Muyo! and after Tenchi Muyo! it was Charlie Rose. This was my Saturday evening from then on. I would stay up and watch my animated programs and then, depending on the level of interest I had in that night’s guest, I’d watch Charlie Rose.
But something struck me as odd. Whenever I would tune in a minute or two early to Urusei Yatsura, I was treated to the credits of some old program that showed words disappearing into what I could only assume was some sort of acid trip colored intergalactic worm hole (I was close) in the background, all while eerie-but-catchy techno-before-techno-existed type music played.
“Huh.” I’d say, intrigued.
One fateful Saturday, I made the effort to tune in an hour earlier.
I saw on my television screen an old man in a fedora and a long scarf running around saving the world from alien forces. I learned he was an alien himself, a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. I learned that the TARDIS (which stands for Time And Relative Dimenstion(s) In Space and is The Doctor’s primary mode of transporation) was stuck as a Police Box circa 1950, but that we humans would never notice that fact. I learned that Daleks are bad, K-9 is a good dog and that no matter how many companions the old man had, he was doomed to travel alone.
This was The Doctor.
The Doctor has stayed with me over the years. He’s become a part of me. In 2005, I learned they were revisiting The Doctor. The ninth regeneration for the good Doctor and I really enjoyed the entire series. At the end of the series, The Doctor regenerated again, this time from Christopher Eccleston into David Tennant, who remains the current Doctor.
I’ve seen old black and white episodes, I’ve seen episodes from the sixties with hilarious hair and super technicolor visuals, I’ve seen eighties episodes, I’ve even seen the movie from 1996.
Such is my love of The Doctor. And I’ve found a woman who shares my love of all things Doctor Who, as the wife has been watching The Doctor’s adventures since she was a little girl as well.
Funny, the things that connect us.
Let’s start with the bad things. Or thing, really.
In case you haven’t heard (and if you haven’t, where the hell have you been?), a powerful cyclone hit Myanmar five days ago, devistating nearly everything in its wake and killing thousands of people. Five days have passed, and even the largest city in Myanmar is paralyzed.
The length of time these people are forced to wait for aid is a travesty. If you’d like to help, please give anything you can. GlobalGiving.Com has a few different programs you can give to, or you can give to one all-inclusive plan, where a little of your money will go to all the programs listed.
On to some less Apocalyptic bits.
Author John Scalzi is now blogging it up over at AMCTV.Com.
His first entry is one entitled “Is Guillermo del Toro the Right Man for The Hobbit?” and it serves as a bit of a response to this blog entry by a man named Andrew O’Hehir over at Salon.Com. O’Hehir is against del Toro directing The Hobbit (and it’s subsequent sequel, which Scalzi affectionately refers to as The Hobbit 2: Electric Bilboloo), Scalzi is all for del Toro taking over for Peter Jackson.
Both articles make very interesting points, but I find myself agreeing with John. The Hobbit, while one of my favorite books, is a bit soft ’round the middle; making it the sort of book that is great to read before bed or to your children or whilst sitting under a nice big tree, but also the sort of book from which a film adaptaion may be a dangerous thing. A film adaptation of Hobbit, if not done correctly and by someone who knew what he or she were doing, could end up being very… Let’s say “fluffy”.
I, for one, think del Toro is a fantastic choice to direct Hobbit, because of his ability to create visually stunning and emotionally gripping fantasy (Go watch Pan’s Labyrinth. Right now. Even if you’ve already seen it, just go watch it.) and because he is a short bearded man with a funny accent, hence the perfect person to take the helm from Peter Jackson.
That last bit was a joke.
When I first read that del Toro had been chosen to direct The Hobbit, I felt relieved. I felt as though I could sit back and relax, as one of my favorite books was no longer in danger of turning into a very boring film.
Give a listen to these mp3s of Arthur C. Clarke reading the final chapters of 2001: A Space Odyssey. It’s very moving and very haunting and very cool.
The wife and the boy and I are all going to see IRON MAN tonight at our local theater, which excites us, but we are unable to make it a night out involving dinner, which disappoints us. We will have to make due with corn dogs before we leave for the film.
The boy’s arm is still broken and not yet in a cast, but the casting appointment has been made (May the fourteenth) and he says he’ll be happy once it’s on.
He also says the pain is minimal, which is more than I could say when I broke my arm around that same age.
Our son learned a very hard lesson on Thursday Night; Never climb a slide in a way it was not originally intended to be climbed.
He came home accompanied by a crooked arm and many tears and much whimpering. We whisked him to the Emergency Room, where they performed X-Rays and told us they could not set the bone. They gave him a purple splint, which made him feel a little better, and some Vicodin, which made him feel a lot better, and told us we needed to drive an hour and twenty minutes to an Orthopedic specialist.
And so, we did.
Friday afternoon, we arrived for our appointment and the doctor told us, upon looking at the X-Rays, that he would need to be given anaesthesia and the bone would be set. At the hospital three blocks away from his office. The next morning.
And so we drove an hour and twenty minutes home. We kept our child as medicated as was legal and healthy and awaited the morning.
Saturday morning we drove an hour and twenty minutes to the hospital near the orthopedic specialist’s office, being absolutely certain to get our son there by his ten o’clock appointment.
At twelve thirty five, they finally performed the operation.
Things went well, the bone is set, but due to swelling the cast cannot be applied until a week from now. When we will have to drive an hour and twenty minutes to the hospital across from the orthopedic specialist’s office.
On the plus side, the nurse gave us a ten dollar gas card for making us wait so long, which was awfully nice of her.
I’ve decided that hospital waiting room coffee is much like the stale cookies that accompany it; it’s there to keep your hands and mind temporarily occupied so you don’t worry about whatever reason you find yourself in a hospital waiting room in the first place.
The boy’s friends have given him free ice cream, they’ve brought over homework for the weekend and they’ve checked in on a regular schedule to ensure he’s alright.
His teachers gave him popcorn and a gift certificate for free movie rentals.
We’ve given him the gift of anaesthesia. The specialist could have set the bone at his office on Friday afternoon, however, it would be a very painful procedure that may have ended with his arm needing to be rebroken in a week or two.
Given that the hospital bill alone is said to be at least seven to eight thousand dollars, I’d say our gift trumps the popcorn.
I’ll give my two cents later.
It’s very nearly six in the morning and I’ve slept very little, so I think I’ll go and sleep for a few hours before assisting a one-armed child with his paper route duties. More updates later (maybe even some photos).