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I should have known something was up when the two clowns approached us. They spotted us right off. The man was playing a green ukulele and the woman had a baby guitar that was a little banged up. "What are you looking at?" they said to us, all smudged make-up and mismatched outfits. I turned to Doug and grinned weakly. As a young child, my parents would take us to the local gas station where for some reason entertainment in the form of clowns came with the free shpritzing of the windshield. I'd scream in bloody terror and hide underneath the seats, as some out of work nudnik with a penchant for big shoes and a place to wear polka dotted pants would approach our Buick. Nah, I never liked clowns. It was surreal to be greeted by them in a hospital waiting room. Singing clowns. Singing clowns that only sang songs about farts. I smiled inanely and looked at Doug who was also smiling inanely. I guess this was one way to kill time before Dr. Dolphin came out to get me. Just as I was getting into the ditty about the Titanic (My Fart Will Go On) the doctor came out. He sang along for a bar or two and that made me feel a little better. Made him seem human. Until four seconds later when I was led into an operating room that was all green and pointy and full of sharp things and people who only spoke in words ending in "oid." The most uninviting contraption in the middle of the room waited and I wondered when the IV drip would start. Long story short. No drip, no Valium. Just some stinging eye drops and well, think about how they numb you at the dentist office, only imagine the place of entry being somewhere on your eyelid. Being a huge baby by nature this "routine procedure" turned me into a bawling mess (still teetering, actually.) Waiting for results is almost as bad as the biopsy itself. Sure, I claimed some sick-days (the best thing corporations can offer -- unlimited sick days, I think), and spent it in bed listening to shows like The View (much better with closed eyes anyway), re-runs of Cosby (this is what Nick at Nite is showing? What ever happened to Rhoda?) and old movies (How far ahead of its time was Guess Who's Coming to Dinner anyway?) In between listening to the TV, I did make time to think about the good things. Spring clothes, daylight savings time, working on new projects, my impending wedding. That’s it. I gotta keep focused. Even through my broken eyes.

A lot has happened since I last posted. A LOT. First off, I discovered (during a staggering 4 1/2 hour office visit to an ophthalmologist) that I am growing a second row of eyelashes (Yes! I'm a mutant!) I now get to visit yet another more specialized ophthalmologist for all sorts of fun ways to extract said mutation. Fun! However, during this visit my boyfriend held my hand and then got my dazed tuchis into a taxicab home. It's real trippy to get your eyes dilated when your eyesight is like 20 over negative 400. Equilibrium is kinda non-existent at that point. As miserable as I was he was thrilled to find out that I was a mutant ("it explains so much") that he proposed to me the very next day! Yes, MARRIAGE. As I type this I can feel the weight of his grandmother's ring on my left ring finger. So yeah. This whole week has pretty much been spent gazing at it (through two sets of eyelashes, no less.) This is pretty much the happiest I've ever been. I didn't think anything could top that off, but then I got an email from someone from the Jewish Museum of Philadelphia. Seems he wants to do a Plotz retrospective (in either Spring 2003 or 2004). I know. A whole exhibit devoted to all things Plotz. I'm pretty excited about it. As details emerge I will post them here. You betcha.