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You look just like Alanis Morissette.

I don't want to go into too much detail on how awful the last few days have been, the toxic cocktail of chemicals in my bloodstream, the fact that my ankle was not only broken but dislocated as well (because I go BIG when I injure myself apparently), the nurses who could not seem to agree on what kind of pain medication I was supposed to be on so: let's just try a little bit of a few things rather than enough of just one, all of which left me screaming for help at one AM in the middle of Hollywood, not to mention my inability to complete a thought verbally which has completely freaked me out. (Although I can type relatively fine - albeit slowly - which is weird.)

But I will tell you this one moment. After I woke up from surgery and sat for an hour in a tidy little room in recovery, a hospital escort came to pick me up and take me to my room for the night. This is, of course, a totally surreal moment without the help of anything else. You see and hear everything while lying flat, yet in motion: the swirl of the hospital, the doctors, the patients, worried faces, stressed-out faces, impatience, noise, pointed silence, creaks and dings and doors opening and closing, all of it muffled and then distinct and then muffled again, like a phone that keeps coming in and out of a clear connection. And you are on drugs. And you just want to stop moving.

Now add to that the fact that I was staying on the Korean floor. I did not know such a thing existed. I will be sure to request a non-Korean floor the next time I stay at a hospital. Nothing against Koreans. I love me some Koreans. It's just that the nurses didn't SPEAK FUCKING ENGLISH. And did not know what kind of meds I was supposed to be getting. And didn't get that I was in pain until I had to start screaming. But that's not the story I want to tell. (Yes, I know I just told it. Shut up already.)

As we arrived on the floor there was a sea of about thirty middle-aged Korean men and women, the men attired in tuxedos, and the women in hot pink ball gowns. The escort said, "Whoa." My mom said, "Whoa." I said, "You have to be kidding me." We all felt like we were tripping for a second. (My mom, who has never done drugs in her life, concurred the next day.) They all spread apart smiling and giggling and then just as I passed them they STARTED SINGING. This was their gig, right? To cheer up poor sick Korean people with festive inspirational songs. But it melted my brain. They took a part of me with them that night. The Korean Choral Mind Melting Revue.

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May I direct your attention to some tour dates that are popping up for next year? Look down there at the bottom of this page, in the left hand column, or over here, on my events listing page. There will be more events coming soon for my Bad-Ass Southern Book Tour to promote the paperback version of The Kept Man.

(11/28/08)