I hate that, the whole "To Be Continued" crap. But that is what I got today: To be continued. I didn't get "scar tissue" and I didn't get "it's cancer". What I got is this, "Here are your options...." I hate that. What they found is that the spot changed shape, but did not grow. My options were to wait for three months and re-scan, or go for a PET scan, which I have to hope my insurance will approve, and then it gets interesting. If the spot doesn't glow from the PET scan, then I am negative for cancer--yay! If it glows, or whatever weird radioactive crap it does, then I will be whisked away for a biopsy. They will open me up from the top, shove the AFHV video cam down my chest and get a little sumptin-sumptin. If it turns out to be cancer, then the game gets pretty damned ugly.
I was thinking that whatever they caught, if that is the case, would be a cinch to treat since it's a small spot and detected early. My oncologist gave me that Yoda look, you know, the one where Luke said he wasn't afraid and Yoda goes, "You will be. You will be!" Apparently, if any cancer could survive the intensive treatment that I had just gone through, then it is super resistant. This means that the next step would be the most extreme treatment offered for this kind of cancer. This type of chemo is so strong that it will kill all of my bone marrow. So, the solution is to suck out all of my bone marrow beforehand and freeze it. I then go on super doses of nuepogen, which hurts like a mother fucker, and with the chemo get poisoned almost to death. There would be no set end date. I would just keep getting treatments until they think I'm through. After I am done with treatment, I will get my bone marrow back and have a 2-3 week stay at the hospital. Fuck yeah! I'm so there that I'm crapping a shoe right now!!!
Forget that I said any of that scary-assed shit. My doctors just couldn't prove it wasn't cancer yet. I am confident that the PET scan will reveal that I am cancer free. Even if it turns out to be cancer, I will go through whatever I have to to live. I figure I owe that much to whoever my future wife and kids turn out to be. Not to mention that I've never been to Hawaii before, or done the watusi, whatever in the hell that is! My point is that I am scared, but I know the stakes. I am going to put all of my chips on the table and fight like I've never fought before--if I need to. My big question to myself is this: If you get an all clear, how are you going to live your life after that?
This is a short clip of the chorus of "I will follow you into the dark" from the concert. Sorry for the fidelity. My once high-tech phone is now relegated to a Fisher Price "My Very First Cell Phone'" status. The dude performing it, if you didn't know, is Ben Gibbard of Death Cab for Cutie.
The concert was great. There was a two-hour delay because of the weather, but the show went on. Tegan and Sara were the opening group. They did a good job. Rogue Wave were billed second, but were bumped because of time restrictions. DCFC were great. I, like I said before, am not a huge DCFC fan. I was, though, very impressed at their live interpretations of their album work. That is how I measure a band. If they can't play live, it doesn't matter how good their albums are--I don't respect them as much.
I got my CT scan today. The doctors finally got my pre-meds cocktail right to counter my allergic reaction to the iodine dye. I was so relieved, because the way I would be effected by the iodine was not fun at all. Now all that happened was that I sneezed a couple of times and my eyes and testicles felt like they were on fire. Believe it or not, this was major progress. I won't find out what my oncologists find until tomorrow (or today, Wednesday, when you are most likely reading this). I am hoping for a brand-new puppy and they will cut it off of my lung so I can hug, love, and read him bedtime stories at night. Either that, or they just determine that it is scar tissue and not cancer...again!
Imagine this for a second: you are a kid and an angel comes into your room; the angel tells you that your dad is going to sneak into your room one night, naked, and beat you up. This is the reason that I am not God, or an angel. I would be too tempted to mess with people.
I missed the last part of Rambo in order to write you this post. Feel special? Good. See, I am writing this post for you, even though it is about me, it is done with you in mind.
Cell phones in movies: Turn those damn things off. When I saw the new Indiana Jones movie on Saturday, there was this mother and her kids all texting each other through the whole damned movie. Damn, damn, dammit, people! I talked to the mother and explained that the texting was bothering me. She replied that it wasn't making any noise, so why should I care? I then told her that the light from the phone screens were distracting me from the movie, which was impolite. They stopped for awhile, then one of her sons started again. I knew that I could make this a scene, or do my best to ignore it. I chose the latter and I don't know if that was the right thing to do. At least I made my point clear. I feel sorry for people who are inconsiderate.
I get to go see Death Cab For Cutie Monday (today). A guy that I know was going to see them with his wife and they couldn't get a baby sitter. His wife wasn't the fan here, so she told him to find someone to go with him and she'd watch the kids. I had no idea that I was on this guy's list of friends. I mean, we're friendly, but yeah, it's cool. I am not DCFC's #1 fan or anything, but I can get into them enough that this is exciting to go and see them live. I'd much rather be seeing them with a girl. I mean, I can do AC/DC with a guy and have no issues, but emotive music like this is pushing my limits of who I can sit next to and share special moments with. What the hell, though; it's free! And you know what else? I've been told that my cover of "I will follow you into the dark" has made girls' panties explode.
It's okay. I am still firm in my masculinity. I'm definitely going to see the new one on Saturday, even if it means being sat next to some smelly fanboy or mass organism known as "The Big Momo Fambly".
But you know what would be even better than this? Another one of these: I wonder if Sean Young still looks as hot as she did in this movie, not to mention Daryl Hanna. Rutger Hauer was a scene stealer--amazing!
Are you guys with me on all of this? Thoughts please.
I've got this bird that sits on a branch near my bedroom window that bursts into full on, piercing, "TWEET, FUCKING TWEET" every morning around 5 o'clock. The bird's voice is actually very beautiful, but not at that time of the morning. I've got these crusty ear plugs sitting on my night stand as my only defense. They are too uncomfortable to wear all night long, so I do this mad grab for them in the dark of early morning every time this little shit starts up. Getting them into my ears quickly, before I'm fully awake, can be hard. Plus, I need to clear off this night stand because one time I shoved a cough drop into my ear by accident.
I have a different work schedule that puts my bedtime around 1:30 AM, so waking up at five in the morning is not fun. I am not able to pull the same shit I could back in college. I need my eight hours of sleep, when I can get them. Mr. Birdie McTweet-Tweet is starting to drive me batty-go-losehismind.
I've had all the thoughts of how to terminate this pest, but I just don't have the heart to actually do it. I am now choosing to look at the situation as that of a friend coming by to say hello--a retarded friend that doesn't know that 5 AM is to damned early to sing your effin' heart out.
Maybe I just need a good supply of "throwing" cats handy by my window. That is a breed of cat, right?
Centaurs are cool. However, I am confused on one thing, how many sets of nipples do these mythical creatures have? At what location does the mother centaur breast feed her young? I need to know.
Speaking in tongues: this is my favorite source of religious entertainment. It's supposedly possible in my religion, yet I never saw anybody do this until I went to a Pentecostal church. Why do they get to have all the fun? Recently, I have called this "miracle" into question: Is speaking in tongues necessary? Does God do this to reveal stuff or just to show off? I figure if one is to babble something revelatory, then it would be easier for all of those involved if it were done in their native tongue. Besides, who can really trust the "translator"? They could totally be effed in the head and start some new practice in the church involving placing golf tees in the urethra to stop impure impulses. I think that this miracle should only be allowed for entertainment purposes only, because witnessing someone babble like a brain-damaged Porky Pig is just plain good church, and really, isn't that what church is all about?
Admit it, would any of you go to church if it were not for the freak spotting? I thought so.
Today I felt like a horrible liar. I get done telling one person at work about the stress that I am going through with medical issues and life, then after that conversation telling another person how great I was feeling and how things were fine. See, I'm wondering which person I esteemed less here. Was it a matter of that I trusted the first, therefore, I confided in them more, or that I hated the first and wanted to inflict them with my tales of personal misery?
I went into a public restroom and was hit with a horrible stench created by a man experiencing bowel trouble in one of the stalls. Realizing that he would never know who I was, or see who said it, I remarked, "I've smelled worse." I then ran away, acting like a stupid kid that got away with something naughty.
Right now in my life I do not feel very well equipped to court women. Flirt shamelessly? Yes. Court? No. Having someone there for me would be great, though. Going through cancer and all the treatments, and recovery, only to be facing the possibility of more of this crap, has been incredibly lonely. While I could not imagine being without the people who have reached out to me during all of this, I lacked having somone that I could totally confide in (true). See, I have had to work on my jealousy lately. I see people getting involved romantically around me and I want to go around and tell them to get bent. But, because of my overriding good nature, I squash my malevolence and say to myself, "Gosh, they make such a great couple. I am lucky just to be witness to another's joy!" Then I go to the nearest hedge and promptly vomit, because being a good person is hard on my digestive system. So, to all of you that have someone that is your life's or current counterpart in love, I hope that you experience nothing but happiness and deep feelings of love and support for the rest of your life/three weeks together.
Now look what you just made me do to my wastebasket!
I really didn't address the problem that I am having. It is easy here to spill my emotional beans. However, one will find that upon real life inspection that I am a typical "stone-like" man, emotionally. Well, I am probably a little ahead of the curve, but still....I've been going through some heavy shit. If I was to get involved with a girl now the emotional floodgates would either be totally shut off, or they would be wide open, leaving a muddy mess. Furthermore, I do not have a rich history of relationships. You could call me a rover of sorts, moving on before there was anything at stake. I thought I was breaking down that wall prior to my health troubles. The thing is that I need companionship now--I really feel it--yet, the means to acquire such companionship alludes me, or at least I don't feel like I could handle it right now. This is even more absurd, in that, I am probably the best guy on the freakin' planet. I bet I have frustrated and confused a whole host of women. Payback is a bitch.
I am sorry, women. I am sorry for not having my shit together. I am sorry for being unavailable when I really should be. I am sorry for slacking when I have such incredible talents and potential--letting it get in the way. I apologize for having a great capacity for love and caring, yet not risking having it rejected by those that I truly desire. I deserve to be alone when I take all of this for granted--damn me!
I had a wonderful Saturday at a friend's house, spending time with his family. I watched some good movies. Listened to some good albums [Blue Öyster Cult's Agent's of Fortune (Don't Fear the Reaper--Cowbell!!!), Lemonheads' It's a shame about Ray, and Grandaddy's Sophtware Slump]. I hung out at a bookstore and browsed like a mofo. I rung my Stratocaster's bell. I do all these things and feel the way I do right now and I don't understand it.
BTW, "Don't Fear the Reaper" has been popping up on stations whenever I turn on the radio lately. I love that song to death. Buck Dharma's guitar solo on that song is nothing short of amazing, not to mention the trance-like mood his vocals set in that song.
Here, you guys need something to laugh at today: The Adventures of Ricardo! Alright, I'm going to go and watch some TV, then read a book before I pass out and have sexy dreams--I hope.
In light of the recent "hair" post, and how adorable I've become, I'm feeling more and more like one of these cute, furry creatures: The Monchichi.
A quick history of the origins of Monchichi: Satan, the founder of K-Tel records, formed an alliance with ABBA and set out to develop a line of satanic monkey toys to enslave the children of the '80s. The Monchichi, male and female, were a product of this evil co-op. The plan backfired, however, and just made everyone that came in contact with the Monchichi, really, really gay. The same goes for any kid who watched Thundercats, Gem, Rainbowbrite, and took the clothes off of Strawberry Shortcake to see what goodies she really had underneath that frock.
Today was insane. I was having lady upon lady run their fingers through my hair at work. All of the women were married, too. I don't get why single ladies don't act upon their desires--it's clear that women want to feel my hair.
I feel a bit unprepared, since I have no photo for you, but my hair right now is especially awesome. I don't comb it or nothing, just wash and towel dry; that's it. There's this textural thing happening with it; plus, it lays down in all these cool waves. The color is light brown with light blond highlights. Did I mention that my hair used to be reddish? It isn't anymore.
I am enjoying this phenomenon of women messing up my hair with their hands. I have figured out that if I could choose a way to die, that death by female hair tussling would be high on my list. Okay, which one of you ladies wants a tussle?
(There were two other photos, one was much better, but they didn't survive the emailing process from my phone to computer. WTF? The downside with going through all the treatments was that my face aged quite a bit from all the stress. Meh, I still look good.)
Hello! You may be wondering to yourselves, "What kind of post does Sir Grunty have for us today?" Well, my friends, it is the best kind of post. It's the kind of post where I have no clue what I'm going to say!
I went on a hike today, despite not feeling well this morning. I figured that the mountains were a good enough place to croak as doing it at home. I'm paying the price for it right now (like $2.50), but it was well worth it. I made about five video clips on my hike with my phone, but my phone and my computer broke up about three weeks ago and they haven't been talking ever since.
I'm thinking of converting Clyde (my 1978 K20 pickup) over to CNG. What in the hell is that, you say? That is compressed natural gas, and it is cheap, plentiful, and the cleanest fossil fuel on the planet. Despite my best hopes and wishes, bio-fuels have turned out to be worse than Satan. They are certainly worse than regular petroleum. It turns out that all that green talk about bio-fuel was pure bullshit and will drive food prices up and pollute more than we already do. Oh well, live and learn. It is just a shame that many are not willing to take propane and CNG seriously. Why? Because Big Oil runs that game and we all know that being a really, really good tree hugger means putting horns and a red tail on anything that doesn't run on rainbows and magic wishes. I mean, come on; do you really believe that Hank Hillwould be in league with Satan? BTW, Honda already makes a great CNG vehicle.
I saw the movie Speed Racer on Saturday, and to borrow a line from the Burt Reynolds movie "The End", it's like Walt Disney threw up. BTW, that movie is super funny. Burt Reynolds character keeps trying to kill himself and fails each time. Dom DeLuise is a lunatic that wants to help him kill himself. You'd probably have to go to some ghetto video rental place to find an out of print VHS copy of the movie to see it. Does anybody know what I'm talking about here?
Gary Numan once asked this question in a song, when he was in the group Tubeway Army, "Are friends electric?" The answer is, yes, if your friend runs on D cells. If your friend has an AC hookup, then, you are pretty damn hardcore.
One year ago today, I was at a concert with a girl that I liked a lot, having a great birthday. I can remember thinking to myself that the coming year would be my year. Since then, the girl that I really liked got married and I, of course, battled hard with cancer and financial hell. I never would have imagined those events coming to define who I am. I look back at what I've been through, what I perceived to have lost, and I see that I didn't chuck it in. I fought the whole way through this bastard. I'm not saying that my life is one big tampon commercial, where I can wear white shorts and play tennis again, but it is my life.
While new hair grows and the color has returned to my face, I carry the ravages and scars of this year around with me 24/7. Sometimes it is depressing and lonely, and other times it is like looking down after a long hike and seeing all the scary obstacles that I got through with satisfaction. Then I look up and see nothing but clouds, wondering where my summit will be and where my journey will take me now.
My birthday today was one of small hiccups, like locking myself out of my truck and then having to break into it while people gawked at me. My birthday was also one spent with family, getting treated to dinner. I also played my guitar too loud and pissed off the neighbors. My boss called me in to work, forgetting that I had the day off, and I told her no. But the best part of the day, my birthday, was a trip to the doctor's office.
I haven't been feeling well lately. It has been hard gaining back confidence in my body's health. To start having health problems again has been depressing for me. I've been beginning to doubt myself and if I really should be still here on this earth, seeing as how I would probably be dead if it were a few generations ago. Then again, I am a man of this time, where I am blessed with modern medical science. So, I am meant to be here. I then asked myself why. Today, I got the answer.
My general practitioner is a great man. He is the one who finally figured out what was wrong with me--cancer. Going back to him today was significant. It was around this time last year that noticeable signs of my lymphoma were evident, but because I was being a tough guy, I ignored it. I was also ignorant. Going back to my doctor's visit, I have had some respiratory problems--different from the ones I had last year, but disturbing because of the time line. The doctor examined me and we got talking. We mainly talked about the time when we found out what was wrong with me and how I was doing now. I mentioned to him that it was my birthday today. He responded, "Do you know why you are here today? Do you know the one thing that you did to save your life?" He then gave me the answer (pointing): "Because you came in." It finally dawned on me that the biggest hero in saving my life was me. If I did not seek help, then who knows what would have become of my life. The reason why I am here on this earth today is that I made the choice to be here. I made the decision to go through uncertainty and pain in order to get a life back--a life that frankly didn't have much going for it at the time. So, now I've got my basket case of a life back on the trailer and I'm wheeling it into the shop for repairs. I am facing more uncertainty and financial drain with pending exams with regards to mysterious spots on my lungs. I question my ability to get involved with someone else romantically. I look at my resume and see nothing but shit-stained skills. All I can say now is "fuck it". I don't know how I'm going to get on top of the situation, but as God as my witness, I will.
I think we all can remember about a thousand silly things we've done when we were little.When you're young it's kind of the point, to be silly. One of the things that comes to my mind right now is how I misused a certain slur as a kid. Well, to tell you the truth, if any word sounded like a swear, I'd use it plenty before I really knew what it meant.
So, here I am, a kid, riding my orange Huffy P.O.S. BMX bike (the first "post training wheels" bike of mine) and the chain falls off. I wanted to impress all of my friends, so I used a swear that I had heard my big brother and his friends utter once. I shouted at my bike "You dirty slut!" All of my friends took notice. They were all impressed. A couple of them had heard the swear slut before, and I don't think any of them knew what it meant either because from then on we all were calling things dirty sluts.
If one of us was pissed off because we hurt ourselves on something, we'd call the monkey bars a dirty slut. If some old dude was giving us shit for walking on his lawn we'd yell at him that he was a dirty slut. Hell, we called each other dirty sluts. We also incorporated some odd combinations with the word, like "Shitty ass slut", "Damn ass slut", and "Go to hell, bastard slut". I can only imagine what the people who overheard us were thinking about it all.
Eventually, my friend's older brother pissed us off and we called his motorcycle a "cheap piece of ass slut" and he started laughing at us hysterically, then he and his friends proceeded to kick our asses. After the ass kicking, which included a dog shit facial for one unfortunate kid, the big brother set us straight on what the slur "slut" meant. We all felt pretty dumb, but after that we just used it more. Only now, we knew how to use it, and that is the story of how I was grounded for two weeks for calling a neighbor lady a slut.
All right, I am off to order a new set of pickups for my Stratocaster "Black Betty". It is my birthday present for me, a day and a half early. You all have a great day!
I had a horrible dream last night. I can't really do it justice here. In the dream I was in my future home, wherever that is, and a nuclear blast came from the north, sending a shock wave down. It was so graphic, from the smell, the brightness, and the sound of the blast and shock wave. The weirdest and most terrifying thing was the sound--a ripping wave of thunder. I could hear things being torn to shreds and then bursting. The dream continued where I was gathering my future family and having the feeling like the house was going to crumble. That was when a second blast southwest of there went off, and the whole thing kind of replayed itself. I'm not thinking that I was having some kind of prophetic dream. It was probably something I ate that night, but holy hell it was just too much. It is amazing what the subconscious mind can fabricate/simulate.
I was watching a DVD and eating some gummy worms. While eating the gummy worms, I decided to have a side of lip to go with my treats. I've got quite the little hole now inside of my lip. Gummy worms and blood make for an interesting combo. Don't you just hate it when that happens?
BTW, when I grow up I want to be a Kefitzat Haderech. Oh yeah, my birthday is coming soon. Maybe outer space Santa will get me something cool.
I don't know what in the heck happened to the video clip I sent to my computer, via my phone, but it was me trying to capture the image of snow flakes in May. The video wasn't high resolution enough to actually see the flakes, which just made me look stupid. I really wanted you to see the clip, but technology is making me its bitch right now. Maybe I will have this all ready in the morning.
Anyway, it was around 37 F today where I live. The snow didn't stick to the valley floor, but it did just above the foothills. The mountains got around 14 inches in parts. This is weird weather.
I have a long defunct serial fiction blog that I finally figured what to do with. That blog is TOAITT (Tales of an Irresponsible Time Traveler). I'm not going to continue that blog; rather, I will take what is there and complete it down the road. I have to start things, only to stop them, sometimes. The reason why is I need to get the concept started, but me being me, I am never satisfied with things and put the kibosh on most projects before they have a chance to get off the ground. Now I figured out the story and I am rather happy that the whole picture has come to me. If you haven't checked that blog out and want to read it before I shut it down, take a look. Note: the first post you see is actually the latest installment, so you have to go back to get to the start.
Alrighty, I'm ditching this donkey barn and going to bed. Happy May!