There were times in my childhood when I became so frustrated with things that almost nothing would make it all better. When I would get that way I would lock myself into my room with my sister's old 8-track player and listen to ABBA until the world made sense to me again. The Grease soundtrack was also heavily employed, as well as the theme song to Hawaii Five-O. Now I usually just hole up wherever I can get free refills on beverages and drink Diet Coke until I am ready to add another chapter to my Groundhog Day existence.
ABBA is one of my most treasured guilty pleasures in life. I thought it was so beautiful how Frida (the one I so dearly wanted to bone) and blondie blond Agnetha (the other one I so dearly wanted to bone) would sing together in harmony. As for Benny and Böjrn, those two dudes were Swedish pimps, getting all married up in that shit. Who would know that this Swedish supergroup had a hidden agenda to take over the world.
You may joke that they were the inventors of "Mentos" pop, but did you know that they are the creators of everything super catchy and addicting since the '70s? Yes, it is true. They did unleash Mentos upon us, but that was just the beginning. Let's see...video games, soft core, Jazzercise, Swatches, pogs, IM, texting, American Idol, Lost, and You Tube, to name just a handful of examples of the secret weapons that ABBA has used to control us. The sinister plot to rule the world does not stop there. Benny and Frida unleashed their demon spawn Ace of Bace upon us in the early nineties with devastating results. Agnetha and Björn decided that they should contribute as well and birthed Aqua. It was in these spawn that the seeds of their demise were sewn. Not having obtained the secret of immortality, ABBA have not been able to trust their progeny to carry out their diabolical plan into the future, due to Ace of Bace and Aqua's lack of staying power or coolness.
We have hope in the Scandinavian countries' ever vigilant metal movement to keep ABBA's influence and power in check. This is what I've noticed: It's a war between two extremes in this region. Either you have super happy/catchy groups like ABBA or super downer trip to hell black metal bands like Gorgogoth and Mayhem there. I've fought on both sides of the battle and end up going back to Liverpool with the Fab Four. Every once in awhile, though, I make my way back and see what each side has been up to since the last time we met up. I've recently done my rounds and ABBA is doing O.K. They need to watch out for a Finnish band, Insomniom, though. They're evil. Well, it's all evil, really.
It is important to note that The Cardigans were not related to ABBA, although some have speculated such. Oh, and glow sticks are the fecal product of all blond-haired and blue-eyed pop princesses.
If this post was not up to regular Grunt Ahoy standards, well, you can chalk it up to me doing my taxes this morning and being star struck by meeting Oprah's boyfriend Steadman Graham at a conference that my boss thought I should go to because I needed to be motivated. Yes, after this event I will be better able to do my monkey chores. I now have a vision and an action plan. Watch out world!
If you are having a hard time getting noticed, try this: eat a banana with a spoon. That's right. You peel a little at a time and scoop out the banana with your trusty spoon and viola! People will think, "My, what a dignified mental patient they are."
I have the nickname "Crazy Diamond" at a certain location where I work. The dude who gave it to me thinks that I am some kind of cracked genius. Why else would I be working there? It all started one day when I was talking about palindromes in music and he all of a sudden starts singing, "You reached for the secret too soon. You tried for the moon. Shine on you crazy diamond." We all laughed at his selection (Pink Floyd). But what was once a weird compliment is now dogging me because it is like a reminder that I have become an intellectual slummer. It's just too easy to wow these dudes. It's too bad that the shirt and tie crowd bore me too death. Really, though, those gentlemen aren't that much smarter.
Recently, I have been doing these really annoying mass text messages to people in my address book that inhabit the lower 48 states (my plan charges $0.40 per text outside this region). Their purpose was to get people to respond to odd or funny texts. The responses usually make me laugh, which cheers me up. I didn't realize that I had not clued some of these people in on all of this. I can only imagine that they must be thinking that I have become a bit unstable and obsessed. So, if you receive these texts and have wondered what the hell kind of trip I was on, sorry. If you felt special because you thought you were the only one, well, you are special because I don't include everybody in the mass texting. Plus, my replies back are tailor made just for you. If anybody in the lower 48 wants in on this means sending me your cell phone #. I won't feel bad if no one wants to because I wouldn't give out my number to a guy as weird as me. Trust me; the blog is more than enough "me" that you should consume in a day. If you don't like the texts you can always tell me to eff off. I will understand.
I had a strange experience today. I have been walking in this cemetery lately because it has some really great hills to get your legs worked out. I get to say "hi" to a lot of people that are taking their dirt naps. I even get to say hi to one of my old friends who died high on cocaine going head first into a tree at 90 mph. I always feel a presence at his grave. Well, today I went and said hello to "D" and felt that presence there with me, only this time it followed me around the cemetery when I walked on. I didn't mind. It was just a bit outer limits.
I also love to read out the names on headstones. I saw one that had me busting out loud. It said, "Birch". All I could think about was how many times someone has said, "Look, they planted a Birch here." Morbid? Yes. Funny? Absolutely! Cemeteries don't bother me at all. I figure that you are surrounded by some good souls taking a siesta. What's not to like about that?
Okay, enough about that sort of thing. I'm going to go eat a banana with a spoon.
I was feeling flupie again. For an explanation of what "flupie" means, and to read (or re-read) a disturbingly funny post, go here. Anyway, I tried calling friends and family members in order to deflupify myself. I tried watching stupid comedy flicks, such as, Nacho Libre and Blades of Glory. I even busted out my guitar and played all the Black Sabbath riffs that I knew. Alas, nothing seemed to work.
It was around 11:30 PM that I had a toast craving hit me. I popped in my bread into the toaster the same way a man pops his _______ into his wife's ________ after thirty years of marriage. (Your homework assignment is to fill in the blanks using any other words besides the obvious choices and to leave them at the end of your comments here.) I went to the bathroom, read a piece about Chris Rock in Rolling Stone magazine, and came out after with clean hands to butter my toast. That is when the most amazing idea came to me: I should butter both sides of my toast!
You know what? I totally did that shit. It was good too. I think I could hear my heart scraping against my rib cage afterwards, but it was totally worth it. I didn't feel so flupie after that. I'm thinking of continuing doing strange new things, like playing spin the bottle all by myself. Well, maybe not that strange. I guess I could try truth or dare all by my self. Since I am in denial about certain things in my life it could actually help.
Just so you aren't confused or expecting to be aroused, "Blanket Dance" does not involve anything sexual. I guess it could, but for the sake of keeping this TIGF art form pure, let's leave sex out.
It's not just the moves or the Star Wars duvet cover that makes blanket dancing TIGF!!! It's the sound effects that go with it. The best are the ones that mix a little beat box in with the whoops and squeals. I'm sure that this would make one of the New Kids on the Block either very proud, or do the right thing and hang themselves. Not Donny, though. I like him. His portrayal of the character "Duddits" in the Steven King movie "Dreamcatcher" was spot on 'tardo.
Speaking of actors playing mentally handicapped people, I really would love to see Robin Williams take on a role like that. Wait, he already did and his name was Mork. A reprisal, then, of Mork trying ever so hard to make it on a football team and at the same time teaching us acceptance. Remember, we are all winners. But, as George Carlin taught me, some of us just win last. Oh, and he also taught me that if all children are special, then all adults are too--Hitler and Dahmer included. Wait, that can't be right. Then at some point in our lives some of us stop being special. Or maybe it is this, as Carlin points out, not all children are special. Notice how as we get closer to his truth it gets a little ugly? That's his shtick, though. I do, however, feel that all children are special because you do want to bless them with that possibility in life. Sometimes myth trumps reality, and should continue doing so. But, I do think that at some point people's specialness can be revoked. That is for another post, however.
Why did I drift off into this territory? Well, I wanted to say that these blanket dancers are special in that non-special way. You know, the same kind of special that makes a child want to feed the dog a whole box of Fig Newtons while in the car on a family vacation (ask me later). Without "speshul" people in the world, my abs would have no tone in them whatsoever--you know, from the laughing and the gaffawing and the "I can't breathe" I'm laughing so hard...glavin! The point is, I'm not down on stupid people as long as they can entertain me. I am not a misanthropic old codger like George Carlin, although he makes me laugh until one of my testicles comes dislodged and does that tether ball end-game wrap around my penis. How is that even possible?
So, in closing, everybody is special until proven not. I've had plenty of next door neighbors and fellow commuters become "not special". Do you get me on this?
I didn't get around to posting last night like I had planned. I watched Frontline's "Bush's War" instead. I'm not going to discuss that show other than it was well worth my time.
I'm never in a creative mood in the early part of the day. The closer I get to the witching hour the better for writing. I mean, I guess I could try to be silly. I guess I could tell you how I gave up picking my nose for lent. Nah, I don't have the inspiration at the moment to do that.
I could tell you that I've hurt my right foot. I've had to cut back on my walks now because of it. It's weird because my right foot is so swollen that all my shoes feel too tight on that foot now. Don't ask me how I did it, either. I have no clue. I woke up one morning in pain and my foot was all swollen. I think I've been kicking the wall in my sleep.
Good news: I'm finally back to eating spicy foods!
Bad news: I forgot that said foods can cause gastrointestinal distress.
I feel a rant coming on. Please, do not take any of this to heart. I promise that I turn it around at the end.
For those who think that I don't know it yet: Yes, I've kicked cancer's ass...with the help of God, doctors, nurses, chemicals, radiation, family, friends, community. When I take all the credit I deny the collective community that I am a part of. I am not lingering in the aftermath as much as some people think. I had problems that I was dealing with before all of this started, and as much as I would wish to my fairy godmother, I don't get a clean slate. So, from one thing to another--that is the reality. Plus, anyone thinking that some sort of cosmic karma machine is going to dispense life candy to me based purely on getting through all of this, grow up.
I feel blessed that I got through cancer, but I really don't feel that this makes me a Mother Teresa and I'm going to have everything go my way because of it. On the contrary, I will have to work harder to get what I want and what I need. If I don't, then something else bad could take me away before I get a chance to realize my full joy in life. This is mortality. We are going to die. That usually involves something less than desirable happening to you. These are givens. Life is not cozy; nature is not balanced. There is always something out there ready to kick your ass and if you let your guard down you're toast. I know that this reasoning seems obscene, but isn't everything outside of our "magical" touchy-feely thought process a bit obscene?
Now to redeem myself. I know that I brought many people along with me on this journey. I know that many people felt for me and took away positive things from my experience. I am trying to understand the effect that my experience had on other people. Sometimes I don't do a very good job of doing that. I am trying to balance the positive aspects of this victory with the harsh realities that I wrote about above. Nature wants me to become defensive and paranoid. I need to overcome that if I am going to expect people's continued goodwill. To the people that have called me on certain things: I need to bitch about it, but I need friends even more. I am impatient with myself and it's not the personality trait that helps right now. How I get from where I am to where I want to be is still something that I am struggling with. I wish I could just chill out.
I love you all for being here and listening to me go on and on about all of this. I don't know how much of it made sense. That's the thing about feelings: they don't always make sense.
I do this once in awhile--go out to the west desert and explore trails and skeet shoot. I usually take my brother with me, but this time he drove. He owns a Ford Explorer and can't get up into the same territory that Clyde can. So, we kind of hung around the foothills and couldn't break trail on some of the snowy paths.
We set up a shooting range on a hill next to a fork in the trail. Just as we were about to start shooting I didn't feel well. I was in agony and tried my best to do some shooting and enjoy the scenery. I ended up having to find a place to go. It helped, but I don't want to have to do that again. So, I came back up to our set up and shot like the devil himself. It was about then that a convoy of some serious dudes in serious rigs came up the trail.
When you get up in these desolate areas it is understood that "fun" can mean illegal activities. When you are out gunned or not interested in facing questionable types, you kind of pull a "What goes on in no man's land stays in no man's land." When I saw these guys bust through these big, virgin drifts, I was a bit interested in where they could be going in such earnest. After I got done shooting for awhile, I told my brother that I was going to hike up the trail to check them out.
I found a couple of great liquor bottles along the way that I would use for target practice. Coming around the bend I could see some massive tailings from abandoned mines and the canyon's opening, a narrow limestone crevice. I thought to myself that this was what they must have been coming up here for because it was hard to get to and secluded. A little further up I could hear their voices, but not what they were saying. They would shoot their guns here and there--nothing that would get your goat up if you are used to this area--it's all pretty common.
It was as I was just around the corner from them that I got hit by an amazing shock wave. My teeth rattled and I could feel my insides react to it. It was loud as hell, whatever it was, and then I couldn't hear much of anything but the ringing in my ears. I've not had a scare like that but a few times in my life. I did an about face and tried to walk out of there as fast as I could. I would have run but it was all snow and mud ruts from them breaking trail.
I know that there are some people who close mine shafts around that area for public safety, so I convinced myself that was what was going on. When I came back to my brother he had a relieved look on his face. He asked me if I heard an explosion and I said, in a shaky tone, "How could I not? I was almost right there." We both decided to head out of there. Man, I was happy to get out of that area.
I contemplated telling the police about it, but I didn't pay enough attention to the vehicles to give helpful details. Also, the nearest police station is about sixty miles away and how to explain where this all was going on, I hadn't a clue because it was the first time I'd been there. Plus, this area is no man's land. Lot's of weird stuff happens and you just let it go--until you find a dead body. Thank goodness that hasn't happened to me, yet. Am I sick in the head that I can't wait to go there again?
I was lonely tonight, so I came on to my blog to see what action it was getting. It was then that I remembered that I had a site meter, of which I've not checked in a long time. So, I decided to check out who has been visiting my blog. Not many today came 'round, but that's alright. I found someone that Google searched "Theodore Grunt" and came to my blog.
Crystal, that was your nickname for me way back when. It is weird that someone else found me that way, or remembered me that way. I don't know if Crystal reads all my posts anymore, but she was one of the first long time Grunt readers, along with Scott, Logo, and Vera. Scott gets extra credit because he's been around this blog since 2005, when I started it.
The post that this person was sent to by Google took me to the past. I decided to review my posts pre-cancer, and I noticed that I have changed a great deal in my style. I'm nowhere near as gonzo anymore, but, I think that I have matured like a fine wine. I also noticed a spooky sense of something "great" that would happen to me right before the shit went down. I also noticed a pattern of me feeling not so good, leading up to the more significant health problems before I was diagnosed.
I don't know if I will return to my gonzo blogging days. Who I am now is constantly changing. I'm going through a patch of unfeeling lately. I think it is a reaction to the extreme vulnerability that I endured this past year.
Three girls that I had dated B.C. (before cancer) found guys and got married while I was "wrote off" as a victim of poor health. It's ok. I'm thinking of ways that I could make "You can get anything off of the Wendy's dollar menu" sound good to a date. I am one broke man. I don't know just how long the fall out of medical bills will be around for me. So, I have figured out the solution to my problems: work out like a son of a bitch and woo an older rich widow--sugar mama!
Seriously though, I complain to all of my girlfriends what a lousy and cheap man I am when I take myself out for a "me" date. Shit, I mean there is no way that I am going to put out if that is the treatment that I get from myself. This is all horribly disturbing. I better go to bed now.
You thinking of quitting That's Incredibly Gay Friday? What you talkin' about, Grunty?
That's right. I've been thinking of quitting TIGF and devoting Friday to nothing but the Garys in the world. I know that is what you all have been secretly wanting but just didn't know it yet. We could feature Gary Sinise (actor), um, Gary Busey (escaped lunatic/coke fiend), Gary Hart (the Senator that screwed Donna Rice), Gary Hart (the wrestler), Gary Grant (Carey Grant's secret retarded brother), Gary (the snail from Spongebob), Gary Moore (great guitarist), Gary Numan (of the song "Cars" fame), Gary Numan (The other Gary Numan that falsely admitted to killing Jon Benet Ramsey), Gary Glitter (glam rock legend and evil pedophile just like the Gary Numan before him), Gary Payton (notorious trash talking point guard for the Sonics), Gary Indiana (the state), Gary Larson (cartoonist), Gary Oldham (kickass actor), Gary Gilmore (famous killer executed by firing squad in my home state in 1977 as well as having a classic punk song by The Adverts, named after his eyes--his last words were, "Let's do it!"), Gary Allen (country music redneck), Gary Fisher (developer of the mountain bike), Gary Cooper (legendary actor), Gary Paulsen (author), and all those dickhead bosses that I had named Gary.
Sheewooooh! That's a whole lotta Garys!!! Did I leave any out? Maybe I should just stick to my routine "Gay Friday" shtick. Dance monkey, dance!
I am feeling fat and sassy tonight. Just thought I'd share that with you.
On to other things, do you ever come up with profound sayings before you even examine whether they actually make any sense? I have. Just today, in fact, I came up with such a profound saying. I haven't quite figured out if it makes sense yet, so maybe you can help me out with this.
Here is the profoundity: "There is no truth in comfort."
Pretty profound sounding, no? I didn't even have to light up a blunt for that one. I don't even smoke pot, so where does that sort of thing come from? Casper the Pope? Melvin Thomas, my make believe advice guru? I really don't know. However, I think that I could at least have come up with a better name for a make believe advice guru, say, Bucknife Jackson III. As for the other, well, I think that having just overcome cancer I need to start tempting fate again with blasphemous nicknames for the Holy Ghost. I really died a little right there. I hope someone laughed at the expense of my eternal soul.
So, let's examine the saying, "There is no truth in comfort." I think that one can be comforted by the truth, but it is also true that one can be devastated by it as well. The truth will set us free. Comfort usually is something that secures us, fine, but to a certain point can be imprisoning. I think if there was anything to the saying it would be this, that one cannot find the truth in easy shelter. One has to go outside of oneself, or into those inner depths where we hide that which we don't like about ourselves or are afraid of.
This is much like the age old question "Which came first, the chicken or the egg?" The answer is, of course, 43.
I've got to take a class the next couple of days that will cut into my "happy" time on the computer. Since I don't have a job that allows me to waste time on the job on a computer, I have to bang out these posts when I get home. It sucks because I like my happy time. Happy time sounds dirty, doesn't it. I assure you that it is all pretty boring stuff that goes on during happy time.
On Sunday, I visited the foothills where I spent a lot of my time growing up. I walked around on some trails and did some trespassing, of which I supposedly was video taped and will be prosecuted for wandering on someone's cash cow--prime real estate that will soon be developed. It sucks because this area that is now being developed used to be my childhood playground in the hills. I took some short video clips with my phone but I forgot to get that all set up for the post. I will post it sometime soon, though.
The best part about the "No Trespassing" signs was the misspelling of "hidden camera". They spelled it "hiden camara". So, I stood there at the barricade and gave them a small discourse on the value of spelling things correctly, then ended my rant with "You dumb fucks". I hope that was all really caught on camera for them to enjoy. I'm still extremely sad that there will be a bunch of McMansions built in that area. People are going to have to be aware that mountain lions are frequently spotted in that area. Pets, small children, and pretty much anything that resembles a baked ham standing on two legs will be in possible danger there.
No one pinched me today. I am disappointed about that. I purposely did not wear green just so that I could be pinched. What does a person have to do to get pinched nowadays?
Yesterday was the Ides of March. Anybody have an "Et tu, Brutus?" moment? Julius Caesar got what was coming to him, a great big stab in the back--well, a stab all over the place from multiple people. You destroy one of the finest republics ever in one big ego trip and have the gall to ask, "Even you, Brutus? Even you, my child?" No one could beat you in battle. Not even your good friend Pompey could crush you. Your defeat came upon the senate floor by the hands of those who you thought were under your thumb. Blood spilled on civilized marble floors is much more ironic than any blood spilled on the earth of battle. Because of this great and tragic man, we have the perfect lesson of how republics of the people become the empires of the elite. Consider this on election day, America. At least we can do something about it, but sometimes I wonder if we have the balls. BTW, aren't term limits great?
My neighbors next to me had a deer die in their back yard. This winter has been really hard on the deer population, along with the elk and moose. There are dead deer everywhere around here. It is sad...and stinky. Animal control has their work cut out for them on this one. I can't wait for them to haul the carcass off. The smell is just awful. Oh, and there's nothing like staring at a giant, rotting carcass when you look out your back window. Yum! I want fries with that.
Friday, I was super tired all day long. It still did not deter me from celebrating Pi day. Pi day recognizes the number Pi (3.14.......) on March 14th, or 3/14. I celebrated with some pie, too. I had key lime and German chocolate pie. It was divine. If you missed out on Pi day, well, tough. You can still celebrate and eat pie whenevers, though. I like that word, whenevers.
Did I mention that I was tired on Friday? Well, I was. This is how tired I was: I was listening to a voice mail that my sister had left for me (it was a long one) and around the middle I started answering back to her. I had totally forgot that I was listening to a message and thought I was just having a phone conversation with her. When she didn't respond to my question and kept on talking, it finally dawned on me that I had drifted off into space academy.
In space you smoke astro turf. Those astronauts sure know how to party.
Remember to eat your corned beef and cabbage on Monday, kiddies!
Most of you that are familiar with the band Darkness probably have heard or seen their video "I believe in a thing called love" a zillion times, so I used this video of their song "Girlfriend" instead. They came and went in the States as a sort of novelty act. Darkness did a second album that wasn't that well received, but their lead singer/guitarist Justin Hawkins was allowed to fly his freak flag even higher than before, as evident in this music video. While he may not be gay in real life, Justin Hawkins is queerer than a clockwork orange in his stage persona and I dig how TIGF he is.
Justin Hawkins has been known to fly around on a stuffed white tiger (fake) in concerts while performing solos on his guitar. He also flew in on a golden "boob" chariot on one tour. Why the band got rid of him, I don't know. I mean, outside of sounding like the biggest, and gayest rip off of Queen and Thin Lizzy, Darkness was all about this beautiful, blond princess of a man, Justin Hawkins. Enjoy!
I'm not sure what to post about tonight, but I want to post. Let's see where this goes.
I was pulled over last night. The officer told me that it was because my license plate light was out. The weird part about it was that he had me pulled over for about fifteen minutes. It was funny because I was twenty yards away from where I live. I didn't get a ticket. I later found out the reason why the local police in this small town were being so aggressive and thorough. Some weird guy had broke into a home and was standing at the foot of this little girl's bed. This was the second time that it had happened to this little girl, apparently. The first time the man came and went. The girl went and told her parents and they thought she was just dreaming. This second time the man invaded the home he left his shoes in her room, and now the parents finally believe their daughter. I am glad that the police were pulling people over and doing other sneaky stuff. It just leaves me wondering if they'll ever catch this freak now that the cat is out of the bag.
A man died recently of a cardiac arrest. He was only 63. I grew up with his son and one of his daughters. My oldest sister works for the same insurance company that he worked for. He was playing a game of pickup basketball at a local church gym and croaked after hitting the winning shot. This man really was part of this community, so the loss was felt all over. He was the type of person that would wake up at four in the morning, study the bible for an hour, go and exercise, have breakfast with his family, then go to work. When he would come home from work he'd do all kinds of volunteer work in the community, including tutoring kids in history, of which he used to teach before he got into selling insurance.
The medics did resuscitate him at the gym, but he did not regain any brain activity. They took him off life support and he passed away on Sunday. On Monday his son was really grieving. He never felt like he measured up to his father. Being bi-polar, he was really having a hard time of it. So, on that day he got on his horse and just took off into the mountains. His family went looking for him and from what I heard he was badly injured from getting thrown off his horse. So, not only did the family lose their dad, but the son is now in the hospital from his riding accident. As much as all of this is tragic, the family is taking it all in stride and carrying on.
Ever since I've had cancer it seems like I'm much more sensitive to other people's suffering and trials. What has happened to this family has really effected me and has been on my mind a lot these past few days. It also makes me think about how I'd handle losing a parent, especially my father.
My life growing up was very frustrating because of my father's physical and mental health problems. I spent a great deal of my secondary school years being reclusive from most social activity, other than hanging with a few close friends. Most people liked me, but I was the one who withdrew. I just hated having to explain why my father didn't have a job, why we didn't have much money, or why my "weird" dad wasn't like their fathers. The fact was that I really didn't understand what was going on with him, so I took it personally.
Since, I've had to overcome a lot of guilt and shame that I had carried with me for no good reason. I don't know that I'm totally over it all, but I love my father. It must've been so hard for him to have gone through all of that. He was such a success, then reduced to almost nothing. He has come along way since and it makes me very happy. However, I still want him to see me become a success, whatever that means. I also want him to be around to see my children. I want to show him that his suffering wasn't in vain. So, to lose him now would be extremely emotional for me. He turns 78 this April. I'd better get cracking.
I thought I'd take you on a walk with me and show you where I live, sort of. I mean, I really did live right there in that spot on this day. Also, I live about three miles away near the mountain bench (you'll get a quick pass). What you can't see is the Great Salt Lake, which is directly behind me at the start. The reason? Low resolution video and haze caused from the winter inversion. You just might be able to see Antelope Island. Where I was taking a walk is in the protected wetlands area. The dikes are great for seeing all sorts of water fowl, and the area is also a hot spot for spying bald eagles. I am much happier now not using my shotgun to be one with nature and now admiring it in peace.
My hair is coming back and it is blond. I had reddish brown hair before. Also, my hair is soft and fine, like a baby's. So, if I ever need comforting, I just pretend that my head is a cuddly bunny and pet away.
My medical problems have been getting less and less. I've been on steroids to take care of an extremely bad rash (it has scarred me on parts of my body) that I got right after my last radiation treatment. The doctors claimed that the radiation was not directly responsible for the rash. Rather, it could've been the massive amounts of stress that all the treatments caused that led to the breakout. It's all about semantics, folks.
The other medical problem, post cancer treatments, was that I had blood seeping from my toenails. That freaked my doctor out. We're not really sure why it is happening, but when in doubt you get a prescription cream for it. One of the chemicals that I had administered to me during chemo made my skin real sensitive. I'm hypothesizing that since I have been walking my toe nails are seating into this "baby" like skin. I think that as long as I don't get an infection, soon I will toughen up and there won't be anymore problems. HAHAHAHAHA! At least my name isn't Job. As long as we are talking biblical shit, do bleeding toenails qualify as stigmata?
I think I am going through a massive detox from all the chemicals that have been pumped into me. My sweat would probably kill a laboratory mouse, or at least be crystallized and smoked for a good high. Whatever the case, I can feel actual distance now between me and the whole cancer saga. It isn't a great amount of distance, but I can breathe a bit better. My dreams haven't come around yet, but I'm hoping that what goes on in my subconscious will follow suit with the whole getting on with my life bit. I've had some scary freakin' dreams, my friends. It sucks. It is a good thing that I don't have to share my bed with anybody, because they would start thinking I was some kind of basket case. I woke up in a pile of clothes one night muttering something about the car not starting. That was a bit weird. HA-HA, there he goes again, that crazy Grunt!
The weekends are starting to feel non-existent to me. It is like this when someone asks me what I did over the weekend, "Uh, I remember having lunch and then I ended up back at work somehow." There has got to be more to life than this. However, for a great deal of humankind, life does not get any better, or even as good as this. I imagine that for many people who have walked this earth, they never had expectations past survival. In essence, they had no capacity to dream like we do--in our fortunate circumstance. The fact that I can dream and have those dreams go unfulfilled is not a sign of my misfortune, but my blessed place in life. The fact that some of those dreams will come to fruition is absolutely marvelous. Why was I so blessed to be where I am in this world at this time in life?
I still have to go to work on a Monday, though. Bleh! So much for being deep.
We all know that Yogi was interested in one thing: pic-a-nic baskets, hey Boo Boo! It was even better if said picnic basket came with a side order of pissing the ranger off. That leaves Boo Boo. What was in it for him? The companionship of one dynamic character in Yogi. They slept in the same cave together. Yogi did have a girlfriend, but that did not seem to stop Boo Boo from hanging around with the hopes and dreams of one day winning Yogi's heart.
Boo Boo is a sweetheart with a genuine concern for the welfare of others and especially the ones that he loved most. This makes him cool and TIGF in a good way. The fact that he only chose to wear a bow tie made him even more gay. He's practically a Chippendale dancer for crying out loud.
Let's talk about Yogi for a moment. Have you ever noticed how much Bob Dylan's singing sounds like Yogi Bear? I'm wondering if there is some kind of connection there. Does anyone know if Bob Dylan steals picnic baskets and likes pissing off park rangers? Has anyone ever seen him wearing only a tie and a pork pie hat? I'm just thinking out loud here.
(Cue Harry Nilsson's "One"--I hate Three Dog Night's version)
So, I found myself at the movies alone. This shit happened for real. I was surprised myself. I went to see "Semi-Pro". It had its moments. There were only two other people in the audience and you know what went through my mind for just one second: threesome. Never mind that the other two people in the audience were a couple in their fifties. I just saw the makings of a great adventure and put some mental effort into how I'd go about initiating such a menage a trios.
I figure that such a mature couple would need the services of a youngish stud like me. I mean, who could resist a radioactive sex shogun such as myself? This was all in my head, of course. You have to do such things to entertain yourself when you're all alone. In imagination land you can have Milk Duds for nipples and hot buttered popcorn for a mattress.
After I finished my silly exercise of imagination, I decided to call my sister and tell her that I was all alone at the movies. She wasn't too impressed and told me to try it for forty years, whatever that means. It was about then that the movie started. This is the part where I free based some Rollos. I'm telling you, that is the only way to consume your favorite candy. Having said that, Rollos aren't my favorite candy. I just had a craving is all. I would probably say that real chocolate isn't candy, rather, a sacrament. Rollos aren't real chocolate, though. As far as candy goes, I'm going to have to choose Red Vines for the theater.
I decided that since the only other people in the theater were old and far away from me, that I was going to laugh harder than I wanted to as well as talk to the movie screen. I really did this. I highly recommend it, too. Just wait for the movie to start or even the projectionist will feel more sane than you.
I had a good time with myself, and it did not even include any Paul Ruebens style hi-jinks. If you have to ask about what that means, then you weren't the one whose perceptions of Pee Wee Herman were utterly shattered, requiring much therapy and role playing with sock puppets. Plus, I found out that I am a cheap date. I only ate a eighty-nine cent cheeseburger for dinner! Ladies, this man is low maintenance. I did think that asparagus, new potatoes, and fillet mignon, with a fine port, would have been nicer--and I'm so worth it, even if I don't drink. But I had to say hello to my high school employer, Ronald McDonald.
All in all, it was a good night. So, if you find yourself alone in a movie theater, ask yourself: What would Grunty do?
If you're feeling down And you're new to town No one knows your name Take a tip from me A simple philosophy And your loneliness will fade
Inhale the good Exhale the bad Personal Wigwam
It ain't complicated Or hard to demonstrate it You just stay where you are So just close your eyes And self hypnotize Until the "eye" opens wide
Inhale the good Exhale the bad Personal Wigwam
Still there's mystery to my identity listen closely and you'll find I'm the Electric Papoose In the flying caboose And breathing gets me high
Inhale the good Exhale the bad Personal Wigwam
(1992 MDK)
The story behind this? Well, I always reference a time of my life spent selling Hoovers for Jebus door to door in Northeast England, and this was written during that time.
I was working in Doncatster and one of my "clients" gave me a guitar, which I had only started playing about two years prior. I had a creative explosion during this time of strict cloistering. Doing what I was, playing the guitar and writing "apostate" music (apostate for the conditions of the "job"--mind you, I signed up for it), it was even better that the song was based on the ideas of meditation and astral travel. My district "sales" leader found out about all of this and informed the president of our "division". They shut me down and I sold the guitar for ten quid. However, this was not before I did some crude recordings on a cheap dictaphone. My Portuguese sales partner thought is was the shit.
Speaking about dictaphones and Portuguese sales partners, I caught him having a wet dream on audio tape. This dictaphone had a voice activated recording feature. My partner was notorious for talking in his native tongue in his sleep. He didn't believe me and so I secretly set up my dictaphone to record whatever noises occurred during the night. When I woke up that morning he was already up and his bedding was gone. I thought nothing of it until I played the tape back. What I got where the usual trains and buses passing our flat, then the big nocturnal "O". It went like this: "Aaaaaaah, ahhh, oohhhh! Oh, no! Oh, the dangit! Oh, I for make all over now." On second thought, that might not have been a nocturnal emission. I played the tape back for him and he first said that it wasn't him. I said, "Well, it sure wasn't me moaning in broken English." He then said that he was having a "Dream bad about dogs for chase." Yeah, it was kind of like living with Borat for three months. It was great. Anyway, back to the story.
I later borrowed another guitar when I moved from Doncaster to Keighley. It was there that I met a faith healer named Dave who had a brief pub touring stint with the Dave Clark Five in the eighties. I wrote a bunch more songs there. One of those songs was "Child of Buddah". It did not fair well with my compadres. It did not help that I was not a good singer at the time, either. I got shut down again. But at least I made some more recordings.
I laugh at the quality and my lack of playing ability at the time. But I've never had so much fun as I did then, writing songs and playing guitar. I guess it was because it really meant that I was being bad, or at the very least, annoying as hell.
How are you doing today? Has anyone told you that you're looking good? Well, I'm here to tell you just that. Boys: I noticed that your mustaches are coming in nicely. Girls: Why, tell me how you get your hair to be so flirty?
Had enough?
OK, I spent some time in my room with Suzi plugged into my biggest amp (the neighbors were gone). I was pretending that I was both David Bowie and Mick Ronson rolled into one super rock god. I think I played "Moonage Daydream", "Soul Love", "Hang on to Yourself", and "Ziggy Stardust" each about three times. My alien rock god name was Buffy Scottsdale, because all alien rock gods must be androgynous, but capable of great feats of masculinity. I just took the name of my first pet and the model of vehicle that I drive (a Chevy Scottsdale K20 pickup truck). You can do the same trick to get your stripper name, only using your second pet's name followed by the street that you grew up on. My stripper name is Thor Belmont.
Try it out for fun and find out what your names would be.
I've stopped itching long enough to do some typing. My rash has made a home here on my body. I have to accept that I will be a bumpy, splotchy mess from now on. It is times like these that one might fall into the depths of despair. Not me. I am hoping to join in the side show circuit as "Gila Man and his dwarf slave, Oswald." I'm having open auditions for Oswald. Email me if you are below four feet tall and don't mind being told to do awful things in the name of showbiz. There's a little school boy's outfit in the deal if you make the cut.
How many of you are familiar with the phenomenon of "stage fright" when urinating in public? Wait, that didn't sound right. Let me try that one again: when urinating in a public restroom? Here's the thing: I have had my moments of pee paralysis. The most extreme case of this occurred when I was trying to pee next to the regional manager of Hoover Vacuums in Northern England. Yes, this was way back when I was going door to door selling vacuum cleaners for Jebus there. The conversation went thusly, me: "Um, nice talk." Him: (clears throat) "Boy, it's sure cold outside." Me: "Yeah, unbelievable." Then about thirty seconds of silence. Not even one mercy drip came from my lazy boy, nor his. It was too much, so I wrapped it up and left that awkward silence in a flash. Maybe I should have farted and broke the tension.
This is also how I know that ghosts are real, stage fright. I was in the comfort of my dwelling, going #1 in the bathroom, well, trying to go #1. I desperately wanted to go #1, with scatters of #2, but no. I had to go real bad, but I couldn't. I had stage fright. How could I have had stage fright if there was no audience? Exactly! I deduced that there was someone in that bathroom with me, someone invisible to the naked eye. It was a ghost, a perverted one, but a ghost nonetheless. After more encounters I figured out who this ghost was. It was none other than the Ghost of Abraham Lincoln! Read more about his ghost in this post here.
Ever since I remarked to myself in the mirror one morning, "Holy smokes, I look like a freakin' Chia Pet", I couldn't think of a more appropriate feature for TIGF!!! I have been sprouting hairs all over my body. I am the ultimate Chia Pet. Who wants to water me?
The weird thing is that I am much hairier in some areas than before. It is freaking the hell outta me. I keep asking myself when my voice will drop for the second time. Puberty was hard. I don't want to go through it again.
Okay, I think I need to say some crap about how fabulously gay Chia Pets are in order to meet my TIGF quota. Here it goes: Ha-ha, look at how gay they look--growing that shit all over the place--Tijuana called and they want their crappy ceramic knick knacks back. Sufficient? Yeah, I think so. Well, I think what makes the Chia Pet TIGF, in the most fabulous way, is the commercials, especially the jingle. I need to see if I can download that off of Itunes. Just think if that was your big claim to fame, that you were the person who sang the Chia Pet jingle on the TV.
Do you think that people would come up to you in restaurants and demand that you sing it? That is assuming that you did the local morning news segment about "famous" local people, and assuming that the local news is Casper, Wyoming. That's the type of town that I could see the Chia Pet lady coming from. Wyoming has like one corner in the Northwest that is nice, and that other bit where they are bum-jugging Utah at Flaming George (Gorge). We Utahns won't admit to liking that sort of thing, but at Flaming George the shit goes down. Oh, and Wyoming has that Devils Tower place where aliens played their space tuba at us. Anyways, Casper is the farthest thing away from anything cool in that state. Besides, what kind of state names a city after a little boy that died drowning in a well, then went around haunting people because of his psychotic friendlust?
I tend to ramble. Forgive me. Happy Leap Day! Make sure that when you leap, it is the most TIGF bounding you've ever done.
Nah, I got something for my pretties. I think I am a 21st century retard. Why? Because I can't seem to figure out Facebook. I'll get an email telling me that someone egged my wall or gave me a big kiss and a wet willie. So, I follow the link and all sorts of far out crap is on my profile page. People are doing stuff to me all the time and I don't do it back because I just don't get it. I got my menorah lit by my cousin. I actually liked having that done, though, because I get him--he is funny (it runs in the family, but skips a generation). The thing that I don't get is what these gifts are supposed to be. See, I get all excited thinking that the FedEx guy will soon be delivering the gift that was sent to me, via Facebook, only to find out that it is just a graphic of a present. Also, I apparently used the "force" on people and have no memory of ever doing that or what in the hell that is supposed to do. I mean, I hope that you guys will still be my friends if I am Facebook 'tarded. I truly feel bad that I am not that involved, but I love all my friends there.
Next topic: "Authentic" delis preying upon the ignorance of uncultured Intermountain folk. I have many times been to delis that try to pass off a Rueben sandwich that uses pastrami instead of corned beef, bread other than marbled rye, and mustard instead of thousand island/Russian dressing. I love pastrami, but if you put pastrami in a "Rueben" it must then be called a "Rachel". I am not making this up. Those of you that don't know me in real life are not aware of my passion for deli fare. So, it really irks me to see the bastardization of a Philly Cheesesteak as well. I am not saying that the variations on these sandwiches are bad, but I think some qualifiers are in order.
Okay, that rant was a little weird. It's just that I went to an "authentic" New York deli for lunch and it seemed like some dudes from Provo appropriated the New York theme, made a bunch of shitty sandwiches up, and then passes them off as some kind of thing you'd pick up on a street corner in the Bronx. Then, the best part is that you can order your sandwich "deli style", which just means extra meat (well, I wanted a real deli sandwich, so I guess I will have to disregard my health and quit being such a damn pussy about it). So, a deli makes non-deli style sandwiches standard and the upgrade to "real" deli style is that you appease my gluttony? This is America! You should appease my gluttony always--it should not be an option!!! Anyway, I am so tired of these strip mall chain restaurants that pop up wherever there are gas stations and a Wallmart/Target. I blame myself for settling.
I work with a guy that looks like a cross between "Serpico" era Pacino, Ray Davies of The Kinks, and Christopher Lloyd. You'd think that would work out pretty good, but he just looks like a man who is one more Mountain Dew shy of becoming a jackhammer. He's fun to talk about crazy shit with, though.
I'm going to bed. Maybe I will dream about toffee boiling dwarfs. I'll let you know.
The day started off incredibly harsh. A couple of medical bills that came in the post were a reminder that my insurance re-enrollment is in effect--deductibles and out of pocket maximums to be met again. My body wasn't having any of it, either. The mind, well, it was making things hard all over. Needless to say, I set off to work with a morbid curiosity of whether I would make it through the day, or self destruct.
I played through the pain one more time, and while things did not go swimmingly, there was an improvement. I don't feel like imploding at the moment. This is a good thing. I have been good with my money, so while I may not have much to dick around with, I won't be tanking from these big bills. The rash that I have is not going away, but at least it may be my ticket to a leprosarium in beautiful Kalaupapa. My apologies to those suffering from Hansen's Disease. Leprosy jokes aside, my point is that I am looking for the brighter side of suffering. Sort of like the closing scene to Monty Python's "Life of Brian".
I can recognize when the day is getting better because I can tell people that I feel good without feeling like a lying sack of shit. At least six hours of my day were like that. It is a good thing that those six hours were the wrap up. That way I can trick myself into thinking that the whole day was good. It's all how you look at things, really. Try this for example: You eat a bunch of jelly beans and then you start to throw them up, only to then swallow it all back down in one giant acidic gulp. Well, a sorry way to look at this would to complain about almost throwing up and how bad the stomach acid burned your already tender esophagus. The better way to view this is to think of it as a jelly bean encore, with added zest! That's the way I chose to look at it. The fact that I was laying down on the couch when this all happened made it even more joyful.
Always look on the bright side of life! *whistles*
First off, how were all of your weekends? Mine was way too short and my body decided that it was fed up with all the shit I've been through and shut down on me. The problem is that my mind wasn't tired and the little green gremlins started wrecking havoc with my psyche. I'm not ready to post about what I am feeling right now because I just want a break from it. Essentially, I need to gather my thoughts and then tell all of you how much I need you to stick around and help me out. I may have completed my treatments, but my recovery is just starting. Life is such a wonderful pain in the ass, sometimes.
I'll share a few jokes with you to lighten the mood. These are some that I have heard recently.
How many surrealists does it take to screw in a light bulb? Yarn.
There's these two guys watching a dog lick his balls. One of the guys turns to the other and says, "Gosh, I wish I could do that." The other guy remarks, "Well, don't you think you should start out by petting him first?"
Finally, the requisite blond joke: A blond walks up to a counter and says, "Yeah, I'd like to order a cheeseburger." The woman behind the counter answers tersely, "Young lady, this is a library." The blond then whispers back, "Oh, sorry. I'd like to order a cheeseburger."
Har!
How about those Oscars? I was so happy about "No Country for Old Men" doing so well. A lot of people didn't like that movie, especially the way it ended. I totally got the movie and the ending. I could watch that movie again and again. I will also constantly have nightmares of Siguor coming at me with a cattle gun.
Post break time: Watching "The Wire" on HBO. Will be back in an hour.
I'm back and now I'm really not sure where I take this post from here. I did a short post at 120 dB's, my almost defunct music blog. The post was just a short riff on the "sound" of radiation.
I need to thank the person that I talked to on the phone tonight while I was on a walk. Usually, I take off and my mind sorts things out, gets clear. Not tonight, however. Going past the cemetery where Drunk "D" was buried, and the wooded park where I was almost abducted as a child, were just going to dredge up more of the junk at the bottom of the pond. I needed some light-hearted chat tonight. Thanks a million for making it easier for me. I know I didn't let on that I was having problems, but now you have it--well, at least part of the story.
I've got a bad rash. I think my skin couldn't take the stress anymore, and Friday morning there it was. I've also been waiting and waiting to celebrate with some Mexican food, but since my esophagus is fried like a churro, I am not ready yet.
Another work week begins and I am curious as to what just working without doing cancer treatments will be like. I have been close to imploding for some time now. I need a break, but I've got mucho medical bills to pay. I also want to change jobs. But I fear that I am suddenly throwing too much on my plate too soon. I don't want to settle comfortably in a rut again, yet I also need to rest and get my bearings. I don't know how to shut my mind up and just chill the eff out. I wonder if that Calgon shit really works.
Which brings me to brooms. Brooms? Yes, those motherfuckers. Wait, weren't you the guy who just said "eff" instead of fuck? I am and I did. Don't waste your time pointing out my inconsistencies to me, because I am full of them and it...and I know it. If only you knew. Anyway, brooms, the ones that you sweep shit up with. What if you found that your household broom, sitting in your kitchen closet, could take you flying like a witch's broom? Where would you go first? Would you just say nuts to work and other responsibilities and just get the hell outta Dodge? I would, and so my imaginary pet goldfish Rodger would die. Sad that.
You guys would cover me, right? He doesn't eat much, Rodger. He loves the sushi, the sick bastard.
The day started off with aftershocks from an earthquake in Nevada waking me up. My dreams were pretty damn disturbing, too. All I remember was that something was chasing me. The dream ended with me trying to outrun it in a car full of guns. The car broke down and it turned out that I had the wrong ammo for the guns. I about fell out of bed around 4:30 am from that dream. I was panicked, though. Good thing my room shook later on to calm me down. Ha!
Alright, hang on for a moment. Things are about to get weird.
Feeling like a piece of shit on a stale cracker, I dragged my ass around, schlepped, if you will, to get ready for my big day. Funny, it didn't feel like a big day, just like all the other days I volunteered to be exposed to a dangerous radioactive shower of good times. Getting my act together, I set off towards the city for my treatment. Along the way I saw a rather suspicious looking dog spying on me. While that is neither her nor there, I thought I'd just expose you to my life's many paranoid delusions and not leaving it up to subtext alone.
When I got to the Huntsman Cancer Institute, where many a ball and breast have been examined in the name of good health (and the occasional vestigial tail), I really did not get the sense that it was my last day, even though I knew that it was. I greeted the radiation clinic receptionist, and during the course of our exchange, I revealed to her my superfluous third nipple that I've grown as result of my treatments--uh...oh, and that it was my final treatment. She was overjoyed for my milestone, and in celebration, I served up Snapple to everyone in the reception area, courtesy of my new mutant nipple. They all commented on how crisp it tasted. One lady remarked how easy I made dispensing refreshing beverages from my nipple look, but while it may look easy, I try hard...real hard.
In the dressing room I was greeted by a small, bearded man (a gnome, perhaps?) wearing a scarlet tunic and a green stocking cap. He took out his pipe from his ruby mouth, bowed, then said, in a helium effected tone, "May I disrobe thee today, squire? It would be an honor to serve the one we call King." Looking at the white-haired half pint's earnest expression, I gave in and said, "Not only you, but your three friends hiding in that cupboard as well." Upon hearing my command, they all exploded in a mighty gallop of giggles, whoops, and hollers. One of the little guys even did a cartwheel, followed by a pirouette. Gosh, it was divine! Gosh, it was magical!! Gosh, it was sensual? Oh, gosh!!!
After having been cloaked in my naked man gown (clinical term) by my new minions, I went into the men's waiting room to watch People's Court or Fox News with the "Prostate Dumpling Gang" fighting over the remote. That's what sucks about not being in their clique, not gaining control of the programming, via remote control possession. Luckily, I did not labor long in the old-man-ass smelling room. My therapist came and got me just in time.
Now, how do I turn this serious for a moment to tell you what really happened? I will blame my brief lapse into ridiculousness on the radiation. Okay, just shift gears for a moment and bear with me.
I got into the radiation room and Debbie and Derek were there to strap me in and align me. The conversations started as they usually did, but deep down we all knew that it was goodbye. When I was ready for the big nuke, Debbie patted my leg, like she always had done, and said, "We've got a special musical program for you today, Spidey." That is when Sir Edward Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance March No. 1 came through the room's speakers. It was weird how the machine's whirs and buzzes coincided with the dynamics of the piece. When my front was done the music faded away. Derek and Debbie came back in to turn the machine under me and set in my other field block. That is when Rocky's Theme started. I shouted the best I could through my restraint, "Oh, I'm feeling this one", sounding like Buffalo Bill with a sock in his mouth, and Debbie gave my leg a hard slap and a resounding "Yo!" It was pure awesomeness.
After I was done getting dosed, the lights came on and the restraints came off. That was it. I was done. Derek was the first to congratulate me by shaking my hand and wishing me luck in my life to come. I glanced over at Debbie and noticed tears falling all over the place. She said that she hated when her favorites graduated, then gave me a big hug. It was hard to leave, especially her. I saw a few of the other therapists that came and went during my treatments and thanked them for their help. I got myself dressed and headed out of the dressing room only to be greeted by some of the radiation oncology nursing staff and the receptionist (couldn't resist my Snapple nipple). They gave me a diploma and congratulated me on my accomplishment.
It should have hit me, but it didn't. I got in my vehicle and drove off in a bit of a daze. At home I did my usual stuff before I go to work. I then went to work and everybody was going ape poopy for me. I had a party thrown for me there. It should have hit me there too, but I wasn't feeling it even then. I just couldn't help but feel sad because I missed my friends at the clinic. Believe me, I am happy that I am done. This has been a long time coming for me. But, I didn't expect to become so emotionally attached to the people at the hospital. It is going to be hard for me. Talk about bittersweet.
Anyway, the cancer treatments are over for me. I am now considered to be in remission. At some point I will feel it. I will feel cancer free. I don't now, but I will. It has just been too long dealing with it for my reality to match reality. It has been too long of me feeling sick, in pain, and fighting the darkest emotions to return to normal. I don't even know if I want to return to normal. Maybe I want to remain abnormal and go with my bad mutant self. Maybe I do have a mutant third nipple that dispenses Snapple, and maybe gnomes do worship me as their god king. At least, I am going to enjoy finding out.
Today (Thursday) marks my last radiation treatment, w00t! Of course, I am writing this all before I hit the hay stack. I hope that preempting the event with this post will not jinx me in any way. Well, my skin is all crispy and I feel like I've swallowed molten lead and fiberglass, but one more isn't going to kill me, right? Right.
I'm going to miss my therapists Derek, Amy, Derrin, and most of all, Debbie--the one who painted my restraining mask like Spidey, and the one who puts AC/DC on the player for me. I'll miss Dr. G as well, but I will be seeing him later on this year. He isn't my main oncologist, but he has been great to me. He has to keep tabs on possible side effects from the radiation, such as secondary tumors. That is the great irony of these things, that they treat the disease but can cause or leave you susceptible to cancer/tumors down the road.
I'm not sure what they have planned for my radiation graduation, but I am sure that it will be cool. I will let you all know how it went down.
I have thought about this question quite a bit lately. I would get in a depressed state and all sorts of horrible thoughts would enter my mind. It was at a point where I really should have talked to my doctors about getting counseling. I am a bit prideful and did not ask for help. You can all scold me now. Anyway, at some point I asked myself the question, "Why am I fighting so hard to save my life?" The answers didn't come as fast as I would have liked them to.
After a while of agonizing about it, it turned out that there were many things that I felt my life was worth fighting for. I was focusing on the things that I felt ashamed and bad about. Those things eclipsed the good in my life. It was that skewed perception of things that caused me to ask the question in the first place. Going through that hard evaluation revealed something to me. The reason that I am fighting so hard for my life is that I will have all the good things, plus, I will also have the chance to change what I don't like about my life.
Fairly simple stuff, but when you feel like giving up the fight, it is astounding what you are willing to throw away in order to surrender, to lay down. Now, I focus on the amazing things I've done to save my life and to keep on going, willing to work through the more underwhelming and messy aspects of my life.
I think that I deserve an ice cream cone for all of this.
(In reference to the previous post, I don't think anybody got my "Utah: Fillmore, Virgin, Beaver!!!" joke.)
Hey, I hope you are all having a great President's Day, even those outside of the U.S.. I am showing my support for the tenth president of the United States, John Tyler. Why? Because nobody gives a shit about him anymore, or ever. I'm all about the underdog or loser.
The above clip is me in my home town. I just got done taking a walk. I'm trying to get my body built back up and manage my moods through exercise. I was near a major interstate, so you can barely hear what I'm saying. Here is the gist of it: "Hey, everybody! I just got done taking a walk. It was pretty good. I wish you could have come with. Yep!" Wow! That is entertainment.
I want to be on the state of Utah's tourism bureau, or whatever in the hell it's called. My idea would be to attract tourism to some of our more obscure small towns. My state slogan would simply list a few of these wonderful places: "Utah: Fillmore, Virgin, Beaver!!!" I think it would bring in tourists by the millions.
I'm growing hair all over the place now. It is a weird sensation having full body stubble.
If I have one more person tell me to go see "The Bucket List" because I've had cancer, I'm going to pee on their shoes. I mean, just because I've got a similar disease does not mean that I want to watch some crap-ass movie where some characters have it. I wonder if people with herpes go through this. Notice that I said "had cancer" above. I really think I am done with this stuff, for realsies yo! There I go again, using that phrase "for realsies".
The one thing that I've noticed with my radiation treatments is that I can taste it when it hits me. It is weird as hell. While we are on the subject of taste, it has been effected since I've been doing "the boost", or the last push of my therapy. They are treating two additional fields and I've noticed that my throat is getting hit harder. I've only got three more to go. I have today (Monday) off from work and treatment. Thursday will be my last day for radiation treatment. If I want any more glow I will have to dig out my grandparent's old Magnavox color TV set from the sixties and sit in front of that for a few hours a day. It's either that, or a cell phone cod piece/head gear halo ensemble. Beam me up, Scotty.
I just read my sentence from the above paragraph, "If I want any more glow I will have to dig out my grandparent's old Magnavox color TV set from the sixties and sit in front of that for a few hours a day." I want to know how you dig something out from the sixties? If it were from the seventies or eighties you could just use a coke spoon.
Okay, I'm done here. I kept typing, hoping that I'd remember one last thing, but I forgot it. Oh well.
I think it speaks for itself. It is a catchy tune and the imagery is pure TIGF!!! Look at their choreography. The band is called MUD and the song is "Dynamite".
Early seventies glam rock is TIGF to the tenth power. Did I ever mention that I love it? Sweet, Slade, MUD, Gary (I'm a pedophile) Glitter, Ziggy Stardust era Bowie, and Mott the Hoople. Some of these bands were more TIGF than others. Mott were serious rockers who had the glam forced on them to get more record sales. It worked. Slade were proto AC/DC and supplied Quiet Riot with their biggest hits (Cum On Feel The Noize & Mama We're All Crazy Now). They also looked like a bunch of drunken leprechauns that got in a fight in a pile of metal shavings. Bowie was the consummate artist who set the scene and had the coolest guitarist on the planet in Mick Ronson. These three bands transcended the glam era and can be taken seriously.
The others made up for their lack of genius and depth by pouring on the sugar and the glitz. These are the truly TIGF bands: Sweet, MUD, Gary (I molest underage Asian children) Glitter, Bay City Rollers, Edison Lighthouse, David Cassidy, Suzy Quattro, and even The Osmonds. These are the bands that give me a reason to point and laugh. They were oh so pretty. They also produced some of the catchiest tunes ever. Damn them to hell!
In closing, I don't know how I ever got sucked into this stuff. I certainly am not old enough to have been in this scene from the beginning. I think it was when I got into Bowie that I started to look at all the bands that popped up in his wake. Needless to say, it is all just a guilty pleasure for me, glam rock.
I was cleaning out my phone's files today and forgot that I had shot this for blog purposes. I think the reason that I didn't put it up here back then (Dec. 20, 2007) was that it cut off early and was misleading. I was standing at the place where the pioneers came through one canyon and down another to reach the Salt Lake Valley. The problem was that most of the shot shows Parley's Canyon, how you get from Salt Lake City to Park City and Deer Valley. Ignore some of the details and just enjoy me blabbing away. Since this video was shot we have had massive snow fall in this area. So, picture a wall of snow behind me if it were up to date.
Today I was a little hoarse. When I was little, I wanted to be a big horse. I guess I will just have to settle being a little one, for now. That is much funnier if I say it, rather than type it. The throat will not get better until my treatments are done, according to my doctor. My doctor also got after me for losing four pounds this past week. I'm supposed to maintain my weight for treatment but all this crap they do to you makes you not want to eat much. It used to be because of nausea, but recently it has been because of my throat and mood. I hope that it doesn't become a lingering problem--the mood crap.
I had a dream last night that a younger guy was hired on at my work to do what I do and everybody liked him better. I don't know why I had this dream, but it bugged the hell out of me. What crazy dreams do you guys get that are like this?
Alright, I don't want to miss The Simpsons. Gotta get going!
I was going to post about something else but I just decided to say "hi" instead. I was having a hard time today. My throat has been giving me problems, caused by the radiation. I also have been having a hard time sleeping. It has all caught up to me today. I feel wasted. However, I did get out and take a walk. It was such a beautiful sunny day, and warm too. Despite not feeling well, this short walk really was nice. The sun was reflecting off the snow and you could hear the trickle of the thaw. I don't know how long the weather will stay like this, but what a day.
I've got no funny for you. But that was a little slice of my day that I wanted to share with you, my friends.
Okay, so we're all straight on this one, this isn't the "John Bobbit Peanut Butter Song". I don't even know what I meant there but it sounded dirty. No, I'm talking about the furry creatures, the Ewoks', famous outro song from "The Return of the Jedi", or the "Yub Nub" song.
I sat and wondered today about this song. Did somebody sit down and write this song for the movie--the lyrics--or did they just ad lib it all in the studio? If someone did write lyrics for the song, was it John Williams or George Lucas? Possibly, Simon and Garfunkel? Furthermore, what in the hell does Yub Nub mean? I hope it had something to do with food and/or the death of an enemy. But knowing how frisky Ewoks were, it probably referred to masturbation, getting toasted, or some kind of key party--probably all of the above. "Eh, yub nub?"
I do have a theory about Yub Nub's origins, though. I think George Lucas was recording toothless bag ladies and then speeding up the recordings a bit to get the Ewok speak. This is something that I need to investigate further. I'm curious as to what slowing down the Ewok chatter would reveal. I'm guessing the truth behind the Kennedy assassinations.
Okay, I'm showing this because there is a good story behind it. I'm willing to display my pale, hairless, out of shape body to do so. At least I have a good reason why it looks that way. You can see my port-a-cath in this picture--where my IV's were hooked into me for chemotherapy and blood labs drawn (upper left chest, there's a scar and a lump).
What you are seeing here is me strapped in after just getting zapped with radiation. What's the story with the spider mask? Well, it's short but good.
Last week I was joking with one of my radiation therapists that all the radiation I was getting would give me super powers like Spiderman. She really got a kick out of my joking around with her and apparently spent some time over the weekend painting my Jason/Hannibal Lecter mask. When I came to treatment on Monday she surprised me with her creation. It made my day and then some. I guess she has done similar stuff for kids in the past but I am the first adult that she has done this for. I feel special. I really do.
Anyway, the male therapist decided to take a picture of me. I didn't know what in the hell was going on because I couldn't see much except for the flashes. Then he got me out and said to stick around and he'd get me a print out of it. He added the captions above. For you that know my real name, well, you can just substitute "man" with my name and you'll have Spider____! That is my official nickname now in the radiation oncology center at the hospital I go to.
Another thing, my head has all of this baby fuzz growing on it now. It gave me an idea. I'm going to recreate my baby photos. The nude ones will be $1,000 a piece.
I'm starting to look less like "The Hills Have Eyes" dude. My face isn't gray like it used to be and the dark circles under my eyes are getting lighter. Hairs are popping up here and there. It will be awhile before I'm back to normal, though.Don't laugh too hard at the posing in this picture. It was all to impress a girl. The picture was taken during my "Bathroom Mirror Camera Phone Shot" phase. What in the hell is up with the size of this photo anyway?
Hey, how about the big game? Can you believe what that one team did? Amazing.
It is snowing like a madman outside right now. I didn't know that madmen produced snow, let alone in such quantities. You learn something new each day.
I often wonder if Jesus liked having his birthday on Christmas. Did this result in less myrrh?
Have you ever bought a particular CD at a "boutique" record/CD shop just to impress the dude/dudette that works there with your taste in music?
It's still snowing like crazy. I think it will snow about eight to ten inches here. If it snowed only four inches I'd go outside and laugh at the clouds' puniness. Anyway, the storm front was sporting a thick '70s style porn 'stache. It's going to be deep.
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