Weekends are too short (plus a video clip)

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.

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Boo Boo Bear

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.

Alone time at the movies

(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?

The first song that I ever wrote: featuring the story behind the music

"Personal Wigwam"

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.

From my fingertips to your computer monitor

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.

A rare Saturday night post

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.

That is all for now. T'ra!

TIGF!!! (That's Incredibly Gay Friday): Cha-Cha-Chia!

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.

Eating toast all broken hearted...

...came to post and only farted.

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.

Whistling Dixie on a Crucifix

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*

An assortment

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.

Try the coffee cake. I made it myself.

Graduation Day (with some creative liberties)

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.

The last radiation treatment

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.

Why fight?

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.)

Some stuff I threw together

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.

TIGF!!!(That's Incredibly Gay Friday): This video

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.

A messed up video clip and whatever else I got

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!

Hey there

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.

TIGF!!!(That's Incredibly Gay Friday): The "Yub Nub" Song

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.

Yub Nub?

From Hannibal Lecter to Spiderman

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.

Just Chillin'

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.

Talk amongst yourselves.