"You Must Embrace The Suck!" - House Majority Leader, Nancy Pelosi (D), Addressing her Democratic Caucus Following the Budget Compromise

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Is that a great quote or what?  Succinct, to the point and dripping with sarcasm.  Just how I like my quotes.  To be fair this doesn't sound like Ms. Pelosi and she freely acknowledges that she lifted it from a former veteran of Iraq or Afghanistan.  It came from soldiers!  How great is that?  You can apply it to so many situations whether you're in a tank or a wheelchair!  "Embrace the suck!"  I love it!  And I plan to use it often!  I wish I was in a tank sometimes!  But I'm not, I'm in a wheelchair embracing the suck on a daily basis.

There have been many social changes since I've been sidelined-by-tumor in 2011.  The one I hear about most frequently is the increased cost of "things".  I didn't pay a lot of attention to the price of regular goods and services before I had the tumor removed and pay even less attention since 2011.  Before Brain Surgery, milk was around $3.25/gal, now it's a lot more.  How much more I'm not really sure, but the increase is big and pervasive!  Whenever I ask Patient Spouse to pick up something at the drug or grocery store he responds with answers that make me feel like Rip Van Winkle.  "A six pack of Diet Coke costs what?  Dude, no way!"  Every day I attempt to purchase something and almost every day Patient Spouse shakes his head about how adorably clueless (old timey?) I have become, and condescends to tell me how much items currently cost.  I didn't care much before the brain surgery and since?  Not at all!  I'm juggling metaphoric chainsaws here!  The cost of shampoo doesn't matter, just buy some already!

Patient Spouse checks in with his prep school and college buddies using Facebook.  I only have a few Facebook friends although I rely on social media for all my communication.  So, to encourage me to use it more Facebook sent me several photos that PS said contained people I knew but were sent by Facebook to hypnotize me.  One was a photo of a kewpie doll posted by my younger niece.  Upon closer inspection, my niece had sent a photo of the creepy doll to a friend of hers.  She and I have a have a long-standing joke with these dolls.  When Aunt Jan is around kewpie dolls are beset with terrible situations!  Kewpies have been found in the microwave, the grill, the washing machine, and under car wheels just to name a few places.  So as soon as I saw that creepy face (Remember those dolls?  They were rubber and have spooky eyes that follow you everywhere!  Bleah!  Dani loves them.  They give me the hebee jeebees!) I knew who sent it and why.  At least,  I thought I knew who sent the photo, but I was wrong!  Apparently, Facebook will be all stealthy and send you crap that other people you know may or may not be sending you.

 Armed with this new knowledge, I opened a photo last weekend of my sister-in-law, Francesca, Phil and Joe Montana at what looked like a book signing.  It made complete sense to me that they were honobbing with Montana someplace!  So I thought the photo was a really good fake so I wrote a note to Francesca telling her about this great fake photo that was out there!

I had to be schooled in Facebook.  If I had looked more closely at either picture I would have seen that the creepy doll was, in fact, Facebook generated and Joe and Phil and Fran were together in Las Vegas!  Francesca sent all of her people this picture of Phil, Joe and herself and had to stop and respond to me because I had responded to it.  I recall thinking,"If that's Facebook generated, it's pretty good" because I had seen Francesca and Phil the week before and they looked pretty much just like that.  I'll figure it out, I always do.  Just when "Facebook" goes the way of "My Space" I'll have it all figured out...

Have a Splendid (Craptabulous!) Holiday!

PS - You'll all be happy to hear that the "original" gift-that-keeps-giving, Toronto Mayor Rob Ford, did not disappoint.  Last weekend he brought his special brand of "crazy" to a church!  He "sang"!  He "danced"!   He reached out to God, who presumably did not reach back.  I think I will walk before Rob Ford resigns!  But I'm really motivated!  Maybe Ford needs an MRI!  It would certainly explain a lot!  (Or not)

Another Gift that Just Keeps On Giving! And it ISN'T Toronto ("It's Entirely Possible I Did Smoke Crack) Mayor ("I won't quit!")Rob Ford

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Again, this week I thought I would write about something important: This Week:  Why Brain Tumors?  Then I heard about this:

What was it you ask?  I both saw and heard Chip Wilson.  And just who is Chip Wilson?  A reasonable question. Chip Wilson is a soon-to-be ex-purveyor of high-end yoga attire. I still believe that the original gift-that-keeps-giving,  Toronto Mayor, Rob Ford, will give this Grinch a Very Merry and set himself ablaze like a yule log (on crack) in some alcohol-drug fueled incident.  (Before you judge, I only expect Ford to have his eyebrows slightly singed.  Because, let's call it here, once you freely admit to smoking crack, you're pretty much done. With everything. Call it holiday hope!)  Back to the subject... Perhaps the douchiest (I don't know if that's a word, but it should be if it isn't) comment of 2013 was coughed up by ol' Chip Wilson, purveyor of overpriced/undersized yoga clothes. He actually said in an interview, on camera, "Not all women can wear our clothes; their bodies don't work! "  Excuse me?  What did he just say?  Oh no, he didn't! Oh, yes, he did!  In the Paula Deeniest moment of 2013 (the Paula Deen year), Mr. Wilson made a remark on television sitting next to his wife and business partner that was so offensive I had to hear it three times.  What did Bobo the Chipper say? "(Our clothes) don't work on some women."

There are three areas you don't touch or ask a woman and live to tell about it. You never ask a lady her age. You never touch a woman's hair.  And you never, ever, comment on a ladies' size!  Ever! No comment positive, or God forbid, negative, in any way should ever be made!  Everyone knows this! Everyone except one blissfully unaware founder of a yogawear company! Mrs. Wilson (we'll see how long she remains Mrs. Wilson) looked as stunned as the interviewers when ol' Chipper started in on his "our clothes don't work on some women" malarkey. The only way this irrefutable "law of life" could be any more irrefutable would be if you were trying to sell expensive yoga pants to females in a double digit size!  Now the hackles of all females are up!  And the plus size girls?  They are not shopping at Lululemon in droves. I had never even heard of this brand or store (LuluLemon), and I intend to start a boycott on general principle.  $100 for stupid yoga pants? Where do I sign?  Where do I never shop and tell everyone I know never to shop?  Lululemon, that's where!  Lululemon, where I won't be spending a ridiculous amount of money; where I'll tell everyone online to not part with dollar #1 at Lululemon.com, for the rest of my life!  Big mistake, Mr.Wilson.  Huge! Who's with me? Who isn't?  I thought so!

To add insult to insult  LuluLemon founder Chip Wilson was on TV defending his companies' decision to use a different fabric in making their pants. Their customers were not happy with the change and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson took to the airwaves to bring their answers directly to their customers when Mr. Wilson made those unfortunate remarks.  The Chipster issued some half-baked, half-assed, half-hearted, half-something that was supposed to serve as an apology. It appeased absolutely no one but started a whole other firestorm of debate over whether or not it was appropriate or sufficient (it was neither) but that's a bell you can't unring; it really doesn't matter what he says.

I have to admit it's been a long time since anyone offended me in such an "in your face" manner. Message received!  That dude threw down a gauntlet practically insisting I don't purchase anything from Lululemon.  Maybe the economy has recovered while I've been trying to, and Lululemon doesn't want my business. Good for them! It seems stupid and short-sighted to me, but maybe they're trying some new, reverse marketing campaign known only to themselves, so... Good for them! Remember, it's Lululemon, and their founder actually verbalized the following: "The selection in sizes over (12) is less because in the larger sizes the thighs rub together!" OK, I hate him. Chip Wilson is pretty despicable and clueless.  He's no Hitler!  I've been watching Hitler all week and feel more convinced than ever that there was Hitler and then there was everybody else, usually German...

I Say It Every Year! Nothing Warms the Heart Like Overly Long Musicals With Nuns and Nazis!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I was going to write to you about Life's Great Mysteries or Cancer:  Curse or Cure?  Then the following happened and I tossed all those other ideas out the window and you would too if you'd been there.  Picture, if you will, anytown in Northern California at 6:30 at a strip mall on a Friday.  Patient Spouse and I are parked in front of a lame (and I mean lame) Chinese Food place that's conveniently located next to my son's dojo.

Next to us are two very young ladies in a brand new Jeep.  After applying another coat of lip gloss I hear a sound that everyone who has ever owned a car knows all too well because it's the sound you never want to hear.  It's the dreaded "clicking" sound.  I know next to nothing about cars and even I know that sound is bad.  The driver chick reacted to her key's non-effect on the engine with remarkable restraint and calm.  She and her friend took the opportunity to apply more lip gloss.  They used this "maybe if we let it rest, it will repair itself" method of non-repair car repair several times to no avail.  That battery was toast but their lip gloss looked awesome!

In the meantime, while all this clicking is going on Patient Spouse had repositioned our vehicle, found the jumper cables, picked up our pizza, and our kid.  After applying one more coat of gloss (And, their glosses were sparkly and lit up for "in da Club"!  Yes, I have one, 3 guesses who gave it to me!) the very young ladies finally ventured out of their very cute and very dead vehicle.  When I stopped laughing I had to wonder:  Were these girls just really young or incredibly clueless?  Was there ever a time I didn't know that key/clicking sound=Dead Car?  Naahh, maybe when I was like 7(Yeah, yeah, they had cars back then Harty har har!)  All over the world tens of thousands of drivers insert keys into ignitions and know with a sinking sensation that clicking sound means the same, inconvenient truth for each and every driver.  That engine ain't turning over for no one no how without "the jaws of life" or at the very least a jump.  And the sooner you deal with that the sooner you can get on with your day.

We worship youth in our culture.  Youth looks good but it's still young!  The freshly glossed young lady who was driving asked Patient Spouse if he thought she could drive the newly jumped vehicle to a restaurant and he had to explain to her that she should go home immediately and have the car looked at, that her new car could very well die when she turned off the engine again.  It was obvious she had not considered this possibility.  Then we checked out the "new" "Sound of Music" with Stephen Moyer, (Bill, from True Blood) and Carrie Underwood.  I've been watching "The Sound of Music" at Christmastime for years.  What screams "Christmas" about Nazis in long musicals?

Oh yeah, Mother Superior was an African American.  In the Austrian Alps!  In pre-war Austria!  She sang her wimple off!  It was long and weird.  Without the great Julie Andrews singing about them suddenly "A Few of her Favourite (British spelling) Things" start to sound a little disgusting! (Buttered Noodles?  Schnitzel? Yuck!)  Anyway, if it isn't the holiday for you without the SOM, stick with the original  Then e-mail me and let me know how the talk with your mother went.  You know, the chat you had with her letting her know you're gay.  Really gay!  (Not that there's anything wrong with that)

PS - As a reasonable adult, I have made a unilateral decision for all of us:  If people of a certain age in Wal-Mart commercials use current slang to move merchandise said slang will be instantly stricken from anyone on any medium at any time.  The latest casualties?  "You own something" (As in: You own that tape dispenser.)  Tired.  "Mad Skills" (As in: She has some)  Exhausted.  "The ___aren't going to____ themselves!"(self explanatory, you just fill in the blanks.) Stick a cheap fork in this one because it is burnt!  They don't know their irony from their irons at Wal Mart so let these terms die people they're played out.  In fact, allow me a smidgen of latitude to broaden the criterion.  The last thing I want is to give people another excuse to get creative with their spelling.  It's also the same reason I refuse to use "Twitter".  Any current slang phraseology used to shill for profit will be unceremoniously stripped of it's cache and usage.  Because any 7 year old can tell you, if it's heard in a Wal-Mart Ad it's probably not heard on the playgrounds or in "da club" .  It's hard enough to get anyone to spell correctly or  even write at all.  I would never endorse a medium that encourages users to abbreviate and misspell words.  A world where ewe or you is reduced to "u" is a world I don't want to live in!  So, like the gladiator boot I believe Twitter is a passing fad. (At least I hope).  Patient Spouse sneered,"You think Twitter is a fad?"

So Many Things to be Thankful For! Makeovers,the Mayor of Toronto, Brain Cancer...(See? It never gets old for me! HaHa!) Wait! We're not Canadian!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I hope everybody across the world found something to be thankful for this particular Thanksgiving assuming you are with loved ones and are still above ground. I'm thankful that Patient Spouse can understand me (even if he's quite possibly the only person on the planet who can.) Thanksgiving used to be a mixed bag if I thought about it too hard!  Why a turkey?  Why is the food all off-white? 

My mother-in-law spoiled me (Your Fearless Traveler), her son,(Patient Spouse), and our thirteen year old son (her grandson).My sister-in-law, Denise, and her wonderful men hosted Thanksgiving!  Which was awesome! Regular readers of the Rant know that I'm pretty thankful to be able show up any place these days.

One of the greatest gifts I ever received was one from my  sister-in-law, Francesca, And, it was totally by accident!  Like in 2000 when I was in this awful hospital, waiting for them to prep an operating room in a hospital  they grabbed poor Fran!  She held my hand  until the room was ready! In a hospital!  The only place I'm aware of where operating rooms are fairly common, no? Well not at THIS hospital!  They even had ER waiting rooms!  I was out in the friggin' hallway! Waiting!  With Francesca!

One of the things nobody warns you about following cancer treatment is the "Seabiscuit" effect: Your vision is really messed up.  Nothing as simple as correcting.  Everything is floating and spinning.  Applying makeup by myself to myself has become unmanageable. Lipstick?  Impossible. (Remember in "Seabiscuit" the wise trainer, played wisely by Chris Cooper, snarling  about jockey Red (played by Tobey Maguire, "He's blind in one eye!"), Patient Spouse does his best to help me deal with my makeup.  In spite of repeated  chemotherapy and radiation treatments that caused irreversible loss, my hair simply refused to give up the ghost and continues to thrive unabated.

When you are legally blind someone else deals with your hair and make up. And like everything else, all amusements cease to be amusing when just being awake is painful. But I digress:  Thursday, Patient Spouse and I were in San Bruno at my mother-in-law's. Patient Spouse was attempting to insert five giant hot rollers into my unruly hair!  Fran Poked her head in to say "Hello!" and she sets aside an entire day of mini blind issues to train me and Patient Spouse on how to "do" hair.  Fran borrowed a pair of tiny scissors from Rose and she proceeded to go Edward Scissorhands on my ass!  She has mad skills!  It was a Christmas miracle!  It was a Thanksgiving miracle.  It was a bleedin' miracle!  OK?

Francesca has many talents that she has honed to fine points, if she's really good at something, she has a tool-belt and/or kit.  Francesca's makeup skills are epic, her mastery of hair is just that masterful. Fran's skill with hair is nothing short of surgical.  She has her hair done by a salon owner who's one of her best friends once every two weeks.  Francesca knows hair.  My hair (big deal) is the proverbial Timex Watch of body parts, it will pretty much do anything you want it to  and you know what happened?  The most amazing thing in almost three years!  I saw myself in the mirror and I sort of recognized that person and I was so glad to see her again, I was just so relieved I was alive!  THAT'S WHAT I SAW!!!

Needless to say, for both hair and cosmetics, Fran has all kinds of gizmos, tools, kits, bags, samples, doodads, thingamajigs. (See?  Who  else born before 1980 is going to throw out "Doodads"?  It's gold I tell you comedy gold!)  Girlfriend hooked me up!  Put another way:  I  stopped avoiding mirrors, and was finally able to take a little comfort in my daily sojourns to the gym and my Bataan death marches.  Well, fo
r one night anyway. Being blind, immobilized and unable to speak has made me profoundly grateful for kindnesses especially when they work out so well.

I watched "Homeland" with Patient Spouse last night, (his show, not mine,  I think it's hilarious! The best spoof of this show is SNL last year with Anne Hathaway, but only if you don't think that pretend CIA drama is compelling and entertaining and not stressful, pointless and ridiculous (not to mention everyone on the program looks like they really need or just had brain trauma!  Or a shower.  Or both.)  

What has had me really taking a long hard, look  at "Homeland" is one of the characters:  In spite of how horrible I feel and how impaired I continue to be, I have every expectation I will be walking.  If everything happens for a reason and all my priorities are different and clear since 2011, a new and disturbing possibility has been nipping at my heels.  But, just having "me","recovered", in the same sentence as 2014 is a huge milestone and I'll be forever grateful to Francesca.  So  if I eventually discover I'm part of some "sleeper" cell, that would explain a lot  (hey, stranger things have happened!  The last one was Brain Cancer!  Really!!)

Being empowered to look in the mirror instead of avoiding them like a vampire, I thank Franny for that power.  It's more important than you think too!  It means the world to me.  I will improve.  I keep telling you guys - it's all about setting the bar low and keeping it there!

BTW-   You know who else looks amazing?  After chemo?  Mike & Mary's "boy", Boomer! 

Fritos and Three Toes and McCartney and Nazis! Oh, My!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

The aforementioned items do go together in my twisted, little universe so bear with me oh Gentle Reader while I connect the dots.  Here we go: You know what's great about a Lennon & McCartney tune?  Someone close to you can be learning a Lennon & McCartney song on the guitar or piano so you have to hear it like a million times and hearing it over and over doesn't make you want to bite someone.  Since we saw Sir Paul, Patient Spouse has been noodling away on his acoustic guitar playing a lesser-known Beatles tune, "Blackbird", and like most L & M songs, this one sounds deceptively simple.  So he has played it about 4000 times and I'm always glad to hear it! 

So today, PS is playing "Blackbird" for the 4001st time and warbling about Fritos and No Doze or that's what I hear anyway, and the Fritos sound pretty good.  I'm always hungry these days so singing any song with a snack theme always appeals to me.  What he was really singing was "Three-toed-sloth-with-a-cough" which I thought was hilarious because I believed his version of the lyrics as a clever reference to the film we had viewed the previous evening.  What film was that?  I'm so glad you asked!  It was the newer(90's version/BBC) film on "Anne Frank;  Diary of a Young Girl", because that's what our 8th grader is reading.  As it turns out, Patient Spouse was just pulling words out of the air (or out of someplace) that rhymed, cleverness was not even a consideration!  We both read Ms. Frank's Diary in Jr. High in addition I read her father's memoir, the lady that brought them stuff, her memoir.  Pretty much if they knew the Franks and were Dutch and wrote a WWII memoir I read it.

When I was younger I just could not understand an entire country following a madman into Hell.  I read every book I could get my hands on about The Third Reich. And I still don't get it.  I understand German and I've seen Hitler speak on every available device and he was a poser, a con man at best.   At best.  At worst?  Oh, come on!  When anyone in the world says "worst" they usually show a photo of Hitler. When he was losing the war he  said it was the German People's fault. The people should get raped and blown up, because they lost.  Really.  Hitler had a German Shepherd named Blondi, who he gave a cyanide pill to "to see if it worked", and then he gave a capsule to his wife.  What a guy! He used a pistol to kill himself, a coward at the end!

What do they always say about history?  Those who don't learn from history are destined to repeat it.
So studying Europe in WWII seems to make sense, however, I was promised Fritos.  Am I getting Frito's?  No!  Three-toed-sloths are funny but I need some Fritos!  And dip!  If I'm going to have Fritos I absolutely need dip!   I'm having some three-toed friends over, they love Fritos and dip!

Tools and Other Gifts My Mom Gave Me (Un-Crap! Edition)

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I was in the process of writing my youngest niece a long missive on the importance of being close to your mother (Specifically, the world can be a scary place, if you have one you need your mom.), and I began to realize that all the qualities I have relied on and in some instances exploited came from my mom!  It appears I am going to live and the traits I have come to depend on are almost exclusively from my mother.

The cancer comes from my father (Sorry Dad, but you know it's true!).

I'm not able to see/speak/walk/cook/drive/write/drink/eat/apply makeup/deal with my hair, and the list goes on and on.  If I wander into the kitchen or even close to it I meet with a chorus of "What the hell are you doing in the kitchen?  Get out of there!"  Some chef.  Some life.  But you know what?  I've got a plan.  You want to hear it?  I knew you would!  I'm uniquely equipped to rise above this situation in which I now find myself.  (Or was that Liam Neeson's character in "Taken"?  No, I'm pretty sure it's me, yeah, it's definitely me!  Props to Mr. Neeson, though!  Awesome film!)

I'll tell you my not-so-evil plan for world domination in some future missive.  For now we'll have to content ourselves with what I do possess that comes directly or not from my mother and possibly her mother.  My total disregard for all food as anything more than a nuisance, albeit a necessary one, comes from Mom.  I also possess a seemingly endless capacity for managing any kind of stress.  Things other kids really looked forward to, like driving, I barely learned and avoided whenever possible.  My mother didn't learn to drive until she was well into her 30's, she rarely drinks, I don't drink at all and probably never will again.  My palate, however, has only become sharper.  I can pick out a Grand Cru or food trend faster than a German Shepherd sniffing out a body for the TSA!

My only means of communication is using a laptop or a keyboard device.  When a few days went by without my daily note home my new laptop appeared as if by magic!  But it wasn't magic!  It was Mom and Dad!  My mother was/is a big reader and so am I. Remember those order forms for ordering Scholastic Books?  That was one bill I could rack up as high as I could read!  Mom was never cheap about books.  Mom wasn't cheap about anything really but I never met a book I couldn't read if I wanted to.  I was reading entire books at the age of five.   Books have killed time (before I discovered I didn't have a second to lose!) for me when I was just trying to survive minute to minute in the hospital.

 But the personality trait that I rely on the most, that is well-developed, that is instantly applicable in every situation I face daily as a brain tumor survivor is my sense of humor. Daily, several circumstances come my way where I just think, "Really?  This is what I'm dealing with?  Really?" I mean every day I come across a half dozen situations that inspire my laughter as a first response.  Hell, "inspire" isn't even close, these calamities demand laughter.  I guess I could cry but what fun would that be?  Not much, I imagine.  And imagining is something else I can thank my mom for!  I remember walking around a lot so I imagine I'll walk again.  So thank you Mom!  Wearing a wheelchair is not only funny it's bizarre!  It always strikes me as hilarious!  My patient spouse has made it his life's work to watch me (And, as Dr. Phil says, "to take my inventory") and make a lot of jokes (usually at my expense, but who cares? I love a good laugh,  these days I don't care where it comes from!)  I'm so glad I can amuse you people!  Just roll me on down the road, take a picture!  It'll last longer!  Thanks a bunch, Mom! 

PS - "The Gift that Keeps Giving" Costco - Online.  I mean I was flipping through the catalog and I fell in love with that place all over again.  What other place has high grade diamonds next to foosball tables?  Got to love that! Nothing says, "Christmas" like rampant American consumerism!  And diamonds!   Oh, and they have loads of Christmas crap!  And it's all really big!

PSPS - "The Other Gift That Keeps On Giving?"  Hitler!  Dead 68 years and they're still discovering crimes he committed!  Priceless, modern, stolen art, found in an apartment!  In Berlin!  Whenever they talk about "the worst of the worst" Hitler always wins!  Hands down!  Several years ago I was hanging out in Granite Bay with my friend, (she was furiously sewing something to further beautify her world with her tiny, doll-like, hands) and I was on my second beer and we were half-heartedly watching something about Hitler's gal-pal, Eva Braun.  Braun is thankfully, dead, so we were stuck with Eva Braun's landlady, who, through a translator talked about Eva Braun, and it was hilarious (though unintentionally so).  It went something like this:"She was a beautiful girl.  She could have had anyone but it was always Hitler this and Hitler that.  No Dieter, or Friedrich, it was always Hitler, Hitler, Hitler!"  It was funny in the 90's it's funny now! Although who knows where they dug up Eva Braun's landlady.  Well she was (very briefly) Mrs. A. Hitler.  No one else on the planet could (or would) say that.  I daresay women all over the world say (or have said) to themselves, "Well, at least I didn't marry Hitler." or "Things could be worse, I could be married to..."  Well, you get the idea.  And before you all get your panties in a bunch and send me a bunch of e-mails citing my inappropriate humor source allow me direct your attention to the trailers for the feel-good film of the 2013 Holiday Season, "The Book Thief", because nothing says, "Christmas" quite like swastikas and death camps.  If it's good enough for Hollywood, it's good enough for me to make fun of so all of you just settle the heck down!

Dorothy Parker Holding Court at the Algonquin Round Table? Nah, It's Just Me, Doing Amazing Things I'll Have No Memory Of Tomorrow

Hello Fellow Travelers!

For many months (or years) I have been waking up earlier and earlier with a new sense of purpose and excitement.  Every morning I also get to hear who Patient Spouse met the previous night on his way to bed.  It could be the paranoid shrew who withers him with contempt (thankfully, the "shrew" rarely makes an appearance) or more typically the smart alecky wise-ass who's really jazzed to see him.  He never knows who will turn up and it does him no good to ask me because I have no recollection of  doing
anything after I close my eyes, no memory, nothing, nada.  I could have this completely separate life and not even know it!

It was tedious enough hearing about my nocturnal exploits every morning.  I spend hours working out daily I spend hours balancing, I need all the sleep I can get.  Today, I was not awake until 9:30.  Three hours later than I usually get up.  Unacceptable.  And I was tired!  Really tired!  Reallly unacceptable!  I have been taking Amitriptyline since the brain surgery but if I'm living in some nocturnal alternate universe followed by exhaustion and complete amnesia I'll scrap that medication too!

It was funny at first!  What did I do last night?  Was I witty?  Was I wise?  Was I Dorothy Parker?    Who else was there?  Scott and Zelda?  John Cheever? John Irving?  No, he wasn't even born yet.  Not so funny, is it?  So as much as I like the idea of roaming around an alternate universe for my own amusement, I'm tired of hearing about the time I spent doing this or that, and if a pill is making me sleep too deeply I'll stop taking it.  Not a difficult decision for me.  I wasn't having any issues with sleeping anyway.   I was prescribed a lot of medications for conditions I could have had but didn't.  I was prescribed  whole slough of things for headaches (none of which worked), another (sertraline) for depression and something else to make sure I slept through the night.  Well, I was never depressed and I sleep just fine! Patient Spouse is concerned I'm being too hasty in blowing off this last Rx, but if it becomes an issue I'll notice and try something OTC.  So I am now completely medication free!  I guess that's good.

Again, I'll ask the only question that matters,"Is it cancer?  No?  Then who cares? or Nazis?  None of those either?  Then who really cares?"  If it doesn't have Nazis or cancer, I don't want to hear about it!  It can't be that important! I can't be bothered!   I'm still juggling chainsaws...four at last count...

"Two Years and You're Still Alive!" See? It's All About Setting the Bar Really Low! Really, Really Low!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

The title of today's missive refers to the visit we made yesterday to my PCP (Primary Care Physician) and his assessment of my progress.  My response was not nearly as enthusiastic.  "Really?  This is best I can hope for?  Really?"  In the words of Hannibal Lecter, "That won't do."  I was really close to death, I get it.  The "Grim Reaper" passed me in the hallway, and grabbed for me, I understand.  He touched me and had to let go, I'm processing all of that. 

I still like my PCP, he's trying to be helpful and I am happy to be living, the alternative isn't great. (Tarentino's Japanese Charlie Brown again springs to mind.  When his club partner/wife rhetorically asks him, "Did you hear what happened to Boss Tanaka?  Do you want your head chopped off?" He says,"No, I don't think I would like that.")  Being dead.  I don't think I'd like that.  Putting that aside, I have to conclude that I am pretty lucky to be alive, although physically I feel like Stephen Hawking without the genius.

The PCP's comments made something I never considered to be of vital importance to me and that is this:  People are the only important things.  Not your house or the clothes on your body or the cars you drive.  Only the people you care about, keeping them safe and healthy.  And love, that's important too.

I still believe that someday soon, if I work hard enough, I'll be able to look back on all of this and say something like, "Jeez, I'm glad that's over with!"  I still believe in Neuroplasticity.  Words are all that lasts, and people you care about.  I can make fun of Blue Lipstick and Gladiator Sandals until the cows come home but what motivates me are the people who need me to get better, who will greatly benefit from my continued existence (Although making fun of stuff is pretty entertaining).  Currently, I'm still unable to eat/see/walk or talk.  Thanks to the Internet (and my mom, when she's not sending cat-fur she sends encouragement and computers), I have found an outlet I'm suited to.

My PCP wrote a bunch of referrals for me and assuaged another fear I've had for months, by asking (and answering) the only "really" important question "Is it cancer?"  "No?  Then who cares?"  Works for me!  Always does!  See?  It is all about setting that expectation bar low.  Really, really low.

PS - Despite my best efforts, I am still affronted daily by as "South Park" calls  it, a fair amount of "murder/porn" (Discovery ID, part of 'Discovery Communications), at the gym.  Today, they had a program that loses me right out of the gate.  I (Almost) Got Away With It"  is a "shoulda-woulda-coulda" kind of proposition.  I mean, come on, "I (Almost) Got Away With It"?  They might as well call it:  "We Weren't Successful" or "(Almost) A Program" or "Crap I Could Have Watched But Didn't". This is the network that brought us such scintillating titles such as "Unusual Suspects" and "Who The F+&? Did I Marry?" so "I (Almost) Got Away With It" is kind of disappointing from the beginning because it's obvious from the title it didn't work out.  A failed crime!  Who's got time for that?  It's not even like antiques or real estate you looked at and disregarded.  These are  crimes some nitwit attempted but was ultimately incarcerated for!  It's not even good "bad" TV.  It's just bad, not even the best they could come up with which is dicey at best.  The great thing about the ID Channel is that you can do at least three other things simultaneously while keeping track of any convoluted drama (real life) they present.  Perfect for the gym, right?  You would think so, the problem with the ID Channel is that the titles are far more interesting than the shows themselves.  So you (or more likely, me) get bored enough to stop at say "Who The F##% Did I Marry?" and 20 minutes later you're working on the  treadmill and wishing someone, anyone, would scream, "Well this is stupid!"(because it is) and change the channel.  But the gym gods or whomever don't hear your silent prayer and you're stuck.  That's why I watch nothing but CNN.  Just news, grim, real news.

"Better To Let Your Silence Cause People to Wonder If You're An Idiot Than Speaking And Removing All Doubt" (or Something close to it) Mark Twain

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Prior to the brain surgery required to remove the large tumor from my brain (that never gets old for me!) I was following a pretty depressing descent into mediocrity. Now I actually bring home some bacon.  Now I have laser-vision and a huge sense of purpose.  The '"new" me never  gets more than irritated.  Now I realize that I was mostly wrong about everything.  The other night we watched "Lemony Snickets" with Jim Carrey, Jude Law and some English children.  It was a charming film with the children facing a dilemna I face every day;  Nobody listens to me.  It would be comical if there weren't farther reaching implications.  People try to talk around me, over me, direct their eyes (and ears) to anyplace else that isn't in a wheelchair.   "Ironsides" might be a cool name, but that's all that's scary about that dude.  A dude in a wheelchair just does not inspire fear and/or dread.  But I digress:  The kids in "Lemony Snickets" have several adventures, they aren't there to have "fun" and they don't expect any.  Maybe it's a British thing.  Feel free to weigh in here, British relatives (and you know who you are) I like British stories.  When they are in peril there is no screwing around, THEY ARE IN DANGER!  LIVES ARE LOST!  British citizens get into all kinds of trouble with no way to escape but with their wits and fortitude.  And if you're a kid, nobody listens to you!  And the bad guys know it!  And they use this against you!  I liken this journey I'm on to a British Kid's Adventure, not "fun" necessarily but a huge undertaking with twists and turns and learning a lot of "life lessons" along the way.  I feel like I'm all alone out here with nothing but my words to protect me.  I hear "You have a lot of courage."  a lot.  I appreciate that but I'm not sure that's not wide of the mark, what I am is brave and there is a big -difference.  I can get through the next workout, the next MRI, even the next operation.  That's my understanding of bravery - short term.  That and tactics.  I have tactics for days.  What I lack is a strategy.  A specific design for me to get out of this mess as quickly as possible.   I woke up in 2011 with my world turned on it's head, and with absolutely no clue how to right it.  I'm not stumbling around in the dark (because that would imply I could stumble, and I would love to stumble anywhere!  Stumbling would be great! Schedule Stumbling would be heaven!) but I'm definitely reaching around in the pitch blackness for any strategy that works.  I'm starting from the start with what I have (not much) and what I know (even less).  Hey, nobody ever said adventures were "fun".

PS :  Another reason regular TV holds no charm for me:  "Sons of Anarchy" - a program that Patient Spouse and I watched together because it's on Netflix so he can skip over all the boring stuff.  In spite of my desire to share in the wonders of "High Def" with my beloved, I never really liked "SOA" and it took me a little while to figure out why.  The cast is OK, Peg Bundy, The Beast (from Beauty and the Beast), and a lot of other people you've never heard of.  It really bugged me that I couldn't stand this program.  Middle-aged bikers living and loving in a small town in Northern Cali.  I think their "fictional" town is Galt or someplace else near Stockton.  Is it bad storytelling?  Bad acting?  Nope.  Too local?   Possibly.  If I wanted to watch white trash drama, I could go to Oroville.  "Sons of Anarchy" - Marysville, to quote the blonde trampy girl from "Officer and a Gentleman",  "I don't want some Okie-from-Wiskokie, I can get that right here!"  I grew up with a trailer park too close to my town for my comfort level.  I had never seen a mobile home before I was 10.  What's interesting about "white trash" drama?  Nothing I don't find it colorful or interesting, just local!  And who are all these media yahoos who feel the modern need to compare every current bad guy to Hitler?  There was only one (Thank Goodness!) Adolf Hitler!  He was in a "class" all by himself.  Students of World History know this.  Syrian thug Assad is not Hitler.  The old North Korean dictator was not Hitler and the young North Korean Dictator is not Hitler either.  Loathe him and hate him, only Hitler was Hitler.  But I digress!

 PS - Another program that has an authentic feel to it from a foodie perspective is "Knife Fight" on the Esquire Channel.  The guy who hosts it is Ilan Hall, the winner of "Top Chef2" and  he has an amazing restaurant in LA.  All the young blades hear about each other and after his restaurant closes for the night, two Angelino chefs go head to head and battle it out "Chef vs. Chef" with a rowdy audience cheering them on.  A lifetime ago I use to observe Randall Sellend do exhibition cooking to a packed house at "The Kitchen"  and this show is a lot like that except with secret ingredients and celebrities.  Food and fashion shift faster than tremors after an earthquake in Southern Cali so it's great to see chefs duking it out "old school". 

"Pain Means You're Alive!", my Primary Care Physician, Setting the Bar "Low"

Hello Fellow Travelers!

If I could speak, I would respond with something like, "Really?  They let you get away with that?"  This remark probably comes from the same genius who thought up, "God only gives us as much as we can manage."  What the ???  How did God get dragged into this?  To be fair, this was the same guy who initially recommended lots and lots of narcotics on my previous visit.  So he was just trying to be helpful.  The glass is half full kind of thing.  I don't take it personally, but it is pretty funny! "Pain means you're alive?"  Then I must be out living large.  I'm too alive!  I guess the alternative is the opposite of being alive and no, as Charlie Brown put it in "Kill Bill, Vol I","No, I don't think I would like that.", in Japanese.

Yesterday, I saw a neurologist, I refer to as "Dr. Zhivago".  Patient Spouse thinks seeing him is a waste of time but I think I caught a glimmer of thought from him once.  We have him off the headache cure (never felt anything) and onto the Vertigo issue which is the primary impediment to my recovery.  Dr. Z. actually tested me on some parallel bars where I can actually show a little skill.  So he ordered me a set.  Biking to nowhere and walking in circles, oh boy!  And this is the stuff I aspire to!  This is a good day.  I won't be seeing him for awhile and I'm glad he's done trying different anti-seizure medications on me, he was repeating himself, pharmaceutically speaking, and I never had a seizure or migraine in my life.

Today I weigh myself at the gym, I do this once a week, if used to depress me a little until I got the numbers going in the right direction anyway (less).  It's a part of the rehab experience and going to the gym so it doesn't bother me (much).  Of course, in the big scheme of things I ask the same question,"Is it cancer?  No?  Who cares?"  OK, that's technically three questions but as long as the answer remains the same (No), that's all I care about.  It's all about setting the bar.  And I set it low.  No cancer?  That's good enough for me!  "C" is for "Cookie" Whoa! "Cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C!"  If it's good enough for the Cookie Monster it's good enough for me.

I Wasn't Alone In Watching (and sorely missing) "Breaking Bad" and I Think I Figured Out Why!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I spent part of last week feeling very alienated and sorry for myself because a program I had watched from the beginning was ending.  Shows end all the time, we saw the end of Dexter after seven years and it ended as appropriately as one could have hoped, but we forgot about it as soon as we saw it.  It's rare that one ends as well or with such fanfare as "Breaking Bad".  When I looked up from my computer, I saw that there were a lot of people who didn't know squat about methamphetamines who were going to sorely miss "Breaking Bad" on Sundays.  Jimmy Fallon and Stephen Colbert, for starters both did huge tributes to "B.B." on their respective programs.

My mother never watched "B.B." because she claimed to like Bryan Cranston from "Malcolm in the Middle", I go back even further with Mr. Cranston and remember him from "Seinfeld" where he had an occasionally recurring role as Dr. Tim Watley, the dentist, who may or may not have converted to Judaism "for the jokes".  Speaking of Seinfeld, remember an old episode where Elaine had Kramer take a photo for her Christmas card and of course, she sends them out to everyone not realizing that there was some wardrobe malfunction?  Everyone at her office is calling her "Nip".  George starts complaining that he never got a card from her so she grabs his head and smashes it into her chest and snarls, "You want a card?  Here's your card!"


A couple of authors have pulled an "Elaine" on the public.  Specifically, Thomas Harris, the fellow who wrote, "Silence of the Lambs".  An amazing book, I couldn't put it down.  Of course later they made the iconic film that set the film industry on fire and won awards for many involved in that film.  Zeitgeist - being in the right place at the perfect time and making something amazing!  So I, like a lot of people waited for years for this dude to write another book.  He didn't write much and he didn't write often so what he did have out there was read and reread.  So, after many years, out comes "Hannibal".  I actually wait listed and paid full retail on a hardback book.  "Hannibal" was well over 600 pages and when people would ask me about it, and they often did, all I had to say was, "What's the most ridiculous thing you can imagine these characters doing?"  Invariably, I received the same response, whether the person was or was not a reader, they always said "Let me guess, Hannibal and Clarice fall in love and get married!"  Yup, "Hannibal the Cannibal" and Agent Starling fall in something and sail off into bad writing land or maybe The Island of Misfit Toys or someplace else mysterious.

I may not be much of a writer but I am an accomplished and prolific reader and as a reader, I was truly offended.  I knew when I'd been "Elained", in literary terms.  At least I hope that was what was going on, I'd hate to think he labored intensely for years over that steaming pile of words.  What did you think I was going to say?  That steaming pile of literary goodness?  How about I confine my remarks to say, steaming pile?  If they had social media back then, I could have read "Hannibal" and posted the book next to a picture of kitty litter (Hah! You thought I was going say "Steaming Pile" again, didn't you?).  But I'm not sure there was even the Internet back then so they went ahead and made a movie (also a steaming pile) and more $$$ before everyone caught a clue that a little Lecter went a long way.  Even the movie-makers shied away from having the two polar opposites start dating, and left Clarice with the FBI and put Lecter on a plane to parts unknown.

I wouldn't know Thomas Harris if he bit me but after finishing "Hannibals'" 800 plus pages, I felt as though I'd been middle fingered by Mr. Harris.  As in "You want more Lecter?  I'll give you all the Hannibal Lecter you can stand!  And then some!  I'll write a whole flippin' book, badly, about him!  And Clarice Starling!  So screw you gentle reader, and critic, book editor, film exec, etc...  Screw all of you!  And the horse you rode in on!"

"Breaking Bad" finished great!  All the actors and the show's creator quit at the top.  Walter died about when his oncologist said he would.  The reason I was sort of sad about that show ending was that in seven years Walt never lost me.  He had this terrible diagnosis and figured out a way to utilize his time left on this planet to making a large amount of money.  It's a revenue stream I know nothing about (methamphetamine) but I could relate to a shy chemistry teacher having his world turned upside down with a diagnosis of terminal cancer.  He had a finite amount of time and objectives to meet in that period of time and his meticulous nature lent itself to being a mythical manufacturer as well as a distributor of his special "blue" product.  Even though the character did some terrible things I always wanted Walter to be successful.  At the end of the show you aren't sure if a gunshot killed him or the returning cancer but it doesn't matter.  He dies on his terms in his lab with no unfinished business.

At the end of the day, control over your own destiny is all we can hope for.  But the reason Walter never completely lost me or my sympathy completely is fundamental:  Great storytelling!  It was a great story that was told really well.  And at the end, that's truly all I care about.  Like the Sopranos, I'll get over the loss of "B.B.", but it's good to know people are still wanting to tell good stories well because there are those of us who desperately want to hear them.

PS - Speaking of "Seinfeld" and "The Sopranos", you know why the Rom/Com with Julia Louis-Dreyfus and James Gandolfini went to DVD faster than a Steven Seagal movie?  Not because they didn't 'have chemistry' or didn't look like they belonged together,  The film flopped loudly because poor Gandolfini died.  No new shows or Soprano reunion.  He's still dead!  And NO romantic comedies!  James Gandolfini is still dead and that fact is neither romantic or comedic.  To his credit, that man made Tony Soprano his own, much like Bryan Cranston did to Walter White.  Poor Gandolfini pulled a Heath Ledger this year (unwittingly) and we'll never see his work again without thinking, "Oh, he's still dead.  That's too bad."

The Giants - PacBell Park Also A Good Place to be "In The Event Of..."

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I went to a Giants' game this week and they easily won so that was great.  Great seats (Thanks, D.), great snacks and on the way to the parking garage I checked out the newly gentrified China Basin that many of the young hipsters walked to after the game.  There were easily a half dozen microbreweries within walking distance of the ballpark.  The entire area was new with walkways and new real estate where it used to be sketchy. 

Last week I posted a little blurb about the last season of Top Chef in New Orleans and why I hoped we could watch it together.  Not all my programming ideas have ended so well.  "Doomsday Castle" was disappointing but I was really alarmed at the hijinx on a program called,"Naked & Afraid".  That's the show on The Learning Channel (of all places) that doesn't promise the winner anything.  When one naked (and really stupid) man gives himself parasites and has to be carried out of the jungle on a stretcher to the hospital!  To the surprise of absolutely no one!  The fearless female goes it alone and then she left too!  So it's finally just the camera running alone!  In the Seychelles!  Hilarious! 

I included a picture of Yoda this week (Another reason "Revenge of the Sith" is my favorite Star Wars movie is we see a much younger Yoda - this Yoda kicks ass and doesn't take names!) partly because he's a classic but mostly because his vague, Confucian-speak (Is he waxing poetic?  Or  just  talking sideways?  Who cares?) carries a really positive message.  Yoda is also good friends with the Wookies!  And who doesn't love Wookies?  Yoda or the idea of Yoda is pretty inspirational, and, as I've said before I'll take inspiration wherever I can get it.

Again, I have to think everything happens for a reason.  I never cared for driving and now I can't.  I used to work in Food & Beverage, and now I can't consume either!  My ability to communicate has been diminished to my right hand, so I got a new laptop and started writing.  I feel great all the time and have no earthly reason for feeling so good.  Usually I would say, "It's not cancer so who cares?"  Which is pretty much my baseline for measuring anything these days but it's important for me to know if brain surgery is the source of my incredible lightness of being.  Because if my false-yet-oddly-familiar sense of well-being came from having a large tumor removed from my brain, I would like to know about it.

If there is a harder way to do something I will invariably find it, and cancer recovery is no exception,  I figure I've been locked inside my head for over two and a half years.  Armed, bank robbers, rapists, serve less time than that.  I checked. I'm bored, really.  My uncanny vast scope of knowledge of pop culture (and history - not only can I tell you Mr. Eastwood's marital status, I also know his body of work, in chronological order. Why I know this, and more importantly, why I can't forget it, I have no clue.) Maybe I am supposed to rant all this seemingly disconnected trivia together.  I have to increase my Bataan Death Marches (don't ask) and lengthen my balancing sessions (really don't ask) at each end of the day.

A couple of days ago I checked in with my oncologist - he's another one that makes me laugh - from his perspective the cancer was obliterated so from his end it's gone brilliantly!  My life sucks but there's no cancer so who cares?  Seriously, that's the threshold for success!  It's as low as it sounds!  Just try not to die!  Past that, no one can say for sure.  Well, I can still make fun of everyday events and still have plenty of food and beverage and goofy trends to offer derogatory commentary about.  So there's that.

I guess since there is no place for someone like me I'll have to create my own space and a niche for myself.  I'm too young to be old and too old to be young.  So maybe I'll set a new trend - my own.  I am still pretty smart.  I'll keep working physically and keep rehabbing until I regain something resembling a life. Not seeing any real necessity for food and having a really high threshold of pain leaves me uniquely qualified to repel any mutant cells.  I was born to do this.  Nothing has happened yet with the neuroplasticity that I can see, but I'm ready for everything else that's coming!

 

10:00 Wednesday Nights? Meet All Of Us In New Orleans!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

The other day I saw one of my favorite movies - "Mame" with Rosalind Russell.  I had to watch for a few minutes it's that good, Complete costume and scenery changes and arguably the gayest person ever committed to film!  Did I mention it was freakin' great?  I should have because it is!  There is no singing or dancing or killing.  By that description alone I should hate it but it's amazing!  If you see it advertised as coming up on TCM or Netflix or wherever, check it out.


Beginning October 2, and many subsequent Wednesdays at 10 PM on Bravo, the last season (for me anyway) of the last serious competition program for foodies (Top Chef) in one of the last bastions of exciting food - New Orleans will be on for a date night or at least appointment television(Patient Spouse and I, that is) we can agree on.  Other programs have come and gone, and I don't think I'll ever work with food again.  Being hungry 24/7 and not being able (or advised) to handle utensils I still like to live vicariously through others making fabulous food.  They have the down and dirty Quickfire Challenge at the beginning of the show and finish with a very satisfactory elimination at the end.  Regular judges from TC will be there and I'll be there too (in spirit) so if you like great food competition shows this one is as good as they get.  And it's on in the middle of the week, late.  So there's that.

People who celebrate their food don't ever constrain or concern themselves with calorie counts or nutritional stats.  San Francisco is known for food, so is New Orleans.  I, for one, can't wait  to see what they come up with!  When it comes to food they don't mess around in the Big Easy!  They eat what tastes good followed by some really off the chart dessert!  Then they drink and dance all night!  And that's just a Wednesday!

I received a golden 8" Steiff Teddy from my mom and he came to me sporting a gold medal (2000) so I named him "Cancer Bear"  He's made with mohair, he fights injustice everywhere... well you get the idea.  Along the lines of "Superman".  Only it's a little happy bear, with a gold medal and a cape flying behind him.  Apart from the Steiff I keep with a snap of a baby Jan with that bear,  CB, as I think of him, is highly inspirational.  And believe me, I'll take inspiration wherever I can find it.

For instance, you may have noticed I replaced my usual photo with a picture of the perfect tea roses that one bro-in-law brought me in a lovely nouveau vase another bro-in-law gave me.  I have stared  at this plant for hours.  And Patient Spouse knows how visually driven I am and cuts a tea rose to put in the blue/purple vase every week.   I have identified my amazing physical response to brain cancer as being cockroach-like, hard-to-kill.  Now I associate it with the wildly prolific tea rose.  Also hard to kill, better smelling than the roach.

Every day I wake up and ask myself what I can do to make my spouse and son's life better?  I didn't used to.  I am happy every minute to be alive!  I tease my mother not because she sent me cat fur (although for me that was something special) but because she equipped me with the twisted sense of humor and strength to thrive in this situation.  Although I'm not there yet, I'm getting close.  Who needs food?  Those clowns on Top Chef are going to make something yummy at 10:00 on Wednesdays - I'll just watch that.

PS - More tangible evidence of fashion trends I am neither partaking in or missing out on:  Knee length python boots with peep toe cutouts.  Yes, ladies, you most certainly did read that right.  I'll pause for a moment so you can read it again.  You go to all the fake trouble of wearing a "boot" and you need a pedicure?  Seriously?  Is this a "stripper thing"?  Because I've missed those before.  So somebody give me a head's up if these boots are only useful on the stripper pole, thanks.

More Crap My Mother Has Sent Me - Pt. Trois - Homeland Edition

Hello Fellow Travelers!

I took German so all my French is Pepe lePew (much like my hair, but that's another story) what I'm alluding to with my little Homeland reference is the CIAesque way in which UPS delivered a box to me with nothing in it but a laptop.  OOOOOHHH!! VERY MYSTERIOUS!!  Don't get me wrong.  I am thrilled to have a device primarily my own to call dibs on with some reasonable expectation of it's availability and status.  Learning (or being forced to learn but who cares?) to use our other devices for a few days was good cross training for me.  Painstakingly writing words like painstakingly on the I-Pad took soooo long but now I know to do it and use the texting .  Remember people I have lost almost all appendage use in fine motor skills except for the use of my right hand, and I'm a South Paw.  Where my daily comment about hunger /sleep/pain, (I am OK with all three thank you very much) usually prompts my folks to send out some Werther's (Hard Candies), maybe some Pepperidge Farms Shortbread Something Or Others.  And my mom was sending me real Steiff Teddy Bears.

So today I get a shoebox with crackers and an article about real bears, so I guess I see where I rate in the big schematic of my mom and dad's universe'.  If I'm not churning out that daily love fest  I get a shoebox with Ritz Crackers.  I hate Ritz Crackers.  Nothing is ever better when it sits on a Ritz.  Was it Coco Chanel or my mom who said "You can never be too rich or too thin."  and "Heart Healthy" Ritz Crackers suck!  Hard! So, if it means I'm spoiled I don't care.  I don't like those crackers now I didn't like them when I was little.  If they are "Heart Healthy" that just means they'll taste worse than the regular pieces of dough some machine spews out by the bazillion for the masses. 

Last month, I received teddy bears, caramels and cookies in Priority Shipping, now I'm gettin' a  shoebox with crackers.  Do you see a pattern emerging?  I do!  Better keep those grades up Trojan Man, you never know when you'll be demoted by Mom(Just kidding, Trojan Mom)  Or maybe you know exactly when, either way a shoebox full of crackers and bear media  is not good! 

Whoa!  I'm not sure, but I think I've been downgraded?  Mom, Ritz?  Really?  Why not Underwood "devilled" ham(whatever that is) or the cheese that gets sprayed out of a can?  My mom knows how I picky I can be about food - she's twice as picky as I ever was!  What I learned about food from my mother was that it was a necessary evil.  My mother instilled in me from an early age that the world was full of delicious food and I couldn't eat all of it.  It's always given me power over anything as silly as hunger just knowing that every day you were going to have to locate more food, make it edible, eat it, pay for it, and this process will be required several times daily, forever!  Ha!  Doesn't sound so great anymore does it?  All that endless consuming!  Yuk!  My mother taught me the value of enjoyment - I only eat things I really like.  I like Gummi Bears, German Haribo bears.

Mary and Mike's Wild Tea Rose from Our Garden

Do you know why they invented Teddy Bears?  Besides Teddy Roosevelt?  They came up with the idea, in part, because real bears are fairly unpleasant!  They are really strong. really hungry, not too smart and very smelly.  Real bears loiter around trashcans and campsites and often have to be relocated.  Not Teddy Bears!  I adore Teddy bears!  I collected Steiff Bears for years and will pass them along to that person who "gets them".  My maternal grandmother gave me my first Teddy Bear, a mohair Steiff, and he's had "a little work done" and he doesn't growl anymore but neither do I, and I still have him!

I had my share of Barbie Dolls but no baby dolls only bears, teddy bears are really cute.  Case in point:  "Ted" is a movie about what would happen if your brother/son/husband/boyfriend grew up with his favorite plush teddy bear,  And Seth McFarlane gets away with murder because the bear is so darned cute.  Weird Sex?  Strippers?  Afternoon Bong Hits?  Flash Gordon?  It's all adorable coming from a Teddy Bear!  R-rated, but adorable!  I mean, come on, that teddy bear hoisting himself up into a chair on Johnny Carson, was too cute, and can we talk about Mila Kunis?   She always cracks me up/breaks my heart.  But the core of the story, the suspension of disbelief, is the relationship between the dude (Mark Wahlberg) and his bear (Ted!)

Fair warning:  If you don't find teddys the least bit compelling, this movie is not for you.  Having my best teddy bear come to life and always be with me?  I would love that.  A pot-smoking, hooker-addicted Southie?  Not so much.  But it's a Teddy Bear!  AWWW! OK, he's still adorable and the kids still can't watch his fuzzy butt!  Now that we have that settled...

A couple of weeks ago my cat parked herself on my old computer and pried off a letter somehow.  We have several devices and I was perfectly happy to wait until we got a new computer but I wasn't able to send off my daily missives to my mom for a few days.

A solitary box arrived without a packing slip or return address.  Inside was a laptop preloaded with a bunch of apps and nothing else!  Lucky for me Patient Spouse knew how to fire that up with no attachments required.  I know my mom & dad are responsible for making sure that I have my  own device to compose from.  And so far I'm ranting up a storm!   I'm not exactly sure who is responsible for the covert manner in which it was shipped, it could be completely unintentional, maybe it just seemed covert.  That's my dad's style, he just shows up no  fanfare no heads up.  My mother tends to include some note of explanation or bear or story about bears.  So though this might be the handiwork of some three letter American acronym, I'm pretty sure my parents are behind the laptop mystery.  I have this weird idea that I have something to "say" using this format.  I don't know exactly what or for how long but lately when I ask questions of this nature they go unanswered.  But you guys know me:  as long as I can I'll keep asking... 

 

Am I the Only Person Who Sees A Problem Here?

Hello Fellow Travelers!

In order to shine a light onto whom are the unsung heroes of the medical profession - nurses - Johnson & Johnson made and (I imagine)paid for a vignette of a dedicated Hospice Nurse and her elderly hospice patient, Bertha.  At the end of the "tribute" you see this touching tableau has been brought to you by your friends at Johnson & Johnson.

Bertha is apparently from Denmark because she relates this story to her caregiver about someone in Denmark opening a window so the soul of the dead person can get out.  Maybe it's the dramatic acting or the knowledge that hospice = death, but every time I see that poignant message of dedication it seems to me that old lady is ready to go but she's thwarted at every turn by her caring nurse.  By the time the nurse tells the Danish Death Story poor Bertha looks more than ready to go to her great reward.  Let that poor woman die already!  Pretty obvious she's ready to go!  Let her go already.


"Not tonight, Bertha." she reassures us as she closes the window, "Not tonight!"  Oh come on, this Danish lady is readier than Hamlet to meet her maker but for being unable to communicate with her caregiver.  Seen through my cracked prism, Bertha's quaint, Danish custom takes on a whole new meaning.  I can be a little fuzzy too.  So if it is obvious to me that she's ready to take  a dirt nap,  she's probably shouting it out to lots of people.  If she was a real person which she is not.

However, instead of quietly appreciating our nation's nurses I am freaking out over this senior citizen who conveys such pathos.  Unable to speak, like me, I just want to open that window and get this show on the road. She can thank me later!

PS-I received a message not too long ago from someone who likes my rants.  I was reminded that this person thought the chorus to "Jack & Diane" was "Oh yeah! Life goes on, Long after 5th Period and Living in the john!"

What's hilarious about that is that it makes perfect sense because it's rock and roll and it makes no sense.  It's not supposed to.  "I am the eggman, I am the walrus! Kookookachoo!" It was true then and it's true now.  Who the hell knows what it means?  Who cares?  It's rock!  It's supposed to scare parents and embolden  the young.  From the little I've heard, it's still doing it's job.

If A Wheelchair Falls Over In The Forest Does It Make A Sound? What's A F's Wheelchair Doing In The Woods Anyway?

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Just when I think I've seen it all something new assaults my sensibilities.  I was leafing through this month's In Style and was happily thumbing my way through the huge September issue when I came upon an advertisement so alarming in nature and downright disturbing in color (teal), I did something I've never done:  I actually tore out the page for a better look.  The ad is for cancer research, of all things, and is presented, oddly enough, by Laura Mercier, manufacturer of fine cosmetics.  The offending ad?  A pair of big, teal, lips on a white background. Unless you're Yoda or some alien chick expressly charged with the sole purpose of being extra friendly to James T. Kirk you don't find that color on this planet.  Laura Mercier?  Teal lips?  I checked it out with a friend who happens to be a very experienced hospital nurse.  She told me if a patient presented with teal lips and a ghostly pallor in her rounds, they'd be checked for death and subsequently hooked up to a lot of machines.

That reminds me, while I'm thinking about it another million dollar idea that reeks in actual practice are these commercials that show some swarthy dude detailing a fancy glass.  All the cute guys and all the gold paint only accentuate the fact that this very special glass is destined to hold some very unspecial beer.  I don't even drink beer but I'll go out of my way to make sure that no one drinks, buys, or serves this particular beer. (Do you hear me crapmeisters at Stella Artois? I'm talking to you! ) Beer is meant for bottles, cans, mugs, and steins. But stemware? Gold? Etching?  Not so much. It is, after all, beer. Not even the "champagne of beers" is anything other than beer. (and no, no one has ever been tempted to pour Miller High Life into a champagne flute at the bowling alley).

Today, though I really wanted to talk to you from the point of view (POV) I have not enjoyed from the wheelchair. I refuse to treat it as anything other than a temporary solution, but it's been more than two and a half years and I need a new wheelchair. But getting one would be tantamount to admitting that I'll never be able to walk again.  I have considered many things  but being perpetually handicapped is not one of them.  I have always stood when I could sit, walked when I could ride.  The wheelchair, to me anyway, was a temporary conveyance, at best.  By my very nature I don't fit into a wheelchair.  I'm OK with not walking but sitting?  I'm not OK with sitting, ever!  Sitting in a wheelchair blows!  For obvious reasons like you are seated where your eye level is at everyone's rear!  Holy Crotch Shot, Batman!!  But the worst thing about it, what is constant no matter where I go, is that's nobody speaks to the creature in the wheelchair.  It doesn't matter to anyone in public why you're in a wheelchair it just matters that you are in one.   Gunshot?  Blindness from a bomb?  A meth lab mishap?  Who cares? It doesn't matter what terrible circumstance put you in that chair.  It doesn't matter how well you're dressed either because all anyone sees is that you're dressed in a wheelchair.   People will try to talk to anyone, anywhere who can save them the task of having any interaction with anyone actually in the wheelchair.  You know who talks to you when you're in a wheelchair?  Little kids.  Little kids see you at eye level and seem genuinely glad.  As soon as their handlers see the child is interested in saying "Hi!" or something equally as deep, their handlers quickly swoop in and remove the child before they catch whatever put the poor soul in that chair to begin with.  I'm ńowhere near ready to be a member of the disabled wheelchair brigade. So, I will redouble my efforts to rehabilitate my weakened left side which impacts all my motor skills.   Every month or so I see various doctors who all seem surprised I'm alive.  Only one has ever offered any ideas about regaining some quality of life, and that's the neurosurgeon I see next week.

People that have battery powered scooters with little flags and cupholders seem really committed to their chairs or resigned.  I refuse to tender my resignation or look at cupholders!  If this is yet another instance of my "brave battle", all I can say is "Bring it!" (The foe, of course, I'm referring to is brain cancer).  Oh come on!  I didn't get through all this to find out teal lips are in vogue.  Really I didn't.

The irony (?) is I feel great!  Better than I've felt in years, since the tumor was removed.  It's interesting to me how a fraction of difference between the sides of your brain can leave you completely helpless and dizzy.  So again, I find myself in generally the same spot I've been in for low these many months:  I'm stuck.  I keep increasing my physical workouts and strength but I'm open to any suggestions.  I'm always dizzy and have no balance.  My falls lately are a lot slower and I usually can correct my stance on the way down and I never hit my head.

P.S.-  I checked out "Doomsday Castle" and it was not the marital mind meld I was hoping for.  Instead it's the bucket list dream of one  father with two sets of spoiled kids who want to help their dad realize his vision.  The wives (there are three of them) wisely opted out of any castle creating.   And this is a castle.  It has a drawbridge and a moat and a turret on each corner.  It really looks like something made by Fisher Price.  I was mistaking The Learrning Channel for where this program is really located,  the Nat Geo channel.  So because I really want to watch someone build and use a catapult I'll probably watch a couple more episodes but it isn't the Tracy/Hepburn décor vs. Function I was hoping for.  If there is anything out there that blends these points of view tell me!  Survivalism and good taste don't have to be mutually exclusive do they?

Costco - The Happiest Place On Earth! (And it's not Disneyland either!)

Hello fellow travelers!

There is a new program starting soon on The Learning Channel called "Doomsday Castle" and I hope it will play out to be the blending of two points of view I've long wanted to see:  Doomsday Prepper mixed equally with the affluent homeowner/builder.  Anyone can build a woodsy chateau and side by side with a spouse who is equally dedicated to creating an insulated home (read/hole) in the dirt.  It takes a joint vision and a whole lot of money to create something that has the temerity to call itself a castle, a Doomsday Castle!!  I mean  I'd watch for the marital discord alone!  Then I saw the foyer!  Fancy windows!  I’m all in!  I mean the inevitable decline and destruction of our planet combined with bay windows, unlimited budget and many thousands of square feet.  And it's on The Learning Channel!  So even if it sucks we'll learn something!  It can't lose!

But I write today about where I'd want to be in case of a nuclear attack. Several years ago I read a short story by Stephen King about some mysterious fog that trapped some people in a grocery store.  One by one the trapped people get picked off by something in the fog.  That would never happen to me because I'd probably be at Costco.  We're always at Cotsco.  They have everything and lots of It!  A new car!  A good one! And Baked Goods!  You could hole up there for months!  Longer if the Seafood Roadshow is in town!

I've been a member since they were Price Club and I defy anyone to go into that place and come out with nothing.  You can't do it, can you?  And when they put up their Christmas  Crap?  Forget about  it.  Not only do they have bigger decorations than any other store they have lots of them.  

I'm always up for an excursion to Costco it is a magical place for me.  There are lots of jokes about the size of the place and the amount you get in your purchase.  A really big bottle of vodka or a Coleman stove - also very large.  What's not to love about a place that sells dog food, diamonds and daikon radishes?  And that's junk they have every day.  When there's a roadshow in the store (and usually they have several a week) there is even more to look at.  I especially like the amber roadshow for gifting and the fresh shellfish show they have every Thu-Sun.  I'm pretty picky and I would make large food purchases every week to turn into treats for others because their products are better than average! Another great feature of Costco is that if you know the positioning of one in AZ you knowing the layout of every store everywhere because they're all the same.  Even their junk food is pretty good.  I discovered a frozen mocha drink that tastes just like Kahlua!  For a buck and change!  Can't beat them, you know why?  Perceived value, that's why.  Take wrapping paper as an example:  You pick out a heavy roll.   You had better really like it because you're going to see it for several years to come.  We just bought another color this past year because we were sick of looking at the pattern on the first roll. 

Even Oprah went to a Costco to see what everyone was talking about. Oprah, of course, got it right away.  In those days Oprah's audiences reached under their seats and scored a thousand dollar gift card.  You  can go there dressed not-to-impress, it is, after all, a warehouse.  It's like a Home Depot but better!  You can pick up a wheel of Brie and book an exotic cruise (or not), or get a good deal on a waffle iron and some cat litter.

The only downside?  Long lines to check out.  So do like we do:  spring for the Executive Membership and go an hour earlier than the "Regular" members.  At ten am!

PS -  Also on The Learning Channel:  "Naked and Afraid". And they are both.  And not in a good way.  Before you waste any time let me clue you in:  It's like "Survivor" without clothes.  And the miserable contestants get the satisfaction of knowing they can hang out with an equally ill-equipped person of the opposite sex for 21 days in some far-flung land.  That's right, for being naked and eating grubs on TLC for 21 days you get bupkis, nada, nothing!  And that's if they stick it out for 21 days.  I saw an episode where both the male and female left.  They bailed!  They drop these poor people off all over the globe with nothing!  And no clothes.  You know what gives both sexes the most trouble?  Their feet!  If they don"t take care of their feet they quickly get sick.  Too sick to participate anyway.  Who knew?  It's one of those ideas that probably sounded good on paper but in reality after they meet it's just two dirty people starving in the mud in the Serengeti or the Sahara or a Louisiana swamp.  It doesn't matter where they travel it's a crash diet in the dirt.  I mean I could understand the suffering if the contestants were competing for a beautiful house or a lot of money.  But to survive 21days naked and really dirty on national television, with no tangible reward, defies any explanation I could come up with.  So I will not offer any further explanation or rationale for not watching this international piece of crap except to give the following warning:  It's filthy, stressful and about ten kinds of bad-naked (Seinfeld was right there is a bad naked and this is it!). I really have no idea why this is a program or why it's on TLC.  I have foregone most TV  (except for Giants' baseball and Kings' basketball) so it requires a truly ridiculous name to catch my attention.  N&A struck me as filling the ridiculous bill pretty well but trust me, it’s an understandably dirty diet video!  Not even worthy of my time, or anyone else's time for that matter.  What did I learn?  Glad you asked!  Let's see, hmmm, well I learned never to go to the following places:  The South American Rainforest, Borneo, The Serengeti, at least some of The Louisiana Swamps.  Anyplace they go is a place I don't want to be, ever!  If that program stays on TLC and my patient spouse keeps watching it, I'll keep adding to the list of places I'll never go because they  look too painful and dirty, not fun at all!

Seeing A Beatle Because He's In Town? No, I'm Seeing Sir Paul Before One of Us Dies! (And I'm not all sure it will be McCartney who goes first any more)

Hello Fellow Travelers!

Patient Spouse is shopping for commemorative Beatle gear I might like. He seemed genuinely surprised how fast I said, "Yes!" , to seeing Sir Paul.  I did not ask where or for how long or how much?  (Polo Fields, the entire day and way too much).  Patient Spouse is very excited to the point where he made arrangements to ship our son off to his Aunt and Uncle's in Chico.  I don't have the heart to tell him that the main reason I acquiesced to going with so little fanfare is there are only two Beatles left, arguably one important one. There is no telling when I'll get to London and the "C" word (cancer) could get somebody else. It got George and Linda. It tried o get me. Who knows who will fall next or when. So, San Francisco will have to do. 

I am writing on a new device, and for some reason I keep not saving my efforts, and they disappear into that great void called cyberspace. This is my third and final attempt.  What I've been trying to convey is that 7/21 marked the 2.5 year mark since a huge (think russet potato) tumor was removed from my brain.   Every six months I calculate my progress down the long, dark, road to recovery.  In August I'll have another round of doctor visits where my doctors appear to be surprised that I'm still above ground.  They really say that!  No kidding! I'm a freakin' medical miracle!  According to my best friend, I am the least self-aware person she's ever met (and she's met a lot of people).  So, this self-assessment every six months or so seems in order.  Neuro plasticity is your brain's ability to make new connections around the damaged areas.  Marking my progress in this new frontier seems Imperative.

What progress?  I don't see any.  That's the short answer.  Two and a half years of no balance and double vision.  I came out of surgery unable to walk, talk or see.  I have a sneaking suspicion that there is something huge and fundamentally wrong since the surgery and only something else surgical will fix it. 

The last two years I feel like I was sentenced to Solitary Confinement with only words to keep me company. I measured and played with the words for ages before I felt confident enough to use them.  Thanks in large part to my awesome Mother-in-law, (and in much smaller part surgery) I found a device I can express myself through. Thank Steve Jobs for the new technology's because I can't write the old-fashioned way.

Another seismic shift in my physiology has been an incessant need for dark brown sugar and desserts made with Kahlua.  I've always been the salty/snacky type and never thought about desserts.  Now, 

I think of nothing else.  I've watched "Cupcake Wars" for the cupcakes!  Who does that?  I've also viewed the Legalzoom website more than I should not for legal expertise but to see the toffee Elaine makes and where I can buy it.  This Month's cover story in Nat Geo?  Sugar and why it's bad for you!  It's really bad!  I want a cookie!  "C" is for "Cookie" that's good enough for me! - the C-monster himself!

The last change that appears to be permanent in my perpetually spinning world (think Dorothy in the spinning house) is that I feel great!  Every day I wake up to a day full of possibilitiesi.  I laugh all the time.  I can 't  wait to conquer my daily goals, pass them and reset them.   I feel pretty great all the time!  It's an odd feeling for me, but very much in line with my new outlook. Everything makes sense to me now.  I care a lot about people and who they are and what they want.  I don't care at all about objects or petty grievances anymore.  I can focus like a laser on what I need to, I don't see doorways or halls or food as anything other than obstacles to get through on the way to somewhere and inconvenient fuel.  I've stopped comparing myself to the mighty cockroach  and now draw upon the Wild Tearose for longevity likenesses.  Like both,  I am hard to kill and can thrive just about anywhere.

So, heck yeah, I'll go see Paul McCartney! The Grim Reaper has been breathing down the back of my neck, who  knows when I'll get another opportunity?  Who cares? 

Words? I Know Words! And There Are Plenty I Don't Ever Use!

There are two words in the English language that should never be used: the "N-word" and the "C-word."  If you really want to test this social law, just try saying the "C-word" to a group of females and watch them snarl. They are very bad words, and I never used either one. Never felt the need or inclination. One is masogynist, and one is racist. Two words out of an entire language should easy to avoid. They are unpleasant anyway. Every child after the age of three knows not to use these words. These are bad words. Anyone who does, runs the risk of being publicly demonized, privately scourged, or both.

I myself don't have an empire, but I know someone who does. This person did not build her empire on anything as fleeting as the public's goodwill. Empires that I've seen that are still standing are built on the foundations of hard work and really good ideas. You know the old saying,"She who lives by the butter stick, dies by the butter knife," or something like that. Paula Deen lost her empire because she used the" N-word" 30 years ago. Then she appeared with Matt Lauer and demanded that we all throw rocks at her. Instead of feeling sorry for her, I felt compelled to start hunting through my rock collection for nice round stones. If you're going to build an empire on butter, Crisco, or gravy it's going to invariably fall apart. My rapscallion niece and her Facebook cronies use the" N-word" with each other to make themselves sound tough. They have no right to use this word, but I don't waste any time correcting the" kids." They have to figure it out for themselves. Dropping an F-bomb with the C-word doesn't make you edgy, it just makes you gross. Using the N-word just makes you ignorant and gross. And no, "cracker" isn't in the same game. 

I have enough problems with the real "C-word"... Cancer. If a celebrity chef loses her empire because she used the "N-word" 30 years ago, then she probably doesn't deserve an empire to begin with. If she admits to using it once who's to say that she didn't have it in her lexicon and used it all the time? We on the West Coast just don't get it-we don't. Right is right,  ignorance is ignorance, and Paula Deen is what she is. I guess if I want empire building women to look up to, I can always turn to Oprah or Martha Stewart. Last time I checked, you could still buy their crap online if I wanted to buy. Martha did a stretching the Big House, but she still knows her way around a biscuit. You wouldn't catch Oprah or Martha crying for sympathy on TV. If there's one thing America loves more than takedown, it's a come back. I hope she doesn't. 

Fifteen, Beauutiful, Rich, and Suicidal? I've got a plan for you.

Hello fellow travelers!

I saw Michael Jackson's daughter, Paris. Paris Jackson is 15 and gorgeous. Ms. Jackson was in the hospital after attempting suicide. I wondered what would make a pretty girl with more money than she'll ever spend be so sad. I would have told her to put on her big girl panties and buck up. Then I listened to her. She broke my heart. She was a normal girl who missed her dad. Michael Jackson was a good dad after all! 

Michael Jackson got on board the crazy train for me many years ago. Somewhere between dangling that baby and his nose falling off in court, I stopped keeping track of him. His kids were relegated to being hidden behind strange masks and blankets. 

And their names, Lord their names. I mean, who names their kid blanket?  Who in the hell wants to be known as blanket? They're all grown now; all beautiful. When that little girl spoke from her hospital bed, she spoke from her heart. She touched my heart. Paris' life has been in a tailspin apparently since her father died. Missing my own dad, I can totally relate. The difference being I will see my dad and she won't. What struck me about all three of the Jackson kids is how normal they are. How heartbreakingly normal. I would tell Ms. Jackson the same thing I've told my young nieces, that she will change every three years like clockwork until she's about 30. Has she ever heard of Cheyenne and Christian Brando? Of course not! Have you? Of course not! They're dead and no one cares. If Cheyenne had been told and if she believed that she would be a different person soon, she might have really thought her options. Because after you commit suicide you have no options. So hang on Ms. Jackson, hang on. You'll be different soon.

PS

I know I was pretty hard on Paula Deen. I didn't compare her to Hitler. I have no idea how Hitler cooked or with what.