Weary New (Not-Weary) Year

Between 1992 and 1996, when I lived in Texas, I began taking my aspirations of becoming a writer seriously, and did what most writers do:

I bought a copy of the latest Writer's Market, researched all of the places that I thought gelled with my writing and concepts, then meticulously dusted off all of my best stuff, made it pretty, and sent it off to the researched places.

Within a few weeks, the rejection letters trickled in, and soon I was out of places to send my best stuff to.

So I began a process of writing first thing in the morning. I would write just to write... sort of like a musician noodling around on a guitar. I felt that maybe some of the lines and paragraphs that I'd write would light the fire to something bigger and better.

Many times, however, I would end up with poems that started:
"My blurry eyes look at the blank computer screen. Suddenly I realize that I need to rearrange my sock drawer... anything to keep me distracted from this..."

I am reminded of this right now because I sit trying to come up with a witty, profound topic to discuss, and all I can think about is how tired I am... my eyes, my legs, my back, my arms... I really struggled to get up this morning, and really don't know why I feel so battered - although it could be because I have a cool new alarm clock that I cannot hear - really! - when I lay of my left side.

A couple of years ago, I was blowing up helium balloons for a charity event, when a balloon suddenly exploded next to my right ear. With all of the ringing in that ear, I didn't realize the depth of the damage done - until I met Sheryl, and realized that she sounded muffled when she spoke to me as I lay on my left side - my "good ear" covered.

A month ago, Sheryl went out of town for a couple of days. While she was gone, I realized that the tone of my new cool alarm clock was one of the tones blown out by the bursting balloon. I put my head on the pillow and I couldn't hear the alarm. I lifted my head up, and I could hear it. It kinda pisses me off.

Anyway, because I cannot always hear the alarm, Sheryl has to beat me in order for me to wake up and shut off my alarm. And perhaps that's why I feel so battered this morning...

For the record, Sheryl really doesn't beat me... a couple of knees to the kidneys and I'm usually pretty awake! :)

Couldn't resist... I am totally joking.

Maybe I am worn out from Christmas. And riding. I dunno. In any case, I am heading off to Vegas tomorrow to celebrate New Years' and to see Van Halen. I hope to get a lot of sleep between now and arrival at LAS.

In many recent years, I have looked forward to the next year to bring me all of the good things I worked so hard for. 2007 was the year that everything came together for me. I don't think I ever had a bigger or better year than 2007. I am so happy and so blessed.

What will 2008 bring? I suspect that it will bring more of all of the good things in my life.

What do I hope to improve on over 2007? More miles on my bike... the new, still unnamed bike needs to be properly broken in... I would love to do a multi-day ride...

Since this is likely my last post for this amazing year, I want to paraphrase a line that I include in my bedtime prayers:

"Thank you for our amazing friends and families, and please grant them blessings similar to the ones that Sheryl and I have been granted."

Happy New Year, all!!

How was your Christmas? How was your year?

While Cancerboy may be the shizzle, this Christmas really seemed to fizzle. Still struggling with "Christmas spirit issues", I decided to let Christmas go this year, and instead of dwelling on why I felt so out of sync this year, I choose to focus on all of the amazing things that happened this year, and the things to come...

Having struggled pretty much since I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease in 2002, I was extremely blessed in 2007.

I was fortunate to have a great job which gave me a lot of autonomy to beat the deadlines and goals presented to me. The hard work paid off, as last week I signed the required paperwork that makes me a company man.

But by far, the best thing that happened this year was marrying Sheryl in late May. I honestly expected to be a lifelong bachelor, but the angels who look after me decided that I deserved to have one of their own, and put Sheryl in my life.

We ran off to Deer Isle, Maine to get hitched. It was a lovely 10 minute ceremony attended by a party of five (including Sheryl and I!). There was no honeymoon, as we needed to get back home and get back to work. One of these days, we'll do the honeymoon properly...

A few weeks after we got back from Maine, Sheryl and I invited friends and family to celebrate our nuptials with us. We had a big ol' party, and requested that instead of giving us gifts, our loved ones make a donation to Gilda's Riders - a cycling event that we created to raise money for Gilda's Club.

Although Gilda's Riders did not meet my expectations, it was very successful in that we raised over $17,000 for Gilda's Club. The ride itself was rainy and cold - an oddity in August - but September brought Sheryl another opportunity to ride the longest ride of her life (so far).

The Tour de Troit was one of those amazing rides that you never forget. It was 40 miles long and allowed us to ride past all of the big Detroit icons - Tiger Stadium, Comerica Park, the DIA, Belle Isle... It was an amazing experience, and we are looking forward to doing next years ride!

This year, I turned 41. And I am still not sure whether all of the changes in my life are a result of maturing or having gone through cancer treatments. I suppose I really don't care, either, because my current beliefs - be happy, be true to myself, and be grateful (and forgiving), aren't that far away from my beliefs 10-15 years ago. Except now I am WAY more grateful and forgiving.

So far, we don't have a lot of big plans for 2008. We will not be planning a Gilda's Riders event, so that will open us up to more chances to focus on ourselves. Yes, it's a bit egotistic and selfish, but I am willing to acknowledge that, allow us to do it, and go from there.

The bottom line is that I am looking forward to seeing how the future unfolds with my wife and with all of the blessing we are given daily.

Sweet Cheeses, Where's the Spirit??

Today is 4 days from Christmas, and I still don't seem to have the Christmas spirit moving through me.

We've put together all of the gifts we're giving, sent out all of our cards, listened to tons of Christmas songs, but the spirit still eludes me.

Each step along the path to Christmas this year has been methodical... sort of mechanical, and there hasn't been room for Christmas magic. I'm sort of disappointed, to be honest.

Maybe it's because there is a lot going on in my life right now. I've officially attained a position at my current job - I'm no longer a contract employee, so that's a big change. I'm working hard on my health and weight, riding 4 days a week on my beloved bike, Shtiya. Yet, tomorrow, I am picking up my new bike, and can hardly wait! Thanks Santa!!

Maybe the spirit will hit when I see my nieces and nephews open their presents on Chrismas eve, or maybe when I see the whole family together again. It will be nice.

I love the magic of Christmas. Spirits, I'm ready!

Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum

This morning, I was watching my new favorite TV show (See "Back in an Hour" below). Today, I was intrigued to watch an interview with Michael "Pinball" Clemons - the current CEO of the Toronto Argonauts.

During the interview, Pinball - a native Floridian - spoke about giving back to the community, and how he tells his players that given the chance to play football in the city of Toronto, they must not only take from the community, but they must also give back.

That got me to thinking about role models. Sports figures are paid a lot of money. A lot - if not all - of that money comes from the teams' revenue... which in turn comes from the fans' pockets.

I will be one of the first people to say that these players need to portray themselves as role models, and need to give back to the community. However, many of these kids are in their early 20s, and still sowing their seeds. Is it fair to expect that much of them? I know that when I was in my 20s, I couldn't care less about my community. Maturity caused me to care.

In the case of sports figures, especially those making a good life "playing a game", I believe that the minute they sign their multi-million dollar contract, they are done being irresponsible and must portray themselves, their team, and their sport in a positive light. No more smoking pot with their friends, no more girlfriend beatings, no more hanging out with thugs.

When I was growing up, I didn't have video games to pacify me. Yes, I had TV, but TV wasn't my babysitter. Because of that TV, I was able to see Apollo space programs, which inspired my interest in the universe. I was able to watch the 1972 Olympic hostage crisis, which helped cement my knowledge of good and bad.

Being a fan of baseball, I watched Hank Aaron beat Babe Ruth's homerun record, and John Candelaria throw a no-hitter. I watched the Cincinnati Big Red Machine win back-to-back world series, and Brooks Robinson wreak havoc at the hot corner.

What happened to Hammerin' Hank - the man who inspired me to swing a big bat with unassuming grace? He still plays a role in the Atlanta area... still giving back.

Johnny Bench, too, from the Cincinnati Reds, showed me that I could be a larger than life person, beyond my skills and career.

Not all of my childhood idols turned out to be worth idolatry - Hello OJ Simpson and Pete Rose... Nonetheless, they all taught me something positive. OJ had rickets as a child. He was a regular Forrest Gump - with leg braces and all. Yet he overcame that to play in the NFL. Pete Rose - Charley Hustle - taught me to give all I could and never surrender.

Hero / Zero / Role Model / Scum... I think that throughout history, yesterday and today, kids need positive role models. What good thing can we do today to inspire a 10 year old to remember it and write about it (or at least talk about it) 30 years later?

Pinball Clemons is a classy guy. I had heard of him from his playing days, but never knew much about him. If I ever get the chance to meet him, I want to tell him how impressed I was, simply through his interview on my new favorite TV show...

(Long Live) Americana

According to Wikipedia, “Americana refers to artifacts of the culture of the United States, the history and folklore resultant from its westward expansion."

Last week, Sheryl and I got cable, and part of our package includes music channels. I have quickly found a handful of these channels that I enjoy, but one of the most intriguing is the Americana channel.

For some reason, I am strongly attracted to this channel. I am attracted by the stories in these songs, although I usually am attracted to a song by the music and beat long before I ever pay attention to the lyrics.

Nonetheless, the stories of the America I have never known, make me sad, in a way. I know that I will likely traverse the storied roads of Americana, and sit at the cross roads that changed peoples lives, but today’s America – today’s world – is much different than the Americana that lives in my mind.

Years ago, I drove from Michigan to Roswell, New Mexico to visit my buddy Murf and his family. The route I took was not dictated by signposts, rather, by locations, places and things.

I traveled portions of Route 66 on my own quest for Americana. It was an amazing trip, but it wasn’t long enough – mileage-wise and time-wise.

In my life, I lived approximately 37 years in Michigan. I spent nearly 4 years in Texas, and 4 months in Germany. I am well traveled, having been to 42 of the 50 American states, and 7 countries. Nonetheless, I feel like I am missing something by not knowing or truly experiencing Americana.

The political, environmental and geographical climates in the United States are changing so rapidly, that I feel that I may never get to know the true Americana. And neither will future generations. That makes me sad.

On the other hand, I have to ask myself if the Americana mystique is larger than Americana itself. I mean, during my trip to Roswell, did I actually experience all there was to Americana? Is there truly more to it, or did I experience everything that there was? Am I simply sad because I truly enjoyed the trip (except for Texas, which I couldn’t get through fast enough – and have the ticket to prove it!)?

I dunno. Maybe it’s a little of everything. Maybe I’ll never feel like I’ve experienced true Americana until I stand in a phonebooth in Winslow, Arizona, or hang out down on Alvarado street by the Pioneer Chicken stand.

Until then, VIVA AMERICANA!

Back in an Hour

Oy, my aching back! I don't know why my back insists on reminding me it's here. I'm very well aware that I cannot do stuff without it, but yet, it keeps barking and barking. Stupid back, I hear ya... now will you please shut up??

I'm quickly becoming infatuated with a TV show on CBC in Canada called "The Hour". I like to think that if I were to produce my own intelligent TV show, this show would be the result. Pulling in guests such as Vicente Fox and Jean Chretien, the show screams political moxy, yet tempers politics with entertainment from music, TV and film.

Each brief interview is very thought-provoking. It is obvious that either host George Stroumboulopoulos or his writers spend a lot of time doing their homework...

The show, or more likely "Strombo", developed a cool idea called "Operation Disc Drop". The concept is much like the "random acts of kindness" concept, except instead of doing something kind, you put together a mix CD (formerly known as a mix tape!) and drop it off in a random location. Afterwards, you go to the show website and comment where you dropped the disc and what the tracklisting was.

The person who picks up the disc listens to it, and has their world opened to new music. After they listen to it, they are encouraged to pass the CD along for others to hear.

As George mentioned, people put their hearts and souls into these CDs. It is a way for strangers ot open up and give of themselves - thus the reference to random acts of kindness.

The holiday season always puts me in a contemplative mood. I am able to associate random things with other random things, to see glimpses of a bigger picture. "The Hour" helps stimulate some of those thoughts. Music is always good for that, too.

I've heard that my oldest nephew is beginning to enjoy rock and roll now. I've been considering making him a mix CD. But now, Operation Disc Drop gives me the excuse to do that.

I'll just drop it in a not-so-random place!

Unser Corporaten Weinachtsfesten

Sheryl and I went to our work Christmas parties last weekend. They were very different from each other.

We went to Sheryl's first, where we were eagerly greeted by the woman who hired Sheryl, and whom Sheryl has known for years. This was the first time I met any of them, but I quickly felt comfortable.

During the course of eats and drinks, I was able to meet all of the people I had been hearing about for the last three or four months - and in some cases, I was meeting the people Sheryl had talked about since I first met her.

These were the people who came to me and told me how Sheryl is so happy now. Naturally, I told them that it was because she was working with them again.

There was plenty of flattery to go around.

It's strange to me when I realize that I have influenced people and events.

There are things I want to do in my life, and two of them are inspire people to dream and accomplish great things in their lives. Another is to make Sheryl happy.

Realizing those things, such as when someone tells me that Sheryl is very happy, or that they were thinking of me while riding a tough stretch of road on their bike, makes me stop and take note. I certainly do not take them for granted, and appreciate the opportunity to enhance someone's life.

We laughed, talked, ate, then made our early exit.

Off we went to my Christmas party at Dave and Buster's.

Contrary to Sheryl's, we caught the tail end of dinner in a quiet room, sitting with people I didn't really know.

Following dessert and a little speech by the big kahuna, we ran off to play games.

Being little fish in a big pond, Sheryl and I meandered about with little contact with my co-workers. We played a few games, then gave away our tickets and game cards.

As we were getting our coats to leave, we ran into my boss and his wife. We had a nice conversation, thanked him for helping me retain my job, and we took off.

Yep. That was basically it.

It had been a long day for each of us, but it was definitely worth it to get some face time.

And it's always nice to be flattered, eh?

History Repeats Itself

My dad was born on December 8, 1942. He arrived on this Earth one year after the U.S. and Britain declared war on Japan, which launched the U.S. into World War II.

48 years later, on March 14, 1991, one year after Mikhail Gorbachev became president of the Russian congress, my dad passed away.

On December 8, 1991, dad's first post-passing birthday, I was poised to have a sad and crappy day. I missed my dad (as I still do!), and I hoped that my emotions wouldn't put a damper on my first corporate Christmas party.

I was working at General Dynamics Services Company (now defunct), and was really proud to be going to a corporate Christmas party. I remembered a photo of my dad and mom taken sometime in the 1970s at one of my dad's corporate Christmas parties, and I was tickled to be following in his footsteps.

Dad was smiling upon me that day. I ended up having a blast sitting with my date, my boss (Rick), his fiancee' (Diane) and other co-workers and friends.

I mention this because tomorrow is December 8, 2007... my dad's 65th birth anniversary. It will also be 16 years since that first corporate Christmas party. As a testament to history repeating itself, Sheryl and I will be attending both of our work Christmas parties tonight.

And tomorrow?

We're invited to cocktails and hors d'oeuvres with Rick and Diane - my boss from General Dynamics Services Company, and his wife (formerly mentioned fiancee') .

Strange days indeed - most peculiar, mama (John Lennon, d. December 8, 1980).

I'm not hating... or am I?

"Hate" is a strong word. I have come to a point in my life where I do not use that word seriously. Except in one case:

Man, I hate winter!

I do like the snow - on my own terms. This means that I'm inside, nice and toasty, watching the snow fall, knowing that it will melt in the morning, and I won't have to shovel it!

Other than that, winter can bug off!

What is good about freezing your ass off? Yes, you can bundle up to keep warm, unlike the summer heat, where you can peel off all of your clothes and still be burning up. However, I can't stand being cold. Period. It's so frigging annoying!

And don't even get me going about driving in wintry weather... oy!

So I want to be a snowbird for the rest of my life. If not a snowbird, then a permanent Southern resident.

Sheryl loves watching "House Hunters" on HGTV. Yesterday, they were looking for houses in Savannah. Man, I would love a house like those!! Add to that an extended cycling season, and what's not to like??

I don't know if I'll ever do it. Things are going so well for me right now that I won't even seriously consider it. But I gotta admit... for at least a 4 month stretch every year, it sure sounds like a good idea!!

When I Have a Buncha Dollars...

For a couple of years now, Sheryl and I have talked about what we would do when we won the lottery. Many people would use it as an opportunity to do all of the things they always wanted to do. They would quit their job and buy a house in warmer climates, traveling all over the world.

The weird thing for Sheryl and I is that we are extremely blessed to love our jobs. Our first thought after winning the lottery would be "how can we help other people?"

We do have ideas in mind for a cancer foundation, but this morning, after reading a bit of cycling news, I had a different idea.

Recently, it was announced that Saul Raisin, despite his incredible journey back to life following a horrible bike crash, will be unable to race again. He does, however, still want to work towards bringing awareness to brain injuries and such.

Apparently, there are a few cycling teams that are folding this year as well, and in addition to the many auto workers out of a job, there are a bunch of professional cyclists left without a team.

So when we win the lottery, why don't we start our own professional cycling team?

Now, I don't know how exactly it would work, but we could bring Saul on board to coach the development squad, and he could continue his work with his foundation. In fact, all of our riders would be required to do volunteer work - whether with our foundation, Saul's foundation or whatever. Naturally, we would encourage them to work with our own foundation, but we should give them the choice. After all, they will need passion, and passion is easier to come by when you make the choices.

One of the sweet benefits of being team owners and sponsors is that Sheryl and I could attend whatever race we wanted, and associate with all sorts of riders. While attending the Tour de France, we could rub elbows with Lance or Eddy Merckx. While at the Giro d'Italia, we could swap fashion tips with Mario Cipollini.

Not only that, but we could learn training and health tips. We could learn where the coolest rides in the world are. WE COULD BE ON TV! We could have access to the sweetest bikes available, and drink espresso with Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen.

Of course, we would plug our foundation. After word got out about our dream and devotion, we would draw interest from some of the best cancer doctors in the world, and they would benefit from our affiliation.

We could do an annual fundraiser, and bring in professional and amateur racers to the velodrome at Bloomer. Because we'd already have lights installed, we could incorporate European-style 6-day races for both the pros and the amateurs.

Can you just see it?? We couldn't count how many people would benefit from this!

Now how about a team name?

Miles to Go?
Cummings Cycling?
Sheryl's Speedsters?

How about a motto?

Domination for a cause
The team with a strong foundation
Our drugs won't make you faster, they will cure you
EPO is for sissies.
We believe in Procrit and Neupogen - not performance enhancers!

Remember kiddies... if you're gonna dream - and you should! - dream big!

Time Trials and Tribulations

Yesterday evening, I had a phenomenal ride on my trainer. I rode 12 miles while averaging 20 miles per hour.

You may wonder: What is the significance? Why am I continuing to read this? What is Matt's point?

In 1999, I was 33 tears old, and began training to pedal my bike from Fairbanks to Anchorage, Alaska. The thought of riding so many miles terrified me, so I trained "like the dickens". At 6'3" and 270+ pounds, I was sort of the anti-cyclist.

As time went on, I felt strong and powerful on my bike. I was riding 30 miles a day on my trainer, four days a week, averaging 20ish miles per hour. Yep, my training rides of 30 miles would take me approximately 90 minutes.

I was never much of an athlete, and was always overweight. So I got to the point where I began to wonder if I was in the best shape of my life. Granted, if I had trained this hard between the ages of 20 and 30, this thought would have never entered my mind.

Instead, however, most of my exercise in my 20s consisted of beer curls and pizza runs.

It's no secret that people's health generally heads downhill at a certain point. The nice thing is that I was never in prime shape to understand my potential. Instead, I was hitting peak shape at 33 years old.

The following year, I recognized that I had some shortcomings in my cycling ability. Since I had signed up to ride from Missoula to Billings, Montana, I knew I had to train a little harder. After that ride, at 34 years old, I was in the best shape of my life.

Shortly after that, I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease.

My chemotherapy and radiation treatments were brutal. I pretty much lost all of the conditioning I had had. However, because I had been in such great shape to start with, I was able to survive the treatments a little better than average.

The problem with cancer treatments, however, is that there are short AND long term potential side effects.

So when I got back on the bike, and my riding wasn't near as strong as it had once been, I began to ask myself some questions:

Is it because of treatment?
Have I become lazy?
Is it a result of being 40?

To be honest, I don't know.

I do know that endurance cycling - and cycling in general - demands some level of suffering. I used to enjoy pushing myself to the limits of my body and tweaking out an extra little bit of suffering. But now, since I suffered through chemo and radiation, I don't want to impose that much suffering on myself again.

In addition, during the last couple of years, I have developed a painful nerve problem along the inside of my calves and ankles. This is a long-term result of chemo. The tops of my lungs are fried because of radiation, which makes it very uncomfortable - and sometimes painful - to ride in cold weather.

Yeah, laziness has something to do with it. But so does aging and side effects of treatment. Lately, I've been instilled with the desire to be healthy again - thankfully - and as a result, I've been riding my trainer a little more.

My rides have basically been quick 10 mile rides that take just over 30 minutes. I have been documenting my rides, and have noticed that I have raised my mph on each ride. This culminated yesterday with my awesome ride.

So why is this important? Well, for 35 minutes and 56 seconds yesterday, I rode as if I was seven years younger and never had cancer.

It was a beautiful thing.

What Would Your Wristband Say?

Sheryl asked me an interesting question this morning: If you had a wristband, what would it say?

The question stemmed from the popular Lance Armstrong “LiveStrong” bracelet, and also from the “Ride On” bracelets developed by Saul Raisin, in his attempt to raise awareness for brain injuries. Sheryl had just finished Saul’s book, “Tour de Life”, this morning, and thus the question.

My immediate thought was that my wristband would have to say “strength” or “survival”. Surviving is something I’ve done my entire life – and I don’t intend to stop. Strength is core to my nature and is also present on my wedding band.

But to be easily marketed, my wristband would have to have a catchy slogan or inspiring word. I’d love to say something like “Cancerboy rocks!”, or “Viva la Cancerboy!” But does that really inspire?

How about “Survive Hard”, or “Dream Big”?

More options:
“Just Be”
“Total Perseverance”
“Endure, Live, Love”
“Breathe”
“Never Relent”
“Resist and Persist”
“Dominate”
“Ride It Out / Write It Out”
“Always Forward”

I’d have to say, though, that one of my favorite inspirational quotes is “the only way out is through.” It makes me feel like mentally balling up my fists and running straight into the darkness. But that’s kinda long for a wristband saying.

So what would your wristband say?

The End of an errr...

I saw something the other day that said "1-20-09 - The End of an Error", naturally speaking of the wonderful downward spiral years of the Bush regime. But instead of spiraling downward myself, and reducing myself to a political rant, I want to talk about my own end of an era...

I decided to quit darts at the end of this season.

This decision was huge for me. I'll admit, my voice quivered and my eyes welled when I told my team. OBV2.0 consists of people who are very important to me - and I never want to let them down.

But as the season has gone on, confidence has left my darts, and as a result, I've become quickly frustrated. A surefire way to cure this is to practice more. Practice, however, is limited by my shoulder, which can only handle a mere 30 minutes of constant throwing. I suppose that this would be okay - as long as I practiced every day - but I simply cannot commit to that.

What used to be fun - what used to be my life, has become nothing but a source of anger and frustration. Being angry and frustrated does absolutely no good, and I hate being that way when I am surrounded by people I love.

The nice thing about it, though, is that it frees Sheryl and I up to do stuff on Friday nights. We are so busy with our jobs and I am trying to keep a regular cycling schedule, that we never seem to have enough time to do stuff that we want. Since I've been sick, I've believed in taking advantage of opportunities. By committing to darts on a weekly basis, I've limited my opportunities.

Darts has been such a great thing for me. I loved playing in the two leagues, and the regular tournaments and such, but that was when I had more time. I was careless, reckless and had a great time!

I'm searching for something bigger though, and more rewarding. Darts filled a void when I needed it, and introduced me to a lot of great people. But now I need to take care of other things that I've been neglecting.

Maturity sucks, but I'm grateful that I am open-minded and flexible enough to acknowledge when such a change needs to take place. I recognize that I will always yearn for knowledge I do not have, and experience things I never did before. And sometimes, you need to give something up to make way for the next great thing.

Last friday, Sheryl and I went to a "coffeehouse" event at Gilda's Club. It was an open mike, and featured a wonderful performance by the inspiring Jill Jack. It reminded me of the Wednesday night open mike night at the Cross Street Station when I was in college. Every Wednesday was magical and exciting. We never knew where the night would take us - and last Friday night could have been the same way (without all the alcohol!)... but we were committed to darts, which would pretty much guarantee to end in a haze of cigarette smoke, burning eyes, and the munchies at 1:00am, while getting ready for bed.

There is no magic in that.

I love OBV2.0. I am going to miss playing darts with them every Friday. However, we still have pick-up games to look forward to. And I am well-aware that I can always join a dart league in the future...

If the time comes.

To paraphrase taoist Lao-Tzu, "The only constant in the Universe is change..."

And I don't think he meant coins.

What's that smell??

“I love the smell of napalm in the morning… Smelled like... victory.” – Apocalypse Now

How much does it matter if you win or lose?

Not much, unless you’re a bullfighter, I guess…

But there really is something to winning that you never really know unless you’ve been losing.

This past week, our dart team finally won our first match of the season. It took six weeks of losing before we won.

We always say that it’s more about having fun than winning. Which is fine if you only lose a few here and there. Otherwise, the losing just grates on you.

“If you don't have confidence, you'll always find a way not to win”

Losing can crush your confidence. I tried to pump up our team this week by telling them that we’re going to be underdogs for the rest of the season. And if nothing else, we can look to f*ck up a lot of teams who are looking past us!

Well, we finally won.

And so did the Lions, whom I have been rooting on for years. Who’da thunk they’d be 6-2 at this point? I’m tickled to death!

Oddly enough, victory smells kinda like hickory.

Internet Whiteboard

She seems as if she can never do enough for me
She laughs
She makes me happy

When she's concerned about me, she tries not to let it show (too much)
When she's mad at me, she tries not to let it show (too much)

I know, and it makes me feel bad.

She deserves to be as happy as she makes me
She deserves the world on a silver platter
She deserves to know - on a regular basis - that I love her.

24/7, I shield her the best I can
24/7, I try to make her laugh
24/7, I realize more than anything

she's my angel.

What's in a name?

This year, our dart team is struggling. We throw decent darts throughout the game, but we just can't seem to make that final - kill - shot.

We're lovers, not killers.

It's a family team, essentially... with my wife, my brother, my sister, my longest-known friend and another great guy, we all get along really well.

We're lovers, not killers.

Except for one guy on our team, who likes to go deer hunting. But besides that...

We're lovers, not killers.

Our team name, OBV2.0, is an extension from last year's team - Oddballz. OBV2.0=Oddballz, version 2.0. Yay, the mystery is out!

Because we are struggling this season, we have moments when the lover-side of us lapse. As a couple of us raised our shot glasses for a toast this past Friday, I suggested we name our team "Nads". That way, when we cheered ourselves on, we could say "Gooooo NADS!" and get a good chuckle out of it.

So what's truly in a name?

Sure, we could use dart-specific names like "Three in a bed", "What's the point?", "Bull shooters", "Just the tip", etc.... but that's so passe'.

We could use my name: "Matt's Maestro's".

Or use our relationship: "Family Affair".

Seeing as that we will be underdogs for the rest of the season, we could be "The Underdogs" and take up pseudonyms based on the characters: Shoeshine Boy, Simon Bar Sinister, Sweet Polly Purebread...

Maybe we need a mean name like "The Meanies" or "I'll Kick Your Ass if You Win".

But we can't.

We're lovers, not killers.

So for now, OBV2.0 will remain. But being underdogs, we realize that we may not be taken as a serious threat.

And this will give us the perfect opportunity to pounce - with our teeth bared and gnashing - aiming straight for the jugular.

Music is the best

According to Frank Zappa, in his song "Packard Goose", information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is THE BEST...

I love the words and music of Frank Zappa. I have often thought about the conversation we would have if we had ever met.

Matt: Hi Frank. It's a pleasure to meet you.
Frank: Is it?
Matt: It sure is. I really enjoy your music and stuff you talk about.
Frank: Stuff like what?
Matt: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

There doesn't seem to be too many stupid musicians, whose talents lie on the record store shelves. Frank would talk circles around me, even though I am a relatively smart person. In fact, I would bet that a lot of the musicians I love would talk circles around me.

Of course, I would have to talk to them about challenging topics. Sure, we might start out talking about the weather, but eventually, I would have to ask David Bowie where he gets his inspiration, and how he developed his method for writing lyrics.

I'd be spinning in moments.

I like intelligent music. Overly intelligent music like jazz goes way over my head. Instead, I like synchopated stuff. Stuff that throws you off balance and makes you think.

I also enjoy a good story sung to me. Give me a Jim Croce song, or James Taylor, Warren Zevon, Jackson Browne...

Warren Zevon wrote songs that make me want to be the main character. What sort of observer would tell the tale of London's werewolves? How much shit's gotta hit the fan before you'd have to cry out for lawyers, guns and money? Who would keep a busy schedule trying to fit in the seven deadly sins?

Crazy, man, crazy.

But what's wrong with simply having fun with music? One of my favorite rock and roll bands, Cheap Trick, keeps anger and profanity out of their songs. I loved the simple rock of early Van Halen and Aerosmith.

Most of the time, though, I use music to help me achieve a certain mood. When I write, or try to be artsy, I like to listen to introspective stuff like Pink Floyd, or krautrock like Neu or early Tangerine Dream.

To everything is a season
And a time for purpose under heaven.

For me, this is also true for music.

The record album turns, turns, turns. Our moods and lives change. Have you ever wondered what soundtrack would define a movie of your life?

I think mine would be as jam-packed as the 10-disc 70s music explosion collection...

...as seen on TV.

The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

On October 23, 2002, I had my first beer in months. My mom, my aunt and uncle, all came over to watch the Red Wings on TV, and to celebrate the end of the most brutal time of my life.

I choked down a couple of beers and some pizza, my throat still screamingly raw from 17 sessions of radiation therapy. I think I smiled a lot. We all smiled a lot.

Every day since then has been filled with smiles. Some days were difficult, but most days it was easy to get a smile out of me.

And although one could say that my 2002 bout with cancer was the start of a bad luck streak, I still found a way through it. Lord knows, I don't know how I got through some of those dark days, but they are now behind me. And I try to never look back... ever.

Try.

Sometimes, I've learned, you have to look back. You have to look at the lessons you learned and you have to look at what you've accomplished. You have to identify these things in order to help others who may be going through the same thing.

I didn't go through my trials and tribulations myself. I had my family and friends available when and if I needed them. I don't know if I could have survived without them.

Lately, I've been feeling burned out on the cancer thing. The burden and commitment of being a survivor of the disease is huge.

In December 2002, I signed up as a volunteer at Gilda's Club Metro Detroit. Being less than two months out of treatments, I was overflowing with the need to give back. I visited the clubhouse often, and became somewhat of a fixture there.

Of course, it was there that I met my wife Sheryl.

While we were dating, Sheryl and I still participated a lot at Gilda's Club. With her support, I proceeded to develop two fundraising bike rides, where we hauled in nearly $30,000 to support the clubhouse that was always so good to us.

As a cancer survivor, you are always the local expert in cancers of all sorts. If Bob's uncles' grandmother was recently diagnosed with melanoma, and you had thyroid cancer, it doesn't matter... Bob will come to you for advice, and you will graciously try to help.

But I don't know if it is the passing of time, or the change of life I've experienced, but I don't have it in me right now to play the cancer game. I feel awful about it, because I still feel the obligation of the cured. Maybe I've just burned out and need to focus on some other things right now.

October 23, 2002 was the first day of the rest of my life. And I've taken complete advantage of it.

October 23, 2007 is the first day of the rest of my life. And I plan to take complete advantage of it.

It's no fluke that when I lay down to go to sleep every night, I thank God and the angels that surround Sheryl and I for an awesome day, and all of the opportunities that made themselves available. It's no fluke that I thank them for the time I spend with Sheryl. And it's no fluke that I ask them to bless our family and friends.

The Army gets more done by 6am than anyone else.

More power to them.

Are they really enjoying it, though? Are they truly living every moment?

Are you? Am I?

I know one thing for sure...

I'm trying like hell.

Have a great day. And a great day after that.

Nothing/Anything?

It's not often that I write a blog without a big idea behind it, and unfortunately, this will be one of the few.

I am sitting in our quiet house, trying to get a handle on having so much time on my hands. Since leaving Oshkosh, I haven't been working so many hours, and I feel like a part-timer only putting in 40-45 hours per week.

After visiting my doctor earlier this week, I was appalled at my weight, and should be doing something about it. However, yesterday, I rode on the trainer for the first time this season, and did something to my hip. It bugs me too much to ride and bugs me too much to do yard work. It bugs me, dang it!

Sheryl is still at work, so I decided to catch up a bit with all three or four of my blog readers, and let you know what I've been up to.

Last week, Sheryl and I took a couple of days off together. We vacationed in fabulous Ferndale. ON Thursday, we went to Slow's Bar B Q for a late lunch... MMMMMM YUMMMY! Then we went to the newly opened (and now striking) Motor City casino. We weren't too impressd, and still like the Greektown casino better.

Thursday night, I began putzing around with my latest project - the garage door opener. Now, I don't know what exactly happened, but I worked on that bitch for DAYS, and only this past Monday did I get it finished!

It was strange actually taking my time with a project, and making sure it was done right. In the past, I'd do it all half-assed and not care. Married life probably did that to me, but who knows? I can still blame cancer...

Saturday, we had another of our occasional tequila tasting parties. MMMMM YUMMMY!! Oddly enough, it had taken us five years of these parties before anyone purchased the same tequila as another had. In this case, my brother Van and I both bought a fifth of Casa Noble reposado. Fortunately, of the five tequilas we had, that one was the best. So we had to have a second shot of it!

The food - as usual - was AWESOME! MMMMM YUMMMY!! (are we beginning to understand my weight problem yet?) And this gets me to something else...

When I was in Oshkosh, I missed our first night of darts this season. I was seriously bummed, and Sheryl called to tell me that the team was having a lot of fun and doing pretty well, too. I thought about how Sheryl has embraced two of my favorite pastimes: darts and cycling. I thought I'd give one of her favorite pastimes a shot - cooking/grilling.

Because Sheryl seems to really enjoy cooking, I try to stay out of her way. I know that sometimes she would prefer me to cook, but I feel so out of place in the kitchen these days... so I think I'm gonna work on that. And as I get my feet wet, I'll probably lose weight... after all, have you TRIED my cooking?? ;)

Well, Blogger is scheduled to go down for maintenance in about ten minutes, so I reckon I should wrap this up...

I want to give a shout out (although he will likely never see this) to Saul Raisin - I just finished his book (Tour de Life), and was amazed how similar people are who survive brain injuries like him and survive cancer like me.

Roll on, Saul!
Take care of yourselves, folks...

Cheese n' Rice!

For almost the entire time since my last post, I have been sequestered just off Lake Winnebago in Wisconsin. Four weeks of cheese, Green Bay Packers and beer... oh, work, too.

I figure I spent 1/4 of my married life away from my new wife, and that sucked. In fact, a lot about this time away sucked.

But, like everything else, there is a silver lining... being terminally optimistic, I see that I possibly cemented my job at work. I earned time off, and helped people out.

Of course, I had no social life - and I'm a social person.

Instead, I would get back to the hotel, do some quick exercises, eat PB&J sammiches and call Sheryl. Then I'd watch TV until I went to sleep. Yow, was that boring!

So now it looks like I'm home for a while. I am looking forward to spending time with my not drunken punkin, weekends watching football, hanging with friends while playing darts on Fridays, and celebrating life.

On October 23 (two weeks from today), I will celebrate the 5-year anniversary of being cancer free. I call that date my "rebirthday". It reminds me how important life is, and how I should live my life - not taking things too seriously, having fun and making sure every important person in my life knows how I feel about them.

Many of our friends and family comment to Sheryl and I about how happy we are and how much fun we have. Between my ability to celebrate a rebirthday and Sheryl's understanding via work how short life is, we can't help but want to spend all of our time having fun.

Whenever we get some time away from work, wanna come out with us?

Car Crash

Okay, so I’ve assimilated well – at least in my noggin – with my cancer survivorship.

The likelihood, however, is that I haven’t. Still.

Five years out, and I still find how deep the bruises of cancer survivorship run. There’s a tragic beauty to the immediate empathy I feel for those within my cancer community. My heart goes out to everyone in that situation.

Yet at the same time, I pains me.

I really don’t know why. Maybe it’s that I’m still too close to the horror. I think way deep inside, though, it still scares the f*ck out of me.

My biggest pre-cancer fear was drowning. As a kid, I got stuck underwater a couple of times and swallowed a milk jug or two of pool water. You’d think I’d have learned after the first time…

But now, my fear of drowning competes against a second fear – cancer recurrence.

Like any other fear, I tend to forget about it until it jumps in my face. Last night’s TLC show “Crazy Sexy Cancer” smacked me upside the head much like the previously discussed “Living with Cancer” show.

Now don’t get me wrong… I think these types of shows are amazing. They do for TV what I wanted to do with my book – show people what fighters and heroes are really about, and what people go through while being treated for cancer.

I think more importantly, these shows portray how important attitude is when dealing with these sorts of setbacks. It is very important for people to see.

Last night, I told Sheryl that watching “Crazy Sexy Cancer” was like watching a car crash. I didn’t want to watch it, but I had to see what happened next. I can’t explain it.

It sucked because I knew how important it was for Sheryl to watch it. During the first commercial, we talked about different points of view – doctor vs. patient – and I was amazed by how differently I – as former patient - see things.

Now and again, out of the corner of my eye, I’d see Sheryl looking at me. I felt that perhaps she was studying me for reactions. And this is a beautiful thing about our relationship: I can help her in her job by teaching her things about her patients and survivorship. But last night’s sad fact was, I couldn’t return her gaze, because I knew if I did, I’d burst out in tears for absolutely no reason.

As a result of my cancer experience, my life has completely changed. I relish life a whole lot more. I relish my family and friends a whole lot more. I know what is important to me and I have a better idea of what I want and who I am.

I hope that TV shows like this will help non-survivors understand or give them a point of reference so they can help themselves – or others who have cancer.

I hope that people know the difference between watching shows like this and a watching a car crash. This morbid vulgarity of someone else’s misfortune is meant to educate and inspire, and not necessarily entertain. We are the anti-Paris.

Yes, I apparently still have issues. But that just makes me an adult, right? It’s a great life with lots of humor, and being sad once in a while is okay.

Unfortunately, though, I am the kind of person who needs to understand why I am sad (when I happen to be sad). Did “Crazy Sexy Cancer” put me right back in the middle of my fight with cancer? Did it remind me of the person I was and values I had before cancer? Did it remind me of my chances of getting a secondary cancer? Did it make me think about how short life is?

Or did it throw a spider into my arachnophobic lap and simply scare the f*ck out of me?

Who knows, with some out-of-the-box thinking, maybe stuff like this could become the latest Disneyland or Six Flags thrill ride…

Is life all about fun or is it supposed to be serious?

Suppose you are blessed with the opportunity to have a career doing something you love. And you have a blast doing it. On top of that, it allows you do have a great personal life and do kickass things like travel and such.

Suppose you are Lance Armstrong or Saul Raisin. You were born to ride a bicycle. You are young and "living the life of Reilly". And WHAM! It hits you - cancer, brain injury.

I was talking to a friend of mine at work. His mom is on the opposite side of the country, and just recently had to have brain surgery done. We talked a little about it, shared some experiences, and eventually started talking about cycling. At the end of the conversation, he felt better - and so did I.

So it got me to thinking... is life all about fun, with some serious shit eventually thrown in there, or is it serious with sprinkles of fun?

When I was a kid, I spent hours reading and re-reading a book by Remy Charlip called "Arm in Arm". It was one of my favorites. The title comes from a "vignette" - if you will - in the book. "Two octopi were walking down the aisle. Arm in arm in arm in arm in arm..."

One of the most memorable stories in the book was a picture on the left hand page with some kids playing out in the snow. One kid says "Isn't it better to be out in the snow playing, rather than being inside, laying in a nice warm bed?" On the right side of the page, you see a bunch of kids laying in bed. One kid says "Isn't it better to be laying in a nice warm bed, rather than being out in the snow playing?"

And so I ask one more time, is life supposed to be fun with some seriousness thrown in, or is life serious with some fun tossed in for good measure?

I'm sure you know my answer.

Le Velo Hangover

The 2007 Tour “DAY” France finished up yesterday, and now I face the torture of post-Tour hangover.

This years’ race was once again marred by doping issues, and it really started to take its toll on how I watched the daily summaries. I mean, what counts as a “phenomenal feat” anymore these days, without bringing in the doping question?

It sucks. You want to believe that amazing things can happen when someone sets their minds to it. I’ve actually done such things myself. But why do we quickly find ourselves not believing?

Rather than expound my foolishness on that topic, I wanted instead to talk about one day. This years’ race had one really exciting day of racing. Although, in fact, Saturday’s time trial wasn’t all that exciting except for the end, and the last three riders.

In the late (dope-filled) 1990’s, there was nothing better than watching Marco Pantani beat the pants off his rivals in the mountains. In the early 2000s, I often wondered when Lance would make his move – when he did, it was always dramatic.

Lance changed the Tour de France. He made it more meticulous and frankly, less fun. Believe me, I admire his accomplishments, but I wish the race wouldn’t be so predictable these days.

It’s true, this was the first year that I couldn’t put together a top ten prediction list, and as it turned out, I was 100% correct – because there was no way you could have predicted the overall outcome.

Le Tour used to get me psyched to do a training ride. But now, the drama takes a lot of that excitement away.

So Sheryl and I look elsewhere for that rush to ride and the psyche to cycle… we found nirvana.

Nirvana, thy name is the Mike Walden Velodrome at Bloomer Park.

The thunder-like rumble of the track gets our pulse racing before we even see the riders pedaling in circles.

Sitting under the warm summer evening sky, while watching single gear Madison racing is completely inspiring. And the family-like atmosphere keeps us going back.

Watching 19-year-old Luke Cavendar beat everyone like they are sitting still gives us reason to think that we may be watching a neo-pro.

And though Sheryl and I narrowly missed our chances at Olympic dreams (okay, our chances were more than narrowly missed), we can hope and wonder that the kid who inspires us on our weekend rides, might be a gold medal winner lying in wait.

Come on out to Bloomer any Friday night, and chances are you will see Sheryl and I smiling dumbly, cheering on the riders – clapping and sipping our homemade hangover remedies.

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my sleeping face
Through the window of my room
Through the window of clouds

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my sleepy heart
Radiate my soul
Radiate my world

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my fingers and hands
Wake their healing power
Wake their compassion

Sunrise sunlight
Warm my sleeping face
Grace my lips
Grace my words

For some weird reason, I have been repeatedly reminded lately of my childhood summers.

Particularly, I’ve been fondly reminiscing about going to visit Auntie Aggie and Uncle Phil.

Auntie Aggie was my grandmother’s sister. Like my grandma, Auntie Aggie was a tough broad. I adored her, like I adored my grandmother.

During the summer, when I was a wee laddie, I recall my mom, my grandma and I going to Auntie Aggie’s house.

As much as I adored my Auntie Aggie, Uncle Phil was a pretty cool dude. He would do stuff with me, while letting the women-folk gossip and such in the house.

Sometimes, we would go out to the old-smelling, wooden garage and build stuff. I would hammer boards together in the most awful manner and Uncle Phil would call it a masterpiece.

Sometimes, we would walk to the neighborhood park and mess around there.

Uncle Phil was my buddy.

And now, as I get older, my memories become fonder each passing summer.

I told Sheryl that I always thought I would die of a heart attack. But while reminiscing about my childhood summers, I realized that that may not be true.

The neighborhood kids and I played a lot during the summer. We were outside almost all of the time. It was never too hot.

And we played baseball like it was going out of style.

I played tee-ball and little league. And on off days, we would play at the school baseball diamond.

We would play until it was either dark, or until mom called us in.

Being a big kid, my knees always hurt me by the end of the day. They used to hurt so bad, that I would sometimes be in tears once I finally sat down for the night.

But my desire to play… play baseball, play with my friends… my heart… was always bigger than pain. Bigger than my knees.

And so, I am re-thinking the heart attack thing.

Is it possible to die from playing too much?

On Beat with the Dreamers

Lately, I’ve been listening to a podcast of Harry Shearer’s “Le Show” on KCRW. Harry interjects news with dry sarcasm, which he has become known for.

This week, between stories of Iraq and American chest puffing, Harry threw in an audio clip of “Getting Better” by the Beatles, commenting on the 40 year anniversary of Sgt. Pepper’s being released.

This got me to thinking… if I had a weekly hour radio show, what would I do that would 1) entertain listeners, and 2) maintain sponsors?

Since I love music so much, I would have a tough time keeping music out of the show. I could try and tie in a song/musical group/etc in with a topic, whether current or historical.

Dang, now that I think about it, that would be fun!

Then again, see how well I maintain my blog?

The thing is, I enjoy blogging about what I’m thinking… what affects me most. And right now, this topic is still cancer. And to be honest, I get tired of talking about cancer.

So what else is going on in my life right now?

Well, since you last laid eyes on my blog, Sheryl and I got married in Maine.

We had such a great time in New England. I particularly enjoyed exploring the little cities and hilly towns with their white-steepled churches and colonial (literally!) houses. Acadia National Park was amazing, too, and we drove up Cadillac Mountain, where they say that at sunrise, you could be one of the first people to see the sun in North America. Very cool!

During our trip, we took little detours that ultimately took us into Canada, New York, Vermont, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. Whew!

Many of you know that one of my goals in life is to step foot in all 50 states. As a result of this trip, I am up to 42 states visited. The remaining eight include North Dakota, South Dakota, Kansas, Wyoming, Idaho, Utah, Oregon, and Delaware.

I am a lucky man. I have been able to achieve the important dreams in my life, and I would love to be an inspiration for my nephews and nieces and anyone else who could use some inspiration.

Sheryl says that she feels like she needs to help me focus on some of the realities that may impede my dreams. And it’s true. I am a dreamer… John Lennon wasn’t the only one. And I know that Sheryl loves me and will do everything in her power to help me achieve my dreams – no matter how crazy I make her. That alone makes me lucky. I hope she knows I would do the same for her.

I believe that dreams can change the world. So the next time an incredible, life-changing thought pops into your head… ask yourself a simple question: Why not?

The Drive to Survive

Last night, Sheryl and I watched the “Living with Cancer” special on the Discovery channel. There was a lot of information for the common man, and it sort of inspired cancer survivors.

The show included a “town meeting” with Lance Armstrong, Elizabeth Edwards and Leroy Sievers.

I had been listening to Sievers’ podcasts for a little while now, and it was interesting to add the face to the voice. I had found while listening to these podcasts, that Sievers was often dead on in speaking about things that cancer patients and survivors think.

A lot of times, it’s hard for me to listen to the podcasts, because it hits home. But at the same time, I feel it’s important to hear what he says because I need to be reminded.

It’s like rubbing your fingers repeatedly over a nasty scar, this reminder, and it’s important to survival.

In the deepest depths of chemotherapeutic hell, I constantly wondered if I had accomplished what I was supposed to accomplish in my life. It was a miserable reminder that I had to survive. I had to do something more important than piss red Adriamycin and endure self-administered Neupogen shots.

Leroy Sievers last night reminded me of that tortuous question.

When I was in high school, I had a profound moment of awareness. I realized that in order to be remembered – and therefore allow your memory to live on well beyond your rotting corpse - you have to do something huge: good or bad.

If I were to ask people to name the person in history who epitomizes “good”, I suspect that they would respond “Jesus Christ”. On the other hand, if I asked who epitomizes “evil”, many people would respond: “Hitler”.

So that was my dawning realization: People in history are remembered for their total goodness or total evil. And since I don’t have many evil bones in my body, I needed to think about how good I can be.

Not to mention, that I have always had a big heart. As a child, I went Christmas caroling with a friend of mine, and although we ended up splitting $3 between us (no doubt we were given money to shut up!), I gave my share to the church.

I often wonder why I decided to torture myself with the planning of yet another Gilda’s Riders event. Yet the answer is simple: I need to help. It is me.

In the inaugural “Heal” magazine – a magazine about living beyond cancer – they talk about the growing number of cancer survivors. The Lance Armstrong Foundation is now calling it an army.

The bottom line is that we are on the verge of a movement – a cancer survivors’ revolution. This revolution was not spawned by the summer of love. This revolution is spawned by the strong minds and hearts of fragile, healing bodies.

No one can afford to turn their backs on this army. No one can quiet the growing rallying cry. We are human beings, for crying out loud, and need to respect one another.

At my moment of death, when the tunnel of light beckons me, I expect to be asked if I had accomplished what I had intended to accomplish on this planet.

I will likely be disappointed that I could not do more.

But like a virus, I can only hope that while my body no longer remains, my soul will infect others, who will take things even further than I was able to do.

Luck

"I'm a great believer in luck and I find the harder I work, the more I have of it."
~Thomas Jefferson

I never cease to be amazed by luck, and karma, so I need to give it kudos.

Saturday, I got some new tires, and while waiting, I took a stack of old e-mails that my former boss sent. See, I printed them out because I thought they showed questionable ethic and morality. It was my intent at one point to hold onto these e-mails just in case I was wrongfully dismissed from my position.

Well, I was blessed with the opportunity to quit that job and give the respect back to my boss that he had given to me (none). And my life has been amazing since.

Recently, I've heard that my former boss is being investigated for some of those ethical and moral issues I mentioned. So I thought that I would go through these e-mails and see what I could do to help things along.

I debated about whether I was being petty and drudging up a past that didn't need to be drudged up. But I also thought that no one should go through the mental distress that I had gone through.

Halfway through the e-mails, karma stepped up and gave me a harsh warning to stop - the tire shop pointed out that my front coil springs were broken and the cost to replace them was outrageous, considering that I've got 100,000+ miles on the vehicle.

Disappointedly, I decided that I would shop for a new car. I had originally wanted to wait for another year before that happened, but I accepted my fate.

I also threw away the e-mails.

"Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect."
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

On a whim, I went online to see why it cost so much to replace my springs... maybe there was a special one-time use tool they had to use or something.

Well, to my surprise, I ran across a few message boards that spoke about my vehicle and broken springs. There was a recall on some models and there was an extended warranty on others.

Could I be so lucky?

As it turns out - yes.

My springs did happen to be under recall.

So at 100,000+ miles, I will be getting new springs for the vehicle I love. Free of charge no less!

Was it the right move to pitch the e-mails? Absolutely, it was! No good would come out of that.

And you can believe that I will be contributing a positive event into the universe to thank my luck, or karma, or cause and effect.

Turn of the Tides

As the weather changes, so does my house. Now that Sheryl has been here a year, and seeing as that we're getting married and all, the suggestions for home improvements increase.

Now this isn't a bad thing... as a matter of fact, I mostly like it. As my mom mentioned, the house is becoming a home - don't forget, I've lived in this house for 10 years already!

But a year ago, my backyard was a rock garden. Now, as I sit out on my dilapidating deck, the freshly cut grass almost shimmers in its greenness. The shepherd's hook, which didn't exist in my yard until last year, is home to the wind chimes I gave Sheryl for Christmas. In a few weeks, it willl most certainly also be the bearer of a hanging potted plant.

The front of the house is changing, too. The dying old light fixture is gone, replaced by something a bit more contemporary. The crappy mailbox has gone to pasture as well. I think the new one can withstand a nuclear barrage.

Inside, the hallway that was home to Red Wings paraphernalia is repainted and relighted, proudly displaying a few vinyl albums' artwork.

The piece de resistance is the nearly complete kitchen - awaiting only a countertop and garbage disposer. Aside from the rock garden cum lush green grass backyard, the kitchen is a shocking transformation.

The thing is, I've often thought about doing some of the upgrades that we have been doing. But for some reason or another, they never happened.

These changes are the good changes. Changes that don't de-rail your days too much. Not like my beloved vehicle, which I had completely fooled myself into thinking that I'd had it for over 100,000 miles and it was still in good shape. This weekend, it was brought to my attention that the springs in the front are busted and to replace them would cost nearly $800. So it looks like I'm in the market for a new vehicle. After all, with the right deal, that $800 can guarantee me four months in a new car...

Seeing as that I'm nearly 41, I ought to finally heed David Bowie's advice. He once said to me in a sing-song voice: "Turn and face the strain... Ch-ch-changes... Pretty soon you're gonna get a little older."

And George Carlin interjected: "I put a dollar in one of those change machines. Nothing changed. "

So to them and everyone else, I say: What's that got to do with needing a new car?

In A Bad Condition

“If I tell you what Im doing today

Will you shut up and get out of my way?

Someone asked me what the time is,I dont know

Only know I gotta go now

No time - trying to get a watch repaired

No time - never got a thing to wear

Hear the ringin of the telephone no no

Hear a ringin in my head now

No such thing as tomorrow, only one two three go!”

– “Got the Time” by Joe Jackson

All morning, I was thinking about this song, and how time just goes so damn fast. I wanted to bitch about time, lack of time, but there’s a time and a place.

I was derailed this morning instead by the news that one of my all-time favorite voices of America has died.

If you go to the Kurt Vonnegut website (http://www.vonnegut.com/), there is a simple, roughly drawn, yet poignant picture of an empty birdcage, and the dates “1922-2007”. Like his work, this icon speaks volumes.

When people die, we often get selfish. For instance, I find myself realizing that I am going to miss reading his new works, and will never get the opportunity to see him speak in person.

“When I got home from World War II, my Uncle Dan clapped me on the back, and he said, ''You’re a man now.'' So I killed him. Not really, but I certainly felt like doing it.”

– Kurt Vonnegut’s 1994 commencement speech to the graduating class of Syracuse University

What I should be saying is how much of an influence KV was on me. I loved his dry sense of wit and really loved the way he put words together.

''When a Tralfamadorian sees a corpse, all he thinks is that the dead person is in a bad condition in that particular moment, but that same person is just fine in plenty of other moments. Now, when I myself hear that somebody is dead, I simply shrug and say what the Tralfamadorians say about dead people, which is 'So it goes'.''

– “Slaughterhouse Five”, by Kurt Vonnegut

One of my two absolute favorite books is Cat’s Cradle, written by KV in 1961. I am so mesmerized by this book, that I read it every few years, and am blown away every time. I’ll never forget the words of a fellow bar traveler, who had just finished reading “Cat’s Cradle” for the first time:

“Holy shit, man, I was literally shaking by the time I got to the last page!”

Kurt Vonnegut wrote darkly, yet he added color, life, vibrancy and thought to my life. I never met the man, but I am absolutely affected by his death – just as I was by his life, and writings.

Time is a kick in the ass. It goes by so fast, and we breeze through, until something grabs our arm, yanking us back to stop and notice.

“Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain

You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today

And then one day you find ten years have got behind you

No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun”

– “Time” by Pink Floyd

We call it “stopping to smell the flowers”. Yet, we tend to only notice when the flowers are just past their full bloom.

I really do hate always alluding to it, but like time, cancer is a kick in the ass. It is one of the few things in life – and death – that can alter time.

Through the hateful grace of cancer, the nauseating march of chemotherapy’s death, my watches broke and my internal clock wiped sleep from its tired eyes.

Though I intended to whine about the lack of time we have, I was blessed with a moment to stop and smell the flowers. And instead, I was given an opportunity to lament the fact that one of my all-time heroes and influences happens to be in a bad condition in this particular moment… although he was just fine in plenty of other moments.

Bravo, Kurt Vonnegut! Godspeed!

So it goes.

It’s really easy to get caught up in life’s turmoils. These days, for instance, I’ve been keeping exceedingly busy with work, Gilda’s Riders, wedding plans and house upkeeping. But today, I was stopped in my tracks. I was researching my book to get ideas for Livestrong Day in May; Gilda’s Club asked me to participate in their event by sharing my story. As I was flipping through the pages of “Cancerboy”, time stood still. I read passages and remembered exactly where I was and how I felt. I thought about where I am now, and how different my life would be if I never had cancer.

I get the feeling that everything in my life happened to get me here. There have been no wasted events. My eyes – at least for the moment – have opened to the broader spectrum. It’s cool.

As I work 56 hours per week,
As Sheryl and I plan our wedding trip to New England , and our subsequent gathering with family and friends,
As we paint and replace and remodel sections of our house,
As we coordinate and plan the 2nd Annual Gilda’s Riders event,
As I try to train – riding more than 15 miles a couple times per week and lifting weights,

I am living my life to the fullest. I am setting a standard. I am being a role model.

I am a proud, happy cancer survivor, and never want life to pass me by.

Day Zero, Year Five

With the MC5 screaming in my ears, I am ready to testify.

Today starts a seven month celebration. Of my life.

Ziggy Stardust recorded a moving song called “Five Years”. It tells about how the world will cease to exist in five years time. It’s true. It happened to me.

Five years ago today, I was diagnosed with stage 2 Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The world I knew five years ago no longer exists.

My transformation started with the phone call I made to my mother. I was sitting in my boss’ office. He was strategizing how we would complete one of his many outrageous goals. I stopped him, rudely dialing numbers on my cell phone as he spoke. When my mom answered the other end, I said simply (while maintaining eye contact with my boss): “It’s confirmed. Hodgkin’s, Stage 2.” Shortly afterwards, I hung up with my mother. Shortly afterwards, I left my boss’ office. Without completing his strategy.

There would be many, many turning points along the way. In fact, every day was a turning point:

* The head oncology nurse checking my veins to see if they were good enough to endure four cycles of brutal chemotherapy. And providing me a video that would tell me how to give myself daily injections of Neupogen.
* The blur of chemo education on my first day of treatment.
* Feeling like shit for 10 days after treatment, having one or two days of feeling human again – just prior to getting another treatment.
* Not having enough energy to go grocery shopping – yet doing it anyway.
* Sweating and smelling chemicals day after day.
* Pissing red during and after each treatment.
* Putting on my brave face every time I contacted my friends and family.
* Trying to talk my sister into taking my treatment for me.
* Spending a lot of time with myself and my thoughts, coming to the realization that if I survived, I’d have to change silly habits and self-destructive rituals.

After treatment – October 23, 2002 – I had learned how to live life. It was now up to me to practice living as it was meant to be lived. Every day since has felt like a warm Spring breeze (although some days the breeze has blown stiffly and others it’s barely blown).

I stopped the mental abuse that had become my personal mantra. I sought things that I wanted. I took risks. I gave back to my community. I gave back to my cancer brethren – sometimes getting my heart broken in the process.

But I was alive, and embraced each opportunity and emotion. My heart, my head, my eyes and ears – pulsed with life.

I was in the middle of a growth period (aka, unemployed and in the midst of shattering my credit while trying to make success happen by working on my book) when I met Sheryl.

Five years ago, I would not have allowed myself the opportunity to embed myself in this girl’s life – and that would have been a critical, miserable mistake.

My transformation will continue for as long as I live. But this year – this next seven months – will be the anti-Hodgkin’s. I am marrying Sheryl, and we will both celebrate not only our life together, but our personal lives as well. And one way that we will celebrate LIFE is by trying to make my growing number of brethren more comfortable and provide them more support through Gilda’s Club and our Gilda’s Riders fundraiser.

In turn, I hope with all of my heart, that these people will have the chance to live life and celebrate Year Five.

And hopefully, they will mark that year with a long bike ride while raising funds for Gilda’s Club…

Dumb America

I just read a news article that Geico’s cavemen are being slated for a sitcom pilot.

It got me to thinking: Why is this newsworthy?

And what does Paris Hilton think?

And what does CNN think about Paris Hilton’s thoughts on it?

And why the frick SHOULD CNN care?!?!

So this is what happens where there isn’t a ground war to report about.

Oh wait, there IS a ground war to report about!

So what the hell is going on?

Why is America – why am I – dumbing down?

I blame Al Gore’s internet.

With news – real and imagined – available on the internet 24/7/365, we’re getting “newsed out”. There is no new news to report anymore. Someone has Saddam’s execution recorded on his cellphone in real time and a half hour later, we’re all watching it on YouTube.

Our idea of news has been skewed beyond recognition… or has it just morphed into all-out entertainment?

It is becoming more and more important in our country to get a college degree. So let me raise two issues:

1) Get rid of journalism degrees. Hell, all you need right now to “tell the news” is a cellphone and internet hookup. Heaven forbid you are astute enough to actually tell a story these days. We want the pictures, the blood and the guts! This brings me to:
2) Why?? We are the most powerful and best country in the world. We’re leading the world in democracy… and idiocy. We’re the most advanced… and fattest. We spend all this time studying and earning degrees, but how does that help our population and fellow man?

The Associated Press recently declared a moratorium on Paris Hilton. They will no longer report Paris Hilton activities unless they are deemed truly newsworthy. That alone should tell us something.

We are to blame for the downfall of our civilization. We killed Princess Diana by reading the tabloids that bought paparazzi pictures. We drove Britney Spears to the brink of insanity the same way.

Are you proud of yourself?

On my way into work today, I was thinking about my Dad, and about how happy I am. My Dad died 16 years ago in March, and for much of the last 4 years, I have wondered how my Dad would view my life and activities.

How would he have reacted to my cancer experience? How would he have reacted to my lack of job? My book?

The only thing I am sure of is that my Dad would have loved Sheryl. He would be happy for me where I am right now with my life.

I found myself thinking that I am possibly the happiest I have been in my life. I am certainly happier than I have been for quite a few years, that’s for sure!

Each night, I’ve taken to praying. I know that there are angels who surround Sheryl and I. And so I thank them for each day, and each opportunity. I even ask them to help me attain my goals, and to help Sheryl and I to stay happy and healthy for many, many years.

So Dad, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I thank you for your patience and support.

One in a Million

I’m not usually the speediest person when it comes to new technology, but I eventually jump on the bandwagon. Just over a year ago, Sheryl gave me an iPod for Christmas, and only recently, I’ve begun listening to podcasts.

So far, I subscribe to three podcasts: Wilco, livemusic.com, and the NPR series, “My Cancer”.

Sometimes, I wonder why I torture myself listening to Leroy Sievers’ narratives of his cancer experience. Yet at the same time, I find myself sitting, listening intently, and nodding my head.

It’s a bittersweet experience – like reminiscing about a lost love, or a fond tragedy.

I’ve always said that I believe everyone’s got a story inside them. Some of us just have the ability to let it out. My story happened to come out via “Cancerboy”, and through this blog.

Last week, I was surprised by a box that came in the mail. It was from a friend of mine, whom I don’t see very often. Yet, when she found out that I had been through the cancer experience, she was moved to tears. In the box, I found a LiveStrong coffee mug. My friend said that she saw it and thought of me.

At that moment, I was forced to think about how we impact other people. I never think of myself as having much influence over anything, but by sharing my story, I influenced and impacted the lives of others. Yeah, it may appear obvious to you but how many times do you think about how you impact others yourself?

Leroy Sievers is doing that, too. He’s sharing his story and making an impact on peoples’ lives. I listen to his story because it connects me to all of the other cancer survivors in the world by reminding me where I’ve been, and that we are never really alone.

I am...

On a whim, I decided to Google myself. Yeah, it sounds perverted, but whatever...

While glancing through over 20 pages of Matthew Cummingses, I learned important things about me.

For instance, I am currently attending Marshall Univerity. I ran two or more marathons. I am a police officer in two different cities in different states. I am not only a writer, but I am also a photographer and an actor. I am a high school basketball coach.

Not only that, but I simultaneously live in Pennsylvania, California, Virgina, West Virginia and Texas - in addition to Michigan and England.

Although I am going to school at Marshall, I already have a degree from Iowa State, Brody School of Medicine and Case Western Reserve College.

I am an administrator for the Yellow Pages, a spy, and have appeared in many newspaper stories.

Strangely enough, I was also a participant at the Battle of Bunker Hill (I was always a survivor!).

I am a glass blower and attend Edinboro University.

Essentially, I am everything that I want to be.

So the next time you ask yourself, "who am I?", drop by Google.com - you'll be surprised at how much you've accomplished!

Ticking Time Capsule

A couple of years ago, I had a picture taken of me, which was placed in the Lewiston , Michigan library time capsule.

If I had an opportunity to put together a time capsule of my life so far, here is what it would likely contain:

* A picture of me (as a baby), my mom and dad
* One of many stories I wrote in 3rd grade… perhaps my report on Christmas…
* A baseball mitt
* A bicycle
* A prosthetic nose
* A bottle of Hefe-Weizen beer
* A bottle of tequila
* A box of 1974 Topp’s baseball cards
* “Cancerboy”
* Darts
* A Gilda’s Riders jersey
* My concert tickets
* A picture of me and Sheryl
* An iPod programmed with my fave tunes

There are a million things that we could hope to put in our personal time capsules…

What would you put in yours?

Cold Weather Breakdown (Jan 2007)

I’m having a cold weather breakdown today. I don’t know how to explain it, but I am sick and tired of cold weather. It is all too easy for me to imagine a balmy 70+ degrees outside with humidity.

Yes, I am extremely aware that we’ve had a mild winter so far, and that the winter weather only truly hit us a few weeks ago, but that doesn’t help my angst.

I had an awful time getting out of bed this morning, and I can’t concentrate. I’m cold, although the room temp is 70 degrees. All I want to do is curl up in bed and sleep. And eat. And sleep.

My skin is cracking. My lips are cracking and my skin is drier than normal. I’d cry, but my tears immediately dry up.

Ugh! When is Spring? March 21??

Wake me on the 22nd.

Media, schmedia

Media sucks. I hate the spin that it puts on stuff, and I hate how powerful it is.

The other day, I realized that I was watching too much TV news. When I’m up in the mornings, I’m already grumpy. Then I hear stories about A-HOLES WHO DO STUPID STUFF. Interject some cutesy between-story banter and I am ready to VOMIT.

Why do I subject myself to that torture in order to see the weather and/or traffic?

Why don’t I go to accuweather.com, or weather.com? Why don’t I go to traffic.com, or autoclubgroup.com? Why don’t I use something else for eye candy while I eat my oatmeal?

I guess that is something to work on.

The local news isn’t actually my bitch for this blog. Rather, it’s the power of news.

The French news has long had issues with Lance Armstrong. They hated the fact that he dominated their Tour de France for seven years.

Rather than accept that the guy was talented, they blamed performance enhancing drugs.

That’s all fine and dandy… it’s in the past (I hope!). But just before the 2006 Tour de France, a Spanish news source wrote a story about how nearly all of the top-runners for the Tour were implicated in a doping scandal. 12 contenders were booted from the race.

American Floyd Landis then wins the Tour with an incredible stage victory in the mountains.

And what happens? French papers publish a story saying that Floyd was jacked on testosterone during that stage win. Floyd was immediately guilty and is still trying to prove his innocence.

A Spaniard named Oscar Pereiro is poised to step in as 2006 Tour winner if Landis’ appeals fall through. However, this week, French news reported that Pereiro tested positive during the Tour for ASTHMA MEDICINE.

Pereiro states that he was given authorization for his medication and can provide it. Unfortunately, the damage is already done. WHY is ASTHMA MEDICINE grounds for condemning someone before obtaining all necessary information? Are the French so insecure about their cycling program that they need to implement such devious tactics?

I’ll tell you this: I have ridden a number of long, agonizing rides in my life, and I give kudos to those who can RACE such long rides, let alone RIDE them. Jacked or not.

Yes, I said it.

Jacked or not.

What I do care about, though, is that good peoples’ lives are being ruined as a result of certain types of media. Whatever happened to fairness and Walter Cronkite-type ethics? Why have we become a society of pomp and flash? Of careless, non-responsible reporting? And most importantly…

Why does Fox 2 News give Al Allen all of the crappy stories?

Do angels have birthdays?

For years, a boy ran around town, having fun and playing.
He kept busy, as he never wanted to be bored.
There were two reasons for this:
1) He didn’t like to be bored; and
2) He was afraid that he’d realize how alone he was.
One day, while playing, a shiny light caught the boy’s attention and he failed to see the wall until it was too late –
WHAM!
The wall hit him like it was a ton of bricks.
Forget the fact that it really was a ton of bricks – you get the point.
Anyhow, as the boy laid in bed recovering from his wounds,
He began to understand how lonely he really was.

The boy wasn’t really sad, though, he figured that if he was meant to find someone special he would – whether or not he wanted to.
Once he healed, the boy decided to donate some of his time to a charity that helped others who ran into walls.
One day, while working at Builda’s Club, the boy was introduced to a kind-hearted girl.
They chatted a bit, and after they had gone their separate ways, the boy knew he had just met someone special.

But the boy had stuff to do… he had some playing to take care of.
And so he played and played a bit more.
One day, someone asked him if he kept in touch with the special girl.
He hadn’t, so he decided to e-mail her and say hi.

As things go, the boy and girl ended up dating.
The boy was selfish, though, and found that although he requested crazy things from the special girl – such as frog’s lips or chicken’s nipples – she found a way for him to have them.

At night, when the boy went to bed, he found himself wondering more and more:
Was this girl really an angel in disguise??

So when he saw her, he would look for clues:
Did she hide her wings? Did she have a warm, comforting smile? Did he feel best when he was around her?
And more often than not, the answers were “yes”.

The boy found himself falling in love… something he wasn’t entirely familiar with.
But she was patient with him… angels do that, too.
He asked her to marry him, and be his angel for the rest of his life.
She said yes.

Apparently, no one really knows if angels have birthdays.
On January 23, 2007, the world will find out for sure.

No matter to the boy, really.
It’s just another day.
Another day to make sure his angel knows how much he loves her.

Yes, he will possibly try to spoil her, too.
Maybe he’ll take her out to dinner.
Maybe he’ll take her out of town.
Maybe he’ll write a story about a little boy and a special girl
And tell the world that he loves her.

Happy Birthday, Sheryl. I love you, baby!

Having a Mid-Life Crisis?

Not me! I had my first mid-life crisis at the age of 11, when the family dog bit my nose off. The joy and fun of childhood ended then and there. From that moment on, I was an adult – and not a very happy one at that.

So I turned my anxieties into dreams and goals. I worked towards those dreams and goals, rarely aware of what I was doing. One day, BAM! A goal was achieved. Another day, BAM! Another one down! And so it happened: BAM! BAM! BAM!

Misery was displaced by achievement and satisfaction. Not REplaced, mind you… just DISplaced.

I focused on changing the world and being a good role model for my nieces and nephews. After all, I would never be a parent.

It was about that time that Thomas Hodgkin decided to hand me my second mid-life crisis: Hodgkin’s Disease.

I soaked that summer in chemotherapy and Neupogen, watching as my goals and dreams melted along with my cancer tumors. My misery magnified.

It grew and grew, magnified until the inevitable happened:

It imploded and ate itself.

Yesterday, I sat with a whole new life ahead of me. Today, I sit with a whole new life ahead of me. Tomorrow will bring the same.

29 years ago today, a little boy lost his nose and his innocence. He lost the definition of joy and unadulterated happiness.

But today, thanks to that little boy, and Thomas Hodgkin, I’ve allowed myself to lower the guard, to let Sheryl in, and as a result, I am happier than I’ve been for most of my life.

Arguments and Aggrievances

I used to be extremely passionate before I got cancer. I would argue about anything close to my heart. In fact, I once got into a bunch of trouble for telling my boss that the way he wanted to do something was asinine. I still think that, but I would handle things differently now.

For example, I busted my butt on my first project at the new job, and thought that the end result was awesome. However, the customer thought otherwise, and made suggestions that I feel “dumb down” the project. It’s pretty silly, actually.

However, they are the customer, and my response is “whatever they want” - whereas some of the people I work with are ready to argue for what’s already been accomplished.

The bottom line is that there is a time to argue, and there is a time to not. Cancer helps you to re-evaluate what’s important.

This is a common understanding with Sheryl, too. With her experience in the cancer world, she sees, too, what is worth arguing about and what isn’t. Sometimes, I will try to get her to argue with me for the sake of working something out in my head, and she won’t even bite.

Most times, when Sheryl and I disagree about something, one or the other will relent almost immediately. After all, is it really important to win the argument? Is it important to lose?

It all comes out in the wash, and usually, no good comes from heated arguments.

Should I be passionate about this project at work? Yeah, a little, but it’s WAY more important to me to keep this job.

Now before it is suggested that I am simply a candy-ass, let me ask one question:

Does it matter whether I am or not?

Not to me, it’s not.