Love's Labour

When I was in college, I had a roommate (who was an idiot!) who suggested to me that the biggest compliment one could ever receive was a surprise birthday party. For nearly 20 years, I completely agreed (despite his idiocy!).

Today, I don't.

I just finished the haunting "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead" book. And I realize now that the greatest compliment doesn't happen until you're dead.

Death has a way of bringing families together - and tearing families apart.

When someone is still alive, people tend to not really say exactly how they feel about that person. But when that person dies, all formality goes out the window.

I can't help but think about the fact that when someone dies, all of their normal muscle control goes away. Therefore, said dead person shits him/herself.

Is it not sort of like that with friends and family? We often don't say what we really mean - until someone dies. Then we lose control over self-censorship.

Throughout my adult life, I'm beginning to think that I've been preparing for death. I rode across Alaska and Montana in order to raise money for AIDS vaccine research - in hopes that during the lifetimes of my nephews and nieces, they will not have to worry about contracting AIDS. Is this my way of trying to take care of them while I'm worm food?

As I laid wallowing in chemotherapy chemicals during cancer treatments, I began structuring "Cancerboy", which I wrote to help survivors and non-survivors alike to understand that one can return from the depths of hell and find a life that is truly successful. Is this an attempt at trying to save the world even when my body no longer exists?

I think about my dad who died at 48 years old, and my step-dad who died at 61 and my mentor who died in his 50s. I think about what they meant to me while they were alive and how much (more?) they mean to me now.

We take advantage of this life and those people whom we say we cherish. But how do we prove our love for one another?

As I read Warren Zevon's biography, I took note of the people who stuck with him throughout his life. And as each page got me closer to the end of the book, I began thinking more and more about the people in my life.

Do I tell them what they mean to me? Do they know what they mean to me?

For the last 5+ years, I have tried to make sure that everyone in my life understood exactly how much I love them.

Weird thing is, I've probably failed, and should try harder.

The Blues Down To My Shoes

Do you ever have those days when you feel like you are being followed by a black cloud?
You know deep inside that everything is fine, and life is so, so good.
But there’s that nagging sensation of doom and gloom…

I feel that way today. I don’t know why, for sure, but I’ve got a few theories:

Theory 1) After a couple of weeks worth of nice weather, it has gotten cooler and dreary again. It’s nearly May and there has been speculation that we may actually get some SNOW this week. This winter was a particularly hard one, and many of us here in Michigan are physically ACHING for nice weather to stick around. Unfortunately for me, I am very affected by weather.

Theory 2) I am being affected by the book I am reading. I am near the end of Warren Zevon’s autobiography. At this point in the book, he realizes that lung cancer is killing him, and he is trying to finish an album before the put him in his coffin. It’s very sad.

Theory 3) Lately, I feel like I have been bombarded by maladies. I was sick for a good few weeks during the winter, then again a few weeks ago, and after finally getting the proper medication to get rid of my cold, my allergies start up and I am sneezing and blowing my nose and my eyes itch and burn… I’m sick of being sick! On top of that, I got a bridge when I went to the dentist last week, and I am in pain many times a day. Now, I can handle pain and discomfort to a certain point, but once again… I’m sick of it!

I understand that even on my worst days I am better off than many people. I have absolutely no right to whine or complain. But sometimes, it feels better if I do.

I recognize that I am very lucky, and I am extremely grateful for having the life that I do.

I just want that damn cloud to go away.

I'm so proud of my wife!

She's so distinguished! :)

Years of Pain

I’ve got a friend who has recently dived into cycling. He is preparing for his first century (100 mile bike ride), and has been keeping me abreast of his successes.

I told him today that he reminds me a lot of myself eight years ago, as I was training for my epic bike rides (multi-day, multi-hundred miles). I mentioned how it’s amazing how things change so quickly.

And then I got depressed.

When I was training for my big rides, cycling was my life. EVERYTHING revolved around cycling. It was cool. It was fresh. It was annoying to everyone around me.

I generally succeeded in those epic rides. I far exceeded everyone’s expectations, and I was very proud of my accomplishments.

And then I got sick, and everything changed.

Though treatment was only five months in length, the whole experience took up almost an entire year. And when I was re-born, I had one goal first and foremost in my mind – to prove to myself and everyone else that your only boundaries are in your head.

Eight months after treatments were over, I did another epic ride. This one was across Iowa.

Iowa was a turning point for me. I learned that I could still persevere and survive long, painful miles. But I didn’t want to anymore. I didn’t have anything else to prove.

As a result, I began to ride more for the fun of it than anything else. I still tried to do one long bike ride each summer, and I even found a purpose – Gilda’s Riders.

If Gilda’s Riders worked out the way I had hoped, it would have become a source of inspiration for everyone whose life had been touched by cancer.

Gilda’s Riders worked for two years, but I got burned out. Having just gotten married – another major change in my life – I found that there were too many other things that I wanted and needed to do, and planning a charity ride fell to the wayside.

There are times that I yearn for the lactic acid buildup, and pain of riding across mountains. There are times that I miss devoting my life solely to achieving something I had previously thought was unachievable.

As a survivor and still-newlywed husband, my priorities have changed, and so has the time that I have available.

Everything I have done, everything I have accomplished, has been done to get me to where I am right now. I am very happy. I am healthy, too, for the most part.

I have been a survivor my whole life. I am proud of that.

I want to see what life is like without adversity, though. I want to appreciate not being anxious from the moment I wake up.

And that is where I am right now. Riding as if there is no chain.

One hour of drama burns 100 calories

Let's say that sex burns 65 calories per hour.

If we agree to that, then I have decided that drama in ones' life must burn at least 100 calories per hour.

On what do I base this? Well...

First of all, sex is fun. Drama is not.

Use the following interpolation:
Sleeping is fun. Sleeping burns like, 30 calories per hour.
Running is not fun. Running burns 400 calories per second. It's true.
Watching TV is fun. Watching TV burns 20 calories per hour.
Rock climbing is not fun. Rock climbing burns an estimated 200,000 calories per minute. I know this as fact.

Therefore, if sex is fun and burns 65 calories per hour, then drama - which is not as fun as sex, but also not as sweaty as rock climbing - must burn more calories.

Now, since SO MANY PEOPLE appear to like drama - like soap operas, for instance - then it can't burn as many calories as running, either.

So based on that scale, drama absolutely MUST burn 100 calories per hour.

Okay, so now that we've established that fact, I have got to ask a question:

With SO MANY PEOPLE burning SO MANY CALORIES on their own (or someone else's) drama, why are we the fattest country in the world?

The answer is simple, silly!

Drama makes people depressed, and what happens when people get depressed?

That's right...

They get drunk (empty caloric intake)

and have sex.

And for the record, I'm pretty sure that drunk, sloppy sex only burns 40 calories.

Artist, Tortured?

I am in the midst of reading Warren Zevon's biography, "I'll Sleep When I'm Dead", and it's got me thinking about the tortured artist effect (coined by Todd Rundgren)...

It's also got me thinking about intelligence.

Warren and Frank Zappa are definitely two historical people I'd like to meet. With today's media allowing for instant gratification, and negativity entertaining us more and more, I'd be interested to see how they would be portrayed today.

When I was much younger, I totally believed that in order to be relevant, you had to be tortured. These lines from Neil Young's "After the Goldrush" were my mantra:

I was lyin' in a burned out basement
With a full moon in my eyes
I was hopin' for a replacement
When the sun burst through the skies
There was a band playin' in my head
And I felt like getting high
Thinkin' about what a friend had said,
I was hopin' it was a lie

In my eyes, this was as low as you could go. I yearned for it, yet too afraid to make it happen on my own.

In recent years, I have come to wonder, though...

Did I make it happen?

Looking back on my life, I remember thinking about things I didn't want. Two things in particular:
I didn't want huge scars on my head because they would be obvious when I got older and lost my hair;
I never wanted cancer.

Now, they say that if you want something bad enough, and think about it long enough, you will eventually work yourself into that occurrence.

But what if you DON'T want something to happen to you?

How many times did you say to yourself, "don't trip, don't screw this up, don't lose this", and it happened?

How is that different than "I don't want to get cancer"?

Warren Zevon was a tortured artist. He is an idol of mine. I love the way he put words together with music. From The French Inhaler:

You said you were an actress
Yes, I believe you are
I thought you'd be a star
So I drank up all the money,
Yes, I drank up all the money,
With these phonies in this Hollywood bar,
These friends of mine in this Hollywood bar

Mr. Bad Example:
Of course I went to law school and took a law degree
And counseled all my clients to plead insanity
Then worked in hair replacement, swindling the bald
Where very few are chosen, and fewer still are called

These days, Warren and Frank are dead. Cancer - the genius killer.
Ironic, eh?

I no longer want to be the tortured artist. In fact, I haven't wanted to be one in many, many years. I have been too close to despondence for my own comfort, and I am a cancer survivor. I've walked the roads that would leave some people in ruin.

Mr. Rundgren can keep the ever popular totured artist effect. It was a neat concept, but there are some street smarts I'd rather not have!

What's it gonna take??

Yeesh! No love for the city of Detroit these days...

I can't say how badly I want to bitch about Mayor Kilpatrick, about Detroit Public Schools, the unemployment rate, and the general crappy feeling in this town.

But I have been cursed with having a glass that is perpetually half full. Instead of complaining about the obvious (or not so obvious for that matter!), I find myself asking: What do we gotta do to make things better?

Geez, I wish I knew the answer to that.

I know that I enjoy going to Greektown and Slows BBQ. I enjoy donating my future lottery winnings to the casinos. I enjoy going to Mexicantown for awesome Mexican food and margaritas.

Sports-wise, Detroit is on the way to hockey and basketball playoffs. Baseball season just started. We have so much to look forward to in the world of sports (yes, I even have hope for the Lions this year - or any year, really!). I really hope that somehow, Detroit can find a spark and get past the negativity it finds itself shrouded in.

I wonder, exactly where that spark will come from. Who can perform the magic that we need?

Time will tell, and I hope we're paying attention!

Trippin'

Okay, so I mentioned that we went on a trip, but I haven't mentioned yet that we had a great opportunity to participte in operation disk drop (as explained in an earlier post).

I had recently gone through my expansive CD collection, and planned to get rid of two plastic shopping bags worth of CDs.

I thought it would be a cool idea to take them on our trip and drop off the CDs along the route. The idea was awesome, if I do say so myself. However, the actual disk drop didn't work out so well.

The weird part is that we forgot about the CDs on the way down. So after my brother, nephew and niece had dibs at the CDs, we gave my mom a shot at them when we got down to Florida. On the way we did stop, but didn't leave any indication along with the CDs what we were trying to do. I left a few at a rest stop outside of Jacksonville, FL and Sheryl left a few in South Carolina.

Me in Jacksonville

The Flying J where Sheryl dropped off CDs

And so once we got to my uncle's, we gave him and my cousins a shot at the remaining CDs.

The trip home totally didn't allow us any time to dawdle around with CDs.

Anyhow, it seemed like a cool idea, and we had a little fun with it. Maybe next time we'll rock a little harder.

Vacation

The month of February is brutal for me... lack of sunshine ails my constitution.

So Sheryl and I took off for Florida. The sun on my skin felt amazing, and I was ALIVE! We eagerly pedaled our bikes to the beach to witness the aged population of leathery bronze Canadians meandering with basketballs in their bellies and Speedos grossing us out.

I sat outside as often as I could, and hopped into the hot tub nearly every day.

We visited the Kennedy Space Center and Key West. We watched jai alai matches and ate ourselves across the States.

Sweet, sweet sunshine. Warm and lovely. Makes me happy like Don Ho's tiny bubbles.

More to tell... but later. :)

Life is like a box of... crayons?

As horrible as cancer was, my life is profoundly better having been stricken.

Cancer allows me to live my life more freely - as facing death often does. The person I was before my Hodgkin's diagnosis is long gone... and I am glad.

A pre-Hodgkin's Matt would not have been able to open himself up to serious relationships and would not have been able to let go of the little things.

And although I still hold on too long to some of the less meaningless things that occur in every day life, I am happily married - pretty much the most serious relationship one can have!

Today is my wife Sheryl's birthday. If you pay any attention to this blog at all, you know that Sheryl is an angel.

Sheryl rescued me from one of the lowest points of my life by simply loving me.

And fortunately, I was able to love her back.

Although we're still newlyweds, I can see Sheryl and I becoming one of those aging, loving couples who - above anything else - enjoy being in each others' company.

Granted, I fear for our longevity, seeing as that we both need to take our health more seriously, but I want the time we spend together to be fresh and exciting.

One of the reasons I love riding my bike so much is because every ride - no matter how familiar it is, or how often you ride the same path - is different.

And that is how I want my life with Sheryl to be.

I never knew I could love someone as much as I do Sheryl. I never knew someone could make my life so rich. I never knew that I would be able to share so many good blessings in my life with the same person.

Many people think about birthdays in a bad light. I used to be one of them. At the age of 28, I felt like I never accomplished what I should have accomplished in life. It really depressed me.

Now, at 41, I still don't feel like I've accomplished what I was supposed to, but I know that I'm getting closer. Instead of being depressed, I am hopeful.

Because of Sheryl's job, and because of our relationship, and because of the curveballs in life that I've dealt with, Sheryl and I both understand that we are lucky to celebrate each day - but moreso birthdays.

We don't celebrate Hallmark holidays - Valentine's Day, Sweetest Day, Love Your Partner's Genitals Day, whatever. I believe that people in my life must know how I feel about them - all of the time.

But ever since I was a little boy, birthdays were always special. As such, I will try to make sure that Sheryl remembers every birthday she had while I was in her life.

Baby, I love you with all of my heart. You have brought my 8 color Crayola life into the world of the 150 count telescoping crayon tower. I am so grateful to have you as my wife.

Happy birthday. I hope we celebrate many happy healthy birthdays in the future!

Cool Blue

As I pedalled on down the street
My cool, blue bike gleaming in the sunlight
I dropped down into a higher gear and cruised...

My problems melted behind me,
The pain of daily living dissolved like a good shot of morphine.
I forgot more and more as the sun shone on my face
and my heart beat out the rhythm of shambala.

The wind whispered sweet nothings to me,
And the tail wind bowed trees as I rode by.

My lungs blew out the nasty taste of the morning newspaper -
The coffee dregs that sadden me every time I read -
And they sucked in the refreshing gift of elation.

I caught myself smiling more than once
As I chased the sunlight,
Making a silent vow to never let the sun set on this ride.

Every wrong turn was right
Every stoplight was a reminder to drink
And I ignored the nagging voice that told me to turn around.
I wasn't going back unless I wanted to.

And so I rode with the angels of Fausto Coppi and Jacques Anquetil,
Reaching new heights with Marco Pantani and Charly Gaul,
I remembered nothing of my shitty morning,
But everything amazing aspect...

of this exact moment.

A Little Bit of This, A Little of That...

It's been something like fifteen years now - I forget how long for sure - that I have been writing a Christmas poem/story to include in my Christmas cards.

It began when I fell on some hard times and couldn't afford to buy Christmas presents. So I took a long, hard look at my talents to try and find some way to give something to those I love.

I quickly realized that my greatest asset was my writing, and decided to write a Christmas poem. Well, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending how you think about it!), the poem was well-received, and I was asked if I would be doing one the following year.

With mounting pressure, I decided to give it another go. The following year, however, I was in better financial straits, and was able to buy presents. Nonetheless, the Christmas writing came. Again, it was well-received, and I was in the ironic position of gathering a fan base of sorts.

After a couple of years, the poem turned into a story, and I began enjoying the writing process. I also began to put more thought into it. I tend to find ways now of making it a little more personal, by including a major event in my life, or including a person we know.

The whole process has actually become quite interesting, and when I start writing the Christmas poem in early November, it starts getting me into the Christmas spirit - usually. :)

I also began to wonder how my writings would influence the way people thought about Christmas, and Santa Claus. I started dropping my own history of Santa, creating - in a sense - my own world within my world.

Sheryl and I have an acquaintance who is currently starting the writing process, and was looking to me to help her focus on making the story good. She had done a lot of songwriting, but not so much story-writing. That was interesting, because I always wanted to do some songwriting, but was never able to find a hook.

And a hook is what it's all about. I mean, when you start writing something of substance, you need to think about how you want to draw the reader in. Do you want to do this subtly, sorta of mysteriously, or do you want to grab them by the shirt and yank them headlong into the deep end?

Each has its own value. For instance, I tried to grab the reader by the lapels for "Cancerboy". But the Christmas stories tend to be more of an unfolding story that tries to draw the reader into the Christmas spirit as it goes along.

Stange, but I never thought I'd have to put so much focus on writing - it's always come so easy for me, but when I put thought into it, rather than regurgitating my thoughts on paper, it achieves its purpose a lot easier.

And that's a good thing.

So what's your story, morning glory?

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.