Needles on my brain...

I am seething right now about Le Tour... The Grand Boucle has sufferred a HUGE blow with Ricardo Ricco returning a positive piss test.

I have stated in the past that I cannot blame cyclists for their past dirty deeds. Eric Zabel, Frankie Andreu, and Bjarne Riis have all admitted to doping in the 90s. Again, I can't blame them. That was the culture of cycling in the 90s.

However, cycling has worked hard to clean up its reputation. The French have bitched that they have not won much of anything in Le Tour in recent years because everyone who has won has doped. But not the French! Blah blah blah...

Team CSC, Discovery Channel (now Astana), Team High Road (now Team Columbia) and Slipstream-Chipotle (now Garmin-Chipotle) have taken a stance on doping within their teams. They have upgraded all testing, and made their practices transparent. And guess who has had most of the success this year overall??

So Dr. Rasmus Damsgaard - the man who has implemented the strict doping controls with CSC and other teams - came out and said that he is concerned about the doping controls in this years' Tour. He feels that they are not stringent enough, and focus mainly on the Spanish riders.

Sure enough, two Spanish riders have already been kicked out of the Tour for doping this year. But the biggest blow was today when young hotshot jackass Ricardo Ricco was popped for doping. His team, Saunier-Duval, was the top team in Tour winnings so far this year.

Guess what? Ricco isn't Spanish... but he's not French, either. He's Italian! BUT... Saunier-Duval is a SPANISH TEAM! Word is that Saunier-Duval didn't even start the race today. They tucked their tails and packed their shit and left France.

I know that I'm rambling. There is so much in my head about this crap that I need to get out. I'll try to summarize:

Cycling is trying to clean up. CSC, Garmin and Columbia are trying to become examples of clean riding. Ironically, none of these teams are French.

Idiots are still trying to beat the system, and the system is enabling them to do it.

But a few got caught, which is good and bad.

It's good because it shows that the hole-laden net of controls CAN work when it wants to.

It's bad because this happens every year, and people are getting good and tired of people cheating.

I understand that there is a ton of pressure to compete on a high level. I understand that people are given the ability to cheat. But what people don't understand - what sportsmen cannot seem to get a grip on (especially when mo' money is involved!) - is that they ARE heroes to kids and others who seek inspiration.

Too bad. If you can't handle it, then get out of the business. It is a necessary evil.

DOPING IS NOT.

Thanks a lot, Ricardo Ricco, for f*cking up another opportunity for a sport that I love to clean up its image. Your cocky-ass, mouth-shooting arrogance just bit you in the ass more than the bite of the needle. If your B sample comes back positive, you will be suspended for two years. You will come back, and I won't care. Hopefully, no one will.

Where's that ego of yours now?

Yeah, I'm not only seething, but a little bitter, too... :)

Life and Death Comes Down to Health

"I am health, I am strength, I am success and I am abundance. That is my nature, and that is what I am."

"I am slim, trim, lean and thin."

These are my affirmations, which I typically recite in the shower each day. I've been saying the first one for a couple of years, and it has essentially been true. The latter one, however, I'm still working on. I figure if I say it enough, I will believe it.

This weekend, I had an experience that had only happened to me twice before. I thought there was something SERIOUSLY wrong with me. I also call this an "Oh f*ck! moment".

One day, while I was going through chemo, I had decided to binge on pizza. Considering that pizza itself is slow to digest, and the chemo I was on caused constipation, I put myself into a world of hurt. That night, while my belly was bloated, my sciatica was triggered, and I began having pain in places I never had pain before.

That was the first time I seriously thought I was going to die.

The next time was this past Halloween. I awoke in the middle of the night with intense pain in my back and right shoulder. Motrin barely touched the pain, and I was afraid that soemthing was going on that I couldn't overcome. I knew it wasn't a heart attack, because that would have been left-side pain...

I tend to have problems with my chest, back and right shoulder as a result of a mountain biking crash 10+ years ago. I separated my shoulder, as well as the cartilage in my back and sternum. And sure enough, I can tell when the weather changes...

In any case, I had slept funny earlier that day, and aggravated my shoulder and back. Time took care of fixing that.

This weekend, I awoke in the middle of the night with intense pain in my hip and leg. I had been having problems with my hip for about a year, but the doc can't seem to find anything wrong. So I tried stretching and massaging the pain away. Eventually, the Motrin kicked in, and I was able to go back to bed.

While I was up, though, the thought popped into my mind that I might have to get my hip replaced. And there was no way that would be possible with me being as overweight as I am. So I was shocked into action, and am now focusing on being better to myself and my body.

I'm not fooling myself. I know it's going to be a long, gradual road, but I have GOT to get healthier.

"I am slim, trim, lean and thin."

VIVE Le TOUR!

For me, July means Le Tour de France.

It also brings forth memories of my cycling guru - Uncle Jack ("UJ").

As a kid, I really enjoyed the attention given to me from my youngest aunts and uncles - Aunt Michelle, Uncle Ron and Uncle Jack. They were the coolest, and they are the model for what I want to be for my nieces and nephews.

I really loved riding my bike, and one day, I was floored when UJ rode his bike over to our house, and he and I rode through the neighborhood. Being a lil one at the time, I felt like we had ridden miles together, yet as I look back from an adult point of view, it was merely a few blocks.

Nonetheless, this is an extremely vivid memory from my childhood.

That day, UJ became my cycling guru.

Time passed, and we drifted in different directions. I stopped riding bikes when I got my license, only starting up again in my late 20's.

As I began riding again, I found my old memories drawing me back to UJ. We started e-mailing, sharing riding stories and a passion for cycling as adults.

Soon, we became semi-regulars in each others' life again.

Once I bought my house, I was located a short distance from UJ and family. They invited me over for dinner, and I invited them over for parties.

UJ's ability to cycle has been affected over the years, so when I signed up for my 2nd major ride - a 32-miler - UJ let me borrow his road bike. Man, the ride was SO much easier with that rather than with my mountain bike!!

Around the same time, Lance Armstrong started winning Le Tour, and UJ and I would call and e-mail each other in excitement -

"Did you see Lance give Ullrich 'the look'?" he asked me.

"No, I need to watch it tonight!"

"Oh, man," UJ would say, "Lance totally f'ed with Jan's head!"

Like little kids, we were.

UJ and his family moved to North Carolina. We would talk about doing the Assault on Mt. Mitchell, knowing full well that we never would.

And somehow, we finally got the chance to watch a few stages of the Tour together. We did the same the following year. And the year after that. It was bliss.

It has been a couple of years since then, yet me and UJ still e-mail back and forth, and I have no doubt that he wishes that I was there watching with him - just as much as I do.

Life goes on, and things change. You can say that cycling isn't a sport and bitch about the Tour being on TV for an entire month, but it's our time together - my cycling guru of 30+ years and mine - whether we see each other or not.

VIVE Le TOUR!

How Full Are You?

I was thinking about summer this morning, while I DROVE into work (stupid rain predictions!). My drive takes me right through the area I was born and raised, so there is always something to trigger early-life emotions, thoughts and memories.

This morning, I found myself thinking about the carefree days of childhood summers. The days lasted forever, and I was very influenced by the way we spent our time back then.

I thought about how we never seem to have the time that we did back then. We don't fully enjoy our days like we did as kids. This has become the lament of adulthood, but it has become something more to me.

Ever since I got sick, I realized that I needed to focus on doing things I wanted - as opposed to doing things that other people expected me to do. I also realized that time is short, and I needed to fill every possible moment in order to get the most out of life.

What I didn't expect was that this way of thinking would consume the life that I wanted to enjoy. I am finding myself trapped in the lament of adulthood... for completely different reasons than most others.

Like with addiction, acknowledging you have a problem is the first step. As a result of this new admission, I like to think that I will allow myself to smell the flowers a little more - to enjoy putzing around for the sake of putzing around and not because things need to get done.

It's quite a life that we have at our fingertips. Are we getting the full reward? Are we filling our cups? Are we making the memories that we want to remember for the rest of our lives?

Legacies

I was blown away last night watching "In the Shadow of the Moon" on the Discovery Channel.

Hearing the stories of going to the moon by the men who actually did it was a real eye opener. Yes, it was also a bit dramatic, but hey, it was good TV.

I have so much respect for those guys, and wish that today's kids had someone to look up to like that.

What will our legacy be?

I often wonder... and worry.

Time to get inspired!

The Day Winding Down

For me, the most magical part of the day is when afternoon/evening/twilight/night intermix. The neighborhood seems to settle down into its TV hypnosis, the birds chirp their goodnight's, and the roar of the nearby freeway turns into a dull hum.

When I was in college, I used to believe that pure nighttime was the best part of the day. I used to sit outside with my tape player/CD player and listen to music while getting sh*tfaced.

The same thing happens now as did then, although with a whole lot less drunken stupor. I find myself thinking, relaxing, breathing deeply and slowly. I think about how I feel within my surroundings - nature and my body.

I think about how much I enjoy being alive in the here and now. And I often find myself wishing that I could be sitting in a Buddhist temple, or similar sacred place.

What I feel at those times is what I feel every time I read Hermann Hesse's book "Siddhartha". It is quiet, yet powerful being, and I can recognize how fortunate I am to be able to experience that feeling.

Harnessing that feeling is what many religious people spend their lives working towards.

For now, I am just happy to step into that museum and browse the works. I can stay as long as I like, leave, and return again whenever I want.

I like that.

Age, Wisdom and Entitlement

At the risk of sounding like an old man, I need to get this off my chest.

Kids today are full of sh*t, and I feel like I want to punch every one of them.

What gives them the right of entitlement? If you give respect, you get respect, and every one of them punka$$ kids MUST EARN MY respect.

Why am I so riled? Check out this link.

Thoughts on the Four dime Two...

Now that I think about it, I never imagined I would reach the age of 42. I never thought I'd be dead by this point, either. I guess I just never thought about it.

Birthdays are highly significant to me for a few reasons:

• The first is because my mom always made birthdays special. So each birthday I have, I recall fond childhood memories of birthday celebrations. It makes me feel truly special each birthday - still.
• My dad died at 48. Ever since he died, I wanted to outlive him. I don't know why, but it's become something of a compulsion.
• I recognize what a gift it is to wake up every morning. Lately, I feel like I've forgotten this fact, but life is so damn crazy, we are never truly guaranteed a tomorrow.

As a result, I am honored and grateful to celebrate my 42nd birthday today. After today, I will never have a 42nd birthday - it is a once in a lifetime experience...

Must be a glass half-full day. ;)

They Weren't The Best

Remember when we rode the bus to work?
We'd laugh at jokes that no one else understood
And make up lives for the other passengers.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd walk downtown?
We'd throw pennies into the fountain,
Knowing some homeless person would dig them out.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we volunteered for Greenpeace?
We'd run around the park
Tripping on LSD, swearing that everyone we saw was Jesus.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd run out of gas in the middle of the night?
We'd walk through alleys and construction sites
That even rats wouldn't scurry through.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd go to the drive-in?
We'd sit on the hood of the car,
Throwing popcorn at each other.
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when we'd sit on the window sill of your apartment
Drinking bottles of strawberry wine on
Those sweet summer nights after we made love?
Those were good times, but they weren't the best.

Remember when you asked me about the best times of my life?
I'd say they would have to be the times in between
When we weren't doing anything in particular
We just were. Together.

Those were good times. They were the best.

Father's Day

I figured I'd be better off getting this out rather than keeping it in.

This past weekend was Father's Day. Since my dad died 17 years ago, and since I don't have kids of my own, I don't really think about Father's Day as such...

For some reason, though, I found myself thinking about my dad more than usual. Nothing really mind-blowing or anything, but he was often in my thoughts.

The other night, while watching "Breaking Away", I noticed a smell of stale cigarettes, and asked Sheryl if she smelled it. She didn't. No biggie, except it sort of smelled like my dad. I said "Hi Dad! Happy Father's Day!" Within ten minutes, the smell was gone.

Last night, I was laying in bed, looking out the window. Because of the seasonal late sunsets, the sky was still light. I was reminded of summers as a kid, and how much I loved the warm, extended twilights. Again, I found myself thinking of my dad, and the beautiful August night (August 9, 1976 - to be exact) he let me stay up late to watch John Candelaria of the Pittsburgh Pirates throw a no-hitter against the Los Angeles Dodgers. I remember knowing - whether it was dad who had told me or not - the significance of the feat... knowing that I might never see another one in my lifetime.

(Oddly enough, in 1993, I was at the Astros game when Darryl Kile threw a no-hitter against the New York Mets)

I hope that whatever my dad is doing now, he is truly enjoying himself. I hope he knows that I appreciate him more and more as I get older.

And I appreciate those memories more and more as well...

Digging A Hole

Yeesh... I had one of those mornings where I dug a hole early, and no matter what I said or did, the hole got deeper and deeper.

I wonder how positive people can stay positive all the time... I am definitely a "glass half-full" person, but so far this morning, I haven't been able to shake the doldrums.

Needless to say, I lost the a**hole game on my way into work. :)

Thank goodness I've got the rest of the day to atone for my sins of the morning...

Cheap Thrills

I sat in silence for a few moments, last night, after watching the film "Breaking Away".

Being summertime, being a cyclist, and having been 19, I reflected on the themes of the movie.

In 1979, when the movie was released, the US was in the midst of a recession. Gas and oil prices were sky high, and we had drama with hostages in the Middle East.

Sound familiar?

"Breaking Away" touches on some of those ideas, but it was always the cycling that got me.

I always thought it was cool how Dave idolized the Italian cyclists... he constantly played Italian music and learned Italian phrases. He is no different than any of us, who buys Air Jordan shoes to be like Mike, buys Nike wear to be like Tiger Woods or Lance Armstrong. We all want to be part of something great.

Through a turn of events, Dave and his pals (played by a young Dennis Quaid, Jackie Earle Haley and Daniel Stern) end up riding in the Little 500 - an actual cycling event that takes place at Indiana University.

Dave is a freaking monster in this race, and I always admired him despite well documented production flaws that only freaks notice (for the record, I noticed one at the end of the race that wasn't covered in the link above. Ask me about it, I'll tell ya!).

At the end of the movie, you realize that the movie takes place within those edgy, uncomfortable moments of change. Things are as they are supposed to be when the credits start to roll.

It's a feel good story, and as I sat in silence, I was proud of my cycling "career", and the things that I accomplished on two wheels. I realized that my bikes and love of cycling carved out an environment in which the story of my own life played out.

Whether we know it or not, we all carve out environments in which to exist. We are lucky when our environments cross paths with those who become influential in our lives.

Yes, a simple movie (with flaws) can affect such comforting thoughts.

Who wants popcorn?

I wanna write a song
A song with guts and teeth
I wanna write a song
A song that gives relief
I wanna write a song
A song to sing and play
I wanna write a song
A song to sing all day
I wanna write a song
With some drama and soul
I wanna write a song
That will make us whole
I wanna write a song
To get me a lot of fame
I wanna write a song
That gives me someone to blame

The soul of a man and his goals and dreams
Needs to feed on the creative muse
Visions of wonder mark the path
Of the trail he needs to use

Blessings of grandeur and adoration flow
Driving the focus of success
Swallowing life’s water of lessons
Similar dreams to be best

I wanna write a script
Of life and its’ glory
I wanna write a book
Or some kind of story
I wanna write a tune
To hum when I die
I wanna write a song

When We Left Earth

When Sheryl and I went to Florida this winter, we spent a day at Kennedy Space Center. It was the second time I had been there, but no less of a rush. They've got quite a visitor's package, and plenty to see.

One of the highlights was going inside the recreation of mission control during the launch of an apollo mission. They took all of the desk consoles, etc., from the original missions and put them in working order to simulate the inner workings of a lift-off. You could smell the 60s in this room, and the event gave us goosebumps.

Yesterday, we watched "When We Left Earth - The NASA Missions". And sure enough, there was footage from the original mission control. It was stunning.

It all takes me back to my childhood, when space was so exciting. My memories of watching the apollo missions on TV stirs butterflies in my stomach. I recall going outside and watching as spacelab orbited overhead. I remember learning about the moon and stars. It was all so new and so fresh.

These days, the only things that seems to change is technology. Everyone is excited about GPS systems, the iPhone, blah, blah, blah. There doesn't seem to be a feat that really stimulates our imaginations anymore.

Maybe I'm jaded. Maybe I'm bored. I just wish there was something out there that we could really wrap our emotions around.

Fortunately, we still have shows like "When We Left the Earth", and we have complexes like Kennedy Space Center and Johnson Space Center in Houston. Hopefully these things will continue to stir up dreams, and spawn a technological future that will grip us by the throat with excitement.

Sing it, Rod!

Rod Stewart and Tina Turner both sang the song "Every Picture Tells a Story" (Or, as I sometimes prefer to call it, "Every picture of a jelly donut"). And the quote is true enough.

What is also true is that every bike ride has a story. This is one of the things I love about cycling. I love the stories, I love the culture, I love the community.

Each leg of my commutes to work this week had a story... whether it was standing completely still while trying to climb "Mt. Madison Heights", and realizing that I may end up falling down the hill because I had no forward momentum... or if it was the fact that during the course of the day, there had been some repaving done on the sidewalk, which forced me to ride (as quickly as possible!) on a VERY busy highway that only had one of two lanes open!

Very often, we travel through life way too fast. Cycling to work forces you to slow down. After all, you are only getting where you need to go as fast as your chicken legs take you. I love that.

I also love that I can postpone buying gas for a few days. The funny thing is that I get a lot of looks on the road from car drivers. The looks used to be the "get the hell out of my way, fatass!" variety. Now they've softened. They are more like the "Damn, I'm so jealous!" look.

Seeing as that I'm a story-person anyway, commuting to work on my bike seems to be a perfect match. Maybe on the weekends, I'll find myself wanting to go to work, rather than wanting to get out on the bike...

HA HAH!!... I may be crazy, but I ain't stoopid!

The A**hole Game / Hypermiling

Each morning, I play a game called “The A**hole Game”. It consists of me driving to work, and trying not to call anyone an a**hole, f*cker, dipsh*t, dumba**, or similar name. If I can make it to work without calling anyone an a**hole, f*cker, dipsh*t, dumba**, or similar name, then I win. Otherwise, I lose.

When I first started playing the game, I lost all the time. However, in the last few months, I have definitely won more than lost.

That is, before hypermiling became popular. “Hypermiling” is a method of increasing gas mileage by changing the way you drive. In many cases, it includes driving 5 miles under the speed limit, and avoiding sudden stops and starts.

Ever since hypermiling has gained fans, I have found that I lose The A**hole Game an awful lot. Getting stuck behind a hypermiler in the left hand lane of a two-lane road is frustrating enough, but now there’s often a hypermiler in the right hand lane, too! Grrrrr!

So I’ve figured out how I am going to get back at BOTH the greedy oil companies AND the hypermilers…

I’m gonna commute to work by bike.

By riding through neighborhoods, I will only have to follow these hypermiling freaks until we get to the next main road. Very often, that is a half mile or less.

And when I speed away from the stop signs, I will burn calories and not gas.

But I might be in danger of getting healthy, so I’ll have to watch that.

For what it’s worth, I think hypermiling is a good idea. I’d do it, too, but I have no patience for it. I just want to get to where I’m going, and be done with it.

I’m sure that by cycling to work, I’ll still lose The A**hole Game… but I think I can get over that. After all, pretty much every a**hole that causes me to lose the game will likely see me in my cycling lycra – and want to scratch their eyes out!

Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout - sweet, sweet revenge, baby!

The Post-Cancer Effects of Stanley

In June 2002, I was beginning my 2nd cycle of ABVD to treat Hodgkin's Disease. The Detroit Red Wings just won their 3rd Stanley Cup in six years, and there was going to be a parade in downtown Detroit to celebrate.

I was scheduled for treatment on Friday. The parade was scheduled for Monday, and I was excited about the possibility of going with some friends of mine.

As routine, I had my blood drawn, and as a result, I found out that my platelet count was low. This meant that if I started bleeding, there was a good possibility that my blood would not clot. The doctor decided not to treat me that day, and give my platelets a chance to recover over the weekend. We would try again on Monday.

Although I was not excited about receiving my treatment in the first place, I was crushed that I would have to wait. Not to mention, it would ruin my chances of going to the Stanley Cup parade. I seriously considered moving my treatment to another day - but the seriousness of my treatments quickly set me straight.

I was sitting in an infusion chair with horrifying chemicals running into my veins as I watched the parade on TV with glazed eyes. This was the agony and the ecstasy, heaven and hell.

A few days later, my friend Pat - who had Red Wings season tickets - told me that he had tickets to a fan appreciation ceremony at the Joe Louis Arena, and the tickets were mine if I wanted them.

Although I had missed the parade, Pat had given me an amazing opportunity to celebrate in the Red Wings victory.

I went with my mom, and it was a very memorable experience. Each player and coach took a moment to talk to the fans from the stage, and to thank them for their support. There was a point when someone onstage talked about great new players coming up and winning more cups. The crowd went nuts, yelling "Zet-ter-berg! Zet-ter-berg!"

At that time, all we knew about Henrik Zetterberg was that he was a Swedish phenom. We had all heard about him, and expected great things from him. Little did we know that six years later, he would be receiving the Conn Smythe trophy as the Stanley Cup playoffs MVP...

Last night, Sheryl and I watched as the Wings won the Stanley Cup for the first since 2002. As we watched each player skate with the cup, I felt overwhelmed with emotion. Echoes of "Zet-ter-berg! Zet-ter-berg!" rang in my mind while I relived cancer treatments and Red Wings victories.

This morning, we heard that there will be a parade tomorrow in downtown Detroit. We won't go. Sheryl has a commitment to her patients, and I have mild claustrophobia.

I am considering leaving work early, though, and visiting Sheryl at work - to watch the parade on TV in the infusion room with cancer survivors currently receiving treatment. We can talk about the Red Wings and treatment - them with glazed eyes, and me with teary ones...

Dreaming is Free

Every day is a dream
Fantastic occurances dabble within daily drivel
One minute I'm drowning in quicksand
The next minute I'm flying -
Soaring on top of clouds with the wind in my face and a smile on my lips.

I go into the Post Office for a stamp and walk out with a stuffed animal
Someone hands me a note.

I stop, put down the armadillo (which waddles off in search of more beer), unfold the note and read:
"Hope your day is filled with miracles, baby! I love you!"
It is written in my wife's penmanship.

I run across the street to buy her some flowers
Not seeing the car barreling down on me until the last possible moment.
I leap as high as I can, landing on the cable wires above me.

As I tightrope my way to the flower shop, glass imbedded in the bottom of my shoe
Picks up cable channels and runs them through the fillings in my mouth.
I listen to "Happy Days" reruns, laughing.

By the time I get to the flour shop, I am told they have no more pancakes.
I'm devastated, yet still famished.
The woman behind the counter gives me her watch.
It's got a picture of Mickey Mouse dressed in a McDonald's uniform
Just below Mickey, it says "Time to Eat!"

I walk outside and see a recently dropped ice cream cone lying on the sidewalk.
I pick it up.
As I move it towards my lips, I can smell the vanilla.
I realize quickly that I must get home to see my wife, and throw down the ice cream, which bursts into shards of glass like a fluorescent lightbulb.

Hardly noticing, I find a bike cop. He's listening to his iPod while jumping cracks in the concrete.
Suddenly, I'm intrigued:
"What are you listening to?" I ask.
"The Police," he says.
Odd.
The cop lets me buy his bike for 15 cents and a Bazooka Joe comic.

The bike speedily clack clacks home with a Barry Sanders rookie football card flicking in the spokes.
And I'm home with my angel.
She tucks her wings into her nurse scrubs and kisses me.
I close my eyes, focusing on the tenderness of her lips.

When I slowly open my eyes,
I see her looking back at me.
"Did you have a good nap?" she asks.
"I did," I reply.
"Have any good dreams?"
I grab her hand and pull her towards me.
"Every day," I say. "Every day is a dream."

Where There's Smoke...

The other night, Sheryl and I were trying to finish up some nagging projects so we could get on with enjoying our summer.

Maybe it was because we were multi-tasking and not paying close attention, or maybe it was a simple fluke, but we had an incident happen that could have killed us - and we hardly noticed.

Sheryl was on the phone with the carpet installers (ugh... these guys are a serious thorn in my side!), and I turned on the barbecue. I had it on high so it would be easier to scrub the grill prior to using it. When it got nice and toasty, I scrubbed the grill - no big deal.

However, something went very wrong. Flames started licking up over the top of the grill, and grey smoke began to rumble out. And then - WOOOSH! - the flames got higher and the smoke turned black. It began to stink like plastic burning, too.

Keep in mind that out barbecue is located in the corner of our WOOD deck, next to the WOOD fence that we had just installed and sealed.

I ran inside and began filling my water jug, wanting to put out the fire. I suddenly realized that our garden hose was out on the deck, and made a beeline back outside.

By this time, because of the smoke, I was half expecting the fire department to show up - or Indians!

I turned on the garden hose and doused that fire for a good 10 minutes, making sure it was out, and that everything had cooled down.

As it turned out, there was no barbecue damage. Apparently, it had just been a grease fire.

We cleaned the barbecue guts and replaced them, having a laugh about how scary it was - albeit briefly.

I think it's important, however, to remember how something so silly, so benign, could have cost us everything.

I am grateful to have learned that lesson without loss of life or property.

So let that be a lesson to all you amateur grillers out there - clean yer grills!

My Red Wings Conspiracy Theory

On Wednesday, May 14, 2008, the Detroit Red Wings lost to the Dallas Stars, who had managed to avoid being swept in the NHL Western Conference Finals.

The 3-1 defeat of the Red Wings – who had won nine straight, going into the game – was a not just a victory for the Stars. The officials won the game, too.

In the first period, the Wings scored, but the goal was waved off because Tomas Holmstrom’s ASS was in the crease. WHAT??

That goal could have effectively shut up the Star-crazy fans in attendance. But because it was waved off, the Stars and their fans still held a lot of hope. The Stars scored, and at the start of the next period, the Wings scored to tie it up.

By this time, however, momentum was clearly on the side of the Stars, and they took advantage by taking their 3-1 win.

Yes, there is no crying in hockey. The Wings will win this series anyway. But here is what I think TRULY happened that night:

It is no secret that hockey is struggling for fans. The fact that Versus is the only channel showing the damn games (available on Comcast, but NOT WOW!) simply does not help. Who watches Versus anyway (besides me – they have coverage of bike races, including the Tour de France)?

Anyhow, Game 5 in this series will be broadcast on ABC TV on Saturday, May 17. ABC makes hockey available to more people than Versus does. As a result, ABC can demand higher money for commercial time. If the Wings had won Game 4 in Dallas, then ABC would not have had a game to show, and thus, no ludicrous commercial money.

My theory is that ABC greased NHL commissioner Gary Bettman’s palms. Maybe they offered him a bit-part in “Grey’s Anatomy”, or gave him inside information on who will win “Dancing With the Stars” (hey, how’s THAT for irony! Dancing with the Stars/Dallas Stars… hmmmm…). In return, Bettman might have told his officials, “Okay, guys, if the Wings score first, wave the goal off. I will contact you via these tiny communications devices, which you will put in your ear, and I will provide a reason that the goal should be waved off.”

So when the Wings scored, it coincided with Bettman returning from the bathroom, and accidently sitting on a slice of pizza, which he had forgotten that he had placed it there when he ran to the john. And just for kicks, let’s say that it was Little Caesar’s pizza.

Anyhow, the official waved off the goal as directed, and waited for Bettman’s word.

So Bettman, worried about potential stains on his suit, says to the people around him, “Look at my ASS! It’s got GREASE on it!”

The official was struggling with the noise of the crowd and heard: “…ASS… CREASE…!” He then declared the goal was no good because of the never heard of rule that the player’s ASS was in the crease.

As a result, everyone is happy – except for Wings’ fans… and Gary Bettman, who has get buy a new suit.

That’s my theory – not yours.

The Wonders

I swear that every time I volunteer at Gilda’s Club, something magical happens.

First, I want to say that I am one of the people saddened by Chris’ departure to Nashville. Chris and I had a few of those intensely powerful conversations together, that has helped me come to understand myself, and my life. And every time I walked into Gilda’s Club and saw Chris, we had that bond between us. I will miss seeing her on a semi-regular basis, but I am tickled to death for her great Nashville adventure! Godspeed to you, Chris! May all of the best wishes that everyone has given to you bear wonderful, glorious fruit!

So I was blessed with a discussion with someone I had seen quite regularly around the clubhouse. She pulled me aside and told me that she was the mother of someone I grew up with in Madison Heights! This is poignant to me because (at the risk of upsetting my mother) the 11 years I spent growing up in Madison Heights were the happiest years of my life – prior to meeting my wife!

I am blessed with having amazing memories of my childhood before we moved to Sterling Heights. Life was so innocent and carefree. We couldn’t wait to get outside and play, and we were bummed out when the streetlights came on and we had to go home.

I have always been able to develop phenomenal friendships, but it was after we moved that I became extremely shy. But I look back on those friendships I had before I was 12, and find that I miss them terribly.

By telling me that I had grown up with her daughter, this woman unleashed a flood of happy memories and even some melancholy yearning. I specifically remember this girl because the first moment I laid eyes on her, I thought she looked like a cousin of mine. I was even a hair away from calling her my cousin’s name, when I heard her real name.

After each and every visit, I feel more and more involved in the Gilda’s community – even though I haven’t been there so much in the past year or two.

There’s a great world out there, and although I may occasionally live in the past, it is my present that shows so much opportunity…

Names Can Last a Lifetime

What is it about names? I just came to realize that sometimes a name can fulfill someone’s destiny.

For instance:

* I work with an illustrator whose name is Art.
* Sheryl’s nephew’s name is Hunter. Good thing his dad wasn’t an avid bowler! Then what would we call him? Turkey?
* What does my name (Matt) say? That people walk all over me?
* My friends Pat and Pat(ti) have two dogs.. and cats.
* I know a Bill who deals with money.

It’s interesting if you think about it.

It’s not always true, though, my brother Van drives a car.

Priorities Schmiorities

I’m contemplating going back to school to get my MBA for the purpose of making myself more valuable to my company, as well as allowing myself more opportunities in the future.

The problem is that I don’t know if I am willing to commit to a three-year program.

When I was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s in 2002, I decided that I will do only what I want to in life. The financial, social and personal commitment to an MBA can be pretty daunting to someone like me.

So once again, I’ve got to ask myself: What is important? What are my priorities?

When it comes down to it, the answer is simple.

I wanna dance!

What I Learned at the Nightingale Awards

It’s not just Sheryl:

1) Nurses (in general) struggle with honors.

To be a great nurse, one must be purely selfless as things relate to the patient. The great ones simply don’t think of themselves. Therefore, when an honor is bestowed, the great nurse is smacked upside the head with the reality that they are actually accomplishing something positive. It is a moment when the great nurse realizes that they do matter – and that concept goes completely against their constitution. It’s unfathomable to them.

Sheryl and I actually run into the "selfless situation" every day, whether she knows it or not. Since we are both givers, we want to please the other person. A discussion about what to have for dinner can take a surprising amount of time sometimes because I want her to be happy with the choice, yet she doesn’t think about that. All she’s concerned about is what she can do for me – she wants me to be happy with the choice. Ain't that sumthin'??.

Many of the Nightingale winners thanked their co-workers for helping them earn the award. Some even thanked their patients and their patients’ families for inspiring them. NOT A SINGLE ONE SAID THEY FELT THEY EARNED IT.

2) Nurses are crazily humble.

They said it themselves! Each of the nine winners said they were humbled to receive the award. This tells me that although they may have struggled with the honor, they were able to recognize that someone felt they deserved it – and they took it for whatever it was worth.

3) Great nurses love their job.

I have said time and time again that Sheryl and I are blessed to have jobs we love. However, again, every single award winner last night mentioned that they love their job. By looking at them while they talked about their work, you could see it in their eyes.

A couple of years ago, my college roommate told me about the Jim Collins book “Good to Great”. The book discusses similar traits in companies that have gone from mediocrity to greatness.

But what does it take for an individual to go from good to great? If we take a few lessons from nurses, here’s what I think:

* To be great at what you do, you’ve got to love it.
* Be humble, yet be able to accept recognition graciously.
* Acknowledge those whom have helped pave the way to your success – whether they are mentors, teachers, parents, or heroes.
* Be selfless. Strive for the success of what you do – not for your selfish needs.
* Smile. Nearly everyone can feel a sense of calmness and security when someone is giving them a smile. Nurses hug a lot, too… maybe there is something to that.
* Have patience, and understand that whoever you’re dealing with might not be on top of their game. We’re only human, ya know?

The Nightingale awards gave extremely worthy people a chance to be a rockstar for the night. It will be a night the never forget, and hopefully, their stories will inspire others to achieve greatness.

Godspeed, nurses! Mama Florence would be proud!

Plain, or with bacon and cheese?

Sometimes, life needs to be one big scrambled egg in order to remember what is important.

Sheryl and I have a lot going on right now. Our home improvement projects are in full swing, and with spring finally rearing its head, our activity level is ramping up, too.

Sheryl is crazy busy with work, and tomorrow is the Nightingale award ceremony.

So with all of this going on, it’s easy to lose ourselves.

Unfortunately, it takes one of us getting overwhelmed before we remember to stop and smell the occasional rose.

We need to remember to take baby steps – that the joy is in the journey, and not necessarily the destination. And this time, when I say “we”, I mean everyone.

We’ve gotten to the point where even tearing someone apart in the media has become entertainment. Is it really fun?

Sometimes, though, it can be justified. For instance, Sheryl and I have personal satisfaction in the Kwame Kilpatrick beatdown. Her entertainment is a result of a chance Thanksgiving breakfast at McDonald’s.

Sheryl, her nephew and I had just finished scarfing our breakfast burritos, and were getting ready to leave, when “King Kwame” and his posse showed up, nudging Sheryl out of the way as they queued up for their McGriddle sandwiches.

As we made our way to the door, we found ourselves locked in! Yes, McDonald’s went into lockdown while Kwame snagged some grindage.

Outside, in the single digit weather, a nicely dressed woman and boy were stuck outside. Turns out they were Kwame’s wife and son. Nice. Another guy just wanted to use the restroom to shed some extra clothing, since he was going to the Lions game. No such luck. Kwame’s posse needed EXTREME SECURITY.

Now come on, I don’t care who you are. If you are going to McDonald’s, for Christsakes, YOU DO NOT NEED TO LOCK THE PLACE DOWN.

Sheryl and I can think of hundreds of everyday people who deserve to be treated like a king, and Kwame throws his physical and political weight around so he can be treated like a king while ordering a freaking egg McMuffin…

Is it any surprise that we have some enjoyment watching “the king” get knocked down a few rungs?

Justified or not, we – as human being - need to start looking for, and treating everyday folks like the kings and heroes they are in their own lives. For every bad parent we hear about on the news, there are 20, or 1,000, or 100,000 great parents. For every bad kid, there are thousands of good kids.

It’s time to honor those people, as well as those we love – and not just on a Hallmark holiday. Treat your loved ones like kings or heroes, but remember that we are all human and have faults. One of the biggest faults I see is this emergence of the “entitled generation”, who may have already been treated like princes and princesses their whole lives and don’t know how to really exert themselves to be a productive human being.

My nomination of Sheryl for the Nightingale awards is my attempt to thank Sheryl on behalf of her hundreds and thousands of patients throughout the years. I suspect she has no doubts how much I love her. This Sunday is Mother’s day, and I suspect, too, that if you asked my mom what I thought of her, she would tell you that regardless of whether she receives Mother’s day presents, I love her very much, too.

As with everyone in my life whom I care deeply for, Sheryl and Mom have earned it. But that’s who they are, and they would admit to having no clue what I am talking about.

So the question becomes, who – or what – is important in your scrambled egg?

Promise of a New Day...

As depressing and bluesy as yesterday was, I sure needed it. Today is one of those days that you feel like you've taken off the old worn overcoat, and I wouldn't feel this much better if not for yesterday.

I face today with hope and the courage to make it as great as it should be. I will keep my eyes open for the best opportunities to make themselves available. Doors will open and close, and I will be ready, willing, and maybe even a little giddy.

And just as a postscript to yesterday, I just want to put this out there, in case my buddy Leonard is reading...

Dude, you are my best friend, and I love you to death. I want you to have every good thing on Earth. We really need to figure out some sort of collaboration, because one of these days, you are going to run face first into greatness, and I want to be right there to enjoy it with you.

I admire your deeds and your soul, and although we have different goals and motivators, I want you to see that there is so much more in the world for you. Brother, it IS possible to have it all. Don't be afraid to step out of the box. You have a mind and skills that need to be shared with the world. Don't keep them secreted inside.

Have a good day, peeps!

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!!