Movies, movies everywhere!

Sheryl and I rarely go to see movies, especially together. I'm more into "Iron Man", and she's more into "Sex and the City". She's a little bit country and I'm a little bit rock and roll...

Together, we've seen, like three movies at the theater, which averages to about one per year. In fact, I think the last one we saw was the third Bourne movie, which we saw last summer!

That was until recently, however.

Last November, we attended the Detroit Institute of Arts' (DIA) grand re-opening. While there, we became members. So earlier this summer, we received a pamphlet in the mail telling us what events were upcoming at the DIA.

Within the DIA is the Detroit Film Theater (DFT - pay attention, there will be a test at the end of this blog!), which seemed to have quite an interesting array of quirky films being shown throughout the season.

Sheryl wanted to see a few of the films, and I was interested in checking them out, too. I went online and purchased tickets.

So here we are in the month of August, and we have already seen two of the movies ("Jellyfish" and "Encounters at the End of the World"), with another two coming this week ("Rebirth of a Nation" and "Up the Yangtze"). We are like a walking Sundance Channel!

Oh yeah, and next week we've got the Children's Leukemia Foundation moviethon!

Good thing I'm going to physical therapy, or I'd have no time for exercise! LOL

Now, I don't know about Sheryl, but I love seeing these eclectic films - they open up my eyes and mind to more going on in the world besides our lives.

You know, sometimes we all get stuck in our little boxes and forget to venture out. This membership to the DIA has been a good thing. We still want to see the Sacred Places exhibit, and I am debating about joining an auxiliary. It would be really, really cool to get inside info on some art and the DIA, but man, sometimes the detail these people want to get into just sucks the life out of me! So I'm still debating about that.

I can definitely burn out on movies... but not so much on art... yet...

Me? Old? HAH!

Question: When is the best time to laugh about getting old?

There are two answers.

1) Always

2) See #1, particularly when your oncologist teases you about getting old.

For the last year or two or three, I've been struggling with my body. I never knew whether I was experiencing a certain pain or bump or bruise as a result of long term chemo/radiation side effects, or getting older.

I was a victim of this country's wonderful health care institution: insurance. I lost my job, and couldn't keep up with COBRA payments. Knowing full well that I'd have to deal with the pre-existing condition bullcrap, I just couldn't keep up my insurance and let it lapse.

As a result, years went by since I saw my oncologist. I passed the magical five-year mark without getting my graduation certificate - if you know what I mean.

So finally, this year, I decided it was time to close that chapter once and for all. I saw my oncologist - who naturally yelled at me for not following up properly - and being the thorough doc that he is, he sent me to a neurologist for my hip - just to make sure that it wasn't chemo related.

Sure enough, after my tests, it was determined that my hip problem is related to a couple of herniated discs in my lower back.

So I returned to my oncologist armed with this information, and he started to dance - "I knew it!" He exclaimed animatedly. "You are getting old, Matt!"

And we laughed.

He said he was happy because he wasn't the only one getting old, and I told him that with the history we have between us, I am very happy to be getting old!

His face got serious for a moment, and he said pointedly: "Well said." He took a moment and reiterated: "Well said..."

I still have to get a CT scan to get this wrapped up and put a bow on it. In three months, this will all be over. I already have my peace of mind, but I an still waiting for my diploma - the handshake and the tassle that tells me that I am getting old.

Thank God!!

Age is such a depressing thing for so many people. For me, I recognize that yeah, it's gonna wreak havoc on my body, but shit, that ain't nothing that I haven't already gone through! We should welcome age and the wisdom that comes along with it, not treat it like it's a bad thing.

After all, it's better than the alternative!

A Memory is a Terrible Thing to Taste...

Memories are terribly important to us. They are the basis for stories, folklore and rumors. They can also cause crazy emotions such as sadness, happiness, anger and ecstacy.

I have spent a lot of time this summer talking about summers past. I have truly missed them. My favorite summer memories that have popped up this year are the summers when I was a leetle boy, and hung out with my mom's Uncle Phil.

My mom, Grandma and I would go to see Uncle Phil and Auntie Aggie, and Uncle Phil and I would head out to the garage to let the wimmin's talk. He was the coolest, because he was the oldest guy I knew who would treat me like a person and not as a kid.

In the garage, Uncle Phil always seemed to have some building materials laying around. He would let me build the crappiest things in the world - although my imagination turned them into birds, planes, cars, etc. When we got done building stuff, we would head down the street to the park and play.

This entire summer, the weather has reminded me of those unemcumbered days shooting the bull with my buddy Phil. Those memories have given me such pain and longing in my heart that I haven't known what to do with it.

I was talking to my mom yesterday, and realized that maybe I just needed to embrace those memories, and acknowledge them. Maybe I need to say a few silent prayers to Uncle Phil, who died long ago. Maybe these memories are his way of contacting me to say: "hey, my brother, don't forget me!"

Maybe these are also memories that need to be documented for posterity.

Memories can be a bitch, man, but if we can figure out the proper use for them, perhaps we can grow into stronger, better people. Looking back on my time with Uncle Phil, for example, has got me wondering if I have been someone for my nephews and nieces to look up to - just like I still do to my old pal Uncle Phil.

Thank you for blessing me with those memories. I hope you're stockpiling some nails wherever you are, I've learned to swing a pretty mean hammer!

Bicentennial Post (#200)!!

Early August is considered the dog days. This term was coined because the constellation Canis Major ("big dog") and Canis Minor ("little dog") are easily visible in the night sky.

The name is apt, too. After all, when we think "dog days of summer", we think of dogs laying around and panting because it's so hot. They are lethargic and generally "blech".

These first two weeks of August often seem like the hottest days of summer. But... you can also feel change in the air. August is like a mime pulling a fake rope, only on the other end of the fake rope is a hint of fall.

This entire summer, I've been trying to reconnect with summers in the past. Sheryl and I have been so busy that I feel like I haven't really relaxed and enjoyed it. Of course, since we vacationed in Florida last winter, we haven't taken any time off this summer as well. So that might have something to do with it.

But I can feel the change coming. For me, I feel like it's going to be a spiritual change - time to spark the zen again (said Ben the hen as only he can!).

The Perseid meteor shower will take place the night (and/or morning) of August 12. I would love to be able to find a dark spot and have a late night picnic with my wife as we contemplate life under a waterfall of shooting stars.

Lots of riding left this season, too, and I still have an outside chance of hitting my goal of 2,000 miles. Man, I love riding.

Whoo-hoo for my bicentennial post!

Is this what Kool meant?

I was talking to a friend of mine about the Tour de France. I was disappointed that Carlos Sastre won, although he and his team executed a perfect plan for capturing the overall victory. My disappointment lies in the fact that I do not like Sastre.

Why not? Because of this. Yes, that's a fricking pacifier in his mouth, in honor of his newborn child.

The thing that I hate about Sastre's pacifier is that he carried that with him for the entire ride, in case he won. His victory celebration was planned - not pure, uncontrollable joy - which is what I truly love to see.

Something like
Stuart O'Grady's victory salute;
Or Paolo Bettini's victory salute in honor of his brother who died two weeks prior;
How about Felix Cardenas' joy;
Here's another good one;
Fabian Cancellara looking like a vampire;
Frank Schleck doing some great face-scrunching!

Joy of achieving your dreams and celebrating victory... not some pre-planned Sharpie-in-the-sock, sign-in-the-snow, cell-phone-under-the-padding celebration.

The pacifier in the mouth was the first Sastre victory I saw. First impressions DO mean a lot!

The Great American Novel

We hear time and time again about the elusive GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL. Over and over, someone on our periphery is going into seclusion, or graduating college, or sniffing glue in order to write THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL.

To be honest, I never had interest in writing THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL. In fact, I hardly care about THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL. I find nearly all American art - aside from music - incredibly boring.

During a visit to the Detroit Institute of Arts, I'd rather lie in the middle of the European art exhibits than meander through the American art wing.

Now, I am far from an elitist art snob. There is a lot of American art I like. There are a ton of American writings that I enjoy.

But to me, the concept of THE GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL is totally snobbish. And hence, BORING.

So does anyone actually know what the current GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL is? Is there a GREAT AMERICAN NOVEL, or is it just a concept?

Is there a GREAT RUSSIAN NOVEL? How about a GREAT CHINESE NOVEL?

I personally think it would be cool to write THE GREAT TRINIDAD/TOBAGO NOVEL - while still residing in America.

How about them apples?

Angry Red Sun

The angry red sun sneered at me from the horizon

"I woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he said to me, "I will burn your grass and kill your flowers. I will fill your day with miserable heat!"

I took a confused moment, trying not to look directly at the sun,

"You say you woke up on the wring side of the bed?" I asked.

"YES!" the sun bellowed.

I said, "But you are rising again in the East, like you have for many thousands of years. Wouldn't waking up on the wrong side of the bed mean that you'd rise in the West?"

The sun softened its harsh spotlight glow, and pondered.

"Why yes," he finally responded, "I suppose that's true! My friend, thank you for setting me straight. Have a wonderful day!"

Feeling the warm glow of the sun on my face, I realized that the day had already started wonderfully.

We have a lot of ups and downs
Out and abouts and round and rounds
The shining sun warms our bones
Feeding the day, setting the tone
Smiling faces fill empty spaces
While a finger traces winning races
The air around us, filling our lungs
With life and warmth of powerful suns
We have what we've got, no less, no more
Shall we laugh so hard our cheeks get sore?
We set ourselves up for what we get
But the future hasn't passed, it isn't written yet
Let's make our days bright sunrays
Cool blue waves on tropical bays
We have a lot of ups and downs
Out and abouts and round and rounds
But that's not the map of iron and stone
Change it as you want, change the tone.

This past week was the Register's Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa (RAGBRAI). I love rides like that. I love that your only mission each day - for an entire week - is to ride 50-80 miles. You can take as long as you want - or not.

A ride like this causes you to burn so many calories, that you can eat whatever you want, however often as you want, and STILL lose weight! How cool is it that one of the most popular roadside stops is a pink school bus, where the owner - Mr. Porkchop - sells riders an Iowa-sized porkchop?

One of the things I love about rides like RAGBRAI is riding with friends. During the evening when everyone gets together for dinner, there are stories shared that will last forever.

"I stopped in town and talked to Ben Franklin!"

"I got stuck behind a bunch of riders, and all of a sudden, I found myself in the middle of a parade! So I went with it for nearly a half mile!"

"Did you hear that someone got married during today's route?"

"Yeah! I was there!"

And not only do the stories live forever, but the memories do, too. And I love that!

But there is something to be said, too, about the quick solo bike rides. You pedal, lost in your microverse. You are completely selfish, thinking "my legs are a little tired," "Why am I breathing so hard?" "Am I going to be able to get there in time?"

And suddenly, you see something so stunningly beautiful, that you forget about you. You feel like you are truly part of the universe. You feel the warm magic of being one with everything.

I am struggling right now with getting the mileage in that I used to. It's very frustrating to feel wiped out after a 15 mile ride, when just last year, I was riding 25-50 miles. And recover takes longer these days, too. That sucks, because I want to ride long distances and have no post-ride "hangovers".

But then again, if I am able to ride 12 miles 3 days a week, then I am still given the opportunity to experience a zen moment every one of those times. And believe it or not, a zen moment can be the fix that feeds your soul.

Time For Livin'

Everything is alright.

I am a firm believer in the quote "Knowledge is Power". However, there is such a thing as "SOME Knowledge is Dangerous". And that is where I was yesterday.

The EMG in some ways was more painful, and in some ways less painful than expected. My legs are sore from the prodding they took yesterday. But on the bright side, I was told that I have only a slightly pinched nerve at the base of my spine.

The weakness in my legs were likely a result of protecting the pain in my hip. In fact, yesterday, my legs were strong again.

This is not to say that there's nothing wrong with me. We're still working on diagnosing my hip pain, but we're closer. And the diagnosis does not look as daunting as it did yesterday.

Whew! Sweet relief!

This was a warning shot across the bow, and it needs to be taken seriously.

Thank you for your well wishes. A huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

For Real...

Well, after all my big talk and crankiness, it's time to acknowledge the 800-pound gorilla sitting there in the corner.

Today I am scheduled for an EMG test. I've had this test a few years ago, and it was extremely painful. I am not looking forward to it. At all. Period.

But if the EMG is a dark cloud, then the results are the thunderheads looming on the horizon. I can't go on any further without admitting it - I'm scared.

For the first time in quite a while, my thoughts are so convoluted that I can't even express what's going on in my head. I first saw my oncologist to get resolution on some things going on in my body that I thought were a little strange. I totally expected him to say "yep, you are just getting old, son... everything else is peachy." Instead, he suggested that I see a neurologist for the pain I've been having in my hip. Of course, this is before getting an obligatory CT scan...

So I go to the neurologist, who points out that I've got muscle failure in my upper legs. Now this would explain why I've been getting back spasms while riding - I've been using the muscle to failure.

On a side note, the neuro also tells me that my gag reflex is slow, which could be a result of radiation treatment. The same for my perpetual dry throat and occasional difficulty swallowing.

Yep, f*cking peaches and cream here.

So because of the pain in my hip and muscle failure in my legs, I am going to get an EMG today. Afterwards, I am likely to get an MRI of my hip, spine and noggin. These things will help diagnose my hip problem (and my noggin).

Best case, I am hoping that the neuro says that I need to lose weight and get my back and abs stronger.

I can't help but hear that nagging voice in the back of my mind suggesting that it could be worse. I've had abnormal blood readings lately, which could be nothing or lupus. My hip could be nothing or MS. My gag reflex could be nothing or a tumor.

The thing that scares me most is that I am weary of fighting. Weary of drama. Weary of constantly being put in survivor mode. This is why I want Sheryl and I to be proactive with our health. I know I'm not the healthiest person alive, but I need to be healthier in order to enjoy the rest of my life. I need to be prepared to happily live another 40 years. If something negative blasts me from left field, how am I going to react this time? To be perfectly honest, I am afraid of that answer.

Stupid 800-pound gorillas. They should stay in the zoo, and not sit in the corner of the room.

So there it is. I know that I should not post this, but I hope that something positive will result from putting my fears out there.

With all that said, I've got a stupid EMG test this afternoon. It may or may not be painful, who knows? It may help diagnose my painful hip. And no matter what, I've got a need to know. I need to know what is going on.

As you can see, my mind can go loco if I dwell on the possibilities. Give me facts and hard evidence, and let's go from there.

For real, can we stop the carousel?

When I Got Cool...

I grabbed my bike, and headed to the studio to meet Gregor, who was giving me guitar lessons in return for ghost writing his autobiography.

Traffic was actually light, and I bolted between red lights and stop signs, barely working up a sweat in the cool dawn.

Gregor slept during the day, no doubt dreaming up his amazing aural landscapes and visual palettes. When he returned from Operation Desert Storm, the chilling agony that laid behind his eyes purged itself through art and music.

One would expect his haunting visions to manifest themselves through dark and deadly forms of imagination, but surprisingly, his art and music were beautiful, rich and deep. We're not talking Barry Manilow love songs, mind you, but soulful and insightful works.

Last year, Gregor decided to put his story into book form. Although he was an artist and musician, he realized that he was too close to the story and needed an objective eye to focus on it. He put an ad on Craigslist, and apparently, I was the first to respond.

At the interview, Gregor and I realized that we had a lot in common. We shared a love for the arts - he could paint and play music, and I loved looking at art and listening to music. We became quick friends, and came to an agreement for writing the book.

Part of the agreement was that Gregor and I would work in the morning. He tended to stay up all night, fueled by Led Zeppelin, Foo Fighters, Iron Maiden, and Crystal Method, painting on floor to ceiling canvases in preparation for his latest exhibit.

In order to wind down after painting, he would have me come over to his studio, and we would have a couple of drinks - I would drink coffee-flavored water, and he would drink Absinthe - fresh off its' 100 year ban. We would work together for a couple of hours, and I would go to my "real job", and transcribe my notes at home later on.

As I said, Gregor and I quickly became friends. But business was business, and I had to ensure I was being paid fairly for the work I was doing. When Gregor came up short on cash one week, we decided to lower my fee, but only if he agreed to give me guitar lessons once a week.

It was Friday, and I was stoked. I work 10 hour shifts four times a week. Today was the first day of my weekend, and the summer morning was starting beautifully.

(more to come...?)

Stop the Carousel, I Wanna Get Off

Today is just one of those beautiful summer days that I want get off the carousel and do some exploring.

I sat on the deck as the sun was coming up, and was overwhelmed with the childhood feelings of summer mornings. I am holding onto that feeling for as long as I can, because I know it will be gone far too soon.

Sometimes you get so caught up in the carousel of every day life and sometimes you happen to realize it. Instead of air conditioning, I want summer breeze blowing across my skin. Instead of sitting at a desk, I want to be carelessly riding my bike wherever I want to be at that moment. I don't want to think about my doctor appointments, rather I want to run through the woods, watching the birds fly by overhead and the sun peek in and out from behind branches.

Yeah, stop the carousel, I wanna step off.

I don't want to watch or read the news. I want childhood ignorance ruled by stats on the back of baseball cards. I want to splash around in a pool, not caring how much water is spilled over the edge. I would love to lie on the grass, and watch the clouds roll lazily by, and not worry about who is going to cut that grass or water the flowers. I want to run down the ice cream man, eagerly searching the menu for a Good Humor Strawberry Shortcake bar instead of hiding from the Postman and the bills he'll bring.

Really, I'm not asking for much - just one day. One amazing childhood summer day.

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. :)