Le Velo Hangover

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uncle Phil was my buddy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is it possible to die from playing too much?

On Beat with the Dreamers

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

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

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

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

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

Then again, see how well I maintain my blog?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Drive to Survive

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

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

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

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

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

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

Leroy Sievers last night reminded me of that tortuous question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Luck

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I also threw away the e-mails.

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

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

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

Could I be so lucky?

As it turns out - yes.

My springs did happen to be under recall.

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

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

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

Turn of the Tides

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In A Bad Condition

“If I tell you what Im doing today

Will you shut up and get out of my way?

Someone asked me what the time is,I dont know

Only know I gotta go now

No time - trying to get a watch repaired

No time - never got a thing to wear

Hear the ringin of the telephone no no

Hear a ringin in my head now

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

– “Got the Time” by Joe Jackson

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– “Slaughterhouse Five”, by Kurt Vonnegut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– “Time” by Pink Floyd

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

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

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

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

Bravo, Kurt Vonnegut! Godspeed!

So it goes.

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

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

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

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

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

Day Zero, Year Five

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

Today starts a seven month celebration. Of my life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dumb America

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

It got me to thinking: Why is this newsworthy?

And what does Paris Hilton think?

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

And why the frick SHOULD CNN care?!?!

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

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

So what the hell is going on?

Why is America – why am I – dumbing down?

I blame Al Gore’s internet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you proud of yourself?

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

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

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

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

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

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

One in a Million

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I am a glass blower and attend Edinboro University.

Essentially, I am everything that I want to be.

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

Ticking Time Capsule

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

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

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

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

What would you put in yours?

Cold Weather Breakdown (Jan 2007)

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

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

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

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

Ugh! When is Spring? March 21??

Wake me on the 22nd.

Media, schmedia

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

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

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

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

I guess that is something to work on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes, I said it.

Jacked or not.

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

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

Do angels have birthdays?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Birthday, Sheryl. I love you, baby!

Having a Mid-Life Crisis?

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

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

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

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

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

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

It grew and grew, magnified until the inevitable happened:

It imploded and ate itself.

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

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

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

Arguments and Aggrievances

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does it matter whether I am or not?

Not to me, it’s not.