My Red Wings Conspiracy Theory

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s my theory – not yours.

The Wonders

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Names Can Last a Lifetime

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

For instance:

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

It’s interesting if you think about it.

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

Priorities Schmiorities

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

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

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

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

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

I wanna dance!

What I Learned at the Nightingale Awards

It’s not just Sheryl:

1) Nurses (in general) struggle with honors.

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

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

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

2) Nurses are crazily humble.

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

3) Great nurses love their job.

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

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

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

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

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

Godspeed, nurses! Mama Florence would be proud!

Plain, or with bacon and cheese?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Promise of a New Day...

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

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

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

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

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

Have a good day, peeps!

Love's Labour

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

Today, I don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Blues Down To My Shoes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I just want that damn cloud to go away.

I'm so proud of my wife!

She's so distinguished! :)

Years of Pain

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

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

And then I got depressed.

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

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

And then I got sick, and everything changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One hour of drama burns 100 calories

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

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

On what do I base this? Well...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answer is simple, silly!

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

That's right...

They get drunk (empty caloric intake)

and have sex.

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

Artist, Tortured?

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

It's also got me thinking about intelligence.

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

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

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

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

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

Did I make it happen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's it gonna take??

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

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

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

Geez, I wish I knew the answer to that.

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

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

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

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

Trippin'

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

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

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

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

Me in Jacksonville

The Flying J where Sheryl dropped off CDs

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

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

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

Vacation

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

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

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

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

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

More to tell... but later. :)

Life is like a box of... crayons?

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

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

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

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

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

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

And fortunately, I was able to love her back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cool Blue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of this exact moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that's a good thing.

So what's your story, morning glory?

Weary New (Not-Weary) Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy New Year, all!!