Just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round

I’m sorry, I’m not getting paid enough to write on the weekend, man. Seriously. My time’s at a premium now, you know that! You want blood? I gave blood once: rejected. I have blood ooze out of the faithful wound on a continuous basis, you can see it slide up the tubing into the vacuum device. So you can have blood, but writing, insight, humor, style, wit, no, no, I need to get paid for this overtime, man. Where’s the tip jar on this thing? Where are my $50 million Google ads? I’m gettin killed here!

What can I tell you? The radiation lasts for 30 seconds a zap, two zaps: one minute. Reheating pizza. Guests of the Overland Park (KS) Marriott can enjoy pizza at the new location of D’Bronx on 110th and Metcalf. Red velvet cake, eggplant parmigiana sandwiches, salads even, but the pizza is the draw, it’s good. There’s a backlash against that location because it’s all like in the suburbs and it’s just not the same as the 39th Street spot because that place is on a tiny street and there’s brick on the wall and graffiti, but don’t be like that. The Overland Park spot just has better lighting.

Family members visiting, that’s nice, that’s going well. I am successfully uploading Distraction 3.1 into the brain and pretending I care whether Bank of America will honor the convertible preferred debt of Countrywide. Man, look at the yield on that WaMu debt now — amazing! This is something to think about! Mortality, loneliness, the end of it all? Plenty of time to muse on that later. Right now we have to figure the tax-equivalent yields on the muni closed-end funds. Wait wait, let’s do some diagonal option spreads, figure the time premium on those Google LEAPs… I gotta run!

I haven’t forgotten about you

I’m still here. I’m still getting zapped, I’m still — oh my God, a gigantic bug just made a break for me. The minute I started typing. You see? They just don’t want me to publish anything. Everyone’s against me! They know when I’m working on something good and they’ll do whatever it takes to silence me. Of course when I say “they” I mean “God.” It’s working, too. I should be on my fourth memoir by now — instead I’ve got one crackpot book and 400 words of “I don’t know what a blog is” to my credit. Yeesh.

Where was I before the exciting news of the bug? Nowhere I guess. The radiation took less than five minutes today. I’m like, you wanna give it another pass maybe? Maybe set it on something stronger than “popcorn” this time? But I don’t argue with the experts. Or anyone, come to think about it. I’m an agreeable guy. You say Al Qaeda’s regrouping in Iran because Obama sealed up the nomination? Sounds good to me. You think Oliver Perez is a head case because he can’t control his heater? Makes sense on this end. He probably has some childhood trauma that gives him a phobia of the phrase “strike three called.” It’s my fault we don’t get along? I guess I was out of line there in 2006. Sorry.

Okay like I said, just a couple more weeks of these phony entries and then we’ll see about getting something useful up over here, like some actual writing or insight or analysis maybe. I’m not promising anything here. It takes so long, my lord. He’s so fine. George Harrison was kind of a jerk, really. Great on the ukulele though.

Zapped

Radiation again — oy! It’s not a big deal actually. I’ll take it over chemo any cliche of the week. I had a few weeks of beams to the backside back when I was dying the first time in 2005. The side effects are minimal, or they were up until the end when they gave me a blast-off megadose that singed the area well enough that it felt like I was passing hot coals for the next week. Sorry are you eating?

Yeah the chemo eats you up, sickens you from inside out, things don’t taste right, whatever you drink might as well be sluice, it’s not on. The radiation is borderline fun by comparison. They put you on a table that wheels around, the room goes dark, lights start flashing, machinery hums, you star in your own remake of Tron, you fall asleep even, or I did today at least, seeing as how I’m still ringing in at three hours a night. Have I mentioned that steroids keep you awake? Have you seen this, have you heard about this?

You’ve been a terrific audience! Do people really do this, like, relay their daily rumblings and expect people to read them? I’m just trying to fit in here, don’t mind me. We’ll see if this picks up or gets livelier for either of us before we decide whether to spike it.

Condominiums are inexpensive these days I notice.

Okay, okay

Ah, where we at on this thing. The steroids I take for the brain tumors (15 at last count, so forgive the typos) kept me up until six in the morning. Ice T wasn’t impressed. Then what… it was six and I took another steroid — dexamethasone they’re calling it now, four times a day. If you had any hopes of sleeping they’re gone because the roids keep you jacked up like Cheney with a no-bid contract in his sights*, and besides you have to wake up every six hours for the next dose anyway. Yeah, then it was seven, eight a.m., something. Then it was off to lunch and then to the hospital to get medical records to send to another doctor who can’t do anything with them anyway. But he does have a good reputation.

Then back home just long enough to notice that the vacuum device draining the wound on the old keister stopped working, earning a free trip back to the ER so a nurse could rip off the adhesive tape and stoma paste liberally ladled over the taint, pull out the spongebob buttplug, and start packing in gauze anew. As Peter Lynch once said, this goes on and on and you’ll never see a miniseries about it on tv. You guys are old enough to remember Peter Lynch, right?

Would you believe it took two days to write that claptrap? Doesn’t seem credible here either, but things have a way of getting distracted, muddled, like the syntax of this very sentence. Seriously, wtf did that even mean? Exciting as my days are it’s taking twice as long to commemorate them. I hope you have more time on your hands than I do.

*Is Cheney still aound?

Hello world!

Okay gang, just give me a minute on this thing. Jesus quit rushing me, God!! I gotta figure this thing out here. I mean I only heard about this blog business from the New York Times last week. New thing. Let me rtfm and I’ll brb, assuming I haven’t killed myself in a fit of acronym shame.