Fly times

Dang, it’s already September, almost. I’ve barely posted anything on here, just when you folks have gotten used to hourly updates on your RSS. Does this site work on RSS? Is RSS something to do with the computer?

Anyway I’m flying to New York to get chemo from Dr. Times (as in, front page of). Then it’s back to Kansas City on Friday, then back to New York the following Friday, then back to K.C. the Friday after that… If anyone knows where I am on any given Tuesday they win a prize. The prize is managing my bi-coastal* doctor appointments.

So posting will be even more sporadic over the next month. I gotta run, the Mets have runners on first and third with one out against the Marlins.

X O X O

*East coast, and West coast of the Mississippi River
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Nonstop service to Budapest

Yeah, watched the Criterion edition of Stranger Than Paradise last night, trip down 80s hipster memory lane. I saw that movie I don’t know how many times when I was a little kid teenager — maybe a million. I’m sure I could recite entire scenes from memory, complete with a 100% authentic impression of Richard Edson; what could Max do about it? Speaking of Edson, am I the only one who didn’t know he was the original drummer for Sonic Youth? Street cred takes another hit there.

Like anyone else,* when I saw the movie back then, all I could think was how COOL everything looked. The city looked cool, the actors looked cool, the soundtrack? Cool as Ice! Was the John Lurie character cool? Just look at his hat, baby! He’s lean and he smokes cigarettes, what more do you want?

Seeing it again with the eyes of an old dork who likes Paul McCartney songs**, I finally realized what a low-life Lurie / Willie is. I mean, he acts pissy about having to put up his Hungarian cousin for ten days, complaining that she’s going to disrupt his schedule — his schedule of laying around watching TV and occasionally going to the racetrack. He alternately ignores and insults here, only warming up to her after she reveals her talents for shoplifting — maybe she’s a low-life like me!

Then she leaves and a year goes by. Willie and Eddie grift about $500 out of some poker players — one of whom is played by Michael Morra, who delivered my new favorite drug, Dilaudid, to Sid Vicious the night he killed Nancy Spungen. Small world. Anyhow, Willie tells Eddie they should drive to Cleveland to meet up with the Hungarian cousin, Eva. That’s right — Willie hasn’t scored in a year, and he thinks his best shot is with his teenaged cousin! Rock on, cool guy!

They meet up in Cleveland, Willie behaves marginally better than he did in New York, then he kidnaps / rescues her and drives her to Florida. I’d hate to give away the ending of this suspenseful romance, but let’s just say they have as much fun in the Sunshine State as the Mosslers did.

Still a cool movie, though.

*As if I have any idea what anyone else thinks
**With the Beatles, I mean, don’t give me that Wings shit
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Cheating Death, Volume VI

I could think of five other times where I deked out the Eternal Footman, sure. But this is the only episode for which I have evidence. It’s a report from my (first) July visit to the hospital, and it’s when Doctor Sunshine told my wife I had 48 hours to live. I guess I’m living on borrowed time.

DATE OF ADMISSION: 7/11/2008
DATE OF CONSULTATION: 7/12/08
REASON FOR CONSULTATION: Seizure
HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS: This is a 37-year-old gentleman with a history of metastatic rectal carcinoma who was admitted for observation yesterday for severe nausea and vomiting. He was heading down for an MRI of the brain today when he had a seizure. He made a detour to the emergency room where he was stabilized. A CT was obtained, and he was transferred to the ICU.

Apparently, he has had headaches, nausea and ataxia for the past month, brain mets were identified on MRI, he was receiving radiation. Neurologic changes have occurred today, including pupil asymmetry and left-sided weakness. CT head shows multiple mets and edema. Decadron and Cerebryx have been ordered.

PAST MEDICAL HISTORY: He was diagnosed with rectal cancer in 2005. He has had surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation. Lung metastases were found in November 2007. Brain metastasis was found just last month.

REVIEW OF SYSTEMS: Unobtainable.

PHYSICAL EXAMINATION: VITAL SIGNS: Blood pressure was elevated this evening at 146/120 but came down to 12/50. Temperature afebrile. General exam: obtunded with somewhat irregular respirations. Mentation: he is unable to answer questions appropriately. He does have some speech, in fact he says complete sentences, but does not make sense. There is no dysarthria. He does not follow any commands. He does move spontaneously. Cranial nerves: right pupil is fixed and dilated. The left is about 4 mm and sluggishly reactive. Eyes are midline and conjugate. No obvious facial asymmetry. Motor exam: he spontaneously moves the right side quite well. He is not moving the left side much at all. He is unable to follow commands for formal strength testing.

DIAGNOSTIC STUDIES: CBC and metabolic profile are fairly unremarkable. CT scan importantly shows multiple mets with surrounding edema.

IMPRESSION: Mental status changes, pupil asymmetry, and left hemiparesis most likely related to brain metastases and subsequent edema.

RECOMMENDATIONS: Continue Decadron and Cerebryx, consult oncology. Unfortunately, the prognosis appears poor.

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Managing Expectations, Lesson #3415

So. Betterhalf is a big Patti Smith fan — huge, has been since she was, like, 9 or something. Couple weeks ago she gets wind of this documentary about PS called Dream of Life and shows me the well-designed web site. “But I’ll never get to see it,” she sighed, because we went back to Rockville and wasted another year live in a dead-end redneck town.*

“Well, wait a second. It’s playing in New York the week we’re going to be there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and it’s at the Film Forum, and you can order tickets online.”

And there was much rejoicing.

Fast forward to Monday the 18th. We find the only open slot on our hectic agenda is the Tuesday 5:40 showing. I go to order the tickets online, just in case it’s going to sell out, aye, and I notice a banner under a black-and-white Patti Smith photo:

“Patti Smith in attendance — August 19th at 5:40, August 21st at 7:50.”

Who says I have bad luck? My only question is when to give her the good news. I wait about 20 seconds.

“SHE’S GOING TO BE THERE??”

And there was even more rejoicing.

Tuesday afternoon now. We’re at Kinko’s — sorry, FedEx Office — where I’m doing something almost as fun as a tax audit, before doing something else fun, my 400th CT Scan in the past three years. Wife is checking out the Film Forum site, as if she can’t believe our good luck. Can’t imagine why.

“Is today already the 21st?”

“Um, yeah, I guess so. No wait, I think it’s the 18th or 19th.” We both have a firm grasp on reality.

“It says she’s coming the 21st.”

“What?”

“She’s only coming on the 21st.”

And there was no rejoicing.

Another rookie mistake from the aging veteran. This guy is slipping! What benefit did I get from ramping up the expectations so early? I could have, and clearly should have, kept my mouth shut and let it be a little surprise. Instead, another disappointment for Poor Thing. Shame.

The 5:40 ended up selling out, perhaps on the strength of the phantom showing from P.S. I was expecting an announcement, or dare I say an apology, from someone on the staff, but they didn’t care. The CT Scan ran late and by the time we got there (after enjoying a delightful meal at Greenwich Village BIstro) the only seats left were in the front row, so I enjoyed a sore neck with my film. I didn’t get a forum.

The movie itself? Well, um, there sure is a lot of Patti Smith in it!

*It’s not a redneck town at all — I just felt like being mean for no reason. Durham is the dead-end redneck town despite the presence of Duke University, the Harvard of the South. Which to me is like advertising “The finest French bistro in all of Chad.”
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And on your way out

Just wanted to note that when you use the Philips Sonicare electric toothbrush on your molars the back-and-forth action combined with the hum of the bristles sounds just like the ending to “White Light, White Heat.”

That is all.
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… so I’ll just say ‘fare thee well’

August 2008

Goodbye is going to be on hiatus for a week or forever. Tomorrow I’m flying to to Pittsburgh in feverish anticipation of Geekday, in which the nerdiest Met fans on the planet meet up for a Saturday night game against the Pirates. Oh, am I fired up for this. So fired up that I’m willing to risk death and get on an airplane, against doctor’s orders.

Well, sort of.

A couple of months ago, when I was hallucinating and only seeing 3/4 of people’s faces, Doctor Sunshine said I couldn’t travel at all, even by car. Since then I’ve had radiation to the head, shrinking the 15 lesions on the brain. I’ve also had more steroids than [unfunny joke about the Yankees here] to reduce the swelling. So there’s more real estate available up there in the skull. I can tell because my symptoms are better — I see your whole face now, just the one, and I can put my pants on without falling over. Big accomplishment, that.

Betterhalf is worried that I’ll have a seizure on the plane, but I’ve been taking anti-seizure medicine for two months as well. So I don’t prevision anything dramatic involving ambulances streaking onto the tarmac at O’Hare. More likely I think is I’ll just be trés fatigué by the time I get to PNC and all my Geeks will be like, “Damn, Simons is pretty boring in person.”

Then it’s off to New York to sell my other guitar and see the Patti Smith documentary! Oh and meet with the doctors at Sloan Kettering to see if they can keep me on the right side of the grass longer than six months. So there is that.

Well in any case, I’ll probably be too busy to rap at you for the next week at least. If I get a chance to put in a Tweeter-sized update I will. Something something I’m starting to feel like Gossip Girl now.

Comedy kicker goes here as soon as I can think of one.
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In fairness, commodities are down sharply; the DME is probably checking under the sofa cushions

From:
“DIVINE NKHOSI”
Add sender to Contacts

To:
dme@mighty.co.za
From: Mr.DIVINE NKHOSI
Department of Minerals&energy(DME)
South Africa.

First I must solicit your confidence in this transaction, this is by virtue of it’s nature as being utterly Confidential and top secret. Though I know that a transaction of this magnitude will make any one apprehensive and worried, but I am assuring you that this is real, genuine and 100% risk free.

I am a member and the Director of the Project Implementation committee, Department of Minerals and Energy, Republic of South Africa.We have An overdue Sum of fourteen Million five hundred thousand United State Dollars, I am in search of a foreign agent to assist us in the transfer of US$14.5m and subsequent investment in properties in your country. You will be required to: -

(1) Assist in the transfer of the said sum
(2) Advise on lucrative areas for investment
(3) Assist us in purchase of properties.

If you are willing to assist us in the transaction, your share of the sum will be 40% of the US$14.5M, 50% for us and 10% for miscellaneous expenses. I will be pleased as soon as you indicate your interest by including your confidential phone and fax numbers in your positive response to me.

This will enable us furnish you with further information on the procedures and modalities on how funds will be transferred or made available to you.

I await your immediate response.

Sincerely,
Dr. Divine Nkhosi.

Note; reply to my confidentail email by [edited -- saving this one for myself]

I got your autopsy right here, pal

Movie night at Casa Totem again, so let’s get into Walter Monheit mode and review these bad boys. First up? Autopsy: Postmortem with Dr. Michael Baden.

Hated it!

No, it was okay. I like Baden but this was a little skimpier than I expected. First off, $20 and it’s only an hour? Demerit. But the bigger problem is that he’s discussing five cases where he really can’t add a lot of value. I mean, Sid Vicious stabbed his girlfriend and OD’d; pretty cut and dried, so to speak. That nutty woman really wasn’t a Romanov; I think that debate’s over. O.J. Simpson? Come on now.

It was interesting to hear his critique of the original autopsy of JFK — evidently it was botched, presumably on the orders of the Bilderberg Group. We’re through the looking glass here, people. And you do get to see grisly photos of dead JFK, dead Nicole Brown, and dead Nancy Spungen, which is cool if you’re a ghoul. (It’s great when you’re straight.)

Of course what I found creepiest was the image of the fireman’s lungs after he helped clean up Ground Zero. Then again, I do have cancer in my lungs, so I’m a bit sensitive on that score. So the JFK and 9/11 stories were good and the other three were so-so. Rent, don’t buy.

Then we started Heima, which documents the free concerts Sigur Ros gave across their native Iceland that one year. It was great — too great for me. I must have been too tired when I started watching it because after half an hour I was like “Okay, this is probably the last show…. okay this one is probably it… okay…” At one point my wife got up to take an aspirin (another clue?) and I checked to see how much longer I was in for. There was still a half hour to go and I folded. The movie won.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s excellent. The photography is amazing, the music is incredible, and seeing Iceland and all the little Guðmundsdóttirs is a trip. I highly recommend it, even if you don’t dig the Sig. But the film’s intense, or at least it was too intense for this old bat at that late hour.

In other movie news my citizen activism has paid off again — the imdb has added the two ‘memorable quotes’ I submitted for Dangerous Game. I’m kind of too old to watch bad movies just to laugh at them any more, but if that’s your thing, this is a good one to check out. Harvey Keitel screaming, some other dude screaming so loud his voice cracks every other line, Madonna trying to act? You’re golden, pony boy.

Do not read while eating, or at any other time

Okay, you all remember back in March the Avastin I was taking tore a hole in my rectum and I began shitting into the bloodstream? My left ass cheek became a basketball and ended my career as a guitarist. One day I vomited, fainted, went to the ER, the good doctor started sawing away, drained a boilermaker’s worth of pus, plucked out Frank Stool (as the Sloan doctor later called him), and left me with an open wound about the size of a Blackberry. Tah dah!

They sent me home with a wound V.A.C., this newfangled device that drains the fluids from your open sore, keeping it nice and fresh and speeding up the healing process dramatically, they say. I’ve had the wound for five months now, so without the V.A.C. we’re looking at, what, a year? Yeesh. So, thank you V.A.C.

Thing is, the dressing on the wound still needs to be changed three times a week. That can be a little uncomfortable, given its sensitive position on my particular body. Yeah. Also you become very intimate with your home health nurse, believe me.

But wait, there’s more, ha ha, yeah. After the doctor finished scraping away my booty he gave me a colostomy — and it wasn’t even my birthday! I guess when your rectum is all tore up they don’t want you shitting through it. So yeah, I shit through a hole in my abdomen — you can see part of my intestines, actually… if you play your cards right that is.

So like 99% of the waste is diverted through the stoma, but there’s still this 1% blend of mucus and feces and (in my case anyhow) blood that wants to ooze through the anus. That was no problem when I had my ileostomy because I could just sit down on the toilet like a normal person.* But with this V.A.C. dressing taped over the whole, um, area, that’s out.

Don’t look at me — I warned you not to read this. And believe it or not, I actually have a story that is more disgusting and humiliating than this one. But let’s save that one for later. Like Marky Mark said in Fear, we’ve got all the time in the world.

*i.e. like a girl.

Hey Bowie, do you have one really funky sequined spacesuit, or do you have several ch-changes?

If I could cha-ha-hange the world, here’s a rule fix I’d like to see in Major League Baseball:

It’s August 9th, top of the ninth, Angels lead Yanks 11-3. Jeter comes up with men on first and third and one out. He skies one to right, the runner comes home and it’s 11-4. The next batter is also retired for the third out and the Angels wrap up the victory.

Why should Jeter be rewarded with a sac fly, an RBI, and no AB charged to him? The run is meaningless. He did not improve the Yankee chances of winning. He failed like a common dog. Since when do we reward failure in this country? Charge him with an out and take back that ribby.

It’s the same principle as defensive indifference — your team is down by five in the last inning, you “steal” second without a throw from the catcher, you don’t get the SB for your baseball card. So why get an RBI for batting in a run that doesn’t count? Maybe Jeter could drop down a bunt in that situation for the RBI — what’s the difference?

To me this inequity is so obvious that I am surprised MLB hasn’t corrected it by now. Do I have to start a letter-writing campaign? Do I need to go viral on baseball’s ass? I’ll do it, too. Faithful readers, both of them, know I’m a crank with a lot of time on my hands.

Problem is if I did have the power to change the world I would probably forget about this because I’d be too busy laughing with Rachel Weisz at how I put all my enemies in the concentration camps Alex Jones kept warning us about. Still, I think it’s worth mentioning.