Although it’s far too beautiful up here to spend much time indoors. I’ll be posting a picture later of the latest green folly, a row of 400-foot-tall windmills on the crest of the mountains, utterly transforming the view and, I’m told, producing a total kilowatt output sufficient to charge three Tesla’s and a Chevy Volt. Funny thing: although, as a general rule, greens hate “technology”, they’ll bow to its wrath if demanded by Earth Goddess Gaia. “But they’re windmills”, the head of the National Resource Defense Council told one resident, who sought his organization’s help blocking this project. Says it all.
Camp Cancer Report
“My friends! I have been adventuring.
I so wish that I could regale you all with photographic evidence of boats and airplanes and islands and sharks and Southern California beauties, but my phone/camera now runs with the hood rats of Costa Mesa, no doubt staying up well past its bedtime. And so I shall guide you through this recalling of days past using only the power of words! Prepare yourself.
Catalina was a hoot. And warm. And there were palm trees, guys, real ones. I spent four days on the island with a bunch of other cancerheads, swimming among stingrays and sharks, hiking among leftover buffalo, and talking survival tactics. I met some of the most fantastic folks this side of Stage IV. Friends for life. Why do so many awesome people get cancer? Is it healthier to be an asshole? Maybe assholes corner the market on heart disease. Who knows.
Turns out I was the only greenhorn at Cancer Camp. Everyone else was either in the midst of treatment or had already made it through. There were some serious survivors in the mix and it was inspiring. And I learned A LOT. Did you know “night sweats” are a thing? They are totally a thing.
My phone was cast to the tide with appropriate SoCal nonchalance. At first I was upset, but a) cancer!, and b) the phone’s absence eventually led to a spectacular two day extended stay in California. I ate delicious food, played spontaneous music, walked through Buddhist gardens and chased sleazy weasels through the seedier parts of town, all in the company of two of the world’s most gorgeous souls. Those extra days were worth a hundred damn iPhones.
Today was Day 1 of the Chemo. I went in this morning. They stabbed Frank (my chesticle) right in the face! Then Frank (I’ve got him under my skin) sipped on a lovely cocktail of chemicals for about three hours, after which they fashioned me with a fabulous mechanical fanny pack and sent me on my way. While I felt alright for the first few hours, I’ve since transmogrified into Barfatron 4000. It’s not the most fun I’ve ever had, but I’ve whined worse about less, so whatever. Years from now I’ll look back upon these moments with fondness. Remember that time I thought I had to sneeze, and instead blew chunks out both nostrils? Glad I was outside.
The mechanical fanny pack is actually a portable dispenser of liquid chemo justice. He’s part of the deal, 48 hours every two weeks. I’ve named him Tonto, which obviously makes me…wait for it…Chemosabe.
That’s about all I have to say about that.
I love you all. Thank you doesn’t say enough.