12/27/07
“I am a citizen of the world.”
Diogenes the Cynic, 4th century B. C.
Dear Readers:
Did you know that St Brigid could turn her bathwater into beer? Speaking of St Brigitte, her latest blog entry (see link for gonzodiner on this blog) has important Walrus information. Please check it out. I received news that last Friday’s PET scan showed no cancer. My happiness is ineffable, beyond words.
According to the Washington Post, Blackwater Worldwide and other security firms “are operating with little regulation or oversight.” The fact that our government disregarded numerous warnings about this brings to mind Joseph Conrad’s “Heart of Darkness”(1899). More specifically, it reminds me of Francis Ford Coppola’s “Apocalypse Now”(1979), particularly that scene where the officers are having lunch together and lamenting the reality that Colonel Kurtz, one of America’s best and brightest, is operating completely beyond the pale, commanding an army of mercenaries and Montagnard tribesman that recognize no rule of law. Fact is, the U. S. military, being undermanned going in, required additional boots on the ground, and we’re not talking about Army boots here. According to Michael J. Arrighi, someone who has beeen involved with private security firms in Iraq since 2004, companies like Blackwater sprang up “like mushrooms after a rainstorm.”
“Gasoline could cost an average of 3.75 a gallon nationwide in the next four months, pushing the price in California up and over the $4 dollar mark, energy analysts predicted Wednesday,” (source Ronald White L. A. Times). By George, that settles it, my next car is a hybrid Hummer.
Speaking of movies, this excerpt from the Ann Arbor News reminded me of George A. Romero’s “Dawn of the Dead”(1978): “police are investigating a fight in the center court of Briarwood Mall that closed the mall an hour early on Christmas Eve. According to the police, a group of men attacked another group of men with a hammer and chairs.” These consumer en-raged automatons must have forgotten the true meaning of Christmas.
(From The Associated Press) “It was a stinky holiday for Robert Schoff. The 77-year-old man spent part of Christmas Eve stuck upside down in the opening of his septic tank, with his head inside and his feet kicking in the air above….it was an hour before his wife, Toni, walked by a window and saw his feet in the air.”
December 27, 2007
December 24, 2007
"What is literature compared with cooking? The one is shadow, the other substance."
E. V. Lucas
As some of my U.P. friends (who love the Packers) may know, I am a diehard Bears fan. Yesterday was sweet. Yes Bill, I've had that glimpse out of the corner of my eye. B. Q. and hubby, all my love.
Merry X-mas to all!
E. V. Lucas
As some of my U.P. friends (who love the Packers) may know, I am a diehard Bears fan. Yesterday was sweet. Yes Bill, I've had that glimpse out of the corner of my eye. B. Q. and hubby, all my love.
Merry X-mas to all!
December 20, 2007
Hillary Limbaugh
12/20/07
“Angry men are blind and foolish…”
- Pietro Aretino, 1537
Life can be tenuous. Don’t you love the holidays? They’re so, so, material -- time for friends, relatives, and associates to gather and remind themselves of something, but of what? Different things: love, hate, annoyance, and other stuff. Anonymous said they liked T. S. Eliot. R.J., I hope you dug the Francis Bacon, as you may know, he is a contemporary of Lucien Freud (see right), whom I also like. Bonnie, don’t worry, you’ll see something cool, and knowing your taste in music, that thing we do won’t disappoint. All: have you seen “Flight of the Conchords” (HBO Series)? Way cool. Sophia gave me the first two seasons as a birthday present, of which I’m very appreciative.
Health-wise, I’m feeling better. Tomorrow I go in for a TPET Scan, and then, assuming all is well, I go until February before participating in what I expect will be periodic exams to monitor my remission. As I move out from the chemo (it’s been a month and a week) I can slowly, but ever faster (if that makes sense?) feel my body recovering. I guess it goes without saying that uncertainty will follow the rest of my days. We all live with uncertainty, of course, but in that same abstract sense that we all know we’re going to die, this is a much more concrete concept for those with illness.
While I was out doing some errands, I listened to one of the CDs Les and Diane Bloom sent me for Xmas. One of the recordings was a March 1979 live “Incognito” show at “Mr. Floods Party.” Pretty cool. I assume the lineup is Wendell Bigelow on drums, R.J., Les, and myself. Les, or R.J., a question, who wrote “Encounter”? Writing about music is a bit like writing about drugs or sex, nigh on impossible. Instrumental, rock-jazz-fusion, high octane and I love it. I can’t wait to play it for my son Russ. Love the Relentless drum attack of Bob Sweet (the influence and frienship of Jack Dejohnette is much in evidence here). Thank you Les. The other CD has the 1972 recordings of Walrus in the studio doing “Helen O’Loy” and T.V. Twinkle. Praise God!
I don’t know about you, but I feel blessed that we have men like Rush Limbaugh to guide us through the cultural wasteland that is contemporary Amerika. As the gospel according to Rush would have it, “men aging makes them look more authoritative, accomplished, distinguished. Sadly, it’s not that way for women, and they will tell you.” Rush is, of course, referring to Hillary Clinton here. While I am not a follower of Hillary Clinton, I would appreciate it if all of you withering old bags out there would respond to this blog and confirm Rush’s wisdom. Rush wonders, “ Will this country want to actually watch a woman get older before their eyes on a daily basis?” I guess Rush thinks everyone watches T.V. or listens to the radio. Given the literacy level of his constituency, this makes sense. Some of us actually read, so the depth of intellect or policy positions of a given politician have nothing to do with the way they look. I mean if being handsome and charismatic were the markers of success wouldn’t our fearless leader’s charm and guile make us numero uno on the world stage. Rush says, “there will have to be steps taken to avoid the appearance of aging.” If anyone should no how to do this it would be Limbaugh. How many fat farms, cosmetic surgeries, balding comb-overs and re-hab programs has this homely windbag endured to secure his place on the air waves?
The beauty of being the leader of the most powerful nation in the world these days is that you’ll never have to worry about having to face war crimes tribunals. Heil Cheney!
Happy Holidays All
“Angry men are blind and foolish…”
- Pietro Aretino, 1537
Life can be tenuous. Don’t you love the holidays? They’re so, so, material -- time for friends, relatives, and associates to gather and remind themselves of something, but of what? Different things: love, hate, annoyance, and other stuff. Anonymous said they liked T. S. Eliot. R.J., I hope you dug the Francis Bacon, as you may know, he is a contemporary of Lucien Freud (see right), whom I also like. Bonnie, don’t worry, you’ll see something cool, and knowing your taste in music, that thing we do won’t disappoint. All: have you seen “Flight of the Conchords” (HBO Series)? Way cool. Sophia gave me the first two seasons as a birthday present, of which I’m very appreciative.
Health-wise, I’m feeling better. Tomorrow I go in for a TPET Scan, and then, assuming all is well, I go until February before participating in what I expect will be periodic exams to monitor my remission. As I move out from the chemo (it’s been a month and a week) I can slowly, but ever faster (if that makes sense?) feel my body recovering. I guess it goes without saying that uncertainty will follow the rest of my days. We all live with uncertainty, of course, but in that same abstract sense that we all know we’re going to die, this is a much more concrete concept for those with illness.
While I was out doing some errands, I listened to one of the CDs Les and Diane Bloom sent me for Xmas. One of the recordings was a March 1979 live “Incognito” show at “Mr. Floods Party.” Pretty cool. I assume the lineup is Wendell Bigelow on drums, R.J., Les, and myself. Les, or R.J., a question, who wrote “Encounter”? Writing about music is a bit like writing about drugs or sex, nigh on impossible. Instrumental, rock-jazz-fusion, high octane and I love it. I can’t wait to play it for my son Russ. Love the Relentless drum attack of Bob Sweet (the influence and frienship of Jack Dejohnette is much in evidence here). Thank you Les. The other CD has the 1972 recordings of Walrus in the studio doing “Helen O’Loy” and T.V. Twinkle. Praise God!
I don’t know about you, but I feel blessed that we have men like Rush Limbaugh to guide us through the cultural wasteland that is contemporary Amerika. As the gospel according to Rush would have it, “men aging makes them look more authoritative, accomplished, distinguished. Sadly, it’s not that way for women, and they will tell you.” Rush is, of course, referring to Hillary Clinton here. While I am not a follower of Hillary Clinton, I would appreciate it if all of you withering old bags out there would respond to this blog and confirm Rush’s wisdom. Rush wonders, “ Will this country want to actually watch a woman get older before their eyes on a daily basis?” I guess Rush thinks everyone watches T.V. or listens to the radio. Given the literacy level of his constituency, this makes sense. Some of us actually read, so the depth of intellect or policy positions of a given politician have nothing to do with the way they look. I mean if being handsome and charismatic were the markers of success wouldn’t our fearless leader’s charm and guile make us numero uno on the world stage. Rush says, “there will have to be steps taken to avoid the appearance of aging.” If anyone should no how to do this it would be Limbaugh. How many fat farms, cosmetic surgeries, balding comb-overs and re-hab programs has this homely windbag endured to secure his place on the air waves?
The beauty of being the leader of the most powerful nation in the world these days is that you’ll never have to worry about having to face war crimes tribunals. Heil Cheney!
Happy Holidays All
December 17, 2007
12/16/50
There's no vocabulary
For love within a family, love that's lived in
But not looked at, love within the light of which
All else is seen, the love within which
All other love finds speech.
T. S. Eliot
"The Elder Statesman," 1958
Dear Trainee:
There’s a blizzard today. It’s very beautiful. Shadikan charged out into a whirl and world of white that made her very happy. Muzzling snow banks and leaping through drifts is in her blood. Her thick, luxurious coat allows her to feel right at home. The sublime whiteness of the snow brightens up the world. Since it’s my birthday and I’m slowly feeling better, I too am happy.
We manned the phones, but alas, no call. One of the things we are learning, as you have come to know, is that some things are beyond our control. One person’s misstep, I’m sure, can make it so all of you suffer. Patience is virtue, or so they say. As a person with little patience, it makes more sense the older I get.
In many ways, life is a voyage into uncharted waters where uncertainty is one of the destinations. Some years ago, Alan Watts wrote a book entitled, “The Wisdom of Insecurity.” His point was that we should embrace the idea that obsessively questing after resolution, the idea that the future is a matter of solutions rather, than questions, is the way of folly.
One of the issues I’ve danced around is the idea of you joining the military. I think it’s a good idea. It’s not just that I think it would be a good experience for you, I also think what you’re coming out to makes it worth considering. I love you and this is your home, but, like yourself, I worry about the temptations of the old environment and former associates. Although mom and I are getting along great and she loves you, there is much uncertainty in her life. The more stability we can generate in our physical and psychological lives, the more it will help her. One way to do this would be for you to join up. The time will fly by, and you’ll be coming home to visit on a regular basis. As a springboard to the rest of your life, you’ll have the freedom, money, and opportunity, to become a Vet, astronaut, translator, or even a teacher.
Cancer is a humbling experience. One of the things we have in common is the way our ordeals have made us aware of is why we love others, why judgmental attitudes, anger, and negativity are wasted energies/emotions. A silver lining to the cloud of my cancer has been the kindness I feel toward others. I think those around me see it and return the feelings in kind. Goodness comes to those who are good.
Love - Dad
There's no vocabulary
For love within a family, love that's lived in
But not looked at, love within the light of which
All else is seen, the love within which
All other love finds speech.
T. S. Eliot
"The Elder Statesman," 1958
Dear Trainee:
There’s a blizzard today. It’s very beautiful. Shadikan charged out into a whirl and world of white that made her very happy. Muzzling snow banks and leaping through drifts is in her blood. Her thick, luxurious coat allows her to feel right at home. The sublime whiteness of the snow brightens up the world. Since it’s my birthday and I’m slowly feeling better, I too am happy.
We manned the phones, but alas, no call. One of the things we are learning, as you have come to know, is that some things are beyond our control. One person’s misstep, I’m sure, can make it so all of you suffer. Patience is virtue, or so they say. As a person with little patience, it makes more sense the older I get.
In many ways, life is a voyage into uncharted waters where uncertainty is one of the destinations. Some years ago, Alan Watts wrote a book entitled, “The Wisdom of Insecurity.” His point was that we should embrace the idea that obsessively questing after resolution, the idea that the future is a matter of solutions rather, than questions, is the way of folly.
One of the issues I’ve danced around is the idea of you joining the military. I think it’s a good idea. It’s not just that I think it would be a good experience for you, I also think what you’re coming out to makes it worth considering. I love you and this is your home, but, like yourself, I worry about the temptations of the old environment and former associates. Although mom and I are getting along great and she loves you, there is much uncertainty in her life. The more stability we can generate in our physical and psychological lives, the more it will help her. One way to do this would be for you to join up. The time will fly by, and you’ll be coming home to visit on a regular basis. As a springboard to the rest of your life, you’ll have the freedom, money, and opportunity, to become a Vet, astronaut, translator, or even a teacher.
Cancer is a humbling experience. One of the things we have in common is the way our ordeals have made us aware of is why we love others, why judgmental attitudes, anger, and negativity are wasted energies/emotions. A silver lining to the cloud of my cancer has been the kindness I feel toward others. I think those around me see it and return the feelings in kind. Goodness comes to those who are good.
Love - Dad
December 12, 2007
"I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to."
-- Elvis Presley
This is the story of a band called Pinguino. In their heyday, which was a short period in the late sixties and early seventies, they had a certain local appeal in the frozen north. After some years had passed, perhaps a decade or two, they, along with their now aging audience, thought it might be fun to reunite and celebrate old times. And so they began to play once a year, which turned out to be a nostalgic time that brought together not only the band, but also many of their loyal followers, who would otherwise probably never see each other.
Originally, Pinguino had a lead singer, Morris, a lead guitar player, Herman, a bass and guitar player, Paris and Louis, and a drummer, Buddy. While the group had a changing line up in their early years, the reunions usually had these five members. What had at first been great fun, their annual get together, slowly became tedious, a chore. Rehearsing for this once a year event became a pain in the ass for Morris, whose house they practiced at, and, in part, because of Louis’s overbearing insistence on what they played. They were overcome by a high seriousness that, sadly, didn’t become their style. As a solution they decided to take a year off. No one could say for sure that it would only be a year, but all agreed it was a good idea.
After the summer passed, Morris and Herman (at least according to Herman) decided that any future reunions should put Louis on the bass and exclude Paris completely. And so Herman went to Paris and asked if he didn’t think the group would be better served without him. For some in the group, like Louis, this was a real head-scratcher. To Louis, this would be like going up to a welder, a ballerina, or a prison guard, and saying, “doesn’t it make sense to you, sir or madam, that the community would benefit from your admitting that you are not very good at what you do, and doesn't it make sense that you not be a part of the group.”
For Louis, it was hard to fathom how Herman could expect anyone to agree with this kind of logic. “O. K., you’re right Herman, I’m not good at what I do and I think everyone would benefit if I didn’t participate.” Even if this were true, Louis thought, how could Herman really expect a person to agree that, yes they were inadequate at what they do, and yes it would be a good idea if they accepted his logic. Louis simply could not understand how Herman could expect someone to agree that their being unwanted was a good thing. Louis could certainly understand Herman’s thinking, what escaped him was Herman’s belief that he could convince Paris that his not being a part of the band was really a good thing. Herman even thought that if he wrote this down all would be convinced. Was it a lack of inter-personal skills? Louis wasn’t sure, maybe a consequence of social isolation, who could know? He could easily understand Herman and Morris’s wanting him to move to bass, but the idea of not including Paris seemed rude, cold, and inappropriate, given what these reunions had come to stand for: less an aesthetic attempt to reinvent the wheel than a time for old friends to reunite.
Like any good postmodern tale, the lesson of the Pinguino story is one of cosmic uncertainty: will Paris and Louis survive a fantasy island reality where they believe in follies like global warming and Guantanamo torture? Will they come to their senses and accept Rush Limbaugh's wisdom that those soldiers in Iraq who are critical of American policy are cowards? Will Herman recognize the idea that the audience is an important part of playing music? Will singing fusion versions of "I Can't Help Falling in Love with You" and "Little Red Book" accelerate Morris's career? Can Buddy learn to bite his tongue when his mouth beckons his foot? Time will tell.
-- Elvis Presley
This is the story of a band called Pinguino. In their heyday, which was a short period in the late sixties and early seventies, they had a certain local appeal in the frozen north. After some years had passed, perhaps a decade or two, they, along with their now aging audience, thought it might be fun to reunite and celebrate old times. And so they began to play once a year, which turned out to be a nostalgic time that brought together not only the band, but also many of their loyal followers, who would otherwise probably never see each other.Originally, Pinguino had a lead singer, Morris, a lead guitar player, Herman, a bass and guitar player, Paris and Louis, and a drummer, Buddy. While the group had a changing line up in their early years, the reunions usually had these five members. What had at first been great fun, their annual get together, slowly became tedious, a chore. Rehearsing for this once a year event became a pain in the ass for Morris, whose house they practiced at, and, in part, because of Louis’s overbearing insistence on what they played. They were overcome by a high seriousness that, sadly, didn’t become their style. As a solution they decided to take a year off. No one could say for sure that it would only be a year, but all agreed it was a good idea.
After the summer passed, Morris and Herman (at least according to Herman) decided that any future reunions should put Louis on the bass and exclude Paris completely. And so Herman went to Paris and asked if he didn’t think the group would be better served without him. For some in the group, like Louis, this was a real head-scratcher. To Louis, this would be like going up to a welder, a ballerina, or a prison guard, and saying, “doesn’t it make sense to you, sir or madam, that the community would benefit from your admitting that you are not very good at what you do, and doesn't it make sense that you not be a part of the group.”
For Louis, it was hard to fathom how Herman could expect anyone to agree with this kind of logic. “O. K., you’re right Herman, I’m not good at what I do and I think everyone would benefit if I didn’t participate.” Even if this were true, Louis thought, how could Herman really expect a person to agree that, yes they were inadequate at what they do, and yes it would be a good idea if they accepted his logic. Louis simply could not understand how Herman could expect someone to agree that their being unwanted was a good thing. Louis could certainly understand Herman’s thinking, what escaped him was Herman’s belief that he could convince Paris that his not being a part of the band was really a good thing. Herman even thought that if he wrote this down all would be convinced. Was it a lack of inter-personal skills? Louis wasn’t sure, maybe a consequence of social isolation, who could know? He could easily understand Herman and Morris’s wanting him to move to bass, but the idea of not including Paris seemed rude, cold, and inappropriate, given what these reunions had come to stand for: less an aesthetic attempt to reinvent the wheel than a time for old friends to reunite.
Like any good postmodern tale, the lesson of the Pinguino story is one of cosmic uncertainty: will Paris and Louis survive a fantasy island reality where they believe in follies like global warming and Guantanamo torture? Will they come to their senses and accept Rush Limbaugh's wisdom that those soldiers in Iraq who are critical of American policy are cowards? Will Herman recognize the idea that the audience is an important part of playing music? Will singing fusion versions of "I Can't Help Falling in Love with You" and "Little Red Book" accelerate Morris's career? Can Buddy learn to bite his tongue when his mouth beckons his foot? Time will tell.
December 5, 2007
12/05/07
“Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.”
- Alexander Pope, 1727
Dear Trainee:
It’s a kind of gray day. I sent you a card yesterday with the good news that my latest CT Scan revealed no recurrence of the cancer. Yahoo! I think that’s what I wrote. Also, we’ll be manning the phones on both Thursday and Friday. Friday, I might have an early gig, but I’ll try to make it home in time. Today, I’m thinking about getting ready to teach school in the Winter Semester.
One of the things you are finding out about is the importance of memory. I think most of us take it for granted; but when our freedom is taken away, memory, in some ways, is all we have. Another conclusion you’ve probably come to, is that you have memories, a family, a chance, a future that some of those around you have never had, and never will have. I suppose a part of the wisdom in the statement, “stay in the present” is the idea that you can’t change the past, and the future is unpredictable; but it’s worth reminding ourselves that when the present is simply too much to bear, we can find solace in past memories and future hopes.
I know I’ve briefly mentioned the service before, and I don’t want to preach. However, let me say this. Since you yourself said that the S.A. I. boot camp is longer and more grueling than military boot camp, it’s worth considering shipping out to one of the branches of the service. You can be like Ishmael in “Moby Dick.” You can see the world! The R.O.T.C. programs at various colleges, both near and far, are also a good idea. You’ve already got some credits that would probably transfer wherever you might decide to go. These are just some things to think about.
These are good times for warm dreams. Do you dream much? I suppose dreams are similar to memories, just more jumbled up, non-linear. No, I take that back, dreams are different. I’ll have to think about why. Dream: a series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep.
I should enclose a photo, but I can’t think of which to send: pet, you, mom, Russell, me, all, new, old? I’m looking at one now where you and I are sitting on the rock cliff by Lake Superior. Here’s one of me holding you when you were only days old. Here’s another of you and mom coloring Easter eggs. This one is from Belize, a shot of you, mom, and Lynn, and finally, one of Sumo peering in the basement in mid-winter. I can’t remember if you can have one or two. I’ll send two.
Love - Dad
“Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.”
- Alexander Pope, 1727
Dear Trainee:
It’s a kind of gray day. I sent you a card yesterday with the good news that my latest CT Scan revealed no recurrence of the cancer. Yahoo! I think that’s what I wrote. Also, we’ll be manning the phones on both Thursday and Friday. Friday, I might have an early gig, but I’ll try to make it home in time. Today, I’m thinking about getting ready to teach school in the Winter Semester.
One of the things you are finding out about is the importance of memory. I think most of us take it for granted; but when our freedom is taken away, memory, in some ways, is all we have. Another conclusion you’ve probably come to, is that you have memories, a family, a chance, a future that some of those around you have never had, and never will have. I suppose a part of the wisdom in the statement, “stay in the present” is the idea that you can’t change the past, and the future is unpredictable; but it’s worth reminding ourselves that when the present is simply too much to bear, we can find solace in past memories and future hopes.
I know I’ve briefly mentioned the service before, and I don’t want to preach. However, let me say this. Since you yourself said that the S.A. I. boot camp is longer and more grueling than military boot camp, it’s worth considering shipping out to one of the branches of the service. You can be like Ishmael in “Moby Dick.” You can see the world! The R.O.T.C. programs at various colleges, both near and far, are also a good idea. You’ve already got some credits that would probably transfer wherever you might decide to go. These are just some things to think about.
These are good times for warm dreams. Do you dream much? I suppose dreams are similar to memories, just more jumbled up, non-linear. No, I take that back, dreams are different. I’ll have to think about why. Dream: a series of images, ideas, emotions, and sensations occurring involuntarily in the mind during certain stages of sleep.
I should enclose a photo, but I can’t think of which to send: pet, you, mom, Russell, me, all, new, old? I’m looking at one now where you and I are sitting on the rock cliff by Lake Superior. Here’s one of me holding you when you were only days old. Here’s another of you and mom coloring Easter eggs. This one is from Belize, a shot of you, mom, and Lynn, and finally, one of Sumo peering in the basement in mid-winter. I can’t remember if you can have one or two. I’ll send two.
Love - Dad
December 2, 2007
Evel Knievel's Dead
12/02/07O
Evel Knievel’s dead, and I’m not feelin' too good myself. Well folks, to quote a George Bedard lyric, “Where have I been all my life?” Speaking of George, last Thursday he called to say the Firefly Club had a cancellation on Saturday, and asked if I was able to do the gig. This was shortly after a nurse had called to inform me my white blood cell counts were alarmingly low. This news, combined with the neuropathy (shot nerves), which is now such that tasks requiring fine motor skills are a challenge, left me little choice but to say no. The tasks I speak of would include operating zippers, tying shoelaces, buttoning shirts and pants, and starting the car. You will recall that when turning the key in the ignition there is a slight resistance. This makes it such that sometimes two hands are required to fire up the sled. Regarding the blood count stuff, one of the medicines they were considering giving me, Neulasta (which I’ve received before), was on a pharmaceutical price list I got. Cost: $5,966.00 per injection.
I also had to turn down tickets for the UM hockey game on Saturday night. Big crowds are to be avoided. If some of this sounds grim or glum, no worries. I happen to feel much better, especially knowing that this Tuesday, for the first time in six months, I won’t have to get the toxic infusion treatment. This means, regardless of cancer, I can continue to recover from the chemo assault. I’m listening to Dylan’s Time Out of Mind (“Tryin' to get to Heaven”). This disc was produced by Daniel Lanois, and happens to be one of my modern Dylan faves, although I have to say Love and Theft, and Modern Times have grown on me. Mentioning Dylan also gives me a chance to send out deep thanks to my dear friend, J. Kent Bourland, who gave me a beautiful hard bound copy of Dylan: 1962/2001 Lyrics. Thank you. Kent is truly a Dylan fanatic. Thank you, Kent. Julia, hi, and thanks for reading the blog. You asked about Brigitte’s helpfulness. She has been indispensable in helping me through this time -- steady, loving, caring. She is “the American Dream.”
A frustrating reality of wanting to describe the low moments is that you/one/I have no energy to record the feelings. Now, here I sit, trying to re-present pain, or, un-well-ness. It sucks. A wise sushi bar waitress once said, "Don’t cry!"
Had a cat scan
Had a cat scan
Had a cat scan, last night….
Last night….
Actually it was last Friday. Here’s how Bill Behnke would describe the taste of the frosty treat they provide, "Bari-yummy!"
So what if you can use the “Yellow Rose of Texas” as a guide to reciting Emily Dickinson? I still like her. He kindly stopped for me, indeed!
It’s a foggy winter’s day, Trainee T.. Just turned on the telly, where Lions are dueling with Vikings. Up. Down. Blah. Blah. Walk, talk, sit, ponder. Okay. Just watched a 104 yard Minny kickoff return. Last Thursday night, it was the gunslinger rather than the game manager who showed up in Dallas. The Pack needed some of that Twilight Zone, Doug McClure duel-at-Diablo juice. So the Pope’s put out a new encyclical. In it he rails against Godlessness. Sounds like Osama. The Pope and Osama need to sit down together and watch Angelina Jolie in “Beowolf.”
Papa’s got a brand new bag.
According to the Pontiff, “To protest against God in the name of injustice is not helpful.” Why? Because “only God can create justice.” The Holy Father goes on to say that, “faith is what gives us the certainty” that God is infallible in dispensing this justice.
The Pope writes, “A world without God is a world without hope.” What are those with no hope, but a belief in God, to do? If I, in my faith in God and justice, can’t reduce their plight to a case of Marxist manna chewing, how do I square my Christian ethic with their humanitarian neglect? In their world of chaos and want, violence and death, they should keep their faith in a belief that God will create justice. Sounds like catch 22.
For the Pope, the evil twin of Marxism, from an ideological perspective, is the Enlightenment. Why? Because the Age of Reason ushered in a world of modern skepticism.
But even the skeptic can be a believer. I mean “trans-substantiation” is a fine example of a euphemism for ritualistic Christian belief; it allows us to see communion as, at once, literal and symbolic. But the Christian sensibility is lacking when it comes to a rhetoric of justice. Matthew’s gospel of the workers in the vineyard, and Christ’s idea of rendering to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's, are woefully inadequate to the problems in the world today. What words can we come up with for not helping the desperate poor?
Dear Trainee:
So you saw an owl, maybe it was I. I do remember one night when I was feeling a bit owlish. You mentioned that time passes, sometimes quickly, and sometimes slowly, but it passes. Boot camps and other times of hardship make this inevitable fact unavoidable. One of the conclusions I’ve reached is that even though we’re hard-wired to think of misfortune as something that always falls on someone else, it’s not really true. That wiring becomes a bit frayed when it’s not someone else, but you. You mention the idea of “living elsewhere,” of “escaping the bad surroundings where bad happened.” One of the tragic stories in the news lately concerns the 24 year-old professional football player, Sean Taylor, who was shot to death in Miami. He had come from a tough background and circumstances, but he had turned his life around. His friends had told him to move north, forget about Miami. Here is an excerpt from Michael Wilbon’s column in today’s The Washington Post:
“The issue of separating yourself from a harmful environment is a recurring theme in the life of black men. It has nothing to do with football, or Sean Taylor or even sports. To frame it as a sports issue, is as insulting as it is naïve. Most of us, perhaps even the great majority of us who grew up in big urban communities, have to make a decision at some point to hang out or get out.
“The kid who becomes a pharmaceutical rep has the same call to make as the lawyer or delivery guy or accountant or sportswriter or football player: Cut off anybody who might do harm, even those who have been friends from the sandbox, or go along to get along.
“Mainstream folks—and, yes, this is a code word for white folks—see high-profile athletes dealing with this dilemma and think it’s specific to them, while black folks know it’s everyday stuff for everybody, for KIDS WITH ASPIRATIONS OF ALL KINDS. Some do, some don’t. Some will, some won’t. Some can, some cannot. Often it’s gut-wrenching. Usually it’s NECESSARY. For some, it takes a little bit too long.”
I thought his article was especially important after reading your thoughts about “fresh starts” and leading a “healthier and better” life. I know this sounds weird, but right now you are really doing great. You are appreciating what, family, freedom, and health really mean.
Evel Knievel’s dead, and I’m not feelin' too good myself. Well folks, to quote a George Bedard lyric, “Where have I been all my life?” Speaking of George, last Thursday he called to say the Firefly Club had a cancellation on Saturday, and asked if I was able to do the gig. This was shortly after a nurse had called to inform me my white blood cell counts were alarmingly low. This news, combined with the neuropathy (shot nerves), which is now such that tasks requiring fine motor skills are a challenge, left me little choice but to say no. The tasks I speak of would include operating zippers, tying shoelaces, buttoning shirts and pants, and starting the car. You will recall that when turning the key in the ignition there is a slight resistance. This makes it such that sometimes two hands are required to fire up the sled. Regarding the blood count stuff, one of the medicines they were considering giving me, Neulasta (which I’ve received before), was on a pharmaceutical price list I got. Cost: $5,966.00 per injection.
I also had to turn down tickets for the UM hockey game on Saturday night. Big crowds are to be avoided. If some of this sounds grim or glum, no worries. I happen to feel much better, especially knowing that this Tuesday, for the first time in six months, I won’t have to get the toxic infusion treatment. This means, regardless of cancer, I can continue to recover from the chemo assault. I’m listening to Dylan’s Time Out of Mind (“Tryin' to get to Heaven”). This disc was produced by Daniel Lanois, and happens to be one of my modern Dylan faves, although I have to say Love and Theft, and Modern Times have grown on me. Mentioning Dylan also gives me a chance to send out deep thanks to my dear friend, J. Kent Bourland, who gave me a beautiful hard bound copy of Dylan: 1962/2001 Lyrics. Thank you. Kent is truly a Dylan fanatic. Thank you, Kent. Julia, hi, and thanks for reading the blog. You asked about Brigitte’s helpfulness. She has been indispensable in helping me through this time -- steady, loving, caring. She is “the American Dream.”
A frustrating reality of wanting to describe the low moments is that you/one/I have no energy to record the feelings. Now, here I sit, trying to re-present pain, or, un-well-ness. It sucks. A wise sushi bar waitress once said, "Don’t cry!"
Had a cat scan
Had a cat scan
Had a cat scan, last night….
Last night….
Actually it was last Friday. Here’s how Bill Behnke would describe the taste of the frosty treat they provide, "Bari-yummy!"
So what if you can use the “Yellow Rose of Texas” as a guide to reciting Emily Dickinson? I still like her. He kindly stopped for me, indeed!
It’s a foggy winter’s day, Trainee T.. Just turned on the telly, where Lions are dueling with Vikings. Up. Down. Blah. Blah. Walk, talk, sit, ponder. Okay. Just watched a 104 yard Minny kickoff return. Last Thursday night, it was the gunslinger rather than the game manager who showed up in Dallas. The Pack needed some of that Twilight Zone, Doug McClure duel-at-Diablo juice. So the Pope’s put out a new encyclical. In it he rails against Godlessness. Sounds like Osama. The Pope and Osama need to sit down together and watch Angelina Jolie in “Beowolf.”
Papa’s got a brand new bag.
According to the Pontiff, “To protest against God in the name of injustice is not helpful.” Why? Because “only God can create justice.” The Holy Father goes on to say that, “faith is what gives us the certainty” that God is infallible in dispensing this justice.
The Pope writes, “A world without God is a world without hope.” What are those with no hope, but a belief in God, to do? If I, in my faith in God and justice, can’t reduce their plight to a case of Marxist manna chewing, how do I square my Christian ethic with their humanitarian neglect? In their world of chaos and want, violence and death, they should keep their faith in a belief that God will create justice. Sounds like catch 22.
For the Pope, the evil twin of Marxism, from an ideological perspective, is the Enlightenment. Why? Because the Age of Reason ushered in a world of modern skepticism.
But even the skeptic can be a believer. I mean “trans-substantiation” is a fine example of a euphemism for ritualistic Christian belief; it allows us to see communion as, at once, literal and symbolic. But the Christian sensibility is lacking when it comes to a rhetoric of justice. Matthew’s gospel of the workers in the vineyard, and Christ’s idea of rendering to Caesar what is Caesar's, and to God what is God's, are woefully inadequate to the problems in the world today. What words can we come up with for not helping the desperate poor?
Dear Trainee:
So you saw an owl, maybe it was I. I do remember one night when I was feeling a bit owlish. You mentioned that time passes, sometimes quickly, and sometimes slowly, but it passes. Boot camps and other times of hardship make this inevitable fact unavoidable. One of the conclusions I’ve reached is that even though we’re hard-wired to think of misfortune as something that always falls on someone else, it’s not really true. That wiring becomes a bit frayed when it’s not someone else, but you. You mention the idea of “living elsewhere,” of “escaping the bad surroundings where bad happened.” One of the tragic stories in the news lately concerns the 24 year-old professional football player, Sean Taylor, who was shot to death in Miami. He had come from a tough background and circumstances, but he had turned his life around. His friends had told him to move north, forget about Miami. Here is an excerpt from Michael Wilbon’s column in today’s The Washington Post:
“The issue of separating yourself from a harmful environment is a recurring theme in the life of black men. It has nothing to do with football, or Sean Taylor or even sports. To frame it as a sports issue, is as insulting as it is naïve. Most of us, perhaps even the great majority of us who grew up in big urban communities, have to make a decision at some point to hang out or get out.
“The kid who becomes a pharmaceutical rep has the same call to make as the lawyer or delivery guy or accountant or sportswriter or football player: Cut off anybody who might do harm, even those who have been friends from the sandbox, or go along to get along.
“Mainstream folks—and, yes, this is a code word for white folks—see high-profile athletes dealing with this dilemma and think it’s specific to them, while black folks know it’s everyday stuff for everybody, for KIDS WITH ASPIRATIONS OF ALL KINDS. Some do, some don’t. Some will, some won’t. Some can, some cannot. Often it’s gut-wrenching. Usually it’s NECESSARY. For some, it takes a little bit too long.”
I thought his article was especially important after reading your thoughts about “fresh starts” and leading a “healthier and better” life. I know this sounds weird, but right now you are really doing great. You are appreciating what, family, freedom, and health really mean.
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