FOOTBALL!!!

I went 5 - 1 in my college picks last week but only 8 - 8 in the pros.  Not too bad overall but not nearly as good as my previous two undefeated weeks.  Which sadly went unrecorded so you'll have to trust me on it.  Without further ado, this weeks picks.

Detroit +1.5 over DALLAS - Six field goals?  Really, I'm supposed to be convinced that Tony Romo is a great leader because of six field goals?

New Orleans -7 over JACKSONVILLE - If you are in the Jacksonville area, tickets are still available!  Look at it as your chance to pick up a authentic Jacksonville jersey before they move to LA and it becomes an overpriced throwback.  Also, if you can find a seat close to the sidelines Jack Del Rio may ask you to suit up.

PHILLY - 9 over San Fran - I'm getting the feeling that The Niners are a lot tougher than I originally gave them credit for and Andy Reid's Eagles are a lot weaker than everyone else gave them credit for but there is simply no way in hell I'd bet on Alex Smith in a place like Philly with the Eagles needing a win.  I do like Harbaugh's staying in Youngstown gimmick.  If it pays off I'm sure we'll get a couple of weeks worth of annoying stories on ESPN about it. 

Washington -2 over ST. LOUIS - I was wondering why the Rams have looked so incredibly bad these first three weeks and then I realized Josh McDaniels is their Offensive Coordinator!  I'll be adding the Rams to my list of teams to bet against in almost every conceivable scenario.

CLEVELAND Pick'em over Tennessee - I've got to admit, I'm kind of a Colt McCoy fan.  He seems to have that certain thing that makes an otherwise ordinary quarterback a winner.  I've never felt that Hasselbeck has that thing. 

Buffalo -3 over CINCY - How does Marvin Lewis remain employed in the world of proffesional football?  As a head coach?  I could understand D-backs Coach Marvin Lewis or maybe Assitant to the Equipment Manager Marvin Lewis but Head Coach!?  Thank God the Bengals are in the same division as the Steelers.

KC +2 over Minny - Read an article on how McNabb refuses to tweak his form.  That's exactly what you want to hear as a Viking's fan how your washed up QB won't take instruction.  It worked out for Namath with the Rams and it worked out for Unitas with the Chargers.  No, wait, those didn't work out.  Not at all. 

CHICAGO -6.5 over Carolina - I would have had the cover on the Bears had that bullshit block in the back penalty not been called on Johnny Knox's amazing punt return.  I'm sticking with the Bears and betting on NFL Karma.

Pittsburgh +4 over HOUSTON - I know this is a great example of betting with your heart and not your head.  What can I say, I'm a huge Steelers fan.  I'm thinking they are on a one game on one game off type flow right now and as bad as they looked against the Colts they'll come out gangbusters against the Texans.  That's what I'm telling myself.

Atlanta -4.5 over SEATTLE - Even with the win last week the Seahawks still have Pete Carroll as their head coach and Tavarias Jackson as their QB.  Until that changes I'm taking Atlanta.

ARIZONA +1 over NY Giants - Looking for a post-big win let down here for the G-Men.  Tough to do the cross country travel in either direction and especially tough to stay up after a huge revenge game over a divisional opponent.

SAN DIEGO -7 over Miami - This pick can be explained in two words - Tony Sparano. 

Denver +13 over GREEN BAY - Too many points to not take them.  Plus with Orton struggling there's a chance that Timothy Tebow may see the field.  I'm excited about being able to see the hand of God come down from the heavens for the first time ever at a sporting event and point out the side he is rooting for. 

New England -5 over OAKLAND - I can't see the Raiders doing it two weeks in a row especially not after the Pats blew the Buffalo game.  That being said, as much as I hate the Pats I'd be happy to be wrong.

NY Jets +4 over BALTIMORE - Same can be said here.  Don't see the Jets getting clubbed two weeks in a row. 

TAMPA -10 over Indy - A chance to bet against Curtis Painter?  A guy that looks like the Dutch Boy Paints logo mated with Miss Piggy?  A guy that 73 year old Jeff George said he could do better than?  Yes, please.

College

BYU -8 over Utah State
Baylor -4 over K STATE
Clemson +7 over VATECH
Nebraska +10 over WISCONSIN
Washington +10 over UTAH

Another Million Dollar Idea!

It occurred to me last night, while watching one of those unintentionally comical Christianmingle.com commercials, that as far as I know there is no website dedicated to matching up the infirmed.  We've got JDate for the Single Chosen People out there.  eHarmony for those hopeless romantics that believe their soulmate is somewhere out there, has twelve cats and is a huge Harry Potter fan just like they are.  Match.com for those in need of a emotionally devoid quicky hook-up.  Countless Russian and/or Thai bride sites - I'm just assuming, I swear I've never looked.  Ashleymadison.com for those philandering types that are too lazy to hit a seedy bar while supposedly "working late" like their forefather (and foremothers) did in the past.  There are even prison dating sites so you know where your man or woman is at all times (the yard, chowline or in the celly are your likely options).  Where is the representation on the web for the Florence (or Franklin) Nightingale types that want more than anything to care for and fall in love with a sick person?  Or how about sick people looking for other sick people to swap meds, hospital tales and eventually bodily fluids with? 

Honestly I haven't looked to see if these sites exist or not.  I'm pretty well convinced that every time you do an odd web search your name gets dropped into a file somewhere inside The Pentagon or Langley or Area 51 or any one of those other places we are supposed to be afraid of.  As a remarkably unsuccessful screenwriter I've already googled a lot of weird stuff - Welsh slang, thermonuclear devices, Pattie LaBelle and abandoned NY subway tunnels to name a few.  I'm certain there is already a dossier pegging me as a Welsh separatist with plans to blow up Manhattan while singing On My Own at the top of my lungs.  I don't need to add the horribly sad title of "internet dater" to that resume.  Being called a potential terrorist I can live with.  Accused of being bad with The Ladies I cannot.

So I am once again calling on my hoards of readers (if I got you all into a small banquet hall it'd probably look like a horde) to go forth and create a dating web site for the un-datables.  Okay, that's a little cruel, most of the un-datables already joined eHarmony.  Create a website where people with medically common interests (like white blood cell counts, breakthroughs in hormone therapy and the latest in wig design) can meet, fall in love and get treatments together.  It doesn't just have to be for cancer patients.  Restless leg syndrome sufferers could bond online.  Have those Jimmy-legged bastards deal with laying in a bed together and let the rest of us get some uninterrupted sleep.  Gout sufferers could stuff their faces together.  Behind closed doors, preferably, no one should ever have to watch them eat.  Manics could laugh and cry and laugh and cry and laugh and cry and laugh and cry and laugh and cry and laugh and cry - well, you get the point - together.  This site needs to happen.  Just think about how many totally fucked up people there are in this world.  Some of them are reading this blog right now.  You know who you are.  You'd use this dating site.  It's a gold mine!

That's the assignment for today.  Let's fix these people up together.  I'd be the first to join but I've already found my equally ill partner.  No, she doesn't have cancer like me but she's easily as crazy as I am.  Love you, Darlin.

 

Chemo: The Reckoning

I got some pretty good news yesterday.  Yesterday was my bi-weekly trip to Cancer Care of Maine.  I met with my brilliant oncologist, Hans Gruber (last seen in 1988 at the Nakatomi Towers - Oh, I hope that's not a hostage) and once he was done negotiating the release of five members of the Asian Dawn movement he informed me that my Hodgkin's Lymphoma is greatly reduced.  My lymph glands are responding very strongly to the Chemo and if all goes well I'll only need two more months of infusions followed by radiation.  That would put me in the clear by New Years 2012!  I get the feeling Hans is way way smarter than me (and I'm wicked smaht, as we Mainers like to say).  Whenever I make some analogy as to how my body is doing or what the remaining months of treatment looks like he pauses, thinks to himself "if that's how your tiny brain needs to think of it" then he responds with a sympathetic "yeah, something like that." 

Honestly, the treatment I've received from every single person at Cancer Care of Maine and at EMMC when both myself and my Father were there is beyond remarkable.  Han's secretary, I'll call her Scheduler Extraordinaire! is one of the kindest women I've ever met plus she's a whiz with my weekly tests/treatments.  She can recite my schedule without ever having to check the computer and I'm certain I'm not their only patient.  The most charming one for sure but not the only one.  The Nurses in the blood draw and infusion center are a giant group of remarkable women.  They are knowledgeable, kind, friendly and all around fantastic.     

Now the bad news.  The Chemo is winning.  I'm not talking about in the fight against my Lymphoma.  That's a good thing.  The Chemo is winning in my battle to be side-effect free.  I had my infusion yesterday and started to feel lousy about twenty minutes after leaving the place.  It's hard to pin-point exactly what the feeling is but I'd say it's best described as if you woke up feeling this way you'd strongly consider calling in sick in an effort to nip whatever it may be in the bud.  You just feel off.  Kinda hinky.  Like the way people that only shop at the all-natural food store look.  As if they are about to come down with something or are just getting over something.  I don't know if that's how they feel but that's how they look like they feel.  Have some artificial preservatives already.  It may put some color in your chalky white features. 

I know there are some fools out there that don't believe in using sick days.  Like one day you'll be honored with a chance to give a grainy black and white speech at Yankee Stadium thanks to your dogged dedication to your job.  I am not one of those fools.  When I worked in corporate America (hell, when I worked delivering pizzas even) I never saw a sick day I didn't like.  Sniffles, hang nail, unusually warm out for late October, all reasons I took sick days at one time or another.  Every year HR gave a little speech about how sick days are not vacation days and you shouldn't use them as such.  Every year I used them any damn way I pleased.  And to think, they were actually sorry to see me go.  I guess they never put those world-class-hangover "I've got a real sore throat" phone calls together with schedules of sporting events from the previous night.

It looks like I'd be applying for long term sick leave at this point.  Not that I have a job.  Unless you consider entertaining all of you with witty and insightful postings a job.  I have made a whopping 66 bucks since this whole blog thing started.  If this were the turn of the last century and I was a rag-picker that'd be a pretty good days wage.  The salary may not be the best but being self-employed does have it's perks, I've got a great boss.  He's totally buying into this "I have cancer" scam that I'm running on him. 

 

4 out of 5 Dentists

I've been meaning to post this for a while now but all kind of little things have gotten me sidetracked (stay in hospital, Dad dying, chemo therapy - you know, the minutia of life).  I had my first visit to the dentist in about seven... well, maybe nine... okay, more like twelve years a couple weeks back.  I'd broken a tooth and I called upon a friend of mine from high school that is now a dentist for an emergency fix.  I was planning on tagging him with the nickname Giant Dentist (he's 6'4" easy) but his hands were so delicate and his work so remarkable I'm going to call him Gentle Genius Dentist.  I was going to call his wife Miss Bossy Pants and that part hasn't changed.

It all started a couple weeks before when I met up with Gentle Genius Dentist (GGD from here on out) and Miss Bossy Pants (no abbreviation as I'm enjoying her nickname so much) for a dinner in the foodie mecca of Bangor, ME.  In my experience dinning options in Bangor are truly unlimited - provided you only want to eat at low to mid-range national chain restaurant.  Luckily, GGD and Miss Bossy Pants (makes me smile every time I type it and I'm sure GGD is laughing quietly, hoping she doesn't notice) have excellent taste and they suggested a fantastic place called Massimo's.  Massimo's is, thankfully, not a chain and is probably the best place in Bangor - nice little plug for the place and I don't know a single person there.  If anyone reading this does know the owners tell them they owe me some advertising fees.

It's important to point out that GGD and Miss Bossy Pants (still funny) have been together since high school, got married shortly thereafter and have something like eleven children.  It may only be four girls, I'm not 100% sure on this but really more than one and I'm impressed.  We hadn't seen each other in at least nine years, possibly not since we all graduated nearly twenty years ago.  Amazingly, they looked exactly as I remembered them.  We caught up on everything that had gone on in our lives over the last couple of decades and all that jazz but mostly I was fascinated about the kids.  We talked a lot about the kids and as loyal followers of this blog they knew all about my trip to the sperm bank when the whole cancer odyssey began. 

I don't think I've touched on it yet in any posts but my Lovely Girlfriend and I were trying to conceive at the same time as the sperm bank visits (not the exact same time that would have been against the Sperm Bank Rules and would have made the whole "getting a clean specimen" extremely difficult).  Due to a miscalculation on monthlys it turned out we were barking up the wrong tree but damn if it wasn't the best time I've ever had being wrong.  Also, can you imagine the pressure that kid would have been under growing up had we succeeded?  I know I wouldn't want to grow up as The Miracle Cancer Baby, would you?

GGD and Miss Bossy Pants encouraged me to come by for a dental check up but I assured them that my teeth did not require dentistry.  I'd seen a dentist back in the mid-90's and was given a clean bill of health.  I saw no reason to seek a second opinion.  He tried to convince me that the American Dental Association has been recommending twice a year check-ups for at least the last thirty years but I wasn't buying into that Ponzi Scheme.  Then he lunged at me and tried to pry open my mouth while Miss Bossy Pants egged him on!  Alright, that last part didn't happen, we had a lovely dinner and they picked up the check.  Thanks again guys, next time dinner's on me but let's try a different place.  I've heard good things about this new joint, Applebee's.

So when my tooth broke I figured this would be GGD's chance to finally pay me back for all those terrible things I used to say about him in high school.  I imagined myself tied to one of those old dental chairs while he took a hammer and chisel to my nearly perfect face.  Turns out he must have never known about all those terrible things I said because I never felt a thing!  Not the needle, not the burn from the novocaine, not the drill, and not the pick-thingy (technical term), not a damn thing!  He saw me right away on essentially no notice, I was in the chair for only a hot minute and he saved the tooth!  It was broken in half down to the gumline and he saved the freakin tooth!  You see now why I call him Gentle Genius Dentist?  I'll save why I call his wife Miss Bossy Pants for another post.

What's in your deck?

I've always been a big idea kind of guy.  As in I get these big ideas and then never follow up on them.  I'm sure you know the type.  Hell, if you know me then you know the type.  Well, I've got another one of those big ideas and now I've got access to an audience of brilliant people (you're smart enough to be following my blog so I'd say you all qualify as brilliant) to bounce things off of.  Maybe someone out there can actually put in the leg work (God knows I won't) to see this idea through.  Okay, ready, here it comes.

A deck of cards with - wait for it - various terminal and/or non-terminal afflictions in place of the standard four color suits and numbers!  Your aces would be something like - Cholera, Lung Cancer, maybe Full Blown Aids and... I don't know, how bout the Ebola Virus.  From there the afflictions would slowly decrease in severity.  I'm just spit-balling on these since I really don't know how bad various illnesses are but some of your face cards should probably be Colon Cancer, Diphtheria, Bubonic Plague, and is Small Pox still out there?  I'll let somebody else work out the details on what's more deadly than the other but by now you should get the point - this is a sad fuckin deck of cards. 

Now for the purpose.  Obviously, you could play cards with these in some manner or another - you sick puppy - but the real reason behind this stroke of genius is so You can play Your Specific Card whenever and wherever you like.  You've got Ebola?  Carry that card around with you, anybody gives you grief about anything throw down your Ebola card!  That'll set em straight and probably send em running for safety.  Can't you envision the possibilities?  That run of the mill handicapped placard hanging from your cars rear view mirror no longer gets scrutinized when it's followed up with a Diphtheria card on your dashboard.  And don't give me any BS about not checking to see how messed up someone is or isn't when you see them parking in a handicapped spot.  We all do it.  Get off your high horse.

I came up with this Million Dollar Idea when I realized I needed a Cancer Card.  I'm far too healthy looking (and devilishly handsome) for anyone without knowledge of my illness to assume that I've got cancer.  I need to be able to throw down the Cancer Card whenever I want in order to get things my way.  "I'm sorry, sir but we don't offer one hour dry-cleaning."  "But, you see, I've got cancer."  BOOM!  There's the card!  BOOM!  There's the one hour dry-cleaning!  You see how this works?  Cancer or Diabetes or Heart Disease could finally wind up paying off in a big way!

I put it to you, my loyal audience, to make this happen.  One of you must have the connections to the right people in the impossible to crack Playing Card Industry to see this through.  Honestly, I've got no idea if there is such a thing as the Playing Card Industry.  This could be as simple as a phone call to Bicycle Playing Cards.  Hopefully one of you will take up this valiant quest and, of course, share fifty percent of the profits with me.  I'd do it myself, but you see, I've got cancer.  BOOM!

Ashes to Ashes

We wanted to scatter my Dad's ashes yesterday.  I say we wanted to because we didn't wind up doing it. We talked about it, drove to one of the locations that we had planned on using even, but we didn't do it.  It turns out a lot more goes into scattering ashes then you would think.  I know what you're thinking, "was this some kind of a legal permit thing?"  No.  We've decided to ignore any and all state or federal EPA requirements for spreading one's ashes.  Since he spent his entire life ignoring or flaunting the rules we believe Dad would have wanted us to do the same. 

This was more a matter of logistics.  As it turns out the ashes aren't just rattling around in the urn.  They are wrapped in a plastic bag and tied off with a zip-tie so thick I'd bet it was police issue.  A cheap pair or kitchen scissors had no effect on them.  A steak knife seemed more likely to tear through the plastic bag.  Can ashes go bad if left unsealed, we didn't know.  Without ever voicing the concern I think all of us ran a scenario through our heads where our Dad's/Husband's cremated remains start stinking up the house and we are forced to dispose of him in a manner unsuited for such a tremendous human being.  If I was just too subtle then - I'm talking about Tuesday's trash pick-up. 

On top of that there was the issue of scooping.  My Sister was adamantly opposed to using a measuring spoon that she cooks with.  I get it.  The idea of having to run it through the dishwasher to remove any traces of our Beloved Father from it's surface before using it to bake a cake strikes me as odd at the very least.  We found a tiny plastic disposable spoon, probably left over from an order of Chinese take-out.  My Dad was a big fan of Chinese food so I guess this seemed at least a little bit appropriate. 

There was the matter of transportation.  A sealable sandwich baggie was our first choice but upon review it struck us as very low rent.  The urn he's in is a beautiful white marble - possibly the nicest place he's ever stayed.  My Mom suggested a tin of some sort but the only ones she could find were Christmas themed tins.  I'm not one-hundred percent sure what my Dad's favorite holiday was but I didn't think a Frosty the Snowman lid fit the occasion even if it had been Christmas.

So the mission was scrapped until we are better prepared.  We'll need a good pair of wire cutters - my Father had no tools in the house as it appears he did not believe in engaging in Manual Labor after passing his Bar Exam forty years ago.  Seriously, no one in my family can remember him even mowing our lawn.  A set of zip ties to re-tie the bag.  And something more appropriate to transport the ashes.

This seems about right



Are you Ready for Some Football!!??

It's been a hectic couple of weeks here at the Cancer Family Home and I've been negligent in getting my weekly football picks out so you'll all just have to trust me when I tell you that I am currently 32-0 in the NFL and 10-0 in college.  Seriously, trust me on this.  A perfect slate.  If you'd spent five days in the hospital with a 103+ temperature while your Dad passed away down the hall then had to bury him I'd trust you.

Good, so now that we've established that I'm sporting a perfect record two weeks into the season I'll be putting up my picks at the end of this post. 

A couple of days ago a friend of mine said to me that she didn't really know what to say in times like this.  I've been thinking about that quite a bit lately.  What to say?  How to respond when someone passes along their condolences?  I can always tell when someone is about to pass along some kind of sympathies because the expression on their face changes.  Someone that may not know me otherwise hears my name, quickly puts two and two together and their eyes change from an inviting glow (you ladies know the look I'm talking about) to a sorrowful, understanding haze.  I'm not complaining.  I'm certain I've done it to others upon hearing of their loved ones passing, it's an inevitable human reaction.  But you are still left with the question of exactly what to say and/or if you are the one receiving the sympathies how to respond. 

What I have been saying is that my Dad's viewing and funeral was a celebration of his life.  Between the two days I think we had almost 700 people walk through the church doors to pass along their own stories of how he touched their lives.  People that my Mom, Sister and I had never seen before told us they'd been friends with my Dad for over thirty years.  He'd helped them out of countless jams.  He'd always had the funniest stories to tell.  He was their favorite -- insert various relationships here.  The wise ass side of me wonders if my Dad is a prime candidate for having one of those secret second lives that you hear about on 20/20 or 60 Minutes but I know he was far to big of a jabbermouth to keep anything secret.  Anything that happened to him and could be considered even remotely interesting was always spun into a story that was repeated hundreds of times.  No, my Dad had a secret second life like Obama's got an actual Hawaiian birth certificate.  Oh, wait a second.

We've got a couple hundred cards that are a testament to not knowing exactly what to say.  Most are very touching, all grasping for the right words to encapsulate a life, a feeling, a loss.  It occurred to me that an untapped market in the condolence card world is for those that no one is really sad to see pass on.  Cards like - "Will he really be missed?" or "We hadn't spoken in years, glad to see he's gone."  They could be adorned with Andy Capp like cartoon characters dancing on graves.  I feel like there's a real goldmine here.  There's a lot of assholes in the world and they're dying each day.  Let's celebrate it.  Which brings us back to the celebration of my Dad's life.  See how I did that?  In the world of comedy that's known as a call-back.  Ta-dah!   

So here's my weekly picks.  Current record 42-0!

CINCY -2.5 over San Fran - In the battle of the Who Cares Bowl the real loser is the gambler.  Oh, and all the people that live and work in Cincinnati.

BUFFALO +9 over New England - You heard it hear first!  The Bills are not that bad and the Pats are not as good as they look.

NEW ORLEANS -4 over Houston - Still blah on Houston, not as excited about NO as I was to begin the season but still like them at home.

New York +8 over PHILLY - Mike Vick coming off a horribly erratic performance with a concussion and a Northwestern Grad waiting in the wings in case he goes down again.  Hey, I'm gonna take those points.

CLEVELAND -2.5 over Miami - I'm going to set the line of Tony Sparano's firing at week 10.

Denver -6 over TENNESSEE - Don't know what to make of either team yet but I do know that thanks to Tim Tebow, God will be rooting for Denver.  So will I.  Don't mess with God.

Detroit -3.5 over MINNY - Please, Donovan, retire now while the images of you as the do-it-all, borderline Hall of Fame, QB for the Eagles is still somewhat fresh in our minds.  I'm begging you.

Jacksonville +4 over CAROLINA - I just can't bet on Cam Newton and Ron Rivera.  I'm sorry.  I can't do it yet and I doubt I will ever be able to.  It's Ron Freaking Rivera!  And Cam Newton is still not going to be a great NFL QB.  I don't care what the first two weeks looked like.

***Somehow missed SD vs Kansas City on the original post, sticking it in now just before midnight on 9/23/11***

Kansas City +14.5 over SAN DIEGO - Bottom line, that's just too many damn points for a Norv Turner run team.  I think the Chiefs are terrible and I think Todd Haley will go the way of Josh McDaniels at some point this year but there's no way that a Norv Turner coached team will play up to their abilities or expectations.

OAKLAND +4 over NY Jets - Don't feel totally secure on this but I'm betting on Oakland's home opener and against the Jets going on the road for the first time this year.

Baltimore -4 over ST. LOUIS - If you're Sam Bradford don't you just come up with some sort of mystery illness or injury so you don't have to face the Ravens coming off of last weeks embarrassing performance?  I know I do.

Atlanta +1.5 over TAMPA BAY - I had to look at this line several times to make sure I was reading it correctly.  My guess is the Monday Night Hangover rule is what's keeping the Bucs favored.  Either way, I'm taking the Falcons.

Arizona -3.5 over SEATTLE - Thank you, Pete Carroll for coming back to the NFL and giving bettors around the world a sure thing each week. 

CHICAGO +4 over Green Bay - As I've said before I have no idea what to make of Chicago.  Also, I'm still bitter about last years Super Bowl so fuck Green Bay.  Yeah, Fuck Green Bay!

Pittsburgh -10 over INDY - Hate giving up that many points but Oh My Good God is Indy bad without Manning!  With an over/under of just 39.5 I'd think this would be a prime teaser candidate if I actually had any money to bet.

Washington +5.5 over DALLAS - Can't believe the Skins are half-way good, don't think the Cowboys are any good.  Throw a possible Jon Kitna appearance into the mix and I love this game!

College picks

Arkansas +11.5 over BAMA
WASHINGTON -1 over Cal
S. CAROLINA -15.5 over Vandy
Oak State +4.5 over TEXAS A&M
LSU -6.5 over WVU
ASU -2.5 over USC

Distinguished in a Cancerous Kind of Way

I've taken up smoking!  I'm sure some of you thought I was joking when I mentioned lighting up one of Dad's old pipes in an effort to eliminate the hospital smell/taste that had been haunting me.  Well, I wasn't joking.  I was totally fucking serious (as serious as cancer, you could say) and I am now knee deep in Pipe Paraphernalia.  Guess what?  The horrible medicinal smell has been wiped out.  Replaced by a far more pungent and at least a little bit pleasing aroma of handcut black cavendish tobacco. 

Earlier today SugarDust (of Raft City fame) and I enjoyed a long smoke on the front porch of his house.  Just two dudes in their late thirties sitting around, tamping our pipes, discussing the weathers effect on our joints and how kids just ain't right these days.  The only thing we were missing was rocking chairs and some wood to whittle. 

Sure my eyes burn a little bit and I can no longer taste most foods but dammit if I don't look a whole lot smarter with that beautiful briar pipe between my teeth.  Pop a pipe in even the most dimwitted of mouths and you're bound to have a more studious looking human being.  Throw on some horn rimmed glasses, tuck a copy of the New Yorker under their arm and you've got yourself a possible college professor.   

My Father left almost two dozen pipes behind - that we have found so far.  I spent the better part of yesterday wandering the dark corners of the internet finding out all kinds of things about pipes.  It's amazing that this underground world wide interweb phenomenon exists given the average age of most pipe smokers and how that rather high number is almost always in reverse relation to computer literacy.  I read about the history of pipe making, who makes the best ones, what smokes the best, so on and so forth.  My bet is only a small portion (probably 40%) was posted by creepy old men that are registered sex offenders.   

Not allowed around schoolyards

My goal is to research, restore and smoke all of them over the next few months.  I've been in need of a hobby since this whole Hodgkin's Lymphoma (sorry, still contractually required to mention it in all posts) thing hit and pipe smoking seems as good as the next.  I bounced around the idea of not taking on a hobby that can cause cancer but that just seemed silly.  The way I figure it, I've already got a pretty full beard, a large collection of plaid flannel shirts and a tangled mane of hair (until I shave it into a Costanza) so pipe smoking was inevitable.  Over the next few days I'll be shopping for a Greek sailors cap and a wooden leg.

Can't You Smell That Smell?

I was discharged from Eastern Maine Medical Center on September 9th.  For four nights and five days I'd stayed on the Sixth floor with a bacterial infection in my blood and, for at least the first 36 hours of my stay, a temperature of 103.4 (a great radio station I'm sure but not a great body temp).  I'd never been admitted to the hospital before.  I can remember as a kid wanting every strep throat infection to result in the removal of my tonsils and a chance to choke down all the ice cream I could manage but other then that fleeting childhood fantasy I've tried like hell to avoid hospitals at all costs. 

Sadly, the hospital was unavoidable this time around.  My brand new Port-a-Cath was infected after only nine days.  The picc line that I'd been so quick to vilify would have probably kept me from all the time spent in one of those drafty johnnies.

I've got a great ass

If I'd only listened to my Father.  He'd gone through two Port-a-Cath surgeries and in his opinion if I could tough it out with the hygiene limitations (it's damn near impossible to take a good shower with your arm wrapped in a plastic vice) then I'd be better off with the picc line.  "What the hell does the Old Man know?"  I said as I watched them rip the plastic tubing from my right arm.  In what would be one of his last bits of Fatherly Advice, I chose to ignore him.  So, really, not that different then the previous thirty-seven years of Fatherly Advice.

Anyway, the point of all this is that after 96 plus hours in a hospital without even a whiff of fresh air I cannot get the smell and taste of that wretched fucking place out of my head.  Or maybe it's not in my head.  Perhaps it's ingrained in me somehow.  It's infiltrated my skin, my taste buds, my olfactory senses.  This stomach turning smell of medicine and cleaning products folded into a faint scent of urine(admittedly, mine but do you have any idea how hard it is to keep it in those damn jugs when you're woozy from a 103+ temp?), old people and rubbing alcohol keep popping up no matter where I am.  In the car?  Yup.  By the lake?  Yup.  Wal-mart?  Yup.  Granted, Wal-marts always smell awful but I was hoping for a different kind of awful.  Perhaps the scent of bad life choices.  Anything to take away the lingering hospital odor but to no avail.

I'm eleven days removed from my stay and the smell isn't going anywhere.  I'm still on anti-biotics so that may have something to do with it.  I've got chemo running through my veins so that may have something to do with it.  And I still wake up during the night to feel for an IV hanging from my arm or chest before rolling back over so that may have something to do with it.  I've decided my only chance of combating it is with one of the dozen or so pipes my Dad left behind.  Pipe smoke typically smells great plus I've already got cancer so how much worse can it get?

I Had a Dream

As my favorite Op-ed author Jim Anchower would say, I know it's been a long time since I rapped at ya but in case you haven't noticed I've been neck deep in it these days.  As it turns out cancer is not nearly as fun as it seems.  Since September 5th it's been a sad and bizarre odyssey.  I've wanted to get back to writing for a week or so now but haven't had the heart until I woke up this morning.  You see, I finally had a dream with my Dearly Departed Dad in it. 

It was a rather odd dream.  I was at some kind of Charity Softball Benefit where everyone was dressed to the nines while also taking bp, working on their fielding and splitting up into teams for a nail biter of a game.  I've got such a deep seeded need for competition that even in my dream I was crashing into the catcher (a mother of three that I graduated high school with) while attempting to score the game tying run.  Despite what was probably a set of broken ribs she hung onto the ball and I was out.  After arguing with the ump (my jr. high history teacher) I was ejected.  I stormed off the field and joined my Lovely Girlfriend, My Mom and Sister and My Dearly Departed Dad at a lavishly set banquet table just off the field.

I have not seen my Dad, in physical form or in a dream, since he passed at 10:38pm on 9/9/11 - in room 627 if you're keeping track.  He looked good.  He looked like he always did during his many years as an attorney working so hard to set the bar so low for acceptable court room attire.  He had on a short sleeve dress shirt - the Sipowicz, as I call it - unbuttoned at the top with a bollo tie, a worn blazer, a pair of wheaty jeans capped of with a pair of boat shoes and no socks.  To be clear, wheaty jeans are just tan-ish jeans that give the appearance of khakis but aren't quite so dressy.  To sum it up, my Dad was as spiffed up as you could ever get him.  Also at the table were a number of couples that My Lovely Girlfriend and I are friends with.  People I've known for the better part of my life in most occasions. 

My Dad did not speak.  He followed the conversation with his eyes, his smile and his laugh.  I kept making eye contact with him, waiting for him to weight in but he never did.  His expression said it all.  I could read his response without needing to actually hear it.  The topic of conversation turned to long term relationships.  A few couples had been together since high school or just after, others for five or ten years, still others for just a few.  Everyone deferred to my folks as they had been together for all of our lifetimes.  When asked exactly how long they'd been together for some reason I answered for them.  I don't know if I'll ever forget what I said in my dream.  "They celebrated their forty-fifth about two weeks before my Dad passed.  What are you doing here anyway?"  Everyone turned to him on the question.  He gave a wicked grin and a shrug, like he'd been caught red handed without any possible excuse.  He just giggled.  I woke up.

Now I could go into a lengthy debate about all of this.  What kind of message this may have been and what it all means.  But the truth of the matter is I have no idea what this dream means.  I'm not going to try to interpret it.  I'm just happy to see my Father again.   

Them Above All

I have to take a moment from all of the chaos of planning my Dad's funeral to tell everyone about some truly amazing people at JetBlue.  I was so moved by how they handled my recent flight cancellation that I thought it would be worth my time to pass it along to all you readers so you might shower them with comments in response.

I had a flight scheduled for the 12th to fly from LA back to Maine.  I wasn't in LA, that flight had been cancelled when my Dad's health started to fail two weeks ago and the good people at AirTran when hearing the reasons for my cancellation were happy to waive any and all fees and wish my Dad the best of luck.  I will have to fly AirTran more often, what they lack in amenities they make up for with outstanding customer service and extremely reasonable prices.  AirTran is aces in my family's book.

So I call JetBlue to let them know and the woman on the phone asks me the reason for the cancellation.  I explain to her my Father's passing, my own cancer and everything that is going on right now that prevents me from flying.  I am then warmly informed that I will be charged One Hundred Dollars (!) to cancel the ticket.  By the way, the ticket cost 185.00 so I'm being charged more than half of it's value.  I asked if there was anything they could do about this given the circumstances, she tells me she has to speak to her manager.  After putting me on hold for about a long enough time to draw a really deep breath she returns to the line and says - Sorry, but that's our policy.

Okay, I can live with the cxl/change fees, they're total bullshit but most every fee the airline charges is bullshit these days.  I accept that and I move on.  But why ask the question?  Why ask for what reason I'm canceling my flight?  And what possible fucking answer would suffice if "My Dad just died from cancer and to top it off I've got cancer, just had a week long stay in the hospital and I've got bacteria in my blood" isn't good enough for a full refund?  Was it that the icy-cold customer rep is so darn inquisitive about everyones lives that she wanted to know how mine was going?  Does JetBlue make a habit of hiring Sadists to answer calls, make people re-live the sorrowful things that necessitate the change in plans only to gleefully inform them that helping anyone out during a bad time in their lives is against their corporate policy?  Or, are they possibly just a bunch of Fucking Assholes? 

So I have made two pledges.  One - never fly JetBlue again.  Two - dedicate a little time each post to remind those that read this blog that no one should ever fly their miserable little airline.  Below is their "Give Concerns" page so if any of you should feel the need after reading this to let them know what skeeving vermin they are feel free. 

http://jetblue.com/help/contactus/help_contact_problems.aspx

Fuck you, JetBlue.  Fuck you very much.

An Uncommon Obituary for an Uncommon Man

This is the obit I wrote for my Dad that should run in the Bangor Daily on Monday.

"When the legend becomes fact, print the legend."  We don't know if he was familiar with this quote but the man certainly lived it.  Julio Vincent DeSanctis III, born 12/4/1943 in Vineland, NJ to Elsie DeSanctis and the late Julio DeSanctis Jr. passed away peacefully on 9/9/11 while surrounded by family after a nine year struggle with cancer.  Julio grew up with six younger sisters, Barbara Kay Shapiro, Beverly Jean Johnson, Marjorie Lynn DeSanctis, Jacalyn Rae Matkowski, Cheryl Lee DeSanctis and Nicola Marie DeSanctis and on a street where most of the neighbors were also relatives.  He attended Vineland High where he excelled in wrestling and generaled in trouble making and went on to achieve a BA at his beloved West Liberty State College in a mere seven years.  At West Liberty he continued his illustrious wrestling career both on the mat and, on occasion, in saloon parking lots.  Julio received his JD at the University of San Francisco, much to the dismay of a legion of District Attorneys.  He married his high school sweetheart Joan Beverly Donohue, on 8/27/1966, they recently celebrated their forty-fifth wedding anniversary.  Joan DeSanctis is currently the pastor at Old Town United Methodist Church and Stillwater Federated Church. 
Julio began his law practice in the late sixties in San Francisco fighting to end the Vietnam War before moving on to Atlantic City, NJ to help get narcotic addicts into rehabilitation programs instead of jail, long before such advocacy was common.  The program (NARCO) still exists today.  Julio and Joan moved on to Pittsburgh, PA where Julio attended seminary and Joan gave birth to their first child, Julio Vincent DeSanctis IV.  Shortly thereafter the little family made their way to Bangor.  Julio had a short lived career as one of the worlds most interesting taxi drivers before turning his attentions to what would become his lifelong pursuit, driving other attorneys, judges, clerks, cops, witnesses and criminals nuts.  In what could only be described as a ravenous desire for justice - and perhaps a bit of just always wanting to be right - Julio stood head and shoulders above the crowd.  After over thirty-five years of defense work his reputation for pugnacity and as a champion of the underdog is unparalleled.
The family settled in Orrington where they welcomed their daughter, Francesca Donohue DeSanctis and opened a small convenience store/ice cream & pizza parlor/antique shop and eventual home law office, living there for twenty years.  They followed that up with brief stays in Eddington, Woodstown, NJ and are now in Old Town.
We hope that everyone holds their memories of Julio DeSanctis as close to their heart as his family does.  Viewings will be held on Tuesday September, 13th from 6pm to 9pm and Wednesday September, 14th from 9am to 12pm followed by a Celebration Service and reception at the Old Town United Methodist Church 744 Stillwater Ave. Old Town, ME 04468.  In lieu of flowers the family requests that donations be made toward Cancer Care of Maine at 33 Whiting Hill Rd. Brewer, ME 04412 or The Joan and Julio DeSanctis Memorial Fund at Camp Mechuwana at PO Box 277 Winthrop, ME 04364. 

Little Women

I come from a rather large extended family.  Our family reunions regularly pull in damn near a hundred relatives from all different ethnic backgrounds - Southern Italians, Northern Italians, Central Italians.  It's a little like the United Nations only instead of discussing world issues everyone complains about their Puerto Rican neighbors.  Just kidding - nobody from my family would live next to Puerto Ricans.  We feast on massive plates of pasta, meatballs and sausages, guzzle homemade wine and gesticulate wildly with our hands while we talk.  If we'd just take the time to rent a monkey and an Organ Grinder we'd be fulfilling all of the Italian Stereotypes at once. 



Uncle Giuseppe - Last known photo



I'd like to think that somewhere near the heart of these reunions is my Dad and his Six Sisters.  That's right, six younger sisters.  Obviously growing up together they have all inherited some very similar traits (they are all crazy) but each one is still very different from the other (varying kinds of crazy).  The Sisters came for a visit this week to see their Big Brother in the hospital.  I don't think the Doctors would have recommended a hospital room filled with people but that really wouldn't have mattered anyway.  Another common trait in my family is the innate ability to ignore the demands of people in authority.  We want what we want and we will damn well get it! 

So there everyone was, The Sisters, the Kids, Grandma, Friends Come to Visit, all stuffed into a tiny room.  In between naps my Dad held court.  They all told stories about the old neighborhood in New Jersey, playing at an abandonded factory as kids, scaring off Jehovah's Witnesses with sexual innuendo, the cops stopping by - I'm starting to get the feeling my Grandma and Grandpop weren't the strictest of parents.  If the cafeteria food hadn't been so awful it would have qualified for this years family reunion. 

My Mr. Universe

When I was in about fifth grade my parents got me a set of weights and a bench for my birthday.  I had been playing Police Athletic League football for the last two years and I had it in my head that it was time I started adding some big-time bulk to my ten-year-old frame.  They obliged me with a Joe Wieder set that I think totaled out at about 95lbs. 

I remember how excited I was putting it together, setting up the weights and reading the little pamphlet on recommended exercises and the proper technique.  I was convinced that it would only be a matter of days before I was pumping some serious pre-teen muscle.  A matter of months before I looked like the Fully Grown Professional BodyBuilders on the box. 

I quickly found out that I do not care for weight lifting.  Not at eleven years old and not now.  It is a tedious and painful workout.  There is no finish line.  No high or low score.  No winner or loser.  Just count reps, rest, repeat.  There are few things on this planet duller than lifting weights.  I was lucky in a lot of ways.  I'm naturally strong (freakishly so in my legs) and turned out to have a pretty big frame for a little kid (I think the department stores called it Husky back then) so even though I barely touched the weights I got stronger and bigger on my own.  I even got up to the point where I could lift the whole 95lbs at once.  Damn, I thought, I am one sexy middle school bad ass! 

I was thinking about this earlier today as I watched my Father struggle to sit up in his hospital bed.  A man that at one time watched me work out on my Joe Weider weight set.  Saw me revel in my achievement of lifting the Whole Damn 95lbs then proceeded to pick it up with one hand and lift it over his head.  He put it back down and just for good measure changed hands and did it again.  Holy fuckin shit, is what I remember thinking at the time.  It was a very clear message, you're a strong kid but you've got a long way to go before you can best your Old Man.  I have to admit, even pre-Hodgkin's I'd struggle mightily to do that.  I'm not so sure I could do it with my right arm even on my best day. 

Old age and illness have robbed my Dad of that strength.  It's robbed him of his energy and his stamina.  His vim and his vigor. (thought I'd throw in an old fashioned phrase for the older folks that are reading this and with the hopes that the younger generation of readers might adopt it as well.  Other great old time phrases - lollygag, ne'er-do-well and donnybrook.  Start using them today and see how much turn of the century style fun you can have!)  It wasn't until I was about eighteen that I had pulled even with my Dad in a wrestling match.  He was as strong and as tough of a man as I have ever met.  Now he struggles to breath.  Can't do it properly without the aid of a machine.  And yet, in those moments when some old friends come to visit and he's got the oxygen pumping into his lungs just right, he raises up in the bed, his eyes widen, his speech clears up and you can see that amazingly powerful man again.  If only for a moment. 

I'd like to see more of those moments.  I know there aren't that many left but I'd like to see as many more as he can muster for as long as he can muster them (Muster, another great old fashioned word, kids).