Sorry. This will make it all better

What? You haven't rented Don yet? You're going to rent it now, aren't you?

Bad Mood Rising

It's been a rough few days. I've hated everyone. Yes, probably you too ... maybe not you ... but that guy over there, yeah, him, I hated him. It all seems to hit in waves. Most of the time I'm okay with this whole thing, like when I'm not being poked with a needle or rolled through a machine ("Are you claustrophobic?" "Does it matter?"), but then sometimes we'll be walking through Costco and I'll listen to crap that comes out of people's mouths ("Look, honey! Honey! This says it's organic!") and look at people's dead sheep faces and I want to slap them around. Why don't YOU have cancer, mother-f---er?

But, when I'm calm again, I think not only about how wrong that is, but also about how many people out there really do have cancer. Maybe the dead sheep faced people have it and just don't know it yet, because the one thing I hear from everyone -- co-workers, family, the woman who cut my hair -- is how someone they know just went through this. Even I know someone who just went through this.

So the question is not why did I strike it lucky, but why did it take so long to happen? It seems inevitable that someone you know will have cancer. Okay, why that person is me, yeah, sure, that bugs me when my blood sugar is low and I hear "experts" put it down to lack of exercise and obesity, neither of which I have, as well as other "risk factors" like being a woman. But, the point is with these kinds of odds against you, it's amazing to me that people freak out about catching H1N1. I don't know anyone --- even friends of friends or family of friends or friends of the woman who cut my hair --- who had H1N1. But 5 people die of it and the store is suddenly sold out of hand sanitizer. 30,000,000 women get breast cancer and you still can't convince anyone to go in and get a mammogram --- know why? Because it hurts, that's why. Gel sanitizer, on the other hand, is quite nice.

The solutions? Just fix the machines. If we can put a man on the moon we can come up with something a little more like gel sanitizer for cancer. I know, why don't you technicians try this stuff out yourself? How about a nice, safe radioactive MUGA scan? Sit in a tilted chair for 20 minutes with a giant block of metal against your chest and your left arm losing sensation because it's been propped up over your head for half an hour. Like it? Or, better yet, have a mammogram.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: Inglourious Basterds

Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Dir. Quentin Tarantino
Starring: Brad Pitt, Melanie Laurent, Christoph Waltz, Eli Roth

"Frankly, watchin' Donny beat Nazis to death is the closest we ever get to goin' to the movies."

Is it in his contract that Brad Pitt has to eat in all his films?

No, sorry, it's too good. Everything I could tell you about it would ruin the story: The Bear Jew, positive uses for nitrate film, strudel (wait for the cream), the allegory of King Kong, what's that American saying about shoes?

You'll have to go see it yourself.

But, dude, I will say this: How great is it to see Rod Taylor acting again?

This S--t Just Got Real

(And if you haven't seen Hot Fuzz you need to see it now. No, don't wait, see it now. Don't see Bad Boys II either, it's not the same.)

Okay, so it turns out that all the denial was for nothing. I really have cancer and I really have to start chemotherapy on April 8th, and I'm really going to get hit with everything because aggressive cancer apparently requires aggressive treatment.

So it goes.

The treatment is called TAC:
Taxotere
Adriamycin
Cytoxan

And then a shot the following day to whack up the white blood cells. The platelets ... well, sucks for them.

Next week I go in for a PET scan to make sure the cancer hasn't spread (yes, another test for that - yay Zeus) and a MUGA scan, to make sure my heart can handle the adriamycin -- yet another reason not to like it. Did I mention that adriamycin is red and goes right into a vein? The rest is done by IV. That's needles, pets.

It's chemo every 3 weeks with 6 treatments and at the end I'm rewarded with surgery and radiation. Then comes 5 years of drugs that will keep my estrogen levels low, because being a whole lotta' woman makes cancer grow. So that, coupled with the projected early menopause, probably means I'll have a mustache. If that happens I will grow it out like Lemmy and take up speed metal.

If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man

The good side: the chemo room looks nice and I'm allowed to bring in knitting (which will be great until I lose sensation in my fingertips). They also have dvd players, which means that the 4 hour session I have on the 8th will give me plenty of time to watch a Bollywood movie ... hmm Sholay or Veer-Zaara? They have free juice and WiFi so Facebooking and blogging are a maybe ("Hi everyone! They've got the IV hooked up and I'm already feeling the heat") or a maybe not. You can even order food for delivery if you want. Okay, sure, maybe it's going to suck later when I'm barfing and unable to get off the couch, but at least it'll be comfortable in the chemo room.

What's that on your head? A Wig!

My "So You've Got Cancer" books say to shop early (and shop often) for head coverings. Again, you may not lose your hair, but if you do, chump to you if you haven't already bought something to cover it.

So to date I have one head scarf and two Halloween wigs. Although the Velma-Scooby-Doo wig I'm not seriously considering because it's got kind of a pointy top ... or maybe that's my head ... but absolutely the blonde Star Trek hair will come out if I can get the campfire smoke smell out of it.

Yeah, okay, it's got purple fairy streaks in it, but it's softer and more manageable than my real hair, and it looks great with those big plastic earrings. But will it work for the office? A girl's got to think of her public image and that's where Raquel Welch comes in.

Thank God my mom's retired because she gets caught up on all the trends from The View and Regis and Kelly. We have an automatic toothpaste dispenser because of it and now I have access to the most fabulous wig collection ever: Raquel Welch Wigs.

I honestly don't know what I love more, the fact that these don't look like wigs at all or that Raquel models most of them. And the names are fantastic: Bewitched, Excite, Foxy, Mystique. She's sexy Raquel Welch, people, and her name is on a real wig collection, not a kooky wig collection, but real live actual normal haircuts. It's crazy and I love it. Problem is, there's no way to match the model.

Mom favors the shorter ones, which would be easier to keep tidy, sure, but I've done short hair before and it didn't look anything like Raquel.

As if I could even begin to pull something like that off. No way. It's even got an intimidating name: Power.

Yeah, that's me all over.

For medium length mom and I decided we both liked Siren.

It's got that Mary-Ann-the-good-girl look to it, but then we realized up here it might be mistaken for a mullet, especially in Springfield, so that's out. I mean, if Raquel wore it, she'd be a knock-out. Me, on the other hand, I'd be giggled at by kids with purple mohawks.

So maybe the scarf is good for office wear and maybe I just need the festive wig for the big nights out, like at the opera or one of those tony hot spots we have all over Eugene. A girl has to keep her spirits up and mingle with other people and catch their infections. What to wear? What to wear?

Hello Luscious!

Oh yeah, I could definitely look like that.

Look, I'm not sick, okay? I have cancer.

Week 3 and I'm catching everyone up at the same time because my phone bill is already starting to reach into triple digits. Time to get a cellphone with a "plan"? I just don't know.

I meet the oncologist Thursday. Nothing happens until then. This means that physically today is no different from yesterday or a week ago or a month ago. Although a month ago I had a cold, so maybe it's a little different, but cancer-wise, honestly, I don't feel it. Well, there's the lump, but I've grown close to that over the past few months. I call it Bitey.

Mentally things have changed. I've read through all my chemo guides and bought my first head scarf just in case because you don't want to wait until you lose your hair, although some people don't lose their hair, but you want to be prepared if you do. I checked out my life insurance policies and realized both are only payable in an accidental death, so, sorry guys. Better hope science is working because my credit card debt is about to go through the roof. You don't want to face that hassle.

Which brings me to health care reform. I'm not going to tell you that this bill is perfect or that I support everything the president does. I still think he's got the right idea, but in a country ripped in half by a bias media (left and right) Obama doesn't stand a chance to get a damn thing done right. He's a socialist. Bush was a moron. Label, label, label and nothing will ever happen because there's always a reason not to do it or a reason not to trust the people who were voted into office to do it. Everything amounts to "this doesn't help me so it's no good for the country." Live a few years in Eugene; I swear we're a mini version of congress. It's why we still have a concrete hole in the ground downtown across from our library.

But I have to somehow schedule chemotherapy and surgery into one week of vacation time, because I still have to pay my rent, and I can't switch to part-time because I need to keep my health insurance. So that means working through it all. Why not? I came back to the office the day after the biopsy with a Ziplock bag of ice stuck in my bra. If Baldy needs to step away from the desk and vomit in the sink, too bad for everyone else.

I'm just saying this isn't my fault. It's not like I took a bunch of drugs or stood under power lines until I was sure there was a tumor. But whatever happens after Thursday, whether I get sick or lose my hair or my platelets drop below 20 and I have to go to the emergency room for a cat scratch, I'm still going to be responsible for paying this off until I'm 102 because the health care system in this country, like everything else, is for rich people.

The internet as rant forum 'though = free.

A Movie Nearly Every Night: The Ghost Writer

The Ghost Writer (2010)
Dir. Roman Polanski
Starring: Ewan McGregor, Pierce Brosnan, Olivia Williams, Kim Cattrall
(images courtesy of imdb.com and RP Films)

"It's all in the beginning."

Check it out! We went to a real movie show yesterday and saw a real movie. That makes 3 in the past 5 months. This is very exciting. But, yes, I did have to ask the kids behind us to stop talking. The theater experience, friends ... this is why everything is going to 3-D because otherwise it's a pain in the ass to sit there with idiots who text and talk through the whole damn thing. More and more we're waiting for the Bluray to come out before we see anything.

But, sitting in the not-so-various doctor's offices last week the cousin/roommate and I read reviews on this movie from Time, The New Yorker and Entertainment Weekly. I'd also read the New York Times review and based on all of these we decided to get out of the living room and go see it last night at the show. It sounded interesting and worth the irritating surroundings, but we came out somewhat mixed on our reactions.

The cousin/roommate was a little disappointed. I liked it a lot. The woman behind us as we left kept repeating the word "boring" over and over again, which kind of pissed me off. Like a movie has to have Jason Bourne blowing up aliens to be exciting anymore. But, that said, yes, okay, I'll agree that there is a slow center section. Fine. It didn't pace well for about 20 minutes, but otherwise I was hooked, I don't care about anyone else.


The cousin and I both agree that what goes on visually is much more intense than the "did-he-or-didn't-he" spy/detective/crime plot. The sets are troubling and deep, and there's so much to look at, from the reinforced concrete walls to the black leather seating. My God! The art on the walls deserved its own acting credit. The big picture window shown above (and others like it) are used throughout the movie to say more than the dialogue, and there's one interior with the best mix of floor tiles I've ever seen, and when a woman crosses them in a conflicting print skirt, it was such an exciting overload of pattern that it almost made me faint. I wish I had a picture, but I don't, so go see it yourself or wait and rent the Bluray.

The actors are all very good (yes, David Denby, even Kim Cattrall) not for what they say, but how they look while saying it. Ewan McGregor has done a lot of stinky movies over the past decade (hello, Star Wars?), so it's good to see he can still act. His face does all these subtle changes depending on what he's doing or who's listening to him -- sometimes bland, sometimes animated, sometimes cheeky, sometimes it's like a light turned on inside he's so bright -- and it gives his no-name character uh ... character. It's like you get to know someone who doesn't really exist. I think that's pretty cool.


So, yes, I like Roman Polanski. Sure, he's made some bad mistakes over the years (personally and professionally), but who hasn't? Still, he can deliver the art, so cheers to that.

In and Out

Going in again today to ultrasound the right side since the MRI picked up suspicious "fibrous" areas over there. Whatever. Anyway, for those keeping score that's Oregon Imaging 5 Oncologist 0. I meet the cancer doctor next Thursday, but up until then I'm sure I'll have 4 new scans of something fibrous somewhere. I have been assured that it will not involve a needle this time, which is nice since I cry n' stuff around needles.

But this all pales when compared to the number of indie rock stars dropping off the face of the earf. Vic Chestnutt, the guy from Sparklehorse (both a favorite of the cousin/roommate and the cousin-in-law) and now Alex Chilton. Although, note: Alex died of a heart attack, but it probably came from watching everyone else kill themselves.

Who's next? Michael Stipe? Gaz from Supergrass? I can't get my head around it all.

So, rather than analyze, I tributize. Here is my best Alex Chilton memory:

D.W. Sechler and I went to see what we thought was the most inspired small bar music lineup ever created: Alex, on what appeared to be a kind-of comeback tour, was the opener followed by Robin Hitchcock. Being hipsters, we stood at the back and played it cool. Before the show went on we were passed by the man himself, probably going to the men's room. D.W. instinctively remarks in his wake:

"Kiss me, son of God."

We left after Alex's opening act, before Robin Hitchcock even came on stage. Alex was that good. In fact, we never went to another Robin Hitchcock show after that. We did, however, go see Alex again, including once with a re-formed version of Big Star. It was awesome every time.

A (Hindi) Movie Nearly Every Night: Baadshah

Baadshah (1999)
Dir. Abbas Alibhai Burmawalla, Mastan Alibhai Burmawalla
Starring: Rakhee Gulzar, Shahrukh Khan, Twinkle Khanna, Amrish Puri

"So, there is a reason for what the beauty is doing! There is certainly a mystery."

pretending to be a blind singer/dancer.
sure, that seems realistic

Mistaken identities, nutty musical numbers, convoluted and extended beyond interest plots -- what more could you want in a movie? It's silly, no doubt about it. Why would you watch this? No reason at all. I certainly can't give you one, God knows. It suited me fine, but I can sit through just about anything (with the exception of Gangs of New York -- dude, why couldn't he just kill The Butcher and get on with it? 2 hours later and he still hasn't done it?? Honestly).

I followed this through mostly because I had nothing else to do, but also because I really like Shahrukh Khan.

What? You've never seen someone kiss a door before?

There's something about him that transcends whatever kooky movie they put him in. It's not just charisma, although he's got plenty of that. It's the way he lets the audience know that he knows that you know that this is just entertainment. It's not changing the world or solving the mystery of existence. It's just playing around and he's wants you to know that he's aware of the fluff factor and if that's what you're looking for, well, wink-dimple, he's your man.

frame in a frame: Badshah spies on the spy from an apparently very deep closet

Sure, he makes serious films now and then, but he knows when it's his job to give you an escape from drama. He's part Brad Pitt, part Bugs Bunny. It's the same with Hema Malini and it's why I like her and why it pays off to watch all of Seeta Aur Geeta. They let themselves go completely into the fun of making movies and allow you in on the joke. "It's fun, see? We're having fun." It's like a cold beer on a hot day or riding the Zipper at the fair, but doing it with a lot of friends around and some really bouncy music.

But, let's face it, the real reason I like Shahrukh is because he looks good in glitter. Tell me I'm wrong.

No WAY

This year's Platelet Disorder Support Association conference is in Las Vegas. I'm going to miss out again and look at these great topics:

• For Teens Only
• I Had a Splenectomy: What Does That Mean for My Future?
• The Pros and Cons of Dietary Supplements
• Why Am I so Tired?

Stupid cancer is already taking away all my fun.

This Cancer is Bananas! B-A-N-A-N-A-S Bananas!

Update --- it's chemo first and then surgery. At least that's the plan.

I'm good with it. Sure, chemo is a drag, but I don't heal very well, so surgery first would mean taking steroids to up the platelets (and help grow that tumor maybe?) and it would leave a weird looking girl on the left. I can keep the girls intact-ish if I do chemo first, shrink the tumor, and then take it out. Biff, bang, bongo. Although part of me liked the idea of never having to wear a bra again.

I'll know more next week when I meet with the oncologist who, it turns out, is my blood doctor. It's a small world, this Eugene.

In the meantime we received Baadshah from Netflix today, so I'm going to relax and watch it this weekend and take my mind off of the cansuh. Oh, and speaking of...

Sheryl, I feel better already.

What To Expect When You're Expecting

I didn't expect the doctor to drop the C bomb when she called on Monday. The week before she said it was probably a cyst. Biopsy? Okay, sure. Go ahead. I've always done well by the girls. They won't turn on me. (Jerks. Didn't I buy you padded bras with frilly fronts? It wasn't always Jockey For Women, ya know.) And, sure, I thought maybe cancer would be one result, but I didn't expect to actually hear it come out of the doctor's mouth.

Friends, always expect them to say the word "cancer."

It's breast cancer ("invasive ductal"), which I guess is good in some ways because all those walk-a-thons have paid for some innovations in research and things are better now than when my aunt died 15 years ago. I mean, sure, cancer isn't good overall, ask anyone, but I don't feel dread yet. Maybe I want to be hopeful because positive is good. Maybe I'm just in denial over what it's going to cost me because I know that's going to suck.

But I haven't called everyone I want to call. I have had two vodkas and some ice cream.

I wanted to tell you all personally. You know who you are. I still want to tell you, but it's kind of stupid and lame and I have no idea how to explain it in person anymore. I've run out phone chat ideas. It's not like you can say "Oh, I was on safari and those mosquitos carry this thing apparently, and when the plane landed at Heathrow I felt the first fevers..." How the hell do you "catch" breast cancer? I blame Taco Bell. So, maybe this post is in part explaining it to myself as much as to everyone else, because I still think they'll call today and tell me that they read the wrong chart. Maybe tomorrow when I go in to discuss the big knife it will be a little more real. Maybe not. Maybe I just need more ice cream.

Post Party Depression

Am I happy for The Hurt Locker? Sure, you bet. I won't lie, part of it comes from my aversion to all things James Cameron, but it's good to see something that didn't make a lot of money or take 20 studios to fund it win Best Picture. Is it a better movie? I really don't know. I haven't seen it, but I suspect it gives the audience a little more credit for intelligence than that other one does.

But, sure, I'm still bitter over Moon and, what? nothing for Harry Potter? Not even a nod for sound editing? Bummer.

At least the acceptance speeches were kept short and that did help a lot. Most of them followed the rules, except for that mouthy producer? director? random woman? who interrupted the director of the Best Documentary Short to sound off about everything except global warming and Elvis. Maybe in New York being obnoxious gets you heard, but the rest of the country tunes you out, sugah. But a law for the mole people should be the same for the handsome actors. I'm happy to see The Dude get his moment, but when they get in that space where they start trying to remember people's names, you know they've lost touch with time and a reminder to move on isn't rude, it's helpful. When you hear "Oh, so many people, uh..." cue the music. Fair's fair.

Highlights of the night, apart from James Cameron looking like he blew the cash bribes on a 0% payback:

- Ron Howard quoting Roger Corman: "If you do a good job in this movie, kid, you'll never have to work with me again."
- The Snuggie
- The John Hughes tribute (which made me cry --- but, hey sporto, where was the jock?)
- The dead people roll call, although Michael Jackson, but not Farrah? Let's see, if you leave out Captain EO he made 1 theatrical movie and she made... hmm ... wait a minute. Oh, well, right, he's got This Is It. Sorry, forgot he was an actor.
- Those crazy interpretive dances to the music scores. I read somewhere that the break dance was supposed to represent a bomb going off for The Hurt Locker. So what was the significance of doing the robot for Up?

A Movie Nearly Every Night: The Curse of the Werewolf

The Curse of the Werewolf (1961)
Dir.: Terence "Givin' it up for Hammer" Fisher
Starring: Clifford Evans, Oliver Reed, Yvonne Romain, Catherine Feller

"There was something about a silver bullet."

"Get away! Get away!"
(okay! okay! fine then! geez)

Have you been to a drive-in? You're old then. So am I. It's okay. This is a drive-in kind of movie. It runs about an hour and a half with some slow parts for making out and a lot of dramatic sound for the car window speaker.

As horror films go, this one's got few real suspenseful moments, so not all that horrifying. But, really, where do you go with it? He's a werewolf = he's going to tear someone's throat out and someone's going to shoot him with a silver bullet. A to B to C. No surprises, but it's a Hammer Horror Film so you can certainly be guaranteed of lots of gaudy color

lots of really red blobby blood

and lots of ... well, breasts on wide-eyed heavily made-up women.


Fortunately for Hammer this one also had Oliver Reed as Leon, the werewolf, chewing up the screen almost as violently as he chews up other characters. What a master.

Brooding on the moon ... always brooding ...

In fact, the casting is the most inspired aspect of the movie. Justin Walters never made another film in his life, but he could have had a solid a career playing younger versions of Oliver Reed.

It's weird, isn't it? The same chin; the same vacant, but violent stare; the same washboard... oh wait... Actually, I threw that second picture in because it isn't often you see Oliver Reed in that shape. I think he deserves to have something enduring online that shows him fit and healthy.

But, I digress. Casting -- it just gets better and better. Peter "Wallace" Sallis shows up as the mayor (with Professor Fate facial hair):


and two very prominent James Bond actors have short, but pivotal roles as well. Anthony Dawson (the evil Professor Dent from Dr. No) is the evil (yes again) Marques Siniestro

and, in a role IMDB labels as "1st Footman (uncredited) is Desmond "Q" Llewelyn.


No, it's not the best movie ever made, but it was pretty entertaining. And! if you rent it from Netflix it comes with Brides of Dracula (1960), which is, oddly enough, also directed by Terence Fisher. Weird. The tagline? Friends, it doesn't get better than this:

He Turned Innocent Beauty Into Unspeakable Horror

Oh, hell yeah.