Sleep, little butterfly. Sleep

"What if I am dreaming right now? This conversation I am having with you seems real in every way, but so did my dream. I thought I was Chuang Tzu who had a dream of being a butterfly. What if I am a butterfly who, at this very moment, is dreaming of being Chuang Tzu?"

Man, lately I've just been beat. The sun is finally out (and all the windows are open - how nice is that?) so I don't have SAD anymore, but I still feel a need to sleep all the time. I only get a few hours a night, but, in a weird way, I think I'm getting used to the hot flashes. It used to be I'd wake up on fire, throw off the covers (irritate the pet), and let the heat run the course until the chill came on and I'd tuck up again. But lately I wake up when the chill comes on, meaning I've slept through the hot flash completely. It's a victory in a way, I suppose, and the pet seems to think it's a positive change.

On the non-medical non-film front, the World Cup has sucked up most of my awake attention and has made me useless for anything else. Spain won --- not that I hate Portugal, but I've never liked Ronaldo, so without Figo I don't really care about watching them anymore. Spain, take Europe all the way! I don't want an all South American final. Bo-ring. I am proud of the U.S. getting where they did. We played a passable game, but would have eventually be kicked to he curb by Brazil had we continued on. I'm kind of glad Ghana did it instead. Like Japan, they're the little team that could and it was okay that the little team kicked us down. We would have done the same in their position.

The brother is currently in Argentina to Uruguay to Brazil and thinks he'll be safe from World Cup madness since he leaves before the final. But, he's there when Argentina play Germany, Uruaguay takes on Ghana and Brazil goes up against the Netherlands in the quarterfinals, so something somewhere will be turned over and set on fire. I hope he takes pictures.

Now that the child next-door has stopped screaming show tunes and the swearing Frisbee golfers have moved on, I'm going to sleep. Yes, it's 8:15, but my head is bobbing down on this keypad already. By the way, a word about Frisbee golfers: those guys are out there with the first sun. I woke up this morning at 5:20 to the ring of discs hitting the "hole." This, friends, is Eugene. Land that I love.

nitey-nite

What's Good Enough For Toranaga-sama...

Platelet count: 22

Told you it was a fluke.

For the past couple of weeks I've been reading Shogun because it's HUGE and really, really involved and it takes my mind off of many things. But it's not boring or overly historical or filled with famous cameo appearances ("Look everyone! It's Will Rogers!"), so it's keeping me from movie watching because I can't wait to get home and pick it up again. I like it much, hai!

Read this part the other day and it pleased me:

"Now sleep. Karma is karma. Be thou of Zen. Remember, in tranquility, that the Absolute, the Tao, is within thee, that no priest or cult or dogma or book or saying or teaching or teacher stands between Thou and It. Know that Good and Evil are irrelevant, I and Thou irrelevant, Inside and Outside irrelevant as are Life and Death. Enter into the Sphere where there is no fear of death nor hope of afterlife, where thou art free of the impediments of life or the needs of salvation. Thou art thyself the Tao. Be thou, now, a rock against which the waves of life rush in vain..."

Oh, and just so's you know (and all's you know is), I plan to start ending all sentences with neh? As in: "Fuckety bye, neh?" I guess it won't work all the time, but I'll give it a go anyway, neh?

Who's Number 1? Who's Number 1?

We are.

Cousin/Roommate and I almost didn't go into work on time today and probably shouldn't have because I had to watch .... sorry that's "watch" the second half of the US v. Algeria match through Yahoo, which updated at a speed I was not accustomed to nor patient with, and all the while I'm popping back and forth between the games because I had resigned myself to pull for Slovenia --- come on, you guys, equalize and top them. It's England. For cryin' out loud --- since we were getting screwed on fake penalties again, but Slovenia wouldn't seal the deal and put the ball in the net --- just put the ball in the net! --- and then it was 90 minutes in and Yahoo is not giving me the extra time number on our game and it's not telling me what's happening and some jerk calls needing the phone number to a company that makes toilet paper and suddenly I hear the mouthy Christian co-worker shouting "Did you hear that! We got a goal!" and of course I don't believe her because she thinks dinosaurs are mythology and the health care system works fine and of course I can't hear it, even though her radio when it plays Christian rock is mighty loud, but I've got toilet paper guy going on and on in my ear and all I hear is how he can't get through to the toilet paper company and how that's somehow my fault even though we don't f**king make toilet paper and I can't get the score confirmed through puttering slow Yahoo and I'm about to throw up on my desk when FINALLY.

Whew. We win. We win and I can breathe again and I can believe mouthy Christian co-worker on this one thing only because she was right this time, not just right-wing.

And the harmony of the universe is restored.

U.S.A! U.S.A!

U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A! don't blow it. Those Slovenes are sneaky.

Space: 1999

Yeah, you know you watched it. We all watched it, sneaking peaks at it on PBS or late night on one of the local stations after Doctor Who. Created by Gerry and Silvia Anderson, the genius pair behind Captain Scarlet and The Thunderbirds, Space: 1999 was nerd wonderland. It had people speaking with accents, goofy costumes, long, drawn-out stories that were borderline frustrating and boring, and Dr. Helena Russell was always getting into some kind of damsel-in-distress scrape on a nutty, primitive or fashion-advanced planet.

Not again...

Sometimes it had cheeky guest stars

and sometimes it had really great monsters.

I know, it looks like the dryer at a car wash with a big headlight in the center, but watch your back, man. It'll suck you into that red underbelly and fry you into charcoal before you can say crab nebula.

Told you so.

This episode, the one with the car wash monster, also has a very special guest star. No, not Joan Collins again. Think European ... think Macaroni Combat ...

That's right John/Gianni Garko. You may remember him as the blond American in Five for Hell.


At least in Space: 1999 he gets to look like himself and speak in his own very heavy Italian-accented voice. He struggles with each word he says, over-pronouncing them like opera. It's really cute. Not that I don't still respect him as a GI Joe, but I think I like him better as a troubled, sensitive space man.

Speaking of GI Joe, this show brings back childhood memories of how we never got the toy we wanted at Christmas, but would constantly get the next best thing. Barbie? How about a Dawn doll instead? Or Skipper! GI Joe? No, but Santa brought you Big Jim and he comes with a camper ... no, not Barbie's camper, Big Jim's. Toys R Us was sold out of the Six Million Dollar man, kids, but we got you Oscar Goldman! He comes with a briefcase! So while all our friends were playing with the Millennium Falcon or an X-Wing Tie Fighter, we had a replica model of Eagle One.

Shown here with optional removable transport unit.

The top of the front pod popped off to reveal the orange command module interior. Cool, although too small to fit any action figures. Once you pop that top back on you could hold it in your hand and run around the room making rocket noises and barking orders like Martin Landau. It was just like flying a real space ship! Like all of our second-best toys, we were sorely disappointed at first, but pretty happy about 5 minutes later. No one else on our block had an Eagle One.

Of course no one else knew what Eagle One was, but they were just dumb.

Oh, did I mention? Space: 1999 also had the funkiest theme music on television:

See the seas with the Cs

Platelet count: 96

Yeah, I know. What the hell? I'm down to 1 steroid a day and suddenly my platelet count is double it's usual number? What's that about? The doctor was very happy this time, but I'm dubious --- not just because of that Catholic you-can't-be-too-happy-our-you'll-be-sorry thing, which is part of it, sure, but it's just weird to have them jump up that high after doing nothing different AND after being so sick last week. Meh, I'm moving on. I go back in 2 weeks and I'm on a steroid every other day now. We'll see.

For now, I'm having a beer this weekend while I watch the World Cup.

I also maxed-out my insurance this week so I don't have to pay for anything anymore. YAY! I even got a $200 check back from the anesthesiologist, which is nice because that sucker was taking me for $820! So now he only takes me for $620 ... it's fine. Anyway, I told the doctor to scan whatever he wanted from now until December because I don't get the bill. This means another PET scan when I get my next breast MRI, so I don't have to be wondering all the time about the bone spots. Now I just have to pay off all that other stuff.

So, sorry, I meant to post this yesterday for everyone who likes to keep up, but I got caught up watching the first disc of Party Down ("Are you a f**k up or an achiever?""I guess I'm a f**k up") and tonight we've been enjoying the 24-hours of Jacques Cousteau on Turner Classic Movies. I only just broke away because I don't really like the one on coral reefs. It all brings back the good memories of junior high and watching the episodes on sharks and whales and how we always hoped the science teacher would have the hidden treasure episode on the projector even though it wasn't science. But mostly it brought back memories about how we all had a crush on dreamy-eyed Phillipe.

Jacques, Phillipe and Jean-Michel Cousteau

I also love that this photo comes from a blog about Rolex watches: Jake's Rolex World. The Cousteau post is long, but rewarding. I highly recommend it.

Ah Phillipe...

Chappelle Is Good For Your Health

Coffee, soft foods, and Chappelle's Show have set everything right again.

(Thanks again to Wuh for the inspiration)

Chappelle's Show
I Know Black People Pt. 1
www.comedycentral.com
Buy Chappelle's Show DVDs Black Comedy True Hollywood Story

"What is a loosey?"

Chappelle's Show
I Know Black People Pt. 2
www.comedycentral.com
Buy Chappelle's Show DVDs Black Comedy True Hollywood Story

Jinx

Yesterday, friends, was a good day. Platelet count went up to 44 and I was feeling really good, really healthy. Things were going to turn around.

This morning I woke up with the feeling that my brain was trying to crack through my skull. I took a Percocet, but it didn't work. Neither did my legs. I couldn't stand. I couldn't walk. I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life. I called the cancer center and spoke with the doctor on call who recommended I take ibuprofen (similar to the advice given to me by the radiologist after the biopsy) and yet again I had to explain about the ITP and hear how "I don't have much experience with that, but..." Then he told me to "ride it out."

14 hours later I'm still trying to keep down Gatorade, but my arms and legs have at least decided to work again. But is it the flu? Is it a reaction to the infusion of Aredia? I don't know. Maybe it's both, but I'm not going to jinx myself in the future by being too happy about the small victories. Everything in moderation.

Yesterday's understatement of the day from the doctor: "You spend way too much time here in the office."

I go back again next week.