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December 31, 2004
Crimeny.
Posted by Dan at 11:21 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Diversion!
Posted by Dan at 10:38 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
December 30, 2004
Eye Candy
M.C. Escher
Hand with Sphere
The Dutch artist Maurits C. Escher (1898-1972) was a draftsman, book illustrator, tapestry designer, and muralist, but his primary work was as a printmaker. Born in Leeuwarden, Holland, the son of a civil engineer, Escher spent most of his childhood in Arnhem. Aspiring to be an architect, Escher enrolled in the School for Architecture and Decorative Arts in Haarlem. While studying there from 1919 to 1922, his emphasis shifted from architecture to drawing and printmaking upon the encouragement of his teacher Samuel Jessurun de Mesquita. In 1924 Escher married Jetta Umiker, and the couple settled in Rome to raise a family. They resided in Italy until 1935, when growing political turmoil forced them to move first to Switzerland, then to Belgium. In 1941, with World War II under way and German troops occupying Brussels, Escher returned to Holland and settled in Baarn, where he lived and worked until shortly before his death.
The main subjects of Escher's early art are Rome and the Italian countryside. While living in Italy from 1922 to 1935, he spent the spring and summer months traveling throughout the country to make drawings. Later, in his studio in Rome, Escher developed these into prints. Whether depicting the winding roads of the Italian countryside, the dense architecture of small hillside towns, or details of massive buildings in Rome, Escher often created enigmatic spatial effects by combining various -- often conflicting -- vantage points, for instance, looking up and down at the same time. He frequently made such effects more dramatic through his treatment of light, using vivid contrasts of black and white.
After Escher left Italy in 1935, his interest shifted from landscape to something he described as "mental imagery," often based on theoretical premises. This was prompted in part by a second visit in 1936 to the fourteenth-century palace of the Alhambra in Granada, Spain. The lavish tile work adorning the Moorish architecture suggested new directions in the use of color and the flattened patterning of interlocking forms. Replacing the abstract patterns of Moorish tiles with recognizable figures, in the late 1930s Escher developed "the regular division of the plane." The artist also used this concept in creating his Metamorphosis prints. Starting in the 1920s, the idea of "metamorphosis" -- one shape or object turning into something completely different -- became one of Escher's favorite themes. After 1935, Escher also increasingly explored complex architectural mazes involving perspectival games and the representation of impossible spaces.
Since 1964 the National Gallery of Art has formed the preeminent collection of Escher's art outside Holland through the generosity of many donors, including Cornelius Van S. Roosevelt and Lessing J. Rosenwald, both of whom knew Escher. The Gallery's collection includes more than 400 works by Escher: drawings, illustrated books, technical materials, and impressions of 330 of the artist's 450 prints.
Text from The National Gallery of Art.
Posted by Dan at 11:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer update - The Waiting Game
So far I feel just ducky. You never feel bad from cancer, really, until they start to treat you for it.
I am, however, in a word, impatient. I want to fight or scream or be sad or be hopeful, but I don't have enough information yet. I'm like a soldier who doesn't know where, or even if, he's being sent into combat yet. If I were a metaphorical horse, I'd be chomping at the proverbial bit.
Something about my life - the microwave oven that cooks my dinner in a minute and a half, the remote control to the television, the Interweb where everything you could possibly want to know is a simple click or two away, something - has made me cringe at the prospect of waiting at all anymore, for anything.
I not only want it my way, I want it now! I guess at least part of that is human nature and the frenetic pace of life around us in the U.S.
It's worse when what you're waiting for is, literally, life and death news. I won't have any more substantive information until next week. Of course, when next week hits, it'll be a doozy: Dentist Monday, PETscan Tuesday in Cleveland (an hour and a half away, sans snow), surgeon Thursday in Cleveland, oncologist Friday in Cleveland.
By the end of next week, I will know how extensive and pervasive the sarcoma is, as well as what steps (and I hate to say it but: if any) we will take to kill it.
The end of next week never seemed so far away. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? I have to write a sermon for Sunday I guess. I have job duties and chores around the house. Still, I suspect there will be a lot of staring into space and probably a fair amount of expecting the worst, combined with a liberal dose of random, stabbing emotion. All I know is there is something there, it seems to have spread and it isn't friendly.
Even as a kid, waiting was a part of life. I'd send away for something out of the back of a comic book and it might take 2-4 months to arrive in the mailbox. MONTHS. Now, if I can't get it in a day or two, deal's off.
I also remember the afternoons when I was a teenager with cancer. Afternoons were the worst. Thank God Almighty for The Dick Van Dyke Show reruns.
I was severely sick then and wasn't able or allowed to be out in public. There was very little I could do with my afternoons and less still for which I had strength or motivation.
At night, I had the television schedule memorized. In the morning was the daily parade of doctors and nurses and blood tests. But the afternoon was a desert. A long, empty space. An 8-hour blank stare. THAT'S when you're scared: in the afternoon, because you're alone in the hospital room or on your couch at home, and the only company you have is your own thoughts and a body that's trying to kill you.
I'll post some reflections on my first bout with cancer this week. No real news until the middle of next week some time.
Until then, I guess it's back to the afternoons.
Posted by Dan at 11:08 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
And then there's this.
Disturbed yet?
My favorite is the guy in the oven itself.
Posted by Dan at 08:37 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
December 29, 2004
Well, I WAS going to bed.
But this post by Bill was too important.
Posted by Dan at 11:27 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Home now.
Got in about an hour ago after about a 9-hour ride home.
Plenty of updates coming tomorrow on what promises to be a scary week of cancer appointments, tests and treatments next week. I have FOUR doctors' appointments scheduled for next week already, and three of them are over an hour away from home.
To tide you over, I've linked a few knick-knacks and semi-cultural bits of information, as well as a preacher joke.
Now, your humble host visits the Land of Nod.
Posted by Dan at 11:20 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Because you savages need the culture
The recent film adaptation of The Merchant of Venice is finally out.
You know you want to - it has Al Pacino as the Jew who gave meaning to the slur "Shylock."
Not nearly my favorite Shakespearean play - not in the top 10 - but still, in a world that turns to Spongebob for culture and Dr. Phil for good mental health, one takes what one can get.
Posted by Dan at 11:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Prank time!
Posted by Dan at 11:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Worth your time.
I already had the upgraded Ad-Aware, and the free version of Spybot took me 19 seconds to download.
Faster computer. No popups.
It's a good thing.
Posted by Dan at 10:58 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
This one's for mom.
Who didn't know what I meant when I said everything was "five by five."
Modern Slang Dictionary 2004 Edition
Posted by Dan at 10:54 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Preacher Joke
A older man and his nagging wife have finally gotten a chance to visit the Holy Land.
While there, the wife dies a tragic death and the man is forced to make a choice at the local morgue: he can have her body shipped home for $10,000, or have her buried locally, in the Holiest of Lands, for $150.
Looking out over Jeruselem, the man tells the mortician to send her to America.
"But why would you want to pay $10,000 to ship her home when you can have her buried here for only $150?" the kindly mortician asks.
"Well, 2000 years ago, Jesus was crucified and buried here, then three days later He rose again," the man says. "I just can't take that chance."
Posted by Dan at 10:48 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
A Regis and an Ashley do NOT equal a Dick Clark
Who would you rather see this New Years' Rockin' Eve?
My vote is Chris Isaak, with a side of Dunst.
Posted by Dan at 10:45 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
December 27, 2004
I showed you mine - let's see yours.
Anybody get anything good?
Posted by Dan at 12:32 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
Gift Card Disease - CAUTION: Sarcasm Ahead!
So, let me tell you what I got for Christmas this year: gift cards. LOTS of gift cards.
(GEOGRAPHIC UPDATE: Mrs. Popping Culture and I are visiting relatives in Hampton Roads, Virginia. We should be home Wednesday evening, unless a doctor calls me home before that. No updates until then, I'm afraid.)
I have always been of the opinion that a true friend knows how to give good gifts, as much as that sounds like a cutesy platitude. I am also aware that some folks are harder to shop for than others: What do you buy the man who has everything? What do you get your mother? What about your sister-in-law's fiance, whom you have only met once?
Still, what a gift card says to me is: I give up. I don't know what to get you. Take this hunk of plastic. It feels more like a gift than just handing you cash because it has a store name on it.
Seriously. Just give cash if you give up, ok?
I can see a gift card if it is for a specific, named purpose. For instance, Joe needs a television and none of us can afford to buy him one, so we all buy Best Buy gift cards and viola! The sum is greater than the parts.
However, gift cards are seldom used in such an intentional way. They are a sign of surrender, a sign of gifting fatigue. I don't have the time or desire to think up a real meaningful gift so here, take this and buy your own dang gift!
This year I received (and granted I am the only male in a family gathering with 8 females and also granted that it might be tough to shop for a guy with cancer): cash, checks and gift cards to Olive Garden, Best Buy, Men's Wearhouse, Barnes & Noble (I consider this one the most nearly personal gift all Christmas) and Outback Steak House. Also a candy bar.
Merry Impersonal Christmas! Now, I don't begrudge any gift. All gifts are a sign of care or at least duty, and I appreciate the spirit in which all of my gifts were given. Still... to me, a gift card says, at least in small part, "Here. Do my shopping for me."
My favorite part of the holiday is picking out specific gifts for the people I care about... creatively working out the difficult puzzle that is "What can I get him/her that won't be returned?" There is no better feeling than buying someone a gift that says not only do you care about them, but that you KNOW them as well and seeing their eyes light up, no matter their age. This can be a specific gift that matches a specific person, or a generic gift given in a special way.
For instance, I gave my 15-year old niece a gold heart pendant this year. Pretty ordinary gift for a teenage girl, I guess, but I hid it and waited until after all the gifts were opened. As the frenzy of gift paper ripping wore off, I announced that I had a special gift (given just by me, her grumpy uncle, to her) for my niece because she was special and should be set apart. The necklace was lovely, but more lovely and lasting was the sentiment that she is unique and special to me.
Even a crappy gift that you know will be returned at least says, "Here. Take this. At least I tried."
Next year I anticipate getting certificates to the local grocery stores, accompanied by my relatives' grocery lists.
Here, do my shopping for me.
Posted by Dan at 12:11 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
December 25, 2004
Christmas greetings
If you're reading this, you probably just needed a break from the family.
I'm in the middle of a 10-hour drive home to visit relatives with the Missus. We're hoping to get there during Christmas daylight.
I've posted a few bonus goodies below, nothing serious, for your Christmas time-wasting pleasure. Enjoy!
Posted by Dan at 07:37 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
If this doesn't warm your heart...
...maybe it will at least warm your feet. Well, maybe one of them, anyway.
Lonelysocks.co.uk is a database for missing socks. It includes a long list of socks who have lost their partners. Importantly, you can click on each sock for a larger image in case you think you've found a match to a sock on the list.
New socks are highlighted with their own place near the top of the list. Everyone knows that there is a critical 48-hour window to recover newly-lost articles of footwear.
On this most joyous of seasons, I salute the work that lonelysocks.co.uk does to makes sure no sock has to be alone this holiday.
Key quotes from the home page:
- ...let's hope for a load of Welsh socks to add to the site very soon!
- HOORAY: Two more socks have been added to the database.
- Maybe Rob from Pontypridd lost a sock with a white stripe around it while Sarah in Cowdenbeath lost exactly the same sock. They both have a lonely sock. These socks should be united with a sock of their own kind. This is what we intend to do on www.lonelysocks.co.uk.
Posted by Dan at 07:19 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
I bet the guy on the ladder is glad the photo is a hoax!
Still, it feels like art.
Posted by Dan at 07:17 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
See? I'm not the only one extending Christmas greetings.
This site posts all holiday greetings.
Posted by Dan at 07:13 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Nice gift idea for U2, Pretenders
Posted by Dan at 07:03 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
It could be worse.
You could be John Mayer.
Posted by Dan at 06:58 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
December 24, 2004
So I lied: a wee cancer reflection
It's Christmas tomorrow and you have cancer.
That, to me, is permission to feel the way you feel.
So often people expect certain responses. At a funeral you are expected to be sad. At a wedding, happy.
Don't let other people's expectations give them power over you. Let yourself feel the way you feel. When I was originally diagnosed with cancer, way back at age 18, my first response was relief. Yep, relief.
I had been sick for so long, just general malaise, that I got the sense that people thought I was faking it, or wasn't as bad off as I claimed. That cancer diagnosis felt like "Wow. You guys have to shut up now. I KNEW I was sick! I'm not crazy after all!"
Of course, the stark raving terror hit later, but there it is.
So on Christmas you will feel nostalgic and happy and terrified and sad and melancholy. You'll have energy and you'll be exhausted. You'll want to touch and to hug and you'll want to be left alone and touching will make you tense.
People will look down on you for laughing at a funeral or being boisterous on Christmas when cancer patients should be glum. People will expect you to be scared for yourself but maybe you're thinking about your family instead. People will expect you to be weak, or strong. People will EXPECT. Screw them. Yep, I'm a pastor and I said it: screw them.
Feel the way you feel. It's bad enough being sick without also being a prisoner of someone else's expectations.
Life, even life with cancer, is meant to be lived freely. Let yourself feel the way you feel, whatever that is.
Oh, and have a merry Christmas!
Posted by Dan at 01:19 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
No Cancer Updates or Reflections
Until the day after Christmas. All the cancer thoughts are listed in a topic heading in the right sidebar, if you're the type who loves a good cancer read on Christmas day.
Got some nice (and occasionally cultural) goodies for you instead. Enjoy your holiday.
Light, but steady, blogging over the next 3 days.
Joyeux Noel.
Posted by Dan at 08:58 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Say what you want, you KNOW you're gonna tell everybody.
So, these two cows are talking, as they often do when people aren't around.
"Hey, are you worried about that Mad Cow Disease?", asked the first cow.
"Why should I?", the second cow replied, "I'm a chicken!".
Posted by Dan at 08:57 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
In case you get bored on Christmas Day....
Here's The Exorcist, as told by bunnies, in 30 seconds.
Posted by Dan at 08:52 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
The end of an era.
Also Seriously.
Sad now.
Feeling old, too.
Posted by Dan at 08:49 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Shake the Snowglobe!
Tracking Santa with NORAD a little too low-impact for you?
Here's something a little more interactive: rock these little snow guys' globey world!
Posted by Dan at 08:46 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Track Santa with NORAD!
Posted by Dan at 08:44 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Well, it's about time!
Godzilla, who has served as leading man in dozens of movies and had to work with some of the toughest names in film - Mothra, Mechagodzilla, Rodan - finally gets some props.
Heh, the prop gets some props. I slay me.
Posted by Dan at 08:40 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Top-selling books of RIGHT NOW!
From the Wall Street Journal. How many have you read?
FICTION
1. "Five People You Meet in Heaven" by Mitch Albom (Hyperion)
2. "State of Fear" by Michael Crichton (HarperCollins)
3. "The Polar Express" by Chris Van Allsburg (Houghton Mifflin)
4. "The Da Vinci Code" by Dan Brown (Doubleday)
5. "The Da Vinci Code (illustrated edition)" by Dan Brown (Doubleday)
6. "A Salty Piece of Land" by Jimmy Buffett (news), (Little, Brown)
7. "London Bridges" by James Patterson (Little, Brown)
8. "Night Fall" by Nelson DeMille (Warner Books)
9. "Black Wind" by Clive Cussler (Putnam)
10. "Life Expectancy" by Dean Koontz (Bantam)
11. "I Am Charlotte Simmons" by Tom Wolfe (Farrar, Straus & Giroux)
12. "Whiteout" by Ken Follett (Dutton)
13. "The Godfather Returns" by Mark Winegardner (Random House)
14. "The Plot Against America" by Philip Roth (Houghton Mifflin)
15. "The Christmas Thief" by M.H. Clark, C.H. Clark (Simon & Schuster)
NONFICTION
1. "America (The Book)" by the writers of The Daily Show, Jon Stewart (Warner)
2. "He's Just Not That into You" by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo (Simon Spotlight Entertainment)
3. "Your Best Life Now" by Joel Osteen (Warner Faith)
4. "Chronicles, Volume One" by Bob Dylan (news) (Simon & Schuster)
5. "When Will Jesus Bring the Pork Chops?" by George Carlin (Hyperion)
6. "Faithful" by S. O'Nan, S. King (Scribner)
7. "His Excellency: George Washington" by Joseph J. Ellis (Knopf)
8. "The Purpose-Driven Life" by Rick Warren (Zondervan)
9. "Sharing Good Times" by Jimmy Carter (Simon & Schuster)
10. "Eats, Shoots and Leaves" by Lynne Truss (Gotham Books)
11. "Family First" by Philip C. McGraw (Free Press)
12. "My Life" by Bill Clinton (news - web sites) (Knopf)
13. "The Games Do Count: America's Best and Brightest on the Power of Sports" by Brian Kilmeade (ReganBooks)
14. "How to Talk to a Liberal" by Ann Coulter (Crown Forum)
15. "Complete Cartoons of The New Yorker" edited by Robert Mankoff (Black Dog & Leventhal)
Only three of thirty? I drip with shame.
Posted by Dan at 12:20 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
I guess this is good news. Sort of.
But how about some cancer research that yields clues about CANCER?
Posted by Dan at 12:10 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
December 23, 2004
Worst. Christmas movie. Ever.
I haven't seen it, but the fact that it came out as a Christmas movie, then was released to video before Christmas THE SAME YEAR says bunches.
Made-for-TV: get ready to get Afflecked!
Posted by Dan at 04:52 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Free Culture
Posted by Dan at 11:44 AM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
I could not agree more.
This version of A Christmas Carol is not only the best version of this story ever, but also one of my favorite movies of all time.
Key Quote: Scrooge's cruel response, "let them die and decrease the surplus population," is returned to him as he sees Tiny Tim for the first time, and Scrooge is both rebuked and saddened by it.
Dismiss it as a kid's movie to your own loss.
Posted by Dan at 11:36 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
More comic book adaptations may be in the works.
This time it's The Flash and Wonder Woman.
I'm telling you, the Wonder Twins flick isn't far off.
Posted by Dan at 09:48 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Reflection 12-23-4
Cancer may be the scariest disease going.
I mean, some diseases have scary side effects (ever see an Ebola movie? Eesh.) and some have scary final stages (AIDS is a horrific way to die, for instance) but cell-for-cell, my opinion is that cancer has them beaten.
My thoughts on the topic are two:
(1) Cancer is portrayed as hyper-scary and unstoppable in our culture. It is sold to us as a faceless, invisible killer that can strike at any time and is almost always incurable. When movies need that extra Umph! of tragedy, one of the stars can get cancer.
You feel fine and visit with the doctor on a routine basis and then WHAM! the next day you're in a fight for your life. There are very few popular culture treatments of cancer that don't horror-ify the disease. One excellent treatment of cancer is Michael Keaton's simply brilliant My Life, which resonated with me immediately. Keaton did his homework on that one. All the way through, the issues dealt with real, true-to-life struggles and triumphs and failures of cancer patients I have known and been.
Another interesting treatment of cancer is Julia Roberts' Dying Young. The movie as a whole is clearly more concerned with romance and with cashing in on Roberts (her star was rising then), but the nuanced emotions and choices of the cancer patient/love interest (two terms rarely used in concert) played by Campbell Scott are dead on. In a film that uses cancer as a plot device, the real meat is in the actions and reactions of Scott's character, Victor.
(2) Cancer is one of the few, and by far the most well-known, diseases that use your own body to kill you. With AIDS, a foreign virus attacks your body and causes systems to fail. In other diseases, organs are attacked. In car accidents, for instance, body parts are damaged or broken and need to be repaired.
Cancer (and this keeps me up nights) is an expression of your own body trying to kill you. Cancer comes from within, is created by your own body (with help sometimes, but not all the time, by outside factors - mine originally came from nowhere and this recurrence has its origins in the radiation treatments we used to kill the LAST cancer). Cancer takes over cells in your body, kills some and twists others to its own use. Think of it: your own body is trying to kill you.
And not just quietly, but aggressively. Cancer is the equivalent of a bully saying "Here I come. This is what I am. Stop me if you can." It spreads quickly, and inevitably, to important organs. Cancer never spreads to your little toe. It spreads to your lungs or liver or kidneys.
That's why chemotherapy is basically dumping poison into your system and hoping it kills more greedy cancer cells than healthy cells - you have to damage parts of the whole to remove the evil parts. It's literally a civil war.
That said, let's make this general discussion more specific: my meeting yesterday with a radiation oncologist.
Dr. Crownover (from Cleveland Clinic - finally a doctor that inspires my confidence. This guy is sharp as a really sharp tack.) met with me for over an hour.
There is a second growth near the area of the first, huge mass on my back (since removed), but this one is in the chest cavity, near my spine. It is separate, not just a part the surgeon missed when he removed the tumor on my back.
There is a chance it is fluid from surgery, or scar tissue, but since it just appeared (I do CAT scans every 6 months and to have two growths that aren't related both suddenly appear is a bit of a stretch to believe in), the doctor suspects that one of the masses is an original site and the other is the same disease spread to a new location (metastasized).
This leaves two possibilities. One, and most likely, that the huge lump they first took off my back was the source. This requires more surgery, probably, to make sure they got every little bit off my back, and radiation to kill the tumor near my spine (it is actually just behind my aorta - sarcomas like to spread toward the lungs).
If the origin tumor is the one in my chest, surgery is not an option, since it is so deep and my heart is already weakened (r.e. previous posts). So, if the source tumor is the little one in my chest, treatment becomes palliative instead of curative. Turn out the lights, party's over.
Next step? Shortly after Christmas, we set about defining the new, smaller lump in my chest, mostly with a petscan. Also, I meet with a surgery specialist up in Cleveland Clinic, then with my oncologist to put all of our findings together and create a course of treatment.
This meeting was the first one to actually establish that yes, I do still have an active form of cancer despite the most recent surgery and, yes, it has probably spread. For those of you waiting for definitive information before freaking out, now is the time. Get freaky.
My history is that, with a few exceptions, I only freak out when my cancer doesn't respond to treatment, so you'll forgive me if I wait for the formal freak-out until a few more weeks have passed.
For now, I have the ironic task of writing a hope-filled and joyous sermon for our Christmas Eve service at church. What a world.
Posted by Dan at 09:29 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
December 22, 2004
Update postponed.
Spent the day in snowy Cleveland.
Nothing but bad, today. Seriously.
Doctor had a "procedure" and was an hour and a half late, letting the snow pile up. He stopped in to talk for an hour (it's always bad when an oncologist talks to one patient for an hour). After delivering the bad news, he left us to head home on snowy Interstate 80, and the typical hour drive was nearly 3.
Just plum tuckered. Sorry for the light blogging. Time to collapse in the bed.
Some fun posts and one really scary depressing recap of the cancer update tomorrow!
Hug someone you love.
Posted by Dan at 09:58 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
December 21, 2004
"And now there is merely silence, silence, silence, saying all we did not know." - William Rose Benet
I have posted this here already once before, but with the dark-but-not-gloomy mood I'm in tonight, it felt appropriate to re-post. It describes a formative event in my birthing as a caregiver. It also marks the beginning of the creation of the tools that help me pastor now, through the darkening days of my own cancer.
As chaplains, those of us who drew the dreaded and loved 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. shifts in Richmond's downtown MCV hospital were required to conclude our tours of duty by logging the night's activity in a notebook, to be read by the day staff in case follow-ups were needed.
Normally filled with names, times, conditions and activity reports, this is the report I wrote one particular Thursday afternoon about 7 years ago:
It started with noise, in the way that Wednesday nights are often noisy. The code beeper came to life, demanding attention, signaling to those of us who are chaplains and therefore forced to listen that somewhere in the hospital someone was dying, or dead.
There was noise as I arrived. Nurses and doctors huddled around a newborn, shouting orders, yelling for this or that medication. A mother, asking questions that had no good answers, questions like "What's wrong with him?" and "Will he be alright?" More noise as monitors sounded alarms. More noise as the father's labored breathing gave background to the shuffle of activity around the little one. Then, finally, more noise, as a deep voice cut through the cacophany, "Time of death, 1:32 A.M."
And then silence.
You call yourself a chaplain, Dan, don't you have anything to say? Where are your words of comfort now? Where is your precious faith now?
There was another chaplain with me. He was useless, too.
We quietly steered the couple, the mother and father, to a family room. I opened my mouth to start to say something, anything, to speak to their pain, but what words are there for a time like this? There is only silence. Only silence can communicate what a mother feels when she loses her 9-day old son.
We sat in silence for half an hour, then an hour. One of the other of us would sob out loud occasionally, but even that was cut short, as if in reverence for the silence, for the empty, hollow, quiet place that was now forever part of their lives. Even a hundred healthy children could never fill the empty place that was now in their hearts. Part of them would always keep silence now, even in the happiest of times.
And what was there for me to say? I was powerless in the face of such amazing grief. No words from a textbook or verse from the Bible can make a dent in a pain so big, so sudden.
Finally, I slipped out of the room, to find the nurses. They had wrapped the baby in a blanket, clean and blue. They had combed his hair. It is part of my job to bring the parents their child, to hold for the last time. Numbly, silently, I took the child that would not even see ten days in to them.
There are times when keeping silence communicates more powerfully than a million words or songs or cries. There are times when the only thing you can give to someone is your silent presence, your sharing of their pain. Sometimes silence says that there are emotions too deep for words, too primal, too much a part of who we try to hide to ever be expressed aloud.
And so I was there, with them, silent in that awful, terrible room for as long as they wanted to stay. Where could I go? Where could I run from silence? I had shared with these two souls the most terrible, most defining moment of the rest of their lives. I had been with them to watch their child die.
Later, they left. I finished my shift in silence, waiting for 8 A.M. to arrive. Tears would fall from time to time, and I never moved to dry them. If I spoke, it was only in response to questions, and even then my answers were nothing more than excuses to be silent again. Silence has that kind of power, a power I had never seen before.
Somehow, I drove myself home and got safely into the bed.
It is a terrible thing when it is too quiet to sleep. I lay awake, staring at the pillow where my wife's head would have been if she were home, should have been if there were any justice in the world. I lay awake staring, praying that she would never leave the place she holds in my heart. It is too big a place to be empty, to be silent. Funny how I never seem to tell her that. Funny how silence can teach us the things that are truly important.
Sometimes silence can be a cave to hide in, an excuse to never take risks.
After a while, physical and emotional exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep.
I almost never remember my dreams, but that morning I dreamed of a white room, and a blue blanket, and I was trying to scream or cry or yell, but all I could dream was silence.
And we all go in to them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God.
- T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets, East Coker, 1940
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All I want is a home where I can put my eye out.
The house made famous by A Christmas Story is for sale on eBay.
No word on if the lamp ("electric sex") is included, or if Bumpas' dogs are still on the prowl.
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When they're right, they're right.
When Defamer first hit me with the idea, I chuckled. Now I'm not so sure.
If Scotty boy does get the death penalty, and if Affleck does put out one more bomb at the theater, this movie of the week is a done deal.
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Just when you think your day can't get any worse.
They cancel your favorite TV show.
Honey? Cancel Showtime!
This really is a loss. The second season was notably less gripping than the hyper-poignant first season, but the storylines available were still rich with possibility.
Ellen Muth was a find and fit her character perfectly, and Mandy Patinkin was pure gold. Mostly I liked the show because it faced death head-on and didn't back away from it or romanticize it like so many clutching-for-your-heartstrings-and-wallets dramas do these days.
Gads, I'll miss Dead Like Me.
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Popping Cancer Update
No substantive news from the meeting with my oncologist today.
Looks like tomorrow's meeting with the radiation therapist (again, in Cleveland) will be the proof of the pudding.
For the latest updates, see the topic heading in the right sidebar. Pleasant thoughts appreciated. My hopeful optimism is quickly fading into occasional stabbing bouts of wondering what folks will say at my funeral. Just occasional bouts, but still.
Must be the dark and cold. Sheila's website (see "Freebies" post) helped the spirits.
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I'm taking this break from being a pastor to say one word.
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THE pop culture news of the day!
I have a(nother) reason to live!
A firm date on the new Harry Potter book has just been announced!
And there was much rejoicing.
Rumors are that Harry has to die at the end of book seven, since he and Lord Voldemort are linked and, of course, Vordemort has to die. If this happens, be warned that I am going to spit. Hard.
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Props to the Regulars
Time to toss a little love:
-Ara Rubyan, Popping Culture regular, runs a streamlined and dissention-filled website from the Left. Ara's website is one of the few political blogs where disagreement is tolerated: just make sure you bring substance, since partisan talking points will be run roughshod over. A good read, usually with interesting new perspectives on topics you thought you understood.
-Joel Caris, Popping Culture regular, owns Nightmares for Sale. Billed as "Common Sense Dissent, Retail Horror, and Other Musings", this site is really a glimpse into Joel's life and more specifically into the topics and items that catch his eye. Certainly worth a read, it'll be nice once he gets back to posting more regularly. Joel is also a Left-leaner, but even that can be forgiven.
-Ralph, Popping Culture regular, is the head grease monkey behind Ralph's Garage. I love popping into the Garage because I never know what will be there when I arrive. "Eclectic" is an understatement. Ralph's Garage is like the biggest flea market you ever saw, with only quality items displayed. Go, read.
-Folkbum (Jay Bullock), Popping Culture regular, is a star in the world of rhetoric. Proprietor of Folkbum's Rants and Rambles, Jay puts together arguments more clearly and convincingly than is sometimes comfortable. Jay is on hiatus until the New Year, but is posting at Liberal Street Fight in the interim, which can be reached from his blog. I note that Jay also is a Left-winger, which makes me wonder why my closest blogging buddies are all of the liberal ilk.
-Jheka, Popping Culture regular from The Daily Blitz, more than makes up for all those liberals. Another demi-eclectic site, The Daily Blitz takes in and processes all sorts of tidbits, from artificial tails for dolphins to steroid use to good old political conversation. Another very worthy read.
-Mr. E Poet spends his days protecting my right to blog what I blog. In between, he's one of the most artistic blokes to set eyes and mind in this blog. I just love this guy.
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Brain Candy, domestic
Time does not bring relief
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Edna St Vincent Millay
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2004: A Fantasy Football Odyssey
My fake team of superstars, "Two Minute Warning", has earned the right, by virtue of an 84-23 drubbing of my first round opposition, to compete in the league's Super Bowl this week.
Fantasy Football players will recognize the importance of Miami's upset win over the Patriots last night. I have Patriot running back Corey Dillon AND the Patriots' team defense both as mainstays of my fantasy team. Had the Patriots won last night, they would be a lock for homefield advantage in the playoffs. With the unexpected loss, they have to beat the Jets this week in order to gain the homefield status.
Translation: the Patriots have something to play for. If they had won last night at the Dolphins, Dillon almost certainly would have sat out this week to avoid injury in a meaningless game before the playoffs and the second-teamers would have gotten more playtime on defense. (Note: I also have Adam Vinatieri, New England's kicker, but he'd be in either way. He's a placekicker, not a football player.)
I have struggled with my hurting Dolphins since the drug-induced retirement of basket case Ricky Williams and the season-ending injury to receiver David Boston the week before the season opened, but they may have just won the Super Bowl for Two Minute Warning.
COMING LATER TODAY: Posts you might actually care about!
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December 20, 2004
Here's a mild curiosity.
Michelle at A Small Victory, posts 517 songs.
I'm not really sure why, but there they are. I'm sure they're her favorite songs or somesuch, but I like to roll down the list and get all nostalgic. Reading lists of song titles can be like a random, twitchy jaunt through your own past. Or it can be, you know, just a list.
Seriously:
46. Foghat - Slow Ride
168. Bon Jovi - Bad Medicine
220. Ray Charles - Georgia
239. Bobby Darin - Mack the Knife
385. Prince - Purple Rain
416. Queen - We Will Rock You/We Are The Champions
418. Chris Isaak - Wicked Game
423. South Park - Blame Canada
463. Rick James - Superfreak
Hard to argue with that.
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Culture news that shouldn't be that shocking.
A Muslim sex column isn't very well received.
Huh.
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Mid-day Popping Cancer Update
There's a lot of snow in Cleveland right now. High temperature: 17 degrees.
It now appears, from the visit to the specialist, that the CAT scan was not so clear as we had thought. There seems to be a second mass, this one closer to my spine. That sucks.
Either my oncologist missed that little detail on the report or has a very different opinion of the word "clear" than I do. I'd head back to his office and start breaking thumbs if I could just stop coughing.
Of course, that's a joke. He could probably whup me, and it'd look bad on my resume under the title "pastor." Still, another growth near my spine can NOT be a good thing.
**UPDATE to the update: the specialist says he won't do chemotherapy, since it has already weakened my heart so much. He wants me to see a radiation guy and a surgery guy and talk options. Keyword from that discussion: "not many." Ok, that's two words. Geez, you guys are picky. Still, I'm not supposed to do any more radiation and surgery may be the only choice, along with prayerful hopes it doesn't return once removed.**
***UPDATE: The corn chowder at the Au Bon Pain on Interstate 80 south of Cleveland is FANtastic.***
****UPDATE: I have a meeting at about 1 p.m. tomorrow with my local oncologist. We'll see what's what then.****
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December 19, 2004
18 inches
Light blogging on Monday.
I live in Youngstown, and Mrs. Popping Culture and I are driving an hour and a half to Cleveland at 7 a.m. to meet with an oncology specialist at Cleveland Clinic to help set a course of treatment.
I don't want to go, which sort of goes without saying. Whatever you can bring to the table is welcome at this point: prayers, good wishes, good karma, pleasing auras, power crystals, mojo, you name it.
Did I mention that it's snowing in Cleveland now, and they expect 18 inches to two feet by the time it's all done?
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December 18, 2004
I feel so... so used.
It's finally official. Oliver Twist's voice was dubbed by a female.
Also, remember Lassie? A GIRL DOG.
Next, they'll be telling us there's no Santa Claus.
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Tell the wife I'm gonna be a little late getting home tonight.
Geez. I wanna party in Deltona, Florida!
Just needs a little tar, looks like.
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Amends
To make up for the comics post, here's a fantastic literature blog, chock full of reading goodies!
Disclaimer: The authors of Litblog use words like "vituperation" the way my standard readership uses the words "neat-o" or "Paris Hilton." So, let's be careful out there.
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Caution! Caution! Geek Alert!
Because I can't help it, here is a link to Comic Book Galaxy's best comics of 2004. It may be a sign of stabilizing mental health that this is the first year I haven't read ANY of the winners.
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Popping Cancer - Visual
This is a soft tissue sarcoma, just like the one your kindly host has been nurturing for God only knows how long.
Technical jibber-jabber: Increased mitotic activity in a high grade tumor (H&E, 400X). [Slides provided by AG Nascimento, MD. Mayo Clinic, Rochester, MN, USA]
Well, THAT doesn't look too scary, does it?
**UPDATE: The wife says it looks like one of those old "Magic Eye" puzzles. Do you see the dinosaur in the sarcoma above? How about the huge medical bill?**
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Another interesting tidbit from Guardian Unlimited.
"German archaeologists revealed yesterday that they had discovered one of the world's oldest musical instruments, a 35,000-year-old flute carved from the tusk of a now-extinct woolly mammoth. The flute was dug up in a cave in the Swabian mountains in south-western Germany, and pieced back together again from 31 fragments."
Looks like an old flute to me!
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America's greatest contribution to art?
Jonathan Jones argues that it's improvisation. This intelligent, well-written article discusses improvisation as a reflection of American ideals and calls in as witnesses actor Marlon Brando, painter Jackson Pollock and alto sax player Charlie Parker.
Read it, you culture-deficient savages!
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If they can do this, they can split MLB into "steroids" and "non-steroids"
The results of the first Miss Plastic Surgery pageant are in! As you can see, the winner was a cut above the rest.
Key quote: When the result was announced, it was a buoyant Feng Qian who had doctors to thank for four procedures that added a fold to her eyelids, liposuctioned fat from her belly, reshaped her cheeks, and injected botox to alter facial muscles.
Feng, wearing a flowing gold evening gown and a bright smile on her resculpted face, said she hoped the event would remove some of the stigma associated with plastic surgery.
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December 17, 2004
Stolen, returned, sold!
The art world is getting an unexpected boost these days from Adolf Hitler and the boys, no less.
More and more art returned to the proper owners after the WW2 lootings by Nazis (as well as the Red Army) is being sold in public auction.
Quote:
Since 1996, Sotheby’s and Christie’s alone have sold a combined total of about £140 million ($252 million at today’s exchange rate) of art returned to families from museums and private collections.
I, for one, found this article exceedingly interesting. Read, as they say, the whole thing here.
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It's the little details I tend to forget.
Actual conversations I've had with my oncologist this week:
Me: It's just that my throat still hurts and I've felt sick for almost two weeks. I usually get better in a week or so. What's wrong with me?
Dr. Krishnan: Remember when I told you that you have cancer?
Me: Oh, yeah.
Me: What's the appointment for on the 20th?
Dr. Krishnan: Because you have cancer.
Me: Ah.
You'd think I could remember something like that.
Posted by Dan at 11:18 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
It's more than just speculation if it appeared in an important periodical like Star Magazine.
Key Quotes:
The only drink they ordered was one Coke -- and they appeared to be sharing it. At the end of the meal, the waiter brought the check.
Or, as another observer put it, "Jen could have started early eating for the holidays, but I think she looks more like she has a baby on the way!"
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Eye Candy
The Flower Vendor
by Diego Rivera
Throughout his sixty-year career, Mexican artist Diego Rivera (1886-1957) produced some of the most distinctive and socially powerful works in modern art. Most famous for his murals, his monumental frescos gave life to revolutionary themes, championing the causes of the oppressed. Rivera used portraiture throughout his career to make personal, artistic and political statements, as well as to convey his Communistic beliefs and opinions. In addition to being a painter, Rivera was also a skilled printmaker, sculptor and book illustrator.
Text via Global Gallery.
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December 16, 2004
Make it not true.
Please, please, anybody - make it not true.
**UPDATE: Um, maybe it's a ruse to get my attention or something.**
***UPDATE: Hmmm.. nope, no update. Still in denial.***
Posted by Dan at 10:47 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
What I love most about reality television.
The way it brings families together.
Please kill me.
Wait, I've had a moment of clarity. Please kill the producers.
Posted by Dan at 10:40 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer, prehistory
The first time I had cancer, it was bad. Very bad.
I was 18 and on summer vacation from classes at Old Dominion University (Go Blue!). I had what I thought was a simple sore throat and cold, and since my mother was a teacher changing jobs over the summer, I didn't go see the doctor because we didn't have health insuran