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January 31, 2005
Once again, John Updike says what I feel better than I could.
A scab
is a beautiful thing - a coin
the body has minted, with an invisible motto:
In God We Trust.
Our body loves us,
and, even while the spirit drifts dreaming,
works at mending the damage that we do.
Close your eyes, knowing
that healing is a work of darkness,
that darkness is a gown of healing,
that the vessel of our tremulous venture is lifted
by tides we do not control.
Faith is health's requisite:
we have this fact in lieu
of better proof of le bon Dieu.
-from "Ode to Healing" by John Updike
To that I say only "Amen."
Posted by Dan at 08:46 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Update: Chemo Day One
Well, I'm home. And I still have my hair. No promises there, though.
Today's treatment isn't over, the stuff is still in my veins and will be for three more days, but it could have been much worse.
No violent reactions today. This could be because the new anti-nausea drugs are so good or because day one is better than days two or three. We'll find that out tomorrow.
I was there from about 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. today, but it shouldn't take as long tomorrow. It felt longer because they were pumping fluids through me to protect my kidneys, so I ended up having to pee every 20 minutes or so. It felt like a part-time job. Professional Urinator.
I feel blechy. I don't really want to eat anything. It feels like there's a war being fought in my body, if you can imagine. The closest I can relate it to is the way you feel after a high-school soccer game: you ran for an hour and a half straight, got in a few fights and now every muscle in your body is exhausted and sore.
I imagine this is how mugging victims feel afterward.
Still, I felt that way last time as par for the course, only with the violent reactions, so I'm way ahead as I see it.
Exhausted, but way ahead.
It's 4:42 now. I have medicine for nausea should the need arise. I think I'm going to hit the sack and sleep for a long, long time. I just wanted you crazy cats and kittens to know I'm still kicking over here.
Two more days and I get three weeks off! This is, and I don't think I'm blowing it out of proportion, the absolute best I could have hoped for from a chemo treatment. Good for me.
Posted by Dan at 04:37 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Reason to Live #177
Video game geek alert.
X-Box Next, the second generation version of Microsoft's X-Box, is scheduled for an Autumn 2005 release. It'll be hitting the shelves in three forms: a unit without a hard drive (if you're pinching pennies), a unit with a hard drive, and a unit that also serves as a fully-functioning PC.
I own all three of the big consoles (Gamecube, Playstation 2, and X-Box) and while there are games on the other two consoles I wouldn't trade for anything, the X-Box has the best and most consistently good games on the market.
Rumor has it the games for X-Box Next will come on iPod-type cartridges, not CDs, which means no backward-compatibility.
Still, you can't argue with the power the machine will have. Take a gander at these screen stills from X-Box Next games:
Posted by Dan at 04:29 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Got a couple hundred thousand bucks laying around?
Here's a nice little item. Unique, too.
Key quote:
Whiners, fault finders and complainers need not respond.
Posted by Dan at 07:03 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
While I'm off being sick, why not catch up on the weather?
Extra Credit if you watch the whole thing. Turn on your speaker - you won't, uh, want, um, to miss a... to miss a word.
Posted by Dan at 07:00 AM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
January 30, 2005
Popping Cancer Update: Here's how it's gonna be.
I just (Sunday night at about 7:45 p.m.) had a call from my oncologist, who was eager to fill me in on the fun we're gonna have starting tomorrow morning. I have three treatments, one each Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday.
In addition to the side effects I'm familiar with from chemotherapy (nausea, cramping, muscle pain, fever, hair loss, yadda yadda), there are a couple new possibilities with the "medication" they're dropping in my veins tomorrow.
One is seizures. That's right, up to a couple days after each treatment, I could have seizures. Also, confusion. He didn't really explain confusion, so it might be anything from "why did I come upstairs?" to "This is not my beautiful house! This is not my beautiful wife! How did I get here?"
Another fun possibility, my personal favorite, is: bleeding from my kidneys! Yes! There's a drug they'll give me for this, but no promises.
I'm getting there at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning. I stay a quick and breezy SIX HOURS, then repeat for the next two days.
Jealous yet?
If not, this will put you over the edge: doc said that even if it works (and the numbers are against me, but then again, I've always beaten the odds for better and for worse in the past), it's not gonna cure anything.
That's right! Metastatic sarcoma is not curable. The best we can hope for is to knock it down and get a remission for a couple years. It's always gonna come back eventually.
This is where reputations as fighters and "strong" human beings get made. Not that we are strong, those of us who fight cancer, but that we make it day by day until something happens one way or another.
If you had told me at 18 that I would have the strength to make it through 8 years, on and off, of cancer treatments and a bone marrow transplant, I'd have thought you a fool.
But you do it one day at a time. You live today. You survive this hour. Before long, they add up.
That's the goal right now - to make it through tomorrow. If I am strong enough tomorrow evening, I'll send up a post to let you know I'm well, or at least alive. If not, I'll get the wife to do so.
Whatever you're doing Monday, be glad you're doing it.
Peace to you.
Posted by Dan at 08:54 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
Susan Lucci Receives Walk of Fame Star
In related news, Dude, Where's My Car? wins an Oscar and William Hung nabs a Grammy.
Posted by Dan at 02:14 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Michael Jackson is NOT a child molester.
You have Michael Jackson's word on it.
I can quickly turn this into an uncomfortable analogy: it's like when people use BIBLE VERSES to prove that the Bible is without flaw.
Imagine if we used that logic in our daily lives. "Hey, Dan Champion is Emperor of the World. I know it's true because Dan Champion said so."
Wow, now I'm all angry. Anyway, free James Brown!
Posted by Dan at 02:08 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
One day 'til chemotherapy!
I can hardly wait.
Don't I get presents or wishes or something? Maybe a nice "Happy Poison-In-Your-Veins-Day" cake? Roses? I should at least get a celebratory wig.
What really sucks is that it's a three-day deal, which means I'll have to put off ALL those Groundhog Day plans I had made.
Don't be sad. Just think of it as a radical new diet plan. Atkins has NOTHING on chemotherapy.
I'll be at the doctor's office at 8 a.m. tomorrow morning. If I'm able at night I'll let you know how it went. Same for days two and three.
So, if you have anything to say, confess or apologize for, now's the time.
Posted by Dan at 07:46 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 29, 2005
Hi, Julie!
Below are some random pictures of lightning, for my friend Julie, who likes the lightning. The last one is my favorite.
All four of these were taken by Michael Fewings.
Nature scary.
Posted by Dan at 09:30 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
This is worth a look.
Celebrity Baby Blog has all the poop on, well, celebrity babies.
Mrs. Popping Culture thinks Dave Letterman's baby is ADORABLE. Gush gush.
Pick a celebrity, take a gander at their baby.
Posted by Dan at 09:20 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Think it's cold where you are?
Be glad you aren't parked in Geneva about now...
Posted by Dan at 05:34 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Also robbed by the Academy
Key quote:
To give you an example, you will go from watching two characters murdered, one by shotgun and one by axe, directly into a dance sequence performed by the Axe Gang.
I told you this was wierd.
Posted by Dan at 05:26 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Well, this is huge.
The Olsen twins have split with their handler and now have complete control over their billion-dollar media empire.
You can't blame them for throwing the guy overboard. After all, is it too much to ask to have sharks with frickin' laser beams?
Posted by Dan at 08:36 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Two Days until chemotherapy.
I'm less giddy now.
And the cancer cure I've been working on in the basement isn't working out. I need more test monkeys and fast!
Posted by Dan at 08:31 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Got something to tell the world?
Then don't miss out on THIS exclusive offer! Just three days left!
Posted by Dan at 08:30 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Now that I have some free time, I thought I'd catch up on my paperbacks.
So do I start here...
or here...
or, most likely, here...
These literary giants and lots more discovered in a web search at ObscuroRant and passed along by Sheila.
Posted by Dan at 12:05 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
January 28, 2005
Since the last blonde joke went over so well...
A blonde who's down on her luck is walking through a luxurious neighbourhood looking for odd jobs to do when she approaches a large house. She goes up to the house, rings the bell and the owner comes to the door.
He asks the lady what he can do for her. The blonde tells him of her situation, that she is down on her luck and wants to know if he has any odd jobs that she could do. The man thinks about it for a second and then remembers that he has been wanting his porch painted. He asks the blonde if she paints?
The blonde says, "Sure anything."
"Well, I've been wanting my porch painted, how much would you charge?" the man replies.
"I don't know, say $50 bucks."
"Sounds good. Go ahead and get started." He closes the door and walks back inside.
His wife asks him, "Who was at the door?"
He tells her of the blonde and her situation and then told his wife that the blonde agreed to paint the porch for $50 bucks.
The astonished wife says, "$50 bucks, but that porch goes the full length of our house and then some. It will be at least a few hours job. You really should pay her more."
"But that's all she said she wanted, and anyway she's a dumb blonde!"
10 minutes later, they get a knock on the door. The man answers the door and the blonde stands there and says, "All done."
With a surprised look on his face he tells her, "I can't believe it, you're already done painting the entire porch?"
"Yes, and by the way it's not a porch it's a Ferrari."
Posted by Dan at 11:45 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Too darn cold.
It was 8 degrees on the way home tonight.
Somebody tell them I have cancer. When it gets this cold, I very nearly can't breathe at all and I suspect that if I stayed outside for longer than the time it takes me to get from car door to house, they would find me under the snow come Spring.
Low tonight might be around 2, they say.
That's too cold.
Now I'm off to cough myself to sleep! Huzzah for Youngstown winters!
Posted by Dan at 11:37 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Inspired by Ralph: one man's opinion, albeit the correct one.
Ralph mentioned something interesting in response to my post concerning this week's celebration of the 60th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. He mentioned the "turn the other cheek" reference by Jesus in Matthew, and how do we justify that with what happened in Auschwitz and with modern-day jihad.
This is my comment on the improperly used "turn the other cheek" reference. Feel free to disagree, particularly if thinking about things in ways that are different from how your Sunday School teacher taught makes you uncomfortable.
In Roman culture, hitting someone with the backside of your hand was a sign of disrespect. Striking them with your open palm implied that you were confronting/challenging an equal.
When Jesus said "turn the other cheek," he didn't mean it the way we usually take it, which is "keep getting hit and be quiet about it." Remember that Jesus was killed for being a political subversive. Rome didn't care one whit about Jewish interpretations of Torah.
Jesus was suggesting that people claim at least equality with their oppressors. If someone hits you with the back of their hand and you turn your cheek, your face is facing their palm. It is a symbol of defiance, not humble servitude. It is saying "you may have more centurians right now, but we are people too, not just materiel for your profit."
It is about liberation in the face of oppression.
Besides, to me, the anniversary is not a political one and is not meant to engender political debate: it is an anniversary of liberation, which is always welcome.
Now, back to the Paris Hilton references!
Posted by Dan at 11:27 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Quote of the Day
"Pain is weakness leaving the body." -from a Marine Corps t-shirt
Posted by Dan at 12:11 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
Brain Candy
The Heaven of Animals
Here they are. The soft eyes open.
If they have lived in a wood
It is a wood.
If they have lived on plains
It is grass rolling
Under their feet forever.
Having no souls, they have come,
Anyway, beyond their knowing.
Their instincts wholly bloom
And they rise.
The soft eyes open.
To match them, the landscape flowers,
Outdoing, desperately
Outdoing what is required:
The richest wood,
The deepest field.
For some of these,
It could not be the place
It is, without blood.
These hunt, as they have done
But with claws and teeth grown perfect,
More deadly than they can believe.
They stalk more silently,
And crouch on the limbs of trees,
And their descent
Upon the bright backs of their prey
May take years
In a sovereign floating of joy.
And those that are hunted
Know this as their life,
Their reward: to walk
Under such trees in full knowledge
Of what is in glory above them,
And to feel no fear,
But acceptance, compliance.
Fulfilling themselves without pain
At the cycle's center,
They tremble, they walk
Under the tree,
They fall, they are torn,
They rise, they walk again.
James Dickey 1961
Posted by Dan at 12:10 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
I'm pretty sure calling off the game was a good idea.
Posted by Dan at 09:24 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Breaking Sports News!
"Cowher Says Steelers' Loss Is Not the End"
Hmm.
So I guess there will be three teams in the Super Bowl this year. Should be quite a game.
Posted by Dan at 09:19 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
January 27, 2005
I heard a good insult today, if you're in the market.
"I hate him so much it gives me energy."
Wow.
Posted by Dan at 11:39 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
AWWW... Wook at da widdle kiddie... u are such a cute widdle kiddie... yes you are... yes you are...
If you say anything bad about this cat, you will be banned from this web log for life and you will die painfully and over a LONG period of time and vultures will nip at your innards but spit you out because of the obvious taint of evil and God will punch you in the face, and I mean HARD, like as though God was a young Mike Tyson and you will end up for all eternity in the Hell of Eternally Measuring Gérard Depardieu's Inseam and it's true.
So, um, cute cat, huh?
Posted by Dan at 11:27 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Job Update: It's okay to be sad.
Somehow we got this idea, and Christians are the absolute worst about this, that being sad or angry is a bad thing.
Whenever I post something to the effect that "Cancer is bumming me out today," I get a bunch of emails and comments to the effect of "Buck, up, little camper - God will provide! God loves you! Be happy! I'll pray that you stop being sad!"
Well, sad is an appropriate response to cancer sometimes. My doctors are all saying I have a great, healthy, positive attitude about my disease, but they are also aware that I have a potentially fatal illness that has spread far and rapidly and that sometimes I'll be less-than-joyous about that.
Sad is ok. Feeling the way you feel is ok, until it becomes destructive. I'd worry about me if I went around all day with a goofy grin and never looked at the negative consequences of cancer.
I say all that to say this: I'm sad right now.
My doctors have said I am forbidden to visit shut-ins, crowds and especially hospital patients. The dearest old lady in our church (this lady and her equally-dear husband "adopted" Stephanie and I) had a heart attack today.
I, as her pastor, couldn't visit her.
How in the world can I pretend to call myself a pastor and NOT visit people I love who are ill? Answer: I can't. I am filing for disability as soon as the denomination can get me the papers. Any trained monkey in a suit can preach. That's not my calling.
My calling came when I had cancer a long time ago and found myself, remarkably, pulling myself up the hallway by my IV pole to visit the other cancer patients who were in the same foxhole I was. I would sit with them through their treatments and sometimes just quietly BE with them.
Upon being healed, I found out that the world is full of people, all of whom are hurting in their own way. I didn't have any real pastor skills, but I hoped I could make a difference in their lives, and so here I am.
Except that now the center of my call has been taken from me.
So don't tell me God loves me. Don't tell me you'll pray that my spirits will be lifted. Don't tell me you're rooting for me.
Something central, and defining, in my life is gone, and I miss it. Just let me be sad.
Posted by Dan at 05:45 PM | Comments (10) | TrackBack
Eye Candy, post-impressionist
Street in Tahiti
by Paul Gauguin
Currently in the Toledo Museum of Art
Brief biography here, which includes his time painting with Van Gogh.
Posted by Dan at 05:12 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Remember Debbie Gibson, from the 80s?
Posted by Dan at 05:08 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
OOOOOO... she's an author, too!
Posted by Dan at 02:50 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
Four short days until chemotherapy!
I'm giddy.
Posted by Dan at 09:47 AM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
60 years ago today.
I still know a few folks who claim the Holocaust was a trick of propaganda. I never come so close to physical violence as I do when that comes up.
This anniversary puts me in the mind of an independent study class I did in seminary on regaining hope after unspeakable loss. Over the course of a semester, I interviewed numerous holocaust survivors, read books by and about hundreds more and worked at the Virginia Holocaust Museum briefly as a volunteer.
Not to put too fine a point on it, but what a depressing study. My conclusion was (and had to be) that people can alway regain hope, but it very often takes great lengths of time to recover from the largest traumas. There is a level of trauma that some people gained in the holocaust that was simply so great that they couldn't live long enough to regain hope. Many of these folks eventually committed suicide.
The study was useful to me as a chaplain, because people experience different levels of trauma. Also, people are different; something that doesn't bother me anymore might paralyze someone else for years emotionally.
Hope is a very precious commodity, and this day 60 years ago is a reminder.
Posted by Dan at 09:34 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
I find this terribly interesting.
Our 90 percent friend, 10 percent bitter enemy Ara Rubyan posted a link to this post from MSNBC, which gives thumbnail sketches of some of the more important candidates in the upcoming Iraqi elections.
Sounds funny to say that: "upcoming Iraqi elections."
Still, one guy is a direct descendent of Mohammed his own self and is also a descendent of the old king (who was, of course, killed - this is still Iraq we're talking about), another is the guy who the U.S. appointed as interim P.M. (which pretty much rules him out), another is a nuclear physicist who refused to help Saddam build a nuclear bomb (so at least he WANTED one), and there is the requisite sprinkling of Sunnis, Kurds and Shiites, oh my.
Very interesting. I think this election has the same chance of coming off in a fair and orderly manner that I have of finding out lollipops cure cancer.
Posted by Dan at 09:19 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
Today's very symbolic picture.
Symbolic of what, I don't know.
Posted by Dan at 09:12 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
January 26, 2005
So, how are you coming with those New Year's Resolutions?
Here are Zach Braff's:
Forgo all exercise (including walking),
Learn to smoke (something thin like Capri's),
Take my loved ones for granted,
Stop washing my hands after twosies,
Laugh at babies who are late walkers,
Pull leaves off trees that appear to be flourishing,
Name the yet to be named voices in my head (something tough like Carl or Kyle)
Be less kind to bunnies,
Floss everything but my teeth,
Travel (but only around my yard and with a light carry-on)
Stop and smell the Rosens. (They're a wonderful family and absolutely compulsive about showering.)
This from his hi-larious Garden State blog. Dude gets comments in the thousands. AND he got paid for kissing Natalie Portman.
Posted by Dan at 10:27 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
"Grab a bat and stop this rally."
My boy, Jim, reminded me about Bob Uecker's Baseball Hall of Fame induction speech from 2003. It was a riot, and if you remember Bob's delivery, it's better still.
Here you go:
Thank you, Joe, thank you very much. And thank you ladies and gentlemen. And my congratulations to Hal, Gary Carter, Eddie Murray, and to all of the members of the staff of the Hall of Fame, thank you very much. This has been a wonderful, wonderful time.
I, in deference to Hal McCoy, was asked to quit many times. I was born and raised in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Actually, I was born in Illinois. My mother and father were on an oleo margarine run to Chicago back in 1934, because we couldn't get colored margarine in Wisconsin. On the way home, my mother was with child. Me. And the pains started, and my dad pulled off into an exit area, and that's where the event took place. I remember it was a nativity type setting. An exit light shining down. There were three truck drivers there. One guy was carrying butter, one guy had frankfurters, and the other guy was a retired baseball scout who told my folks that I probably had a chance to play somewhere down the line.
I remember it being very cold. It was January. I didn't weigh very much. I think the birth certificate said something like ten ounces. I was very small. And I remember the coldness on my back from the asphalt. And I was immediately wrapped in swaddling clothes and put in the back of a '37 Chevy without a heater. And that was the start of this Cinderella story that you are hearing today.
I did not have a lot of ability as a kid, and my dad wanted me to have everything that everybody else had. I think the first thing that he ever bought me was a football. And I was very young. He didn't know a lot about it, he came from the old country. I mean, we tried to pass it and throw it and kick it, and we couldn't do it. And it was very discouraging for him and for me. Almost, we almost quit. And finally we had a nice enough neighbor, came over and put some air in it, and what a difference.
I got a lot of my ability from my father. As a lot of these other guys did. My father actually came to this country as a soccer player. He didn't play, he blew up the balls is what he did. And they didn't have pumps in those days. And to see a man put that valve in his mouth and insert it into a soccer ball, and blow thirty pounds of air. And then have the ability to pull that thing out without it fracturing the back of his mouth was unbelievable. You had to see his neck and his veins popping. It was unbelievable. How proud I was as I watched him do it time after time.
My first sport was eighth grade basketball. And my dad didn't want to buy me the supporter johnny, you know, to do the job. So my mother made me one out of a flour sack. And the tough thing about that is, you put that thing on, you whip it out of your bag in the gym. You know all the guys are looking at it. And you start the game. The guy guarding you knows exactly where you're going since little specks of flour keep dropping out. And then right down the front it says "Pillsbury's Best."
I signed a very modest $3,000 bonus with the Braves in Milwaukee, which I'm sure a lot of you know. And my old man didn't have that kind of money to put out. But the Braves took it. I remember sitting around our kitchen table counting all this money, coins out of jars, and I'm telling my dad, "Forget this, I don't want to play." He said, "No, you are going to play baseball. We are going to have you make some money, and we're going to live real good." My dad had an accent, I want to be real authentic when I'm doing this thing. So I signed. The signing took place at a very popular restaurant in Milwaukee. And I remember driving, and my dad's all fired up and nervous, and I said, "Look, it will be over in a couple of minutes. Don't be uptight." We pull in the parking lot, pull next to the Braves automobile, and my dad screwed up right away. He doesn't have the window rolled up far enough and our tray falls off and all the food is on the floor. And from there on it was baseball.
Starting with the Braves in Milwaukee, St. Louis, where I won the World's Championship for them in 1964, to the Philadelphia Phillies and back to the Braves in Atlanta where I became Phil Niekro's personal chaser. But during every player's career there comes a time when you know that your services are no longer required, that you might be moving on. Traded, sold, released ,whatever it may be. And having been with four clubs, I picked up a few of these tips. I remember Gene Mauch doing things to me at Philadelphia. I'd be sitting there and he'd say, "Grab a bat and stop this rally." Send me up there without a bat and tell my to try for a walk. Look down at the first base coach for a sign and have him turn his back on you.
But you know what? Things like that never bothered me. I'd set records that will never be equaled, 90 percent I hope are never printed: .200 lifetime batting average in the major leagues which tied me with another sports great averaging 200 or better for a ten-year period, Don Carter, one of our top bowlers.
In 1967 I set a major league record for passed balls, and I did that without playing every game. There was a game, as a matter of fact, during that year when Phil Niekro's brother and he were pitching against each other in Atlanta. Their parents were sitting right behind home plate. I saw their folks that day more than they did the whole weekend.
But with people like Niekro, and this was another thing, I found the easy way out to catch a knuckleball. It was to wait until it stopped rolling and then pick it up. There were a lot of things that aggravated me, too. My family is here today. My boys, my girls. My kids used to do things that aggravate me, too. I'd take them to the game and they'd want to come home with a different player. I remember one of my friends came to Atlanta to see me once. He came to the door, he says, "Does Bob Uecker live here?" He says, "Yeah, bring him in." But my two boys are just like me. In their championship little league game, one of them struck out three times and the other one had an error allowed the winning run to score. They lost the championship, and I couldn't have been more proud. I remember the people as we walked through the parking lot throwing eggs and rotten stuff at our car. What a beautiful day.
You know, everybody remembers their first game in the major leagues. For me it was in Milwaukee. My hometown, born and raised there, and I can remember walking out on the field and Birdie Tebbetts was our manager at that time. And my family was there: my mother and dad, and all my relatives. And as I'm standing on the field, everybody's pointing at me and waving and laughing, and I'm pointing back. And Birdie Tebbetts came up and asked me if I was nervous or uptight about the game. And I said, "I'm not. I've been waiting five years to get here. I'm ready to go."
He said, "Well, we're gonna start you today. I didn't want to tell you earlier. I didn't want you to get too fired up."
I said, "Look, I'm ready to go."
He said, "Well, great, you're in there. And oh, by the by, the rest of us up here wear that supporter on the inside." That was the first game my folks walked out on, too.
But you know, of all of the things that I've done, this has always been number one, baseball. The commercials, the films, the television series, I could never wait for everything to get over to get back to baseball. I still, and this is not sour grapes by any means, still think I should have gone in as a player. Thank you very much.
The proof is in the pudding. No, this conglomeration of greats that are here today, a lot of them were teammates, but they won't admit it. But they were. And a lot of them were players that worked in games that I called. They are wonderful friends, and always will be. And the 1964 World's Championship team. The great Lou Brock. And I remember as we got down near World Series time, Bing Devine, who was the Cardinals' general manager at that time, asked me if I would do him and the Cardinals, in general, a favor. And I said I would. And he said, "We'd like to inject you with hepatitis. We need to bring an infielder up." I said, "Would I able to sit on the bench." He said, "Yes, we'll build a plastic cubicle for you because it is an infectious disease." And I've got to tell you this. I have a photo at home, I turned a beautiful color yellow and with that Cardinal white uniform. I was knocked out. It was beautiful, wasn't it, Lou? It was great.
Of course, any championship involves a World Series [ring]. The ring, the ceremony, the following season in St. Louis at old Busch Stadium. We were standing along the sideline. I was in the bullpen warming up the pitcher. And when they called my name for the ring, it's something that you never ever forget. And when they threw it out into left field. I found it in the fifth inning, I think it was, Lou, wasn't it? And once I spotted it in the grass man, I was on it. It was unbelievable.
But as these players have bats, gloves…I had a great shoe contract and glove contract with a company who paid me a lot of money never to be seen using their stuff. Bat orders…I would order a dozen bats and there were times they'd come back with handles at each end. You know, people have asked me a lot of times, because I didn't hit a lot, we all know that, how long a dozen bats would last me? Depending on the weight and the model that I was using at that particular time I would say eight to ten cookouts.
I once ordered a dozen flame-treated bats, and they sent me a box of ashes, so I knew at that time things were moving on. But there are tips that you pick up when the Braves were going to release me. It is a tough time for a manager, for your family, for the player to be told that you're never going to play the game again. And I can remember walking in the clubhouse that day, and Luman Harris, who was the Braves' manager, came up to me and said there were no visitors allowed. So again, I knew I might be moving on.
Paul Richards was the general manager and told me the Braves wanted to make me a coach for the following season. And that I would be coaching second base. So again, gone.
But that's when the baseball career started as a broadcaster. I remember working first with Milo Hamilton and Ernie Johnson. And I was all fired up about that, too, until I found out that my portion of the broadcast was being used to jam Radio Free Europe. And I picked up a microphone one day and my mic had no cord on it, so I was talking to nobody. But it's such a wonderful, wonderful thing today to be here. And one of my first partners was mentioned earlier, Merle Harmon, and Tom Collins, he's here today. All of those who I have worked with from Merle to Lorn Brown to Dwayne Mosley, Pat Hughes, who now works for the Chicago Cubs, and my current partner today, Jim Powell and Kent Summerfeld. My thanks to all of you.
To my good pal Bob Costas out there. Thank you, Bobby. All of the network people, that has been as much a part of broadcasting for me as anything. The days with ABC and "Monday Night Baseball" with the late Bob Prince and Keith Jackson and Al Michaels and my great pal, Don Drysdale. All of those people have played such a big part in me being here today. Dick Ebersol, the head of NBC Sports. All of them are a big part of what I am. My family is seated over here. I love them very much.
Ulice Payne is here, the president of the Brewers. The commissioner of baseball is a guy that gave me my start. He said, "I want to bring you back to Milwaukee." And I said, "I'll come." And here I am, 33 years later. Thank you, Al. I call him Al, Bud Selig. Wife Sue is here. To all of my Brewer family, Wendy, Laurel Selig… Wendy Selig-Prieb, Laurel Prieb. Tony Migliaccio, one of my great friends. Mike LaBoe, all my people. Jon Greenberg, I didn't even know you were here. You took care of Hal McCoy, what the hell's going on. But all of these people play such a big part in all of our lives.
And to all of you baseball fans around America and any place else, for your letters, your thoughts, your kindness for all of these years, it's been a great run, but number one has always been baseball for me. No matter what else I ever did, baseball was the only way I wanted to go. I thank you very much for your attention today, thank you for having me, and congratulations to everybody here. Thank you very much everybody, thank you.
Posted by Dan at 10:18 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
They put the stupidest lawsuit ever to bed back in 2003.
But this is America, so fire it back up! Here in America, we reward stupidity. Big, fat stupidity.
Posted by Dan at 07:01 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack
You seem WAY too smart.
Need to dumb yourself down in a hurry?
Just read this play-by-play account of Paris Hilton's visit to The Ellen DeGeneres Show.
Posted by Dan at 06:51 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Reason to live #4,612
Target acquired.
Posted by Dan at 03:09 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Update: the kind of discussion that could only take place in my life.
I met with my heart doctor today.
I told him we were starting chemotherapy without adriamycin, the drug that hurt my heart last time.
Since my spiritual gift is the ability to see the absolute worst possibilities in every situation, we got to talking about what we could do if I don't respond to chemotherapy.
He said he would be willing to meet with me more regularly to monitor my heart if I decided down the line to do chemo with adriamycin.
I told him that I have been a chaplain, pastor and cancer patient for many years. I've seen more than my share of folks die in all sorts of unpleasant ways.
If it comes to it, I'd rather die of heart failure than cancer.
Plan A is for this plainer chemotherapy to work. AND I'm due some good news, so that's what I'm counting on.
But still, my choice would be painful and fast over painful and slow any day. I'd much rather my wife remember me in my right mind, too - such as THAT is.
Morbid enough for you yet?
Posted by Dan at 02:59 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack
Too bad I just found out about these folks.
I could have booked them for my sister-in-law's wedding.
Key quote:
To find out how we make our carrot instruments - click here!
Posted by Dan at 09:13 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
I'm starting to miss things.
Even in a successful fight with cancer, you lose things along the way. I made a long list once of things I missed in my roughly 8-year struggle (on and off) with cancer last time.
It seems I'm going to have to start a new list.
Before I've even had my first chemotherapy treatment, already...
...I miss walking the dog. I would take her on long walks at least two and sometimes three times a day. We'd go up the hill and across the ball field, into the woods. Sometimes, we'd go to the park for even longer walks. Now, I can't get a quarter-mile from the house without coughing and feeling run down.
...I miss school. One semester away from graduating. I was coming to terms with saying goodbye to everyone at graduation and moving on in life. Now, not only will I not be in school this semester, I won't have a chance to see the gang at all. No papers, no books, no lectures by Dr. Herzog, no lunchroom discussions.
...I miss being a pastor to the people in my church. Before, after over a year with my current congregation, folks were finally opening up, coming to my office and sharing their needs and concerns. We would talk and pray and I felt useful. Now, it's like there's a barrier between the congregation and me. Nobody wants to bring their problems to the pastor who has cancer. I guess it makes sense - they must be thinking their problems seem small next to cancer, or that I must be too sick to help - but it is my calling, and I miss it.
...I miss chocolate milk shakes.
...I miss my friend Robyn. You get used to having people around, and you take them for granted. Every week I drove up to school last semester, it was understood that at least one night each trip, we'd go to a restaurant or somesuch and just sit and talk. I got to at least visit everyone else I consider family over the Christmas break, when we went home to Virginia. Mostly, I miss the talks.
I'm pretty sure there are other things, but that's it for now. I'm not all depressed or anything, but it is healthy to miss those things which you care about when they are taken from you.
I guess it gives you something to fight for.
Posted by Dan at 08:51 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
January 25, 2005
Blond joke alert!
Sent to me by a church member:
A blind man enters a Ladies Bar by mistake. He finds his way to a
barstool and orders a drink. After sitting there for a while, he yells to the bartender, "Hey, you wanna hear a blonde joke?"
The bar immediately falls absolutely quiet. In a very deep, husky
voice,the woman next to him says, "Before you tell that joke, sir, I think it is just fair - given that you are blind - that you should know five things.
1 - The bartender is a blonde girl.
2 - The bouncer is a blonde girl.
3 - I'm a 6 feet tall, 180-pound blonde woman with a black belt in
karate.
4 - The woman sitting next to me is blonde and is a professional
weightlifter.
5 - The lady to your right is a blonde and is a professional wrestler.
Now think about it seriously, Mister. Do you still wanna tell that joke?"
The blind man thinks for a second, shakes his head, and declares, "Nah, not if I'm gonna have to explain it five times."
Posted by Dan at 10:15 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
Brain Candy Classic
It's SO cliche for this to be one of my two favorite poems. I know. I can't help it. It's like a guilty pleasure. Same with "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." So sue me.
Nevertheless, I find it delicious. Enjoy it again.
The Road Not Taken
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Posted by Dan at 09:59 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
I'm shocked, I tell you! Shocked!
They've found evidence linking certain rap musicians to certain drug-related crimes.
I'd expect this from, say, those classical music thugs, but the squeaky-clean world of rap music? C'mon.
Posted by Dan at 09:51 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
This will make up for the "cat carrier" post.
Posted by Dan at 09:48 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
My own record is only about 20 seconds.
But I only tried three times.
**UPDATE: Make that 28 seconds.**
Posted by Dan at 03:17 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
Eye Candy
Ballet School
by Edgar Degas
(1834-1917)
Many art critics like to classify the works of various artists into categories. However some artists such as the French painter, (Hilaire Germain) Edgar Degas, are not quite true to the category they have been assigned. Listed as an impressionist, Degas's paintings seem an alternative to the classic impressionist style, thus marking him as a individualist in his craft.
Edgar Degas was born on July 19th, 1834 into an affluent Paris banking family. As a young man, he studied at the École des Beaux-Arts. While there, he developed the great drawing ability essential to his style. Originally painting classic academic subjects, Degas switched after 1865 to more of his age's contemporary themes.
Although linked with the impressionists, Degas was not fascinated as were others by the influence of natural light and did most of his work within his studio. His work seemed to stem from the humanistic experience as he paintings depicted such horse racing, circuses, the theater, and ballet. He was painstaking in his desire to capture his subjects, particularly women, in natural poses of movement and grace. His work could be compared to that of many modern day artistic photographers. He was also later captivated by a study of Japanese prints of which style seemed to influence his later work. He used the Japanese idea of asymmetrical design often using an object to set the subject to the side of a painting. An example of this would be Woman with Chrysanthemums (1865, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City) where the female subject is pushed into one corner by a bouquet of flowers.
Late in life, Degas began losing his eyesight, and with this loss resorted to a change of medium. He began working with sculpture and pastels. His sculpture was noted for its inherent movement and his pastels for their simpleness of subject with little in the way of complex backgrounds. This work, although very different than his earlier paintings, also has gained a notoriety of its own largely from its use of simple design or vibrant colors. Never really successful in life, Degas was largely discovered as a master after his death in 1917.
Biography via All About Artists.
Posted by Dan at 03:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Is it just me, or are caution signs getting more threatening?
NOW how am I supposed to sleep?
Posted by Dan at 08:39 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
January 24, 2005
Quote of the Day
"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived."
- General George S. Patton
Posted by Dan at 11:11 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Finally! A breakthrough in cat technology!
Posted by Dan at 11:07 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
Popping Cancer Update: On What NOT to Say to a Cancer Patient.
Once, when I was 18 years old, I was in a hospital bed in Portsmouth, Virginia. I was told I had a late-stage form of Hodgkin's Disease and that I was in big trouble.
I was scared, alone, away from home.
On this particular day, a woman from the church came to visit me. She said a few things, then suggested that I "search my life for sin" that may have caused God to give me cancer.
I was, as I said, young and scared and alone, and she was a respected lady in the church, so I didn't have the experience or courage to say what I should have said, which is, of course, "Go to Hell. If you ever set foot in this hospital room again, I promise you I will find the strength somehow to escort you out, painfully."
How horrible! Somehow, I think she thought she was doing me, or God, a favor. I imagine she would be able to defend her statement to her church cohorts, as well. Maybe one of them would thank her for saying that to me.
Not long after, another year or so down the road, and I was again (or still, I forget which) in a hospital bed. Another lady from church came to visit. After a bit of uncomfortable discussion, she said, "What is Jesus teaching you in all this?"
What is Jesus teaching me? What is Jesus teaching me?
Maybe that chemotherapy sucks. That cancer is evil and horrible and I hate it and I can't think about anything except how much it hurts and please, please, please someone, anyone make it stop! How about, Jesus is teaching me how it feels to be scared and alone while my friends are living their lives in college, having fun, and I'm here with doctors telling me I'm dying!
Let me make this clear. God didn't GIVE me cancer. God has no desire for me to get sick and die, and it's not part of a holy plan for me to learn some valuable lesson. Shut. Up.
Anything good that ever came out of cancer came from the patient alone. Cancer is evil. If you think God would make me sick like this to teach me some valuable skills, we worship different gods. Period.
The problem is that normal, thinking humans get uncomfortable around sick people and in hospitals. They say things to patients without thinking because they think they SHOULD say SOMETHING.
Then add a layer of Christianity.
Not only do folks feel like they have to say SOMETHING, they think they have to say something hopeful and Christ-centered. This is bunk.
Sometimes, what I needed more than anything was a friend who would just sit quietly and be sorry I was sick. Someone who was just THERE and didn't need to put what can't be spoken into awkward words.
Once, a friend of mine came in to the room, held my hand, and started to cry. After a while, she gave me a hug, and a smile, and left. NOT ONE WORD the entire visit. It was perfect.
Sometimes, the patient will want to talk, need words of encouragement, desire to get things off his/her chest. Let them guide the conversation.
If you feel uncomfortable around hospitals or sick folks, don't visit me. It won't make it better and it will only serve to salve your own ego.
Ask me "is this a good time?" and "do you want to talk about it?" or, best of all, "how do you feel?" That last one will let me answer physically ("I feel tired/nauseated/much better"), emotionally ("I'm very sad/happy/scared") or even spiritually ("I feel alone. I feel abandoned by God.") I might even respond "I don't feel like talking."
And that's ok. It's all ok.
Any way a patient feels is alright.
There have been days I was so angry at God I could break things. It's ok; let me feel the way I feel.
There are days I've said aloud that I'm not sure I believe in God anymore. Don't freak out, church friends. It's ok. It's ok.
I may be dying. Just love me, ok? Love me in your words, or in your silence, or in your staying away because the visit would be more about you than me.
And there's the answer. Cancer patients don't need words. They don't need visitors. They need to be loved. Honestly loved.
Ok?
Posted by Dan at 08:02 PM | Comments (8) | TrackBack
Joke Du Jour
Big Stupid Tommy passes along this chuckle:
A busload of politicians was driving down a country road, when suddenly the bus ran off the road and crashed into an old farmer's barn.
The old farmer got off his tractor and went to investigate. Soon he dug a hole and buried the politicians. A few days later, the local sheriff came out, saw the crashed bus and asked the old farmer where all the politicians had gone.
The old farmer said, "I buried them."
The sheriff asked the old farmer, "Lordy, they were ALL dead?"
The old farmer said, "Well, some of them said they weren't, but you know how them crooked politicians lie."
Posted by Dan at 09:39 AM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Words fail me.
These MENSA candidates apparently crashed a Bush inauguration protest. There are always a few in every crowd who can see the bigger picture.
Posted by Dan at 09:33 AM | Comments (2) | TrackBack
No root canal!
Tomorrow's root canal has been postponed until February!
You may remember that I have cancer. That has lowered my resistances and that plus the 6 degree weather has given me a cough. A bad cough.
Tired all the time, can't go outside, can't sleep.
The dental professional decided it was a bad idea to come at me with drills when I was constantly coughing, so we postponed.
Isn't having cancer just the best?
Posted by Dan at 09:26 AM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
No justice! No peace!
How messed up is the world when Johnny Carson dies, yet Fran Drescher gets another sitcom?
Looks like I picked the wrong week to give up sniffing glue.
Posted by Dan at 09:06 AM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
January 23, 2005
I LIVE by this (very scientific) survey.
Key Quote:
A Columbia University study released Tuesday suggests that viewing fewer than four hours of television a day severely inhibits a person's ability to ridicule popular culture.
Posted by Dan at 08:33 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
It's a tough choice, but I'll stick with the chemotherapy.
Instead of putting poison in my veins, the doctor said I could get the same effect from staring at this picture for four hours every day.
Posted by Dan at 02:44 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
This is not supposed to happen. Ever.
You'll hear plenty from smarter people than I about this, so I'll just leave it at "he perfected the late night talk/comedy show."
Rest in Peace.
Posted by Dan at 02:38 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Good snowy morning!
Don't forget to shave!
Posted by Dan at 08:53 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
January 22, 2005
Call me Mr. Party-all-the-time Party-all-the-time.
School's out.
No church tomorrow! The snow is bad, with more on the way tonight.
On top of that, I have a terrible non-productive cough and general feeling of weakness that is greater than usual.
So I can sleep in tomorrow, which means the world is my oyster! I can watch movies all night! I can rock the house! I can stay up all night if I want!
So, anyway, it's 8 p.m.
I think I'm going to bed.
Posted by Dan at 08:07 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
Any of you demons wearing jeans?
Here's a fun story that's both true AND pastoral.
Turns out a couple of older sisters showed up in a Tennessee church one morning to pass along a message to mom.
Postponing the beginning of his service, the pastor - this is classic - came down from the pulpit and said (this is a quote) "You're not wearing pants in my church, you demon."
Ouch!
Now, what would you guess their response would be? Guilt, anger, violence? Nope, these Tennessee women tried the theology route:
"I'm glad I serve a God who can work through my pants" was the also-classic response.
It gets better, after you take a moment to stop laughing at the implications of everything that has gone before. Turns out the PASTOR turned to violence! He grabbed the woman who sassed him and hustled her toward the door, saying "I got all the demons out of my church, and I want you out."
VERY pastoral response, just like Jesus who insisted that sinners be kept on the outside. Right? (ATTENTION: I am aware that some of you out there are more literal than others. I just used a technique called sarcasm, to indicate that the pastor's response was not Christ-like. Jesus dealt more with people who need