Time for a new place. Please update your links appropriately.

http://cakeeaterchronicles.com

Thanks!

Posted by: MRN aka "The Husband" at 11:25 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Man, this makes me sad. In that, I actually welled up upon hearing of the passing of a person I didn't know---and that's rare.

Mr. Snow was a classy, well-spoken man. I was not the biggest viewer of his, while he was hosting Fox News Sunday and as I never listen to Limbaugh, I hadn't ever heard him sub for the fat man. But I knew who he was and was very happy he had decided to use his communications skills to help out an administration I believed was doing right, but needed his services immensely to get their message across.

On a more personal note, even though he had no idea about it, he actually helped me be a better, less whiny, cancer patient. His cancer had recurred around the time I was originally diagnosed and he returned to work at the White House after I started treatment. I kept my eye on him, and his progress, as much as I could while I was on my own roller coaster ride, and I sincerely hoped for the best for him. As he was generous enough to talk about his situation in front of rolling cameras, I was grateful enough to have been given a clue as to how to deal with all of this from someone who, sadly, was more experienced in all of this.

From the White House Briefing on April 30, 2007:

{...}Let me also just -- some personal comments -- and I'll try not to get choked up, so I'll go slow. You never anticipate this stuff, it just happens. I want to thank everybody in this room. You guys -- (thumbs up.) (Applause.) I'm getting there.

Q We're glad you're here.

MR. SNOW: Thanks. And thanks for the basket. (Laughter.) I want to thank you all. It really meant the world to me. Anybody who does not believe that thoughts and prayers make a difference, they're just wrong.

Q Take your time.

MR. SNOW: I will, thanks -- especially you. Just a couple things about my situation. I'm not trying to feel sorry for myself, I'm just going to stop being choked up, because you guys have been so wonderful.

I'm a very lucky guy. As I told you before, we were, out of an aggressive sense of caution, going to do an exploratory surgery that did indicate that I still have cancer. Now, I know the first reaction of people when they hear the word "cancer" is uh-oh. But we live in kind of a different medical situation than we used to. And I have been blessed to be treated by, supported by some of the finest doctors in the world. What we are going to do -- we had surgery, where we did disclose -- and there are some cancers in the peritoneum and we are going to attack them using chemotherapy -- I'll start chemotherapy this Friday.

The design is to throw it into remission and transform it into a chronic disease. If cancer is merely a nuisance for a long period of time, that's fine with me. There are many people running around -- and I must tell you, I have received a lot of notes from folks who have had far worse cases than I have, who have survived many years with the kind of regimen that we're talking about, which is chemo up front, and then maintenance chemo to continue combating cancer tells.

I won't tell you how it's going to work out, because I don't know. But we obviously feel optimistic, and faith, hope and love are a big part of all of it.

The other thing is that I hope folks out there who may either have cancer or have loved ones with cancer need to know a couple of things. First, don't go it alone. The support I've received from you and from my colleagues at the White House and people around the country has been an enormous source of strength. You can't -- there's no way to quantify it, but you feel it. You feel it in your heart. And in many ways, that may be the most important organ for recovery, to have the kind of spirit and to realize that, in my case, I'm unbelievably lucky and unbelievably blessed -- and really happy to be back.

The other thing is -- so don't go it alone, and the other thing is be of courage. Realize that in an age like ours, things are happening very rapidly in the medical realm. I'm taking a cancer cocktail this time around, a chemo cocktail that's going to contain two agents that were not in broad use two years ago. Things are moving very rapidly, and there's always hope.

Not everybody will survive cancer, but on the other hand, you've got to realize you've got the gift of life, so make the most of it. And that is my view, and I'm going to make the most of my time with you. I'll take questions. {...}

Note the lessons here: be grateful for what you've got, because every day is a blessing; accept help from people who want to help; choose to be optimistic about the future, because you don't what it holds, and it could hold just as much good as bad; and the lesson that was unsaid, but came through clearly enough: even though you're going through pain and suffering---and I'm fairly certain the poor man was suffering at that point---you shouldn't feel the need to deny it, because that wouldn't be honest, but instead be brave, assume that, yes, there will be more of it along the way, work through it, realize it's part of the process of living for you, and hope for the best.

Tony Snow was an incredibly classy man, and our lives are lesser for his passing. Rest in Peace, dear man, and thank you for your wise words.

My sincerest, most heartfelt condolences to his wife and family.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:19 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Saw Dr. Academic yesterday and we have good news.

CANCER FREE BABY

The biopsy came back negative for cancer, and my CA-125 that I had done last week as well came back at 10.

I have not recurred and all is well here in Cake Eater Land. Well, except for the pain thingy, for which Dr. Academic has prescribed Celebrex, which my insurance company is currently balking at shelling out for. It'll get sorted. It's just going to take some time. Sigh.

Thanks for all the prayers and well wishes, my devoted Cake Eater readers. The husband and I are in your debt.

Posted by: Kathy at 12:37 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Inspired by the ever fabulous Margi.

A little Marvin Gaye...

Some Bill Withers...

Some musick that takes me straight back to the summer between junior and senior year...

And, of course...

I am STILL pissed of that Michael Hutchence isn't around. Dumbass. A talented dumbass, yes. But a dumbass, nonetheless.

Feel better? I do.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:09 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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To prove, mainly, I haven't been entirely wrapped up in myself the past couple of days. Don't worry, my devoted Cake Eater readers: there will most likely be more cancer-related narcissism over the next couple of days. In the meantime, though...

• Barack Obama: the slumlord's best friend in government. Please read this article from beginning to end and then ask yourself, "Gee, do I really want the Daleys and the Chicago Political Machine running the country? " Because if you think Obama will suddenly drop the Brothers Bozo and the machine they inherited from Dear Old Dad, (and have manipulated and enhanced in ways that Dear Old Dad never thought of, and would have been so proud of) when he gets elected, well, you're deluded.

  One wonders when the MSM will ask this question. Oh, yeah, right. I know. They're too busy licking his balls to possibly apply critical thinking to his campaign. SLURP. {HT: Ace }

• I'm a little late on this one, but do check out Martini Boy's problems with Bobby Jindahl's latest bit of legislative largesse down in Lousiana. The relevant posts can be found here, and here. Make sure to clicky through on all the links, too.

  Well said, sir.

• Uhm, if you really think Steve Jobs is showing he cares about "the little people" with the "$199" iPhone, you might want to think again. Read the fine print.
• All I can say about this is "Go ahead and try it on, buddy and we'll see what the Fifth Fleet has to say about it. "
• To paraphrase the husband: Who knew the French actually had live ammo?
• Anyone else think Sarkozy might be getting a wee bit too big for his britches?

  Too bad he can't turn all that energy toward reforming his own country, which if memory serves, still needs some work.

And now I'm off to make my hip hurt by walking around the lake!

Posted by: Kathy at 08:49 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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For whatever reason moo knew is not allowing me to update posts without publishing them many, many times, so I shall start a new one, eh, my devoted Cake Eater readers, and avoid the hassle.

The biopsy went fine. I was very nervous until I actually got to the hospital, at which point I calmed down. I don't know why, but the point you'd think I'd be getting even more nervous is actually when I calm down. It happens this way every time. I don't know why, but I suspect it has something to do with "action" and not just sitting around, stewing in my own juices. We got checked in, were handed a buzzing coaster, just like the type they give you at Cheescake Factory to inform you, an hour and a half later, your table is finally ready. Fortunately, it buzzed within about fifteen minutes, and we were off to Care Suites. It's not a good thing when the nurses and nurses aides start recognizing you. It's just not. No one wants to be a regular at the hospital. The Nurse's Aide who brought me down said, "You were just in here, weren't you?" Oh, God. Yeesh.

Despite that, I got settled in, had my IV started, blood drawn and sent off to the lab to make sure my platelets were at a level ideal enough for me not to bleed all over the CT scanner, and then I laid down in my oooga-boooga-uuuugggly gown and bathrobe to watch Anthony Bourdain tour New Orleans. I love the fact they have cable in these rooms. The lovely, soothing idiot box and my "educational programming" courtesy of the Discovery Corporation. Seriously. Nothing soothes quite like it. Anyway, right as Emeril looked like he was going to bust a nervy-looking Bourdain's chops, a RN showed up early to take me down to the CT scan. That doesn't happen very often, so I was wheeled down the hallway, and this time the husband came with, so he could be in on the chat with the radiologist. They had my previous CT scan up on the screen in their monitoring room, and after confirming that it was, indeed, my pelvis, the husband got curious, went over and looked through the window, and commented, "Nice monitor," as he walked back over to where I was sitting, on the CT scanner. You can take the geek out of the computer repair shop for the day, but you can't get rid of the geek entirely, I suppose.

The radiologist turned out to be a fairly nice, level-headed guy, who made the effort to appear as if he was on my level: he squatted down while he was talking to me, instead of hovering over me, which I have to say, was somewhat comforting, particularly considering the circumstances, which turned out to be trickier than I thought they would be. He made sure I understood the problem he was facing with my biopsy: the affected area was about a centimeter wide, and it was in an area with loads of blood vessels and intestines, just to make things more complicated. He told us that instead of coming in vertically with the biopsy needle, he was going to go in horizontally, starting at my hip bone and proceeding toward my pubic bone with a needle about the length of a pencil, because this would make things easier, with less chance of him rupturing a blood vessel, or puncturing something he shouldn't. (Although he did say he could go through a bowel loop "if he had to" and it wouldn't cause too much damage, but he'd prefer not to. I agreed that was probably wise. Curious, isn't it, the things you learn?) He was concerned that he wasn't going to be able to get a good sample, however, because, again, the affected area was so small and because lymph node tissue and fat pretty much look the same to the naked eye. He was afraid he wasn't going to get the right kind of tissue sample, and that it wasn't going to be enough to determine if it was, indeed, cancerous. He warned me that he might not be successful, and that I might wind up having to have a full-blown lymphnodectomy, despite his best efforts. They always seem to do that, these radiologists. I don't know why. It hasn't happened before, and I suspect this time won't be any different. Anyway, after the explanations were over and done with, the husband kissed me goodbye and we got down to business.

I had to have an introductory scan---with contrast!---to light up the vascular system, and all of the lovely blood vessels that the radiologist was determined not to hit with his needle. I hate the contrast. Yeeeuch. It makes you feel like you're having a hot flash whilst having to pee really badly. Awful stuff, but moving along, this is when the nurse shot me up with the IV sedation drugs, and from there on in, things get a little fuzzy. This radiologist wasn't too chatty, unlike my previous radiologists, and he was all business. In and out of the CT, some time spent with very long, very thin needles, everyone leaving the room and in and out of the CT machine again. Lather, rinse and repeat. Twice. By the end of it, I was informed he thought he'd gotten one very good sample, one not so great, and another that was fairly good. Hopefully that will be enough---and of the right stuff---for the pathology department to do their business. Then it was back to my room, where I ate lunch and watched War Games on tee vee until they finally released me, two hours later.

I slept off some of the drugs when I got here, and I felt a little more even-keeled after I ate dinner. Apparently, I need a lot of these drugs---the RN said the amount she had to give me was enough to fell the average little old lady---and it was apparent that I needed to take it easy. Right now, I'm sore, a wee bit woozy from all the drugs, and I'm about to move it back to the sofa, but will take a detour to the kitchen to pick up my ice pack, which is chilling in the freezer. I can only imagine how sore I'll be in the morning. I suspect it won't be pretty, but hopefully, it'll be ok.

In all respects.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:50 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Well, my devoted Cake Eater readers, I have yet another scintillating episode of the lymphocele that would not quit for you. I'm under the gun here this morning, so I don't have time to go a searchin' in the archives for the relevant posts to refresh your memories. You can go looking for yourself.

When we last left the story, about two months ago, we'd drained it, then drained it again and sclerosed it with alcohol (and had a catheter inserted. yeuuch.), before it got infected and the catheter had to be pulled. Then I was told we were going to "wait and see" what it did, because it had shrunk, and also because, as Dr. Academic put it, "the more you mess with these things, the worse they become." The problem with this plan of attack, as I saw it, was that I was still in pain, and week before last finally called in not to ask them to reup my pain medication prescription (well, not only) but to see just how long this "wait and see" period was going to last. I updated the main nurse on what was going on, that it seemed how it had shrunk, but that I was still experiencing pain, and that just wasn't acceptable to me. She related this to Dr. Academic, who, again, came back at me with the "the more you mess with these thingsblahblahblah" line. I'd had it. I told the nurse, in a very kind and polite manner, that perhaps it was time for me to seek a second opinion on this. But, being clueless as to just what type of doctor I should go to for said second opinion, I asked her who she thought I should go to. She replied that she thought a general surgeon would be my best bet. Then, in a completely unexpected turn of events, told me she'd ask Dr. Academic who I should go to and would call me back.

When she called back she stunned me further. Dr. Academic, apparently, decided to ante up. She told me that Dr. Academic would now like me to go in for a Pet Scan, a CT Scan and that we'd move up my appointment to see him directly. She said that maybe now would be a good time to figure out why it was inflamed in the first place. She asked me if this would work for me and I said, "Yes, it does." Three days later, I drank a boatload of the two various types of contrast necessary for either scan, and went in first for the Pet scan and then for the CT Scan. It took the better part of the day to accomplish this task, but once it was done, I was happy that we were finally going to get to the bottom of this thing.

The only problem with this scenario is that when the results came in, the Pet Scan showed something surprising: not only was the lymphocele gone entirely, but a lymph node in my left pelvis was glowing. The radioactive sugar solution they shoot you up with before receiving a Pet Scan is designed specifically to look for cancer cells, because they will metabolize the sugar more quickly than regular cells and it will show on the scan. One solitary lymph node, on the side where all the troubles have been lately, lit up, and that generally means there might be cancer there.

All is not lost, however. When Dr. Academic's main nurse called me to related this information, she said Dr. Academic thinks that the lymph node might simply be inflamed, rather than cancerous, and that's why it lit up on the Pet Scan. But he didn't know for sure, and to figure it out, he wanted me to go in for a CT Guided Biopsy, which is scheduled for one o'clock CDT today. GOOD TIMES!

I swear to God I'm going to start glowing in the dark soon because of all these scans. It's just a matter of time, I'm sure, before the husband isn't able to sleep at all because of the radioactive glow I will emit when the lights go down.

The big question, of course, is Is it cancer? Well, I don't know. Dr. Academic doesn't know, which is why he's sending me in for the biopsy, and is why he patently refused to put any odds on either outcome. If it is, that means another ride on the chemo bus. If it isn't, then they'll most likely give me some anti-inflammatories to take. Do I< think it's cancer? No, I don't. Is it possible that the cancer is back? Yes. Anything's possible. Is it probable? No, I don't think it is. Of course, I am Longshot-Girl-Pays-Off when it comes to this crap, but it just doesn't seem likely to me that the cancer would reappear where it had never previously been, but rather in an area that I've been experiencing problems with---and have fiddled with twice---for the past six months or so. It seems unlikely. The "inflamed lymph node" option seems more likely to be the culprit. Or that's at least what I keep telling myself.

I'm tweaked as all hell about this biopsy. I barely slept last night. My stomach is in a rumble this morning, and not just because of the fact that I'm on the "no food or drink" rule before the procedure. I had to email my entire family over the weekend to let them know what was going on, and I hate having to do that. I don't like having to do this biopsy, not only because I think it's probably going to hurt like hell afterwards because of the location, but because I want to get it over with as quickly as possible, in the unlikely event that the pathology lab at the hospital could get the results back to me before the holiday. I doubt I'll get them back before then, but maybe the good fairies will be looking out for me.

Keep your fingers crossed, my devoted Cake Eater readers, that this doesn't turn out to be my death sentence, eh? I mean, it's not every day you go in for a test that could, possibly, determine the cause of your eventual death.

Because if it comes back as cancerous, I'm screwed, my devoted Cake Eater readers. Screwed, I tell ya. If ovarian cancer recurs, well, as I've written here many times before, that's when a cure will be beyond me, or any other ovarian cancer patient. That's when you get "salvage chemo" to make you stay alive longer---and you could live thirty years longer, but the cancer will always be present in your life. I don't want or need that.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:23 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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I'm a little late with this, but yesterday the FT published an analysis piece that delved a little more deeply into the subject covered this post:the joys of socialized medicine and cancer treatment.

{...}The ethical issue of whether patients seeking some private treatment should be excluded from the NHS is only part of a much broader global debate on the rising cost of medicines. It has been brought to a head by a new generation of cancer drugs that typically cost £30,000-£70,000 a year per patient. Concern over the rising total bill to the NHS prompted government negotiations that resulted in a 5 per cent average cut in medicine prices last week in a new contract with the pharmaceutical industry.

Around the world, escalating prices and expanding use are creating similar tensions. “Five years ago, the system worked, but now public health watchdogs are increasingly withholding treatment,” says Jonathan Anscombe, joint head of the European health practice at A.T. Kearney, the management consultancy.

Patients are being squeezed between the opposing forces of a state increasingly scrutinising whether new medicines are both cost- and clinically effective, and drug companies that resist lowering prices. Cuts may jeopardise the delicate financial balance that allows new treatments to be developed, the industry argues.

Options for reform include efforts by manufacturers to hold prices down and by regulators and reimbursement bodies to modify the criteria they use – and the costs they impose on drug development in the process. Patients, even in countries used to universal health coverage, may also have to start assuming a growing share of the costs directly

{...}One-third of people in the industrialised world develop one form or another of cancer. Desperate patients – and their doctors – are keen to try anything that may work. But Harpal Kumar, head of Cancer Research, the UK-based charity, cautions that most medicines remain blunt instruments. “The vast majority of cancer patients are cured by surgery and radiotherapy, not by drugs,” he says. “Most of the drugs are not saving lives but extending them by a small number of months.” His view is shared by Michael Rawlins, chairman of the National Institute for Clinical Health and Excellence (Nice), which advises the NHS on whether it should reimburse new medicines.

Nice has recommended that the NHS should not pay for six different cancer drugs in recent months. Two were rejected for lack of proven clinical effectiveness and the rest because, despite some demonstrable benefit, they were judged too expensive and would have been given at the expense of cheaper or more effective treatments for other patients.

“I think the drug companies are really going to have to take a hard look at the value of their products and price them accordingly,” says Prof Rawlins. “If there is a small benefit, they cannot charge premium prices. Traditionally they charged what they thought the market would bear. But we can only afford to pay when the price for innovation is in proportion to what it delivers.”{...} Oh, yeah. It gets better. Go and read the whole thing. But if you can't be bothered, the message seems to be, "Tough shit if you've paid taxes all your life and expected free cradle-to-grave health care. You're probably not going to get it. The meanie pharmaceuticals won't come down on the cost of drugs, and we're not going to pay their price, so you're pretty much SOL. Sorry, but it's not our fault."

I ask again: Why do some people want to inflict socialized health care on us? You pay through the roof for lowest common denominator health care, and, then, because the government decides it's going to break its "social contracts," you're going to have to pay some more? No thank you.

Methinks some people would be begging for a privatized health insurance system, should we wind up going that route.

Or at least they will be when it's their life that's on the line.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:09 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Go here and read the article. Seriously. Clicket on the link, because according to AP's new $2.50 per word charge for bloggers who excerpt their stories, I can't quote it here. Don't be lazy. Clicket.

Ok, so for those of you who were too lazy to clicket, here's a quick summary: two cute little Salt Lake City kiddies decided to go downtown and protest against high gas prices because their mom had to choose which "necessity" she could afford to pay: gas or cable. As you might imagine, the cable was turned off and her children decided to protest---because they couldn't watch their favorite cartoons.

They even incorrectly spelled 'money' ('monny') and 'cable' ('cabel') on their protest signs. I'm not cutting them any slack on this one because of their ages.

Contrast this bit of cuteness with my father's childhood. At the tender age of four, he was responsible for slicing off part of his three-year-old brother's finger. He didn't do this maliciously. It was an accident. It happened whilst the pair of them were CHOPPING WOOD. Meaning, the implement he wielded to cut said wood (and said finger) was an ax, and his little brother was holding the splitter. I shit you not. This actually happened. And, as my father will undoubtedly say in his defense, the whole finger didn't come off, but just the tip---and they were able to sew it back on, too, and considering this was the mid-1930's, in the Nebraska sticks, that was nothing short of amazing. Of course, since Dad lived on a farm for part of his youth, I've heard all sorts of various horror stories about dust-bowl era farm life, one in particular was about my Granny being swarmed by mice as she opened a water tank (apparently, my father still has an abhorrence of mice to this very day because of this incidence). Eventually his family was forced off the farm, and into Omaha, because, partly, of swarms of grasshoppers that cleaned out their crops. After he moved to Omaha, he worked at a family member's grocery store for $0.35 an hour---for forty hours a week and paid his own high school tuition.

I'm sure it never would have occurred to Dad to make a sign and go up by the side of the road to protest the more horrible parts of the Great Depression, which hit him and his family full force. (What would the sign have read? "DO SOMETHING ABOUT GRASSHOPPER PLAGUES NOW!"? ) Everyone would have been hard hit, so it wouldn't have made any sense to protest. Besides, he had chores to do: he wouldn't have had the time.

I'm absolutely sure about one other thing, though: since my father was the 1944 Platte County Spelling Bee champion, he would have known how to spell 'money' and 'cable'. Probably at age seven, but definitely by age nine---the ages of the young girls in Salt Lake City. Sadly, Dad couldn't go and compete against the other county champions at the state competition because---ahem---they didn't have a state spelling bee because of---ahem---WWII and fuel rationing.

Kinda makes being deprived of 'cabel' seem pretty nice in comparison, eh?

(See, it's good to have a non-Boomer set of parents. Their stories are just SO much better than "Well, I first learned to FIGHT THE MAN when my old man said I had to start mowing the lawn for a measly quarter...")

Posted by: Kathy at 12:38 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Aw, man.

Two quotes that seem appropriate. From Braindroppings

SUPER-CELEB KICKS THE BUCKET

I dread the deaths of certain super-celebrities. Not because I care about them, but because of all the shit I have to endure on television when one of them dies. All those tributes and retrospectives. And the bigger the personality, the worse it is.

For instance, imagine the crap we'll have to endure on TV when Bob Hope dies {ed. book was published in 1997}. First of all, they'll show clips from all his old road movies with Bing Crosby, and you can bet that some news anchor asshole will turn to the pile of clothing next to him and say, "Well, Tami, I imagine Bob's on the Road to Heaven now."

Then there'll be clips of all those funny costumes he wore on his TV specials, including the hippie sketch, where they'll show him saying, "Far out, man, far out!" They'll show him golfing with dead presidents, kissing blonde bombshells, and entertaining troops in every war since we beat the shit out of the Peloponnesians. And at some point, a seventy-year-old veteran will choke up, and say, "I just missed seein' him at Iwo, 'cause I got my legs blowed off. He's quite a guy."

Ex-presidents (including the dead ones) will line up four abreast to tell us what a great American he was; show business perennials will desert golf courses from Palm Springs to O.J.'s lawn to lament sadly as how this time, "Bob hooked one into the woods"; and, regarding his talent, a short comedian in a checkered hat will speak reverently about "Hope's incredible timing."

And this stuff will be on every single newscast day and night for a week. There'll be special one-hour salutes on "Good Morning America," the "Today" show, and "CBS This Morning." Ted Koppel will ask Henry Kissinger if it's true Bob Hope actually shortened some of our wars by telling jokes close to the frontlines. CNN will do a series of expanded "Show Biz Todays." One of the cable channels will do a one-week marathon of his movies. And it goes without saying that NBC will put together a three-hour, prime-time special called "Thanks for the Memories," but at the last minute they'll realize Bob Hope's audience skews older, and sell it to CBS.

Then there'll be the funeral, carried live on the Dead Celebrity Channel, with thousands of grotesque acne-ridden fans seeking autographs from all the show-business clowns who dug out their best black golfing outfits to attend "one of the hottest burials to hit this town in decades."----Variety

And all this shit will go on for weeks and weeks and weeks. Until Milton Berle dies. And then it will start all over again. I dare not even contemplate Frank Sinatra and Ronald Reagan.

Eerily prescient, eh? Except for the fact that Frankie kicked the bucket first, and Bob's funeral was private.

DEATH IS ALMOST FUN THESE DAYS

Seems to be it wasn't long ago that when an OLD PERSON DIED the UNDERTAKER put him in a COFFIN, and you sent FLOWERS to the FUNERAL HOME where the MORTICIAN held the WAKE. Then, after the FUNERAL, they put him in a HEARSE and DROVE him to the CEMETERY, where they BURIED his BODY in GRAVE.

Now when a SENIOR CITIZEN PASSES AWAY, he is placed in a BURIAL CONTAINER, and you send FLORAL TRIBUTES to the SLUMBER ROOM where the GRIEF THERAPIST supervises the VIEWING. After the MEMORIAL SERVICE, the FUNERAL COACH TRANSPORTS THE DEPARTED, to the GARDEN OF REMEMBRANCE, where his EARTHLY REMAINS are INTERRED in their FINAL RESTING PLACE.

May your coffin, your hearse, and your grave, be covered with flowers, George.

And I sincerely hope you get to watch the coverage of your own "passing" from a comfy easy chair in Heaven, and that you get a good chuckle out of it.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:40 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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You know, I don't ask for much from my blogging system, except for it to, you know, work. For the past twenty-four hours, the main page of the Cake Eater has been down. I would apologize for this, but as it's not my freakin' fault, I don't see why I should have to. Those of you who access this site via RSS feed, are able to see the content, as are those who would access one particular post via Google, but the main page? Nope. You can't have that.

Apparently, Pixy decided to migrate all the moo knew sites over to the new mee.nu software---without informing anyone other than Ace about what he was doing. I suspect this has gone fine for the majority of moo knew sites, but mine? Not so much. For whatever reason, my site is screwed up. Ah, well. You get what you pay for. And considering I don't pay dime one for this site, well...you can do the math.

For the time being you can access the site at cakeeaterchronicles.new.mu.nu. But seeing as how the people who use bookmarks to access the site won't know this because THEY WON'T BE ABLE TO SEE THIS FREAKIN' POST, this announcement doesn't really matter all that much. Sigh. I don't suspect I'll be posting much until things get straightened out. There's no point in writing anything if the majority of my readers can't access the stupid thing.

The husband tells me that he's hired some dude to help with the migration to the new site at cakeeaterchronicles.com. (Hi to the guy who's helping us out! Sorry I don't know your name. I know you're probably reading this. Thanks for the help!) So, the move to the .com domain, and to new and improved blogging software, should be happening in the near future. It's past time.

And now, my devoted RSS-feed subscribing Cake Eater readers, I am off to the hospital to pick up some CT contrast to chug. Good times!

Posted by: Kathy at 09:16 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Maybe it's a good thing I can't have kids if it gets me out of being invited to parties like this one.

{...}Women cradling glasses gather on sofas surrounding a coffee table that holds bowls of chips and M&Ms and books with titles such as "This is My Planet."

Welcome to an EcoMom Alliance party, the earnest 21st century descendant of the Tupperware party.

The EcoMoms are a fast-growing organization of mostly stay-at-home mothers who are tackling such issues as pollution and sustainability in their communities. Started barely 18 months ago by a mother in California, the group's website now claims 11,000 members around the world.

Jones, the mother of children ages 3, 6 and 8, is an EcoMom community leader. Using EcoMom parties, she is forging ahead with an environmental agenda that was in full swing before she found the group. An EcoMom banner hangs from a table in her living room proclaiming: "Sustain your home, sustain your planet, sustain your self."

"I've always been an organic shopper with a chemical-free home, so when I launched my son to school it was hard," Jones said. "Sure enough, he was exposed to pesticide lawns, tables that are cleaned with bleach and junky food.

"If Edina is so proud of being innovative and progressive, they need to get with it."

{...}"I have the urgency from my 8-year-old sensitive son, who comes home from school and says, 'Mom, did you know polar bears swim for days and then drown?' " she said. "When you have kids with these big feelings, you have to do something about it."{...}

If this was my kid, I'd reply, "Son, have you heard of a little thing called Natural Selection?" instead of starting up some eco-mommy movement, which, let's face it, is just an excuse for women to get together to swill wine and eat chocolate. Quilting bees evolved into coffee klatches, which evolved into tupperware parties, which evolved into book clubs, which evolved into politically correct eco-bullshit parties.

What is all of this crap? I'm so sick of this whole "we've got to SAVE THE EARTH! WE MUST BUY ORGANIC! WE MUST STOP DRIVING OUR CARS SO MUCH! WE MUST BRING REUSABLE BAGS TO THE GROCERY STORE!" This isn't a movement per se, so much as it is just another way of saying "I'm better than you are." Yes, that's right kids, it's about vanity. It's the modern-day equivalent of a diamond studded tennis bracelet or a Louis Vuitton handbag. And this vanity is seemingly filtering down into EVERYTHING.

Last night, I was at an organizational meeting for my young ovarian cancer survivors group, and as the entire organization has a fundraising walk coming up, it's been the practice of this group over the years to put together goody bags for all of the survivors who attend the walk---it's a small prize for surviving. This means hitting up any number of companies to see what kind of fun freebies we can load the bags up with. Of course, the pharmaceuticals are high on the list, but the woman who's organizing the thing (and who really is a very nice lady, with her heart in the right place) decided that she'd really like to skip handing out Neulasta bags, donated by Amgen, and try to solicit donations to have our own bags made---ones which would have "Go Teal" printed on then, as a play on "Go Green." Then the rest of the meeting was focused on trying to figure out which organic products we could possibly try to fill the bags with, and how to solicit donations from these companies.

Sigh. Fortunately, no one started up about buying carbon credits to offset this production.

I'm a little tired of all this stuff. Look, I've got nothing against trying to be a little more eco-friendly. After all, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense to shit where you eat. I recycle---and have for years. I actually use public transportation. I buy in bulk, and I don't buy products that are encased in loads of packaging. But I do draw the line somewhere---the only organic thing I ever buy is avocados, because they're not rock hard. Organic food is too freakin' expensive for me to buy on a regular basis. While my carbon footprint is actually very small in reality, I don't harp on people who choose to live differently. Ok, well, let's correct that: perhaps I do harp on certain people who choose to drive the four blocks to the store instead of walking, but that's just me seeing it as illogical, and more time consuming to sit in traffic, when I can be up to the store, in, out, and home again in the same time it takes to drive there, rather than tooting my own eco-friendly horn. There's a difference. The women in the article are about saving the earth for "the children" whilst glugging bottles of wine and eating M&M's, as they sort out new ways of bullying people into what they deem is an appropriate lifestyle. And in the case of the goody bags, it's about filling them up with "sustainable" products that fit the fashion of the day, which will be seen as more desirable by the recipients, and produce, ultimately, a more satisfactory result than if we went and solicited Aqua Net for free hairspray.

Gah. I've about had it with this crap.

All of it makes me wish I had a Hummer, that I could drive down the freeway while I throw non-biodegradable trash out the window.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:05 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Before I have to get in the shower and rush off to the hospital to do my good deeds for the day...

It appears that the Saudis have finally learned that they're playing a significant part in killing the goose that lays the golden eggs and are opening the spigots.

And your random question of the day:

Lennon or McCartney?

(and no, Robbo, I don't mean it in the context of which one would you rather have carnal relations with. Bleh. Get your head out of the gutter.)

Posted by: Kathy at 08:11 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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...is what I said to myself when I saw the headline that reported "Tim Russert Dies of Apparent Heart Attack." Sadly, it doesn't seem to be a mistake.

My deepest and heartfelt condolences to his family.

Rest in peace, Tim. You were a decent fellow, and you (and your white board) will be missed.

Posted by: Kathy at 03:30 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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It turns out I was a little slow on the uptake about the Tornado v. Boy Scout Camp story that broke on Wednesday night. The husband pointed it out to me, I clicked and read, said, "how awful," whilst trying to drag the location of the place out of the back of my brain. I lived in Iowa for six years. I lived next door to Iowa for eighteen more. Iowa, in relative terms, is a small state. You learn where everyone's from when you meet people at school, and you peg their general geographic location on a virtual map in your brain, for future reference. You'd think I'd have known that it was near Omaha, but unfortunately the name of the nearest town on the byline wasn't ringing a bell. However, I kept reading the stories yesterday, and low and behold, when the name of "Mondamin" came up, the bell verily went off. Mondamin's where we used to go to buy our apples in the fall, and it's only about forty or so miles from Omaha, north on 1-29. At that point, I started going to the various Omaha news organizations, and read (and watched) further.

I was chatting with my sister, Christi, who still lives there yesterday and she said it was somewhat somber around town yesterday. Three out of the four scouts who were killed by the tornado were from Omaha, while the fourth was from a small town in western Iowa. State boundaries don't have really all that much to do with how scouting---Boy or Girl Scouts---is organized in that neck of the woods, so it, sadly, didn't surprise me that there were kids from Omaha at a camp in western Iowa. Her husband, who was (is?) an Eagle Scout had been to that camp many, many times. Her eldest son, who is also a Boy Scout, has been there as well. In fact, Colin, who also happens to be my godbaby, is to head off to Scout Camp on Sunday---while it's a different camp, Christi is, somewhat understandably, freaked out about the prospect, even though she knows the odds of something untoward happening are astronomical.

While the whole thing is just horrible, I have to think that if it was a pottery camp organized by Kumbaya-singing hippies, things might have been much, much worse. They probably would have had the kids out on the front porch, to witness the awesomeness of Mother Nature, and there probably would have been more casualties and more deaths. If you go up to either of those news links, you will view interviews with many scouts who were there, and the common thread was yes, we found shelter, we prayed to God to spare us, then when the storm passed, we were on our feet with our First Aid kits at the ready and started applying pressure to bleeding wounds, and started digging out people who were crushed by walls, ceilings and debris. A few kids even broke into a shed where there was an ATV and chainsaws and went out to the main road and started clearing up the fallen trees so that the emergency vehicles could get in to help the wounded. How amazing is that? The majority of these kids are under the age of fifteen and they had the presence of mind to deliver first aid and to make sure that ambulances could get in? That's freakin' phenomenal. When most kids their age would be running around like headless chickens, crying and screaming for the benefit of the cameras, these young men were doing what needed to be done, and I have no doubt there would have been more fatalities if not for their swift action.

What kills me is that, aside from the early media rush, these young men probably won't be covered. By doing what they were supposed to do they ended the story. Katie Couric isn't rushing to western Iowa to cover the aftermath of the storm, or to celebrate the heroism of these scouts---because they didn't believe what they were doing was heroic. They all exhibited the typical Midwestern philosophy of stoicism in their interviews: here's what happened, here's what we did, pray for the kids who are injured and who died...and that's the end of that. They did not fan the flames that the MSM needs to keep a story alive, to justify 24-hour coverage. Because of that, their story will most likely be lost to the annals of time. That's just sad. There are any number of teenagers who have actually received the infamous fifteen-minutes of fame (one kid from Australia comes to mind) for, just in general, being jerks, and these kids are forgotten within the space of a twenty-four hour news cycle.

Because they did the right thing, because they were responsible, they will be forgotten---and that just pisses me off. It's yet another sign of what's wrong with this world: be an asshole, and you'll get as much media coverage as you can take, but be responsible and you'll be forgotten. If people, and the media in general, were really concerned with the state of America's youth as they claim to be, what with all the coverage they give they give these brats, you'd think they'd want to laud kids who aren't like that, who are responsible, and WHO DID SOMETHING WORTHWHILE, if for no other reason than it provides a change of pace. But the media can't be bothered. They should be ashamed of themselves, because, once again, they're proving they're just in it for the sensationalism, but, then again, I doubt they're even capable of shame at this late date.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:57 AM | Comments (18) | Add Comment
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(I seriously cannot wait to see what kind of nasty comment spams I get from that title.)

Anyway...

Check out the latest thing available...

I swear to God this is not a joke. It's a real company, and a real product.

Posted by: Kathy at 08:55 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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1 Good old American entre-peuw-ership at its best! Where there's a demand, someone provides a solution. Where did you find this?

Posted by: BobM at June 12, 2008 10:44 AM (uZi6E)

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Courtesy of Ace, I, Kath the Cake Eater, have learned that the good fellows at the Old Bailey have put the proceedings online (and they're searchable, too!). Now, we're not talking about the current proceedings. We're talking about the ones from 1674 to 1913.

Delicious stuff. For instance, take the case of one Thomas Whitehead:

The first was one Thomas Whitehead, who being in Newgate, was by order of the former Sessions of the 3d. of June, to remain there upon suspicion of Fellony, whence he once made an escape, and was retaken, and then by the assistance of some Friends he had procured an Order for his Inlargement, and was to have gone forth as the next day, but he being as it seems impatient to be kept so long from his old Profession, the Trade of Stealing, and finding himself by reason of such an Order, not so strictly lookt after by the Keepers as otherwise he would have been; he took an opportunity once more to get away out of Custody, but to little purpose, for falling to his Practise as soon as ever he was got forth, the very Night he was taken for having committed Burghlary, by breaking open an house, and Stealing goods to the value (as the Jury found it) of 4. pounds , the evidence was plain against him, and he had little to say for himself, so that he was Convicted , and (being notoriously Incorrigible) had Sentence of Death pass'd upon him.

Sentence was pass'd upon him on July 17, 1674.

Too bad he couldn't have waited until morning. But then again, I think we all know that thieves who have very little patience are generally the ones that get caught. Not that much has changed in three hundred some odd years.

Go and check it out. It's entirely searchable, so, if you're of English descent, you can check and see if you have some miscreants in ye olde family tree.

Posted by: Kathy at 10:14 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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1 Ace had a piece about that database today. Search for "Thomas Newton" if you want to see something, uhm, "interesting".

Posted by: Russ from Winterset at June 11, 2008 10:33 PM (BhHL1)

2 DUDE---go reread the first sentence!

Posted by: Kathy at June 12, 2008 09:05 AM (vawhH)

3 Sorry about that. The stuff about Mr. Newton was in a separate thread, so I wasn't sure if you had read it or not. Of course, that doesn't mean I didn't read your first sentence also, which was rude of me.

Posted by: Russ from Winterset at June 12, 2008 02:09 PM (dyz/7)

4 No hassles, dearie.

Posted by: Kathy at June 12, 2008 03:57 PM (vawhH)

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Courtesy of Ace, I, Kath the Cake Eater, have learned that the good fellows at the Old Bailey have put the proceedings online (and they're searchable, too!). Now, we're not talking about the current proceedings. We're talking about the ones from 1674 to 1913.

Delicious stuff. For instance, take the case of one Thomas Whitehead:

The first was one Thomas Whitehead, who being in Newgate, was by order of the former Sessions of the 3d. of June, to remain there upon suspicion of Fellony, whence he once made an escape, and was retaken, and then by the assistance of some Friends he had procured an Order for his Inlargement, and was to have gone forth as the next day, but he being as it seems impatient to be kept so long from his old Profession, the Trade of Stealing, and finding himself by reason of such an Order, not so strictly lookt after by the Keepers as otherwise he would have been; he took an opportunity once more to get away out of Custody, but to little purpose, for falling to his Practise as soon as ever he was got forth, the very Night he was taken for having committed Burghlary, by breaking open an house, and Stealing goods to the value (as the Jury found it) of 4. pounds , the evidence was plain against him, and he had little to say for himself, so that he was Convicted , and (being notoriously Incorrigible) had Sentence of Death pass'd upon him.

Sentence was pass'd upon him on July 17, 1674.

Too bad he couldn't have waited until morning. But then again, I think we all know that thieves who have very little patience are generally the ones that get caught. Not that much has changed in three hundred some odd years.

Go and check it out. It's entirely searchable, so, if you're of English descent, you can check and see if you have some miscreants in ye olde family tree.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:49 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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It's gloomy here. It's all sorts of cloudy, dark and, despite the fact it's sixty or so degrees, chilly. Bleh. (Oh, and it just started raining! Wonderful!) For every good day we get, like Monday, when it was seventy-two and beautiful, we, apparently, are doomed to five crab-monster-inducing days. Sigh. I've really had it with this state and its fargin' weather.

But that's not the reason why I think it's going to be a bad day. Sure, it's an omen, but omens only have weight if you give it to them. I choose not to. No, it's going to be a bad day because I have my first dental appointment in, oh, five years or thereabouts later this afternoon.

I am dreading this.

I've recently decided that it's time I start getting other things, things not related to the rest of my medical woes taken care of. Like my teeth. And my eyes. Both of which have been somewhat neglected in terms of receiving checkups over the last little while. I've been toying with the notion of going to the dentist since last summer, but decided that would be a bad idea while I was immunocompromised from the chemo. I didn't really need a mouth infection on top of all my other maladies. I kept putting it off because, really, the last thing I want is to spend more time in medical offices, waiting for a doctor to show up. But the time for avoidance has passed, and so, today, I embark on a visit to our dentist to get my teeth x-rayed and cleaned. Woot! {insert lackadaisical pumping of fist into air here} They've even set aside an extra half-hour for me because it's been such a long time since I've been in. Joy!

I was actually surprised when I called in to make the appointments for the husband and myself and found out they actually still had our charts readily available. The lady I spoke with pulled them right off the shelf as I was chatting with her. Okedokey, then. I figured they would have long ago been shelved in some archival facility, but, no, that was not the case. Again, joy!

I really do despise having my teeth messed with. Well, let me correct that. It's more the thought of having my teeth messed with that I despise. When I actually get in the chair, I'm as docile as a lamb. I'm used to it, in other words. How could you not be after my childhood and adolescence, when not a month passed without me firmly ensconced in either my dentist's, my orthodontist's, or oral surgeon's respective chairs. I don't know how my mother stood driving me around to all these various appointments. Yea, verily, my mouth was screwed up. Too many teeth and a small-ish jaw do not make for a pretty smile. So a plan was hatched early on: teeth would be pulled to make room for the others to spread out. Then would come the full-set of braces, accompanied with monthly wire replacement/tightenings and rubber bands (which I got very good at shooting across the family room at one of my brothers while we were watching tee vee, just because I knew it would gross him out.)

I had to visit the dentist a lot during these times simply because I had weak enamel at that point in time and had a lot of cavities. I could stand the orthodontist and the oral surgeon: they were both decent guys. I hated the dentist, however, mainly because he started off as such a nice guy when I was little, but really got nasty as I---and he---grew older. My mother hates him, too, because he was the one to pull the first four teeth that needed to go. I saw him coming at me with the pliers (and I swear to God they were pliers---the kind you have in your long-unused, dusty toolbox in the basement) and started screaming my head off. I was six or seven-years-old at the time, and he would not allow my mother to come in and hold my hand. She could hear me screaming from the waiting room and has never forgiven him for this. In fact, the only time I remember my mother bribing me when I was a kid was because of this guy---and that's saying something because my mother did not rely upon bribery to get us to do things; she's above that. Yes, sometimes, there were rewards afterwards, but never did she actually coax you into something. You did it, because you were supposed to and that was that. Anyway, the plan was to pull two teeth one week, then I was to come back and have the other two pulled the next. I didn't want to go to the second visit, obviously, and Mom knew it. She didn't want me to go to the second visit, but she knew it had to be done, so she took me to King's, a restaurant near our house that no longer exists, and bought me lunch out, a big treat, as a bribe before we went to the dentist's. I barely remember our conversation, but I do remember her telling me that I needed to be brave and that it would be over with before I knew it. It must have worked, too, because I don't remember the second episode being nearly as bad as the first. I don't remember the second episode at all. After that, when I needed teeth pulled, I went to the oral surgeon and was sedated properly.

But the dentist was still a thorn in my side. He regularly yelled at me and told me not to be such a baby whenever I flinched as he came at me with a shot of novocaine. It's not like I screamed or anything, but rather expressed normal hesitation at a needle being brandied near my mouth and he couldn't freakin' take that. He had absolutely no patience; he was one of those doctors who hated having to actually take care of people whose mouths were not in perfect shape. I put up with it because my father had expressed that we went to this particular guy because he was a member of the parish, and my father liked him, hence to keep up good, neighborly relations, the dentist's word was law and I was to take whatever he threw at me. (For my red-headed sister, this meant putting up with a very bad sunburn she received in his chair because the lighting was faulty.) The final straw was when I was about to go off to college, and had a very bad cavity. He screamed at me for a good five minutes or so before getting on with the business of filling said cavity. After that, I never went back to him. He was an asshole and I said as much to my father when I told him I was never seeing the guy again. My mother was completely on my side, and when I had my wisdom teeth removed a year later, I subjected myself to the whims of Creighton's dental school, rather than going back to him.

Ever since, dentist visits have been sporadic. Whenever various dentists ask me why I don't keep up with regular visits, I throw these horror stories at them and, surprisingly, they seem to understand, even if they would like me to visit more often. Our current dentist is a really good person, and I like her a lot. She gets in, she gets out, and she chides very little---she leaves that to the hygienists, but I can fight them off. So, it's time to visit. I need to chat with her about how menopause is going to affect my teeth. She doesn't know about the cancer diagnosis, and it's time to talk with her about things. I've gotten a lot of information about how this could possibly affect my bones, and have received recommendations regarding calcium intake, to keep them strong, lest I lose density and start up with the osteoporosis, but I haven't a clue as to what it means for my teeth. It's time to find out.

God willing, there will be no cavities, and I will be set up for an appointment six months from now. We'll just have to see what happens. Then, after this is done, it's off to the ophthalmologist to work on the eyes, which have also been neglected! Woohoo!

This health care business is tiresome.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:46 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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On Thursday night, one of my brothers, Steve, called up in the middle of the service of an elaborately prepared lasagna. I don't make lasagna every day, so when the phone rang in the middle of dinner, I was annoyed. I was less annoyed when I heard the husband exclaim, "Hey Steve!" when he picked up the phone.

Steve's one of these high-falutin' business types who flies all over the country at least twice a week. Since he lives in Billings, Montana, if he's flying to Detroit (he's in the "automotive sales industry"---read he's a dealer), he's generally reduced to flying Northworst, and if he's got a decent layover, he generally gives us a call. Generally this means schlepping it over to the airport, where we hook up in baggage claim and have a nice visit for about an hour or two. The past couple of times he's called, I haven't been able to make it because, as he's one of these 'fly by the seat of your pants" types, he usually only manages to call me to let me know about his layover when he's taking off from Billings. This doesn't work out too well, even with my flexible schedule. But, we do get to see him from time to time and this past Friday morning we got to see him again---and this time he brought his wife with him!

Shocking, no?

Well, you're probably thinking, "whoop-de-freakin' do. Kathy got to see her sister-in-law. YAWN!" Hold up there, my devoted Cake Eater readers, because it was new and unusual, because I hadn't met this particular sister-in-law yet, and they've been married almost a year. Weird, no?

To make a long story short, for many years, Steve was married to---and there's no way to put this politely, so I shall simply be blunt about it---a bitch on wheels. I won't name her here, but my family obviously knows who I'm talking about. They married when I was ten or eleven, and she fell out of love with him somewhere around the time when his money dried up. Steve is a resourceful guy, and he managed to rebuild his fortunes bigger and better than before, but she never let him forget about what happened way back then. And that's not just a turn of phrase, either. She really NEVER let him forget what happened. She brought it up constantly. She never cut him any slack, because even though he was seeing to her every wish and desire, it was never enough to overcome what had happened when I was a sophomore in high school. I loathed spending time with her, because she never let us forget how he'd let her down. She nagged. She whined. She regularly retired to her room with migraines whenever we visited. She was, in general, an overwhelming pain in the ass, and we couldn't stand her. Which was fair enough, because she couldn't stand us, either.

So, when my mother announced, about two years ago, that the witch had filed for divorce just shy of their 25th wedding anniversary, the majority of us silently cried, "Hallelujah!" We were, of course, worried about the kids, but we thought this was a good thing. He'd given it his best shot. Really and truly he had. He'd done everything possible to save his marriage and it wasn't enough for her. He moved out, bought his own house, and settled in for life as a single dad. He was doing pretty well with this, although I know for a fact he was lonely, but fortunately God smiled upon him and brought him in contact with his new wife, who was not new to him, because she was the mother of one of his daughter's friends. They fell in love and got married quickly---yea LDS Church----but they kept the wedding small, with just their respective immediate families, so only one of the sibs had met her beforehand. That particular brother told me she was the "Anti-{Insert Ex-SIL's name Here}" so that was good enough for me. But I was still curious to meet her. And I finally got the chance on Thursday.

And she's SO nice. And NORMAL. And smart. And easy to talk to. And I am SO glad my brother married her! Woohoo! While the situation was a little weird, because you usually meet your sibling's intended before the marriage, not after, I'm glad of the outcome. The ex-SIL has remarried, as well, so it looks like everyone's getting on with their lives. (And apparently she married a gold digger, so maybe, just maybe, there's some justice in this world and she's just going to get hers.)

The only thing about Steve's visit that bugs me is that the dingbat left his credit card at the restaurant where we had lunch. This meant I had to go back down there three times---first to announce the loss to them and to see if they had it, second to check and see if they'd found it yet, and third to actually pick it up when it turned up---and the bugger didn't even say 'thank you.' He just called, told the husband about it, the husband told me about it, and I was dispatched to take care of the problem. Hmmph. When we called to say we had it, he never called back to say, "Thank You for saving me a shedload of trouble!" Hmmph. It would have taken him less than a minute to do so, but he didn't bother.

Stupid brothers.

I'll drop it in the mail today after I "forgot" to do so on Saturday. If I can make it to the post office today. You know, with my busy schedule, it's hard to get make time for petty errands like this one.

The rest of our weekend was fairly uneventful. Fortunately, we didn't get pounded with the storms they got to the south of here, so this meant, despite the threatening weather, we packed a picnic dinner and meandered over to the Lake Harriet Rose Garden for a little Shakespeare on Saturday night. The Cromulent Shakespeare Company put on Love's Labour Lost, which was not a play I was familiar with, so my expectations were not high. I have to say, however, they were very good. Both the husband and I were impressed. Usually, when you go to Shakespeare in the Park, it's usually a wash of an experience: you get the cheap thrill of sneaking a bottle of wine without getting busted for open container violations, but the acting is usually substandard, and the language, usually, gets completely lost in the trees (or in the case of the Lake Harriet Bandshell, the noise of the jets coming in for a landing at MSP). Not here, though. The staging was simple (no sets, no stage, they simply used a hill to seat the audience and set up on the flat in front, with a magnificent bank of trees as a backdrop.) and the actors, unlike the people they usually get to populate free plays, had a respect for the language, and actually---gasp---developed their characters. It was, by far, the best Shakespeare in the Park experience I've ever had. If you have the opportunity to go to one of their performances, I would highly recommend it.

Yesterday, we didn't really do much at all. Sunday is the husband's one day off per week, so we usually try to keep it simple. Too much activity ruins it. Yesterday was no different. Because we'd been around the lake the night before, we decided not to go over there again, and stuck around the neighborhood instead. I'd been bugging the husband for a couple of days now to play Scrabble with me (The chemo brain pops up every now and again if I don't keep rewiring my gray matter by doing crosswords and playing Scrabble and I've been lax in this lately.) and we decided to be that couple. You know, the one who hangs out at the coffee shop and plays a game to while away the time? Yep. That's us. And it was very pleasant. We sat outside, and the husband kicked my ass by fifty points! ARRRRRGGGGGGHHH! Again, in case you missed my Master Class in "How to Win At Scrabble", if you get stuck with the 'Q' at the end, you're fucked. No if's, and's or but's about it. Then we watched some tee vee, had dinner, went for a walk, and watched some Sunday night tee vee. We have two recommendations for new summer viewing. First off, we like In Plain Sight on USA. The plot revolves around a US Marshal in Albequerque who is assigned to look after people in the Witness Protection Program. She's a bit dysfunctional, but a highly inventive character. I think the program's still finding its legs, but it's pretty good on the whole, and sure as hell beats reality tee vee. Also, the Discovery Channel (ah, my beloved Discovery Channel, how I love thee. Let me count the ways...) started airing When We Left Earth: The NASA Missions last night, and if you run across the reruns of the first two episodes this week, and are something of a space junkie, I would highly recommend watching. It's not the most expansively researched piece I've ever seen on NASA (Werner Von Braun isn't even mentioned when they start chatting about the Mercury and Gemini rockets), and is very astronaut-centric, but it is interesting nonetheless. NASA has opened their film archives and there's all sorts of footage that's never been seen before. The first two episodes deal with the Mercury and Gemini programs, respectively, and they're jumping head first into the Apollo missions next week, so catch up while you've got the opportunity. Gary Sinise narrates and does a very nice job with it.

Posted by: Kathy at 09:56 AM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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