NBA Championship...and Tim Russert

Proving once again that Kobe Bryant is completely lacking in leadership skills. Without a doubt, he should never ever be compared to Michael Jordan. The Celtics relentlessly shut him down.

You have to wonder if this will spell the end of Kobe's relationship with the Lakers. It's far more palatable to say offensive things about management when you bring home an NBA Championship. If I had to guess, I'd say it's bye-bye to the "greatest player on the planet."

The Lakers collapsed as if they'd been sucked into a black hole of basketball. Aside from my fondness for Luke Walton, very little could make me happier. Danny Ainge, Doc Rivers, Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett and all the other Celtics (especially the "old" guys, like Sam Cassell and P.J. Brown) absolutely made my month. If only the Lakers could have shown up to play a competitive game. Obviously I'm thrilled about the Celtics' win, but ultimately I'm always on the side of a great game.

On a less jubilant note, could we please stop with the canonization of Tim Russert? Of course, I'm sorry about his untimely death. I'm sorry for his loved ones, friends and co-workers. But people die every day who are much younger and who've had far less fulfilling lives.

I watched Tim Russert for a while. I found him lacking in intellectual rigor. Calling his interview with W. a series of softballs would be an enormous understatement. I never watched him again. His reputation amongst other news people as an unbiased, independent thinker is baffling to me.

If we wished to celebrate the life of a great conservative thinker, we should have devoted more time to William F. Buckley. He was brilliant, an original. I rarely agreed with his positions, but I watched his weekly show for years. Maybe that's part of my resentment of the relentless coverage of Russert's death. I respected Buckley and was dazzled by his intellect. I never saw him suck up to anyone he interviewed or debated.

Enough of my little tirade, though. On the Crazy Land front, we'll be a little less nutty soon. I'll update as events unfold.

Bad Day, But I'm Bucking Up

I'm having a bad day today, sitting in my office crying. Why? Well who the hell knows. I actually had to leave a minute ago and spend some time in the other building, sobbing. Then I walked around the block to make sure I wasn't carrying the Dreaded Fleas into the main building.

Today I guess I'm thinking of everything I've lost. It wasn't just a breast, it wasn't just a childhood, it wasn't even innocence. It wasn't any of those individual things. I'm not sure I can even enumerate them. And, after all, what would be the point of that? Sometimes hope seems so far away I have no idea of how I'll reach it, or if I ever will. Hope for what? If I knew, I'd be working hard to get it.

It's a bad day. That's all. One of the great things that breast cancer taught me is that it's just fine to cry. Furthermore, I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to. And I really, really want to. I'm a person who just gets up every day, hoping to learn whatever lessons the universe has to teach me, and I get on with things. Buck up. Get a grip. Move on.

I'm more composed now. Thanks for listening. I am now officially bucking up. I might even have a macadamia nut or two.

Holiday Inn

I've been busy with several unpleasant activities since my return. I may not be able to address all of them in one post.

First unpleasant item: Holiday Inn.

I've been staying, for about a year now, at the same Holiday Inn near M.D. Anderson when I go for treatment. Prior to that, I stayed at hotels, like the Crowne Plaza, owned by the Holiday Inn chain. Everything has always been acceptable.

First Problem. During an overnight visit in April for my plastic surgery follow-up, there was no hot water. I only stayed one day and I know that sometimes things happen. I was very gracious about it.

Second Problem. During my last stay, no hot water. Again. We called the front desk, they sent a maintenance person to our room just to make sure that we weren't moronic enough to not be able to accurately determine whether we had hot water. Sure enough, maintenance guy sees we're not idiots and says we'll have hot water in the morning. Yes, we believed.

The next morning, when I had a lab appointment at 8:45, we arose at 6:00 a.m. to find we had no hot water. We decided to go downstairs, get something to eat and speak to the front desk people. I was a little testy.

I told the front desk person that this was the second time I'd stayed without benefit of hot water and I didn't think we should pay this time. She said not a word and walked into the office (I suppose) to the side of the desk. A manager appeared. I explained once again and suggested that a fair way to resolve the situation would be for them to comp the room. He told us to wait a minute and he'd be right back. I pointed out that I had a medical appointment I couldn't miss.

He disappeared behind another door, was gone for about five minutes and returned to tell us that we did, indeed, have hot water. We just were too stupid to use it. Of course he wasn't quite that blunt. He said we "must have done something wrong." He'd be willing, though (since we'd done something wrong) to cut the bill in half. I was amenable simply because I couldn't waste any more time arguing. I could have come back after my late afternoon oncology appointment to argue with him some more, but that would have meant I'd have to stay another night. Probably with no hot water. You know, we're too stupid to figure out how to turn it on, so I for damn sure wasn't going to stay another night in a hotel room that complex.

I made a note to never stay in that hotel again.

Third problem. When we checked into the complex water facility hotel, the first credit card we offered up was declined. That was odd. They ran it again. Still declined. Very, very puzzling. They requested that we provide them with another credit card and we did. It was accepted.

Yesterday, in checking on why exactly the original card had been declined, we found out that, in fact, it had not been declined. It had been charged $260.00 for what was (after the discount) a $70 room. Having found that minor miscalculation, we decided we'd better check the card that had been accepted. That card had a charge of $235. I guess they were a little irritable about the complaint.

I was enraged. I called the Holiday Inn, I contacted Holiday Inn Corporate Headquarters. They refused to address the charges on the second card because, according to Holiday Inn's records, they had only charged us $70. I had visions of purchasing a rapid fire assault weapon and taking a little drive back to Houston.

The upshot is that, after spending almost a full day dealing with it, I believe I've gotten the charges corrected. However, I will never ever stay in another Holiday Inn. I'm vengeful and I work in a customer service industry. Not once did I hear an apology. Not once did I hear someone say they'd try to clear it up immediately.

No more Holiday Inn.

Maybe over the weekend I'll get around to the next unpleasant event--my husband's hypochondriacal fear of a heart attack.

In the meantime, though, Go LeBron!

Pat The Oncology Nurse

It's 4:29 here now, so this will be a short, venting kind of post. I got a call from my oncology nurse this morning, telling me we need to reschedule my appointment with my oncologist. We agreed on 11:00 (same day as scheduled); she advised me that I'd need to do lab stuff an hour earlier than previously scheduled (that was originally scheduled for 11:00).

That sounded odd to me because the whole point of going there is to review blood work with my oncologist and I assure you the lab would never have results to my doctor within an hour. I decided to check my personal page at their website and, lo and behold, Pat (the oncology nurse) got it wrong again.

My lab work appointment is scheduled for 8:45 a.m. and I'm going to see the nurse-practitioner at 11:30. I wonder if I should feel comforted that they're not making me see the doctor. That's probably too much to hope for.

Pat. I'm sure she's extremely competent somehow. Unfortunately, my experiences with her have been less than satisfactory. She's ditzy. When I was having sores in my mouth and on my hands because of the chemo, I called Pat and explained my symptoms (as they told me I should). She asked me in a vague tone of voice whether I was doing prescribed oral hygiene. Oh God yes. Believe me, you will do anything to try to get rid of those.

As things got worse over the weekend, I called my oncologist. He immediately called me back and prescribed antibiotics to prevent the sores from getting infected. Had I depended on Pat, I would have had twice the problem--and infection and the sores. My immune system was almost completely shut down by the chemo, so an infection would have been difficult to overcome.

I really try hard to respect and value Pat The Oncology Nurse. If only she'd give me more reason.

AT&T: Still Clueless After All These Years

Feeling a bit ragged around the edges today. Flashbacks will do that.

I answered a random direct line (that goes to someone's office, but I don't know whose) this morning and it was a recording from our good friends at AT&T. They said a repair person would be here on Friday, between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m. to address our telephone problems. The recording said I should stay on the line if that time wasn't convenient.

I stayed on the line. God help me. A woman answered and I recounted the message, as an explanation of why we were having the conversation. She wanted to know the phone number. It's a line that goes directly to someone's office; I have absolutely no idea what that number is and no way for me to find out--at least any time soon. Now if she had an hour or so, I could probably figure it out. They called me. Why should I have to know what the number is?

"Well, what's your name?" she asked.

I told her my name and spelled it for her. I asked her if it wouldn't be more helpful to know the company's name. She reluctantly took it down while I spelled that to her. Address? Can do. Gave that to her, then she asks me what I want!

I said," I'm responding to the repair call so they know that there won't be anyone here after 4:00 on Friday." I thought maybe they wouldn't wish to waste their time coming if no one is going to be here. God help me.

The clueless (and quite lovely, I'm sure) AT&T woman informed me that the number I gave her was a residential number. I pointed out to her that I was having the conversation with her from an office. I reminded her that they called me. She said she'd have to transfer me to the commercial repair folks. She wanted me to hang on and put me on hold.

Now I ask you, why in hell would I want to hold on just so I could go through the whole annoying conversation with some other clueless (but quite lovely, I'm sure) AT&T representative? That's right; there is no reason whatsoever. So I hung up.

If they show up to repair the phones on Friday at 6:30 p.m., I guess someone else in the office will have to explain to them again on Monday that we're only here until 4:00. I'm so glad to have AT&T in charge once again. Their middle name is "Customer Service," you know.

Poison Pen Emails

I have a list. (Actually, I have many lists, but we're only talking about one of them here.) The list is comprised of people to whom I need to send vicious emails every day. I'm not a stalker. I am also not a crank, despite what my husband says. I'm just a woman who's been pushed to the brink of insanity by irritating humans I do not know. (One of the other lists includes the folks I do know.) Here's a partial inventory which, as it turns out, has lots of CNN personalities.

Glenn Beck. God I hate that guy. I'd like to send him an email every day asking, "Is it World War III yet, Glenn?" He talks about that a lot and it clearly makes him giddy. I hate that. People who get happy because they think disaster is imminent are despicable. Whenever I even see his image on television, I change the station. That's how much I despise him.

Furthermore, Glenn did an interview with Danny Bonaduce a while back. Okay, first of all, anyone who would talk to Danny Bonaduce is a vulture. The guy makes his living being self-destructive. I mean, that's it; that's all he has to offer. If he weren't so annoying, he would be heart breaking. Furthermore, Glenn was trying to act like he used to be a big, bad rebel himself. Right. He probably chewed gum in church or something. Scary. Did I mention that I loathe this guy?

Jerry Falwell. See above (minus the Danny Bonaduce thing). Self-righteous, arrogant, willfully ignorant. I've seen the real face of Jerry Falwell and I assure you it is not the love of Jesus that shines through. I got really clear on that when he had the nerve to say that America deserved 9/11 because we're so sinful. Email every day that says, "The TeleTubbies are gay. How many kids do you think are, at this very moment, turning gay because of them? Or maybe it's you. You actually make me ashamed to be straight. Dickhead."

Let's just lump some of them together. It'll save time in the long run. George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld. You know what I'm saying. I'm not sure one email would be enough to cover the many reasons I think they're detestable. They'd all have to get three or four a day.

Dick Morris. Slime. Political slime...it doesn't get much worse than that. He has the audacity to get on tv and regularly act indignant and self-righteous about the total dearth of morals and intelligence in both the Republican and Democratic parties. He actually thinks he's better than Bill Clinton, even though he was regularly trying to impress hookers with his White House connections. Let me just say that again. Hookers.

Bill O'Reilly. That goes without saying, right?

Don Imus. Even before the racial comments. That fucking hat drives me nuts. "You're inside, asshole. Take off your hat. Were you raised in a barn?"

Nancy Grace. "Dear Nancy, could you possibly be more dramatic? Calm down. Let people finish their sentences. And for God's sake, stop playing that annoying music while people are trying to answer one of your questions."

Oh dear. I grow weary thinking about how worked up I get about these people. I started off this post (about 45 minutes ago) talking about my upcoming visits to Houston to be tested, prodded and generally mistreated in order to find out whether I have more cancer. I deleted all of that. Hatred is so much better than anxiety. It's energizing, unlike worry which leaves you with that jittery, empty feeling.

No point in beating a dead horse. The list is too long to enumerate them all here. You're welcome to disagree with me. Or to think I need to get a life. Whatever. You can decide for yourself to whom you'd like to send daily hate emails. I'm just saying that, when life regularly kicks you in the ass, the least you can do is send somebody emails.

Incommunicado

Just when I was thinking about how I have absolutely nothing to say today, my mom called. She's on her way to an appointment with her dentist. Earlier, we decided that if she finds she's going to be late getting back, she'll give me a call.

That's why she called me back. It dawned on her that she didn't know how to get in touch with me. I have a cell phone, but Hubby has taken (what he believes to be) permanent possession of it. We use a dial-up Internet connection (yeah, I know), so my land line isn't usually available. If there's anything Hubby is compulsive about, it's his email. He checks that email account at least 15 times a day and he's only got until 3:00 p.m. every day to do it. You can't generally reach me on the land line; email is far too important for that. I have an upstairs land line for the Hubby computer, but I think that's hooked up to a fax machine (that doesn't work).

We have 3 computers at my house. One of them is supposed to be mine. All mine. Who gets to use it the most? That's right. Hubby. I am pretty much incommunicado. All the time. That's not generally such a big deal, because I hardly ever want to talk to anyone and everybody is well aware of that fact. Mostly I get calls from doctors, reminding me that I need to be at their offices on a certain day at a certain time.

From time to time, I need to be available. Like when my mom needs to tell me she's going to be late. I'm the mother hen type, even with my own mother, so if she's going to be late, calling is the only inoculation against worry. Which expands to panic attacks pretty quickly. We resolved that, when I get home, I'll fetch my cell phone so she can reach me if need be.

Somehow that brings me to the nature of my marriage. What's mine is yours, what's yours is mine. Isn't that the way it's supposed to be? (That's what Carly Simon said in the 70's anyway, before she married and divorced James Taylor.) In my marriage what's his is his and what's mine is his, too. From cookies to cell phones to anything else that I might be deluded into thinking is mine.

Hubby patrols. If he hears or sees a shopping bag appear in our house, he's on it. I have to hide things if I don't want him to know. (Every once in a while, I like to have at least one cookie out of the bag before Hubby motors through them and is sorry he ate them all.)

I tend to put packages on the bed until later, when the dogs are asleep and I don't have to fight them to put things away. If Hubby makes a trip through the bedroom (he has to go through the bedroom to fire up that Internet connection), I can always hear him quietly trying to dig through the packages to see what I have so that he can take it later on when I'm not looking.

If it's a thing, he'll just spirit it off and hope I don't discover it's gone. Or "borrow" it and somehow never return it. When I ask him where it is, he'll give me a look of mild astonishment that I have the effrontery to try to take something (that's mine) away from him.

If it's a food item (like cookies or chewing gum or cake), he'll eat all of it but for a tiny piece. I guess he thinks that maybe I'll think I ate it and developed temporary amnesia. Oh yeah, I ate that entire package of Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chunk cookies except for a quarter of the last cookie and I just don't remember doing it. When I point out that perhaps I would have liked to have at least one whole cookie, he tells me he's sorry. Sorry doesn't get me the cookies back. And he would never think of getting a replacement bag. If he gets any cookies, he gets the kind he knows I can't stand. He offers me one and when I decline, he's puzzled.

The upshot of all this is that if you'd like to contact me, you can't. If you think I own anything, I don't. Even though I've paid for it. What's his is his and what's mine is his. It's an excellent basis for any marriage. Or so I'm told.

Elizabeth Edwards, Again

"If you're going through hell, keep going," ~ Winston Churchill

Owner of Company is on a rampage. He most definitely does not approve of the Edwards' decision to continue the Presidential campaign. He's been calling me all morning on the intercom, reading his own satires of news stories about them, asking me for synonyms, wanting definitions. He just called me while I'm writing this to tell me that "satire" was, indeed, the word he was looking for, instead of "parody" or "lampoon" or whatever. When Owner of Company gets worked up about something, he can get obsessed. This is a quality we share. I'm just not obsessed about this one.

He thinks that it's really John Edwards' decision to continue the campaign, no matter what his wife wants. I don't know. I don't think that's necessarily the case. Sometimes it's helpful, when you're battling cancer, to just try to get on with daily things. For them, political campaigns are a regular part of their lives. You certainly don't need to be sitting around with nothing to do but think about your diagnosis or how the chemo is making you feel or any of the other wrenching sidetracks you mind creates. Maybe you just campaign, if that's what you do.

Owner of Company thinks John and Elizabeth Edwards should spend their time, however much that is, being with their small children. I have a stepson I first met when he was 7. I don't feel qualified to judge. Owner just told me that they plan to take their children out on the campaign trail with them. I've worked on several political campaigns and they are incredibly grueling, even if you're young and healthy. I'm not sure how much time they'll really have to spend with the kids.

These are very early decisions, though. Those decisions may change as treatment and illness progress. I didn't have stage 4 breast cancer that metastasized to the bone, but early on in treatment, I thought I could maintain my regular schedule. That vision of my future was incorrect. That may be so with Elizabeth Edwards. As I said before, you deal with it however you can.

Everyone has their own way of coping with cancer and with death, I think. I'm reluctant to seem judgmental or be judgmental. It's a tough journey to even get through treatment. I know that when I was first diagnosed, I didn't know where I would find all of the mental, physical and emotional resources I'd have to call upon to endure.

Throughout my own treatment, people felt comfortable suggesting how I might deal with it. Many friends pushed me to confront my feelings about everything that was happening to me. I wasn't hurt or irritated by those suggestions; I didn't have the physical or emotional luxury of being offended. I just plowed through, hanging on until it was over. I know everyone has to find their own way. The path isn't always easy to see.

Owner will be working on emails about this all day. He calls me up and asks me how I feel, as a cancer survivor, about what he has to say. I'm not really the person to ask. I have a predilection for dark humor. I can be very sardonic. What he's saying is fine with me.

But then I don't have Stage 4 breast cancer that's metastasized to my bones. He might need to check back with me should that come to pass. (I'm superstitious about this. I'm knocking on my fiberboard desk.)

Obligatory Elizabeth Edwards Post

On the Elizabeth Edwards front, I saw the Sixty Minutes interview and I'd be lying if I didn't say it made me uneasy. I don't like to think about metastasis or recurrence. Unfortunately, people tend to bring it up fairly regularly, so I don't get to completely put it out of my mind. Watching that interview was a gesture of solidarity; I thought it might be uplifting. It wasn't uplifting.

As for the continuation of the Presidential campaign, we all deal with this however we can. She can deal with it by campaigning and continuing on with her normal life as much as is possible. It seems likely to me that there will be some days (maybe many) when treatment will completely exhaust her ability to cope.

Would I do the same thing? Probably not, simply because I'm not strong enough to push myself forward while undergoing chemotherapy. I wasn't before and there's no reason to believe that I've changed in that regard.

I got an email on Friday from owner of Crazy Land railing against the decision. As for me, judging her or her husband is really none of my business. We deal with cancer (as with all life trauma) however we can, we get through treatment however we can. Sometimes you don't know how you'll cope, but eventually you just do it. Elizabeth Edwards is going to cope by getting on with life.

Speaking of Crazy Land, no need to bring a gun. I win. We have not discussed the database, neither with Crazy Employee nor Crazy Employee's Crazy Supervisors. We're not going to ever discuss it. Because I decided.

The Brain That Would Not Shut Up

There's a song that's been running through my head the past couple of days.

"Rock 'n roll hoochie coo

(Rock 'n roll hoochie coo)

Lordy Mama, Wipe my shoes

As opposed to "Lordy Mama, Light my fuse."

I don't remember who recorded it, didn't much like it when it came out, know the correct lyrics (obviously), but it just keeps popping up in my head with the wrong lyrics. Someone please free me from The Brain That Would Not Shut Up. God I hate this.

Black Thursday

today we officially enter into another four years with bush. it's a bleak prospect. he's already fucked up a number of things beyond repair--at least for the remainder of my life time. i loathe him even more than i once loathed dick nixon. he's arrogant, willfully and proudly ignorant, smug, self-righteous. i've basically given up even watching the news in order to spare my blood pressure. i'd rather not have a bush-related stroke.

today, in honor of of black thursday, i'll focus on bushisms.

america held hostage day 1837
"One of the great things about books is sometimes there are some fantastic pictures."

"It's clearly a budget. It's got a lot of numbers in it."

"If you don't stand for anything, you don't stand for anything!"

"A surplus means there'll be money left over. Otherwise, it wouldn't be called a surplus."

god help us.

Enough Already

No more Anna Nicole Smith coverage.

No more coverage of Oscar night fashion.

Ditto anything about Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears.

Did I mention Paris Hilton? Stop it.