Hey gang. After days of electrical problems, ISP problems, chemo problems and general ennui, I have returned! And it’s all thanks to Conan O’Brien.
You see, I’m sitting in my chemo nest watching Conan O’Brien on MSNBC. I know – I was surprised too, but hey, it’s all NBC right? Regardless, even showing Family Guy won’t make me watch Fox News.
Just got back from seeing Charlie & the Chocolate Factory. A truly excellent remake, but what else would you expect from the Tim Burton crew? Nice to see Danny Elfman go back to his Boingo roots with the Oompa Loompa songs too. All in all, this version seemed a bit more… sinister than the original. Something about the occasional looks on Depp’s face. You could almost imagine each child’s gruesome end in his eyes.
Okay, it’s one thing to be listening to a radio at work. It’s another thing to turn that radio up louder. And for God’s sake, don’t SING ALONG!!!!
Okay, so the R. Kelly question has been answered. Apparently it’s not me who he was trying to “punk” (as the kids say nowadays), rather his producers and record label. Turns out “Trapped in a Closet” is an “Urban Opera” where indeed he does just recite a laundry list of things that happened to him. The trick is, the story takes FIVE VIDEOS. Maybe more, but the “first five” are available with on DVD with purchase of his CD. Not only that, VH1 has seen fit to create a half hour special where they basically play the DVD for you. This is what I just got finished watching. Damn you, TiVo!
I liked R. Kelly better in the zorro mask – his little piggy eyes freak me out a little.
So one thing we forgot about during the honeymoon planning was that I’d need to be back in Hartford the day after my treatment to get my Neulasta shot. We talked it over with the doc and nurses and decided we could get barb to give me the shot tomorrow. They called in to place the prescription and we went to pick it up. Turns out, my insurance plan has a $3000 limit on prescriptions. One Neulasta shot costs around $2700. Eeeeyikes! When they give the shot to me in the office, it’s billed differently, so it doesn’t count against my limit. Which means we have to spend the night in Hartford, or drive 2 hours to our honeymoon spot in RI, then two hours back to here, then two hours back again. Oy. We’re spending the night.
We’re back in Hartford today to undergo chemo treatment number 3. The wedding went without a hitch on Saturday. Wait. The wedding did wind up with one hitch – that being the hitch between Barb & I. As for problems, there were mostly none. At least, none so major that they kept Barb from having the wedding exactly like she imagined it. I call that without a hitch. Other than ours. Right.
Will Hines, groomsman extraordinaire, wins the prize for quickest publishing of photos, as well as excellent commentary. Expect more photos to slowly pop up over the ensuing weeks and months.
So I’m preparing for my daily battle with the Candy Machine of Evil. I’ve pulled my keys out of my pocket so as to better gather all of my shiny silver change without endlessly pawing at my groin area for the change. As I’m pulling out my fistful of happiness (we’re still talking coins here), a rogue nickel goes flying out of my hand, spins its whirling dervish on the ground, then bolts under a refrigerator before I can stomp it into submission.
…and I’m really getting tired of this Michael Jackson crap. Maybe that’s why I’m sick – it’s not the chemo, it’s the Jacko.
I saw Revenge of the Sith tonight. All of the reports have been confirmed – Lucas has redeemed himself with this one. Granted, the geek in me had to quibble with some continuity concerns, but for the most part, I was able to shut him up and enjoy the ride. By far the best thing about seeing Star Wars nowadays is going to the bathroom afterwards. A glance at the urinal and it flushes of its own accord. A wave of the hands and the faucet starts pouring out water. The spell broke when I gestured for the paper towels, though. Perhaps in a couple of more years I’ll learn that trick…
So. Pretty much ever since the first chemo treatment I’ve had a craving for meat. MEAT. Specifically, a certain kind of meat that I don’t know the name of and can only vaguely recall. We had some excellent barbecue shortly after, though I knew going in that brisket wasn’t what was eating away at the pleasure centers of the little caveman in my brain. I also discovered that brisket wasn’t what my foggy Texas brain thought it was, somehow confusing it with shredded pork.
Lacking an excuse with more substance, I blame the cancer.