Come On Baby Light My Fire

First of all, starting off the "duh!" news story...Mitt Romney smoked pot. Please, anyone who is over fifty tried pot and so everyone running for president falls into that category. Our current president smoked pot and did coke. Who cares? It's a youthful experiment and that is what youth is all about. I'm hoping that is what being a senior citizen is all about. Senior citizen...What a terrible turn of phrase. Eeeeeooooo. That sounds like a REALLY old person. Like, REAL old. I'd like to be referred to as an advanced hippie. Gettin' high every day. Livin' off the land. Who am I kidding? I can't even grow a tomato. Peace, man. That's one thing I know how to do.

Carpinteria is a great little funny town. Ten minutes south of Santa Barbara and a million miles from Montecito and Oprah and her friends. This weekend was the "world famous" Avocado Festival. I think people as far away as San Diego come to this festival. World's biggest vat of guacamole. Avocado ice cream. Avocados decorated like little people. And alcohol. Personally, I think that's the draw. You can walk around with a Marguerita in your hand and eat yourself into oblivion. A tri-tip sandwich smothered in guacamole. Can you think of anything better?

Well, if you think this is just some rinky dink festival, think again. Playing wild bluesy rock and roll was this little local band and sitting in on drums was John Densmore of The Doors. This guy wrote Light My Fire! This Festival is a big deal! He wrote the number one acid song of the last century and there he is sitting next to an avocado playing his drums. I wanted to tell him that I saw him play at the Whiskey many moons ago. Saw Jim Morrison writhing around on stage while he played. "Try to set the night on fire!..." Saw Jim Morrison in the back row of the theater company I was in a couple of times, watching our show, The James Joyce Memorial Liquid Theater (I kid you not. Remember, it was the sixties...) and he loved it and HE was watching ME! How cool is that? But, of course, I didn't say anything to John Densmore. I just danced and ate corn and once again felt really good that I had grown up in such a "groovy" generation.

Saw Into The Wild. I liked it. Talk about the arrogance of youth. (I related to him not being able to eat at the end. Sometimes I feel just like that.) But I thought about lot of things while I was watching the movie. Thought about the choices people make that sometimes go completely haywire. (Don't you just love that word?) But the thing is, they made a choice. And maybe it was a risky one. But they made it. And then there is fact that some people, I think most people...Don't have a choice. They are born with nothing, they have to work to eat, maybe feed a family, and that's just that. This boy was lucky. He could make his own choice after seeing a certain way of life that he rejected. The life of privilege. Who knows what he thought while he was dying. "Hmmmm, I think I made a bad choice here. Shit. I'm going to die." Had he chosen to be a lawyer, we probably never would have heard of him. So maybe he did make the right choice. Just kind of a bummer for him.

I am sitting here writing while three plumbers are cutting up the ground outside my window. They told me that if they didn't clear out the pipes, my house would blow up. Should I believe them? See, this is just like when they told me I had cancer. Would I have blown up if they hadn't cut me open? Will my house blow up next time I use the toilet? I don't know. My grandparents lived in the same tiny house forever in Beaver Falls, Pennsylvania and their house never blew up. And it was also a little grocery store with chicken feathers and beef fat going down the drain. And they're telling me I can't use the toilet?

They're drilling now. My teeth are hurting.

Call me crazy, but I think saw Jim Morrison walking around the Avocado Festival eating a guac and chicken taco. I actually saw about twenty other people who looked like Jim Morrison.

Can you say contact high?.....................................

He's back.....

Hello, again. Andy Parks here. Now... don't panic! Trish is all right! In fact, she's more than all right, she's driven up to Carpenteria and is spending a long week-end. So ... she called me to ask me to alert her blog-fans (blogophiles?) that she won't be posting anything new until Tuesday of next week. So, I've done that. ..... Now what? ....
My assigned duty has been carried out, and I should probably just go, but it occurred to me that while I was covering for Trish when she was in the hospital, I didn't really go into much detail about my long association with her. I'll just share one fact: 29 years ago, Trish and I played bats together. It was in a Michael McClure one-act called "The Masked Choir". We hung, by our knees, from the light grid of the Company Theatre in home-made bat costumes and sang "Baby You've Got the Universe In the Palm of Your Hand" while we were upside down. Below us, there were two gauzily-dressed nymphs, two giant pandas, two (or maybe only one) dancing water buffalo, and the eponymous Masked Choir, likewise singing (though right-side up). You don't hardly get theatre like that any more.
Trish and I were already fast friends by that time ... but hanging upside down and singing (try it some time... your diaphragm doesn't work that way!) deepened our bond considerably.
Bat-girl will be back on Tuesday.

People Walking Backwards

So on my walk today I passed by a group of women walking backwards. Was this some religious ritual? Were they atoning for sins and trying to erase the past? Or were they just nuts and this was some crazy new exercise fad? They were moving rather slowly so how many calories could they possibly burn? It is very odd not to think about that burning calories thing anymore. I believe right now I am living, in certain ways, like a monk. A monk...ess. (Oh, those poor monks in what used to be Burma. This fighting thing, this war thing is just so, so insane.)

Anyway, I eat like a monkess. I can't talk when I eat. I have to chew each bite a million times, even when it's peanut butter and I have to eat tiny, tiny bits. The other night I made myself and Will a delicious dinner of scallops, baked potato and asparagus. I had ONE scallop, an eighth of the potato and three pieces of asparagus. It was pathetic. But my stomach will grow, they tell me. And it had better be able to tolerate alcohol pretty soon or I will have to get a feeding tube inserted specifically for vodka. Now, I am not an alcoholic by any means, but those of you reading this, try going without a glass of wine or a martini for OVER A MONTH! Just try that! Life isn't so pretty anymore, is it? A person needs at least one vice, for pete's sake. Right now all I can do to misbehave is to take a bite of a cookie but then I just end up throwing up for half an hour. Who am I, Mrs. Job? I can't even have a bite of a cookie! Okay, there cannot be a God if a person can't have a cookie. Maybe that's what should go on my tombstone. But I'm not going to have a tombstone because I'm going to be tossed into the air for eternity. Which is what waiting to have a drink feels like. An Eternity! But I'm not an alcoholic, mind you? Did I say that already? And is thou protesting too much? Or thee? Or moi?

But here's what's been on mind the last few days. My divorce. Never thought I'd have cancer. Never thought I'd have to get divorced. As I mentioned many blogs ago, part of me wants to keep everything! The house, the phones, the pillows. I love my pillows. And my futon. I sleep on a futon. Love it. I think I can have that. But as long as I am living like that Jewess Monkess, maybe I should give everything to him. So I can have a clean clear life. Start completely over.

But that's not possible, is it? Because I'm not twenty anymore and I can't have children anymore and from this point on I'm just going to begin to crumble. So this starting over is completely different than, say, starting over twenty years ago. I can't make the big bucks anymore unless I write a novel and Oprah puts it on her book list. I can do everything I can to look nice but in the end it's just a losing battle, isn't it? But what do you know? You're probably thirty five or forty. I hate you.

No I don't. I hate me. Me is who I hate. All the wrong decisions. I have made all the wrong decisions.

See, this is where your mind goes when you can't eat chocolate chips. I need a cookie, dammit. And I need to get divorced. I am so bad at legal stuff. I know I'm going to screw it up and he's going to end up with everything and I'll be selling my computer at that pawn shop and I can't believe I gave a homeless woman my wedding ring!! Maybe I can find her? Grab that ring off her finger. No, I'm not that desperate. But I can't be stupid about the divorce. Someone asked me what I wanted. Told me to figure out exactly what I wanted and go from there. And I've been thinking about that and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WANT. You would think at this point in my life I would have some clear direction. Hmmmm. Should I go to Haverford or Lewis and Clark? You can't go anywhere, dummy! Those days are over. Why do I think that there are still possibilities? How insane is that?

You know what? I'm going to find those people walking backwards. I think they've got the right idea. If I walk backwards maybe I can figure out where I was going in the first place. But first, I am getting myself a fucking Oreo. Who can possibly think straight without an Oreo?

Stunned Woman Walking

I almost died today. Not from cancer...But from a stupid little woman driving an enormous Hummer and TALKING ON HER CELL PHONE! Is that not against the law yet? So I'm taking my walk, building up steam, decide to cross the street and this woman decides to ignore the stop sign in front of her and, I swear, she stopped about six inches from my feeding tube. I froze and she jumped out of the car and said, "I didn't see you." And I said, "How could you see me when YOUR HEAD DOESN'T CLEAR THE STEERING WHEEL!" She couldn't have been more than five feet tall. And she was all nervous and apologetic but SHE WAS STILL TALKING ON HER PHONE. "Just a minute, Gail, I've got to deal with this."

Deal with this? You almost killed me, you idiot. And then I thought, Oh of course. This is perfect. I lived through all I've lived through then BAM, I get hit by a stupid little woman in her Hummer.

"How did she go?"
"She got hit by a Hummer."
"But the cancer was gone, right?"
"Oh yeah. No problem with the cancer."

So I just glared at this woman. Glared down a few inches. While she waited for me to say something. I could hear Gail on the other end of her phone. "Hello? Are you still there? Are you driving through that dead spot?"

Yes! This WAS almost a dead spot with me as the road kill because your friend was talking to YOU in her gigantic car. Who needs a car that big? Is she transporting buffalo because that's the only reason I can think of that a woman that size would need such a big car.

"Well, if your okay I'm going to go now."
"Turn off your phone."
"What?"
"Turn off your fucking phone."
"Excuse me?"

Okay, we were at an impasse here. Either I wasn't speaking English or she was refusing to hear what I was saying. Let's just guess the latter. So then I started my rant. About cell phones and giant cars and of course I threw in cancer and flashed my tube at her which I could see she found quite upsetting. I almost showed her my scar but that seemed a bit too intimate.

"Alice, are you still there? Hello? Hello?"

And Gail was still on the other end. And this was at nine in the morning and I'm sure they were both on their way to a hair appointment after dropping off their perfect kids at some perfect school where they will graduate from and go to some perfect college and play perfect sports and then graduate and become perfect NOTHINGS. (Okay, that was mean. I'm sure Gail is a wonderful person and Alice or whoever the little Hummer driver is must be just the bestest gal around. Maybe she could be my bestest friend. Maybe we should exchange numbers. Cell phone numbers. Maybe I should bash her head into her Hummer.)

Anyway, she drove away as quickly as she could and continued her conversation with Gail and I am sure she told her that a crazy woman walked into the street and she did everything she could to avoid hitting her.

So I kept walking. And I was trying to get that feeling one is supposed to get after you live through cancer or whatever...That feeling that, wow, life is so wonderful and isn't it great to be alive. Haven't gotten that feeling yet. But my mind took a different path and went to thoughts like...What crazy things people do to fill their time on this planet. And here's where that thought came from...After walking a little ways I saw a man very methodically putting together what looked to be a bicycle. There was a bench near by so I sat down to surrepticiously watch him. And he kept pulling parts out of his old car and attaching them ever so perfectly to the other parts he had already put together. Now this man was somewhere between fifty and death. Not in great shape with a pretty scraggly beard. But he was a hard worker. And he finished. And he locked his car. And he got on this "thing" and he rode off. This "thing" had two back wheels about two inches high and one front wheel about three feet high. The pedals stuck out from the middle of the front wheel. And I'm watching all this and I'm thinking, Wow, this is how this guy spends his time on earth. Putting together what looks to be a ridiculous contraption. Or was it? I think he loved it. I think he was completely happy. This guy was spending his life exactly as he wanted to. No pressure, no feeling that he had to "be someone."

OR...

He escaped from Camarillo with a kids bike and a unicycle and he was about to ride himself off The Santa Monica Pier.

I have to find a calmer place to take my walk. Ireland, perhaps?

Plan B

I was thinking this morning as I took the dog to the park and almost felt like a normal person that, yes, I actually am feeling a bit better. Haven't thrown up in a few days, don't feel quite as light headed, haven't lost anymore weight (a subject to be discussed later) BUT, and there's always a but, isn't there...BUT, for the first time in my grown up life I don't actually have any plans until the end of the year. What I'm saying is, the better I feel, the more I realize that at this moment in time I don't seem to have any identity. Who am I right now? You know how you get up and go to work or take your kid to school or maybe you're in a theater company, as I was once, and you spend all day thinking the next play you're going to do. Well now, at this moment, I guess I am a convalescor ( a word I believe I made up). I am a person who is spending most of their waking hours just getting better. But the more conscience I become the more anxious I get about what I'm actually going to do once I'm completely well. And this is what makes me even more neurotic, if that's possible, and that's the notion that what I have to do, of course, is write something. And I think that's why I was relaxed and calm in the hospital and all through chemo because I could give myself a break and not write anything except my blog. I could put off that novel and that play and all the things that I want to do more than anything but as I get better my excuses fall by the wayside. The little conscience on my shoulder is starting to talk to me again.

"Trish, what are you waiting for? Time is of the essence here. You've got to sit down everyday and turn out those pages, you lazy bum."
"I'm not lazy. I'm sick. I have (had) cancer, for God's sake."
"Oh please. You're not really sick anymore. You walk, you go to the store. Come on! Get off your lazy ass and write that...That...Book, or whatever."
"See! That's the problem. What am I writing? A book? A whatever? I have no idea what to write. A play? A one person show? WHAT SHOULD I WRITE?"
"Just make a decision and write it? You're not twenty, you know."
"I hate you...Hello?...Hello?..."

Okay, now that I'm alone again I can talk about weight which I know I've hit on before but isn't it a subject that never gets old? I remember now why I never had a scale. Because they drive you crazy! I have not lost a pound since I've been home and that is exactly what should be happening. But something is not right. I'm hardly eating a thing. Oh yeah, a spoonful of peanut butter, a teaspoonful at that. Some cheese. A bit of fish. A papaya. That is a day's worth of food. Shouldn't I look like Kate Moss? I guess that would mean I'd have to grow a bit taller but isn't this weird? I know this is going to sound crazy but yesterday I was walking towards the scale and I SWEAR I saw it change it's base weight to be up a couple pounds. The scale was playing a mind game with me. I'm telling you, they're alive. The scales have a mind of their own. Every time I walk past him I feel him staring up at me and...Laughing. Yes, laughing...And no, I am not losing my mind.

"Trish, that's insane."
"You know, I'm not talking to you anymore. You are just a downer"
"And by the way, nobody wants to know about your issues with the scale. They just read this stupid blog to find out about DeNiro."
"Oh, come on. My friends are much more compassionate than that."


"Hahahahahahahahahahaha."

You know, maybe I'm not quite as well as I thought I was. Maybe I should relax and give myself more time to mend. Yes, that's what I'm going to do. Put off that novel just a few more days...Weeks...I've got to get my strength back. Then I'll remember who I am. What I was. What I was doing before all of this started. Right now I'm watching a spider crawl along the top of my moniter. I think he's making eye contact.

I think I need a plan.........................

T's Anatomy

Here's a frightening revelation...I was having trouble flushing (yuck) my feeding tube (which I still have and which I'll talk about later) so I called the doctor's office and a nurse told me that the only way to clean it out was to use either Coca Cola or Adolphs Meat Tenderizer. What! She told me that the first thing they learn in nursing school is that when all else fails, use Coke. Hello! They can replace an entire liver and the best thing they can come up with to flush a tube is Coke! But it did work and I don't know if it was just psychological but I felt all bubbly inside and kind of...Happy. God knows what I would feel like with Adolphs Meat Tenderizer. Kind of soft and rare, I suppose.

So I went to the doctor's last Friday and he told me that I was way ahead of the game as far as recovery was concerned. I think that's because, once again, I picked the right outfit. Something with a little color to perk up my cheeks and help me look almost normal. I wore a purple sweater. He remarked on it. What he did not see was that my pants were falling down. I decided to take the plunge and actually put on a pair of real pants instead of sweatpants but what happened was the PANTS themselves took the plunge and when I stood up they were way below handyman position. Normally this would be rather exciting, the loss of ten pounds. I just don't want to lose anymore. Guess I'll have to buy a belt.

What he didn't do was take out my feeding tube. First of all, you can't just pull these things out. It's an operation. I don't know if you're asleep or not (forgot to ask) but he told me he can't take it out until I can eat two weeks of just "table food". I still plug myself in at night and feed myself that Ensure type of stuff and I think I need it but boy do I want to get rid of this tube. But here's how much I can eat at one sitting...Make one peanut butter and no sugar jelly sandwich...Cut it in half...Cut it in fourths...Cut it in eighths.

Now eat HALF of one of those eighths. Then...You're full. FULL! My stomach is full but my brain wants the whole damn sandwich. Last night I went to Panda Express. They loaded my to go Styrofoam dish with a bunch of fried crap. None of which I should eat but I was determined to walk of there like I was just regular and I was going to go home and scarf it all down. (Scarf? Is that a word? It can't be spelled like...scarf...Or can it?) Anyway, I brought it home and I had...Three bites. They were fabulous bites. I put it all in the fridge and I'm thinking about having some right now......................

Okay, I'm back. Here's the thing, for all of my adult life I have eaten nothing but healthy food. I think I ate more broccoli than Alicia Silverstone. But what good did it do me?! So now...Now I'm going to eat crap. Eat crap and live. I told someone that I was eating a lot of peanut butter. They told me that at Whole Foods you could get freshly make peanut butter with just salt. No fucking way. I am eating Skippy with as much crap in it as they can fit in the jar. I'll eat Skippy from China. Why not? And I'm eating white bread, not that stupidass multi grain. What is the point? White bread you can roll into little balls and you can tear it apart into different shapes and toast it until it turns black. What's better than that? Smothered in butter. I eat that now and I'm not kidding. I'm going to die anyway, whether it's tomorrow or twenty years from now. A person has to take risks. Do something daring. When I finish eating white bread I feel so good I put my hands in the air like I've just finished a turn on the parallel bars and I've gotten all tens. Yes! She ate crap and lived! What a brave, brave woman!

Next week I begin the Table Food Olympics. Can she go two weeks without assistance? Can life be sustained without broccoli? Does anyone really care?

Hmmmm. Wonder if there's anymore chow mein?

I am walking ze dog...............

The above title is in honor of Marcel Marceau, who died this weekend. Following is a eulogy I wrote for him upon hearing of his passing.





















We'll miss you Bip............................TS