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This Is Just To Say: Wedding Cake Update

Thursday, May 30, 2013 | 3 Comment(s)


We have eaten
the cake
that was in
the freezer

and which
we were definitely
saving
for our anniversary

Forgive me
it was absolutely disgusting
so stale
and so freezer burned

And I wish I could leave it at that.  But I can't.  You all may remember said marriage-challenging debate surrounding the taking in of a stray wedding cake by my wife.  Ok, so it was our wedding cake, but I contended that eating horrifically bad year-old cake was not worth taking up a quarter of the space in our freezer for 365 days.  My wife said, "it's tradition."  So obviously I lost the day, and the subsequent days as well.

Well we made it folks.  A whole year of marriage.  Time truly does fly.  And upon returning from our anniversary getaway to Boston, which included a come from behind win at Fenway and subsequent gluttonous dinner, wifey took the white whale of a chocolate cake out of our freezer to defrost.

The imbedded popsicle sticks let you know it's fresh!

She did the slicing while I was in the other room.  She says it wasn't that hard to cut.  I wonder what the definition of "that" is.   We each took about a two-square-inch piece of cake, with minimal frosting, and placed it on our tongues.  It tasted like licking a vaguely chocolate flavored cave wall, with a distinct sawdust aftertaste.  But we ate it down.

"It's horrible," says my wife.  "I know," I reply.

My feet are buzzing.  They want to do the 'I told you so' dance so badly.  But we've been married a year now, and I've learned some things.  I've learned that my wife wasn't arguing that the cake would taste delicious come the following May, she was arguing that she could force me to keep a completely pointless space-filler in our freezer for a year simply because she's my wife.  And she was right.  She knew the cake would taste like a chunk of carbonized Han Solo, but it was never about the cake.  So to celebrate my 'rightness' over the pointlessness of the cake, is to have been lulled into a sense of false security regarding my place in our marriage.

So I choose to focus of the positive.

There is a gaping hole of glorious empty space in our freezer.  I could fit the entire box of Pop-Ice Freeze Pop's in there!  I could store a solid half a pig in there (the bacon half of the pig of course).  Sometimes, when I'm all alone with my thoughts, I think that I could crawl into that freezer void and curl up like an eskimo in a papoose in an igloo -- I may even invite my seal friends over to snuggle.

Which is to say that I like my new freezer flexibility, but I am ever vigilant to the potentially hidden pitfalls of mid-marriage traditions. (like friggin 'push presents!' are you KIDDING ME! The 'push present' is, and I can't emphasize this enough, your newborn child!)

My goal is to try to immediately fill the empty space with something mutually agreeable.  The problem is that it has been so long since I last had the opportunity to put something new in the freezer,  I've forgotten all of the icebox possibilities. Like a traveler who didn't keep up with his Spanish,  I've lost the vocabulary necessary to execute my plan.

And then I hear it, the tip-tapping of the 'I told you so' dance, coming from her tiny feet on the ceiling above me.

It's Spring: A Poem for the Season

Monday, May 20, 2013 | 0 Comment(s)

Picnic Time

She lays down her blanket on the manicured grass.

It's spring.
And it's picnic time.

The teensy pink flowers are exploring the air for the first time.
And as she sets down the fabric for her meal,
her companion, four legs and all heart, waddles dutifully to her side.
They discuss their life together.
the sun baking one side of their faces,
illuminating the hills and valleys where her skin has creased. 
The strands of grass are like earthworms between their toes.
How much life has changed since their best friend went away.
So close underfoot, and yet, to them, he seems six feet away from eternity.

But for now.
It's spring.
And it's picnic time.

And they are together again,
the buzzing of the lawn creatures dins as the heart of the world cracks open momentarily.
And everything is simple for a split
second.
Before the rushing tide of Father's clock
washes away the delicate pause of the spider's web,
and all the errands to be run seem to grow anew
inside her mental garden. 

It's spring
And it's picnic time.
And perfect moments do exist
But only for a season.

Until the tablecloths transform back into blankets, 
And the budding flowers begin to rappel back towards the ground.
Their wilting pink petals parachuting down, 
catching the dying light as it weaves through the cracks of his cement.


That's Some Clown Forecasting Bro!

Sunday, May 19, 2013 | 0 Comment(s)

The weather pops onto the TV at 10:55pm, to tease the 11pm news.  The weatherman says the temperature outside is 58 degrees right now.  Pleasant.  He goes on to say that if you were to drive in an hour in any direction from the center of town, you can expect temperatures to be 58 plus or minus 3 degrees.  Of course, he says this by giving the current temperatures of all the surrounding towns.

Then he continues, "and if you're looking out for what to expect tomorrow morning, stay tuned to your local NBC news, coming up next."

I call bullshit.

Look, my expectations for weather people are mole-people low.  I do not expect the words that leave a weather person's mouth to be true.  I use their "forecasts" as if they were a terror-level awareness color chart, popularized by NYC in 2001.  If the weatherperson says hurricane storms, that is terror level red, and I should bring a raincoat.  I still don't expect it to rain, but at that point if I am unprepared for the precipitation, it's mostly my fault.

What I do expect from the TV weather is some prediction about the weather.  No one, NO ONE, turns on the weather to find out the current weather.  THAT IS WHY HOUSES HAVE WINDOWS!!!!

And if my window can do your job with equal efficacy, then I'm not prepared to call you a weatherman.  You are a glorified window.  A window with a mouth and no view. And I understand the need to tease the news, but come ON.  Tease us with the coming morning's forecast (now a mere 8 hours away), and keep us coming back by withholding tomorrow's day and evening weather.  Don't just plop a guy up on screen to tell me what I could learn by defenestrating my arm.

With the fear of getting all "commencement speechy" (though it is the proper time), Webster's Dictionary defines forecast as:

a : to calculate or predict (some future event or condition) usually as a result of study and analysis of available pertinent data; especially : to predict (weather conditions) on the basis of correlated meteorological observations
b : to indicate as likely to occur

So, technically speaking, my gripe is totally warranted, as the information that the window-man delivered was not officially a forecast, as no real calculations or predictions were made.  And I will draw you attention to the most germane aspect of the definition, "to predict weather on the basis of correlated meteorological observations." (my emphasis added)  Unless you consider looking at a thermostat to be a meteorological calculation that helps you predict the present, I believe last night's broadcast was more window-dressing (pun) than "forecast."

In conclusion, that was some clown forecasting, bro.  Perhaps you should have just delayed your "teaser" another hour, because it would have been perfect for Saturday Night Live.

Angelina Jolie's Double Mastectomy Will Save Women's Lives

Friday, May 17, 2013 | 0 Comment(s)


I awoke a few days ago to the news story that Angelina Jolie had decided proactively to undergo a double mastectomy due to the knowledge that she carried the “cancer gene” BRCA1. It is with no hesitancy that I tell you my first reaction to this news was “who cares.”  I am not one for celebrity idolization, and I’ve found that for every Bill Gates trying to eradicate disease, there seems to be a Jenny McCarthy urging the public toward re-infection with campaigns advocating against childhood immunizations for potentially life-threatening diseases.  Obtuse would be a vast understatement. 

So I read Jolie’s piece in the New York Times. Her logic seemed sound.  Her mother died at 56 from cancer, and after taking a blood test, she learned that she too carried this cancer gene.  With her chances of developing breast cancer being evaluated as higher that her chances of avoiding it, Mrs. Jolie made the incredibly difficult decision to go ahead and remove the potentially offensive breast tissue ahead of time. 

In the face of such a rational argument, I was now left thinking, “What Jolie did is either über Hollywood crazy or groundbreakingly brave and courageous.” The truth is, while I may be over-educated, I am not a cancer expert.  I had no way of evaluating this woman’s life decision in a scientific, reasoned manner.  My guess is, you don’t either.  Thankfully, my father just happens to be an oncologist who has been practicing medicine for almost 40 years.  So, I send him a text.

Dad.  Angelina Jolie got a preventative double mastectomy.  My question to you is whether her decision was smart or crazy, in your medical opinion.

His response:  It was very smart, since she apparently tested positive for the breast cancer gene!!! (his emphasis added) Her ovaries need to go next . . .

My father’s response changed everything for me.  Everything.  I believe Jolie is getting her ovaries removed as a next step to her process.  What’s more, now I knew that all of this invasive preventative medicine was based in fact, and seeing as I didn’t know this information until now, I realized that this was important potentially life-saving information that until two days ago lacked any public voice.  If I grew up with an oncologist and I wasn’t informed about the odds for contracting cancer based on the presence of genetic markers, how many thousands, millions, of women were in the same boat as me. 

Which is why Jolie’s decision to publicize her decision will save lives.  Forget the bravery it takes to get any piece of your body removed.  Forget that this woman’s body has been fetishized, glorified, and commodified since she was 14-years-old. Forget that her choice shows a clear and laudable example of Jolie prioritizing her kids, family, and health above her fame and adulation (are you taking notes Kardashians?). And forget that this surgery is absolutely none of the general public’s business. 

Actually, don’t forget that.  Remember that this whole medical scenario that is playing out for Hollywood’s super couple is the very definition of a personal matter.  It is a miracle of science, but for those with enough money, you can now go through this procedure (plus the breast reconstruction) without the general public realizing it at all.  So Jolie had the option to keep this matter private.  It’s easy to see the appeal of keeping this all quiet when you imagine yourself going through all of the doctor consults, the repeated medical procedures, and the physically draining recovery.

Angelina Jolie’s choice to make her personal struggle a public issue is quite possibly the single most important humanitarian action of her fairly illustrious career (no sarcasm).  It is easily her most important contribution domestically.   She has not only taken the reins of her of life path, she has become a new type of model for America: A role model. 

I’m not saying you should start wearing a vile of your hubby’s blood around your neck or to try to find hidden treasure in a tank top, short shorts, and wearing a pair of 9mm pistols.  What I am saying is that Jolie has made the conscious choice to connect her name and fame to the testing and proactive prevention of breast and ovarian cancer in the same way Magic Johnson more unwittingly became the face of HIV back in the early 90’s.   And I realize that it’s not a perfect comparison, but, in terms of raising positive awareness for what can be terrify process, and then additionally illustrating how people can proactively take control of their own healthcare decisions, I think it holds up.  

Because, the fact remains, that getting a piece of your body removed is always scary as hell.  And, the very idea of getting cut open when you don’t even have a disease is too large a psychological barrier for many people to push past.   Even with a 75% chance of contracting the disease (the percentages are different for every individual), many women will still choose to forego the trouble, pain, and life-adjustment that surgery requires.  And I don’t blame them.  I know as well as anyone that surgery can be scary as hell.  (Have I mentioned that surgery scares me?)

But what we are learning now, or at least I am learning now, is that avoiding surgery is not the smart decision if living as long as possible is one of your goals.  (I realize that factors like age and a desire to have children are major mitigating factors here as well.)  That said, these surgeries reduce the chances of developing breast and ovarian cancer down to single-digit percentages.  That’s down from 65 - 80 percent.  And while a 60%-40% chance of developing cancer may feel like a dice roll to some people, a 97% chance of no cancer must feel like an ice-cream scoop full of heaven.

My father doesn’t get what all the fuss is about.  He views Jolie’s decision as simply the “correct” choice given our current medical knowledge.  However, I can’t help shake the presence of her bravery in using her platform as a famous sex symbol to publicly walk through the cloaked tunnel of double mastectomy, and then to spread her knowledge on the process, recovery, and positive outcomes with the general public.  She will undoubtedly come to mind when future women are placed in the same position, or used by doctors to help explain a diagnosis that is part blood test, part genetics, and part statistics.   Because no matter what the numbers say, getting your breasts removed is always a leap of faith. 

Angelia Jolie has simply helped light the ground on the other side.