A Hanukkah Miracle

We have had quite a few questions from people who have received our holiday letter.  Well, mainly one question.  “Who is Allie? And actually, quite a few theories/guesses. To wit:

Is Allie the triplet you told me about?  I remember a story of ya'll having three, but realizing you could only afford two and gave one away.  Or maybe sold one for scientific experimentation?  Did she find her way home?

In this CoVid year, so many people are adopting new pets.  Did ya'll take that one step further?

Is that the new cat tender you hired?

And even-is this an odd, 2020, CoVid, Zoom prank, adding a random extra kid into your Brady Bunch holiday card to confuse and amuse your friends and family?

All good theories.  But sadly, all wrong.

The correct answer is, of course, "Allie?  What the hell are you talking about?"

Mundane Dreams

 On Sunday, I finished round 12 of max bonus chemo.  Temodar, the Chemo Teller, is once again quiet.  Based on how the earlier rounds have gone, sometime around Thanksgiving I should be back to a semblance of "normal".  And this being the last round of chemo for now, there is a possibility that the normal period will go on for a period of time.  A Year?  Maybe two?  Based on what I've got, it's not something that is beaten back and we keep an eye on it to ensure it doesn't come back.  My Chevy Astro Cytoma will act up again, with the questions being when and how.  And after the when and how comes the "what next?"  Radiate, rinse, repeat?  Cyber knife?  Cyber bully?  Some new cool nanite technology?  Brain transplant?  [less likely].  

Just need to plow forward, and take things as they come.  Between the last two rounds, I had a series of mundane dreams again.  These were not about weirdly constructed hotels or polite visiting Unitarians, like last year.  The two I remember were about Spotty and fried chicken.

A few weeks back I had a very convincing dream that I had gotten a a new dog.  She was small, white, and fluffy.  She had black marks on her tummy, and I named her Spotty.  Not sure how I knew this,  but Spotty was a very good dog.

Then last week, I had a very vivid dream where I was talking to Alex on the phone, and walking her through how to fry chicken.  She has been cooking a lot in New Orleans in her apartment, between hurricanes, and apparently it was time to fry some chicken.  From the two or three times I have fried chicken at home, I even think it was fairly sound instructions.  I remember telling her to soak the pieces in buttermilk, for example.

The next day I called her.  If she had actually fried chicken in the last couple of days, I believe that would have been sufficient proof of a new superpower.  Chef Mentale! Able to dream about what people are cooking.  About as useful as Super Doppler, but you take the superpowers that are offered.

Unfortunately, no chicken had been fried by Alex or any of her roommates.  She had recently fried some plantains, but even though I have done that before, Chef Mentale was clearly talking chicken.

So, 12 rounds of chemo are in the books.  And then yesterday was my 55th birthday.  "I can survive....  FIF-ty FIVE!"  Which is the bastardized version of a terrible song by either Sammy Hagar or David Lee Roth that has been going through my head.  I'd look it up, but I don't want to give it the attention.  I just want it to go away.

I was not feeling fantastic, so I took 1/2 day off work, lay on my new couch, ate Tiff's Treats (thanks Joyce, Susanne, and the folks at AGE!), and watched what can only be described as the perfect antidote to this awful year.  I found the movie "Pick of the Litter" on Amazon Prime.  It was a documentary following five black and yellow Labrador puppies from birth to about 1 year, as they are trained to be potential Guide Dogs for the Blind.  Not all of them are chosen, and sadly, the rest are put down.  NO!!  That would be a terrible, awful, no good movie.  The ones that don't make it become breeders, or pets, or go back to their trainers.  This was a 90 minute movie about very good, enormously cute labs, some of whom (I won't spoil it for you) become amazing Guide Dogs.  Trust me, see this movie.  You need it.  We all need it.

It wasn't included on Amazon Prime, so I had to spend $3.99 to rent it.  Jill gets notices anytime someone buys something on our Amazon Prime account ("that's a lot of haircare products for someone who was bald a year ago".  It's aspirational).  

I texted her about my amazing movie find, and she responded:

"Good, from the email I got, I thought maybe you had bought a dog on Amazon."

"Yes, a $3.99 dog from Amazon, to be delivered in the next few weeks, is exactly what I ordered."

I can get away with the sarcasm because it was my birthday.  And, you know, brain tumor.

And now I realize I actually do have a set of mundane dreams for 2021.  Nothing huge, just some small, mundane hopes and wishes:

1) the removal, voluntary or otherwise, of Cheeto Voldemort from the presidency, the news, our lives, and all of the other spaces he fills so profanely.

2) the distribution of one or more CoVid vaccines so that we can start to extricate from the pandemic.

3) several months, if not years, of stability in my Chevy Astrocytoma, accompanied by the lack of a need to do other treatments.

4) a growing "better" feeling as I get further away from this last round of chemo.

5) Twina and Twinby able to go back safely to college and re-start their college experiences.

6) and assuming 2,3, and 4 happen, maybe some travel, some dining out, some date nights, some of life pre May 2019 (for me, for most of ya'll it's life pre March 2020).

7) And, as it is becoming more and more apparent, maybe a new dog.  Named Spotty perhaps.

Smith Babes

 My amazing daughters have a text chain going.  They named the group "Smith Babes", which somehow included me.  Jill was eventually added, and so far I have not been booted.  

Here, in three (ish) acts, are tales of the Smith Babes

Running out of Alphabets

Alex is in New Orleans, finishing up a hybrid semester at Loyola, living in an apartment and taking mostly on-line courses.  Certainly, she's just a few blocks away from the school, but much of her school is still virtual.

Even the classes that are in-person have been disrupted by the 53 named storms that have landed in or around New Orleans this year.  She has actually been very fortunate, as it was only the recent Hurricane Zeta that hit New Orleans directly, taking out power for the city.  

Having run out of A-Z names, and finishing up the Greek alphabet, I am left to wonder what's next in the taxonomy?  Sanscrit?  I honestly believe I could do this better.  They skipped a whole bunch of English letters - like X, Y and Z.  Xavier?  Yolanda?  Zachary?  Zoom? Hurricane Zoom is the perfect distillation of 2020.  And then, like Excel, shouldn't Hurricanes go into the double letters?  Hurricane Aaron.  Hurricane BB King. Hurricane CeeCee.  Hurricane DeeDee.  Hurricane EE Cummings.  Hurricane French Fry.  Hurricane GiGi.  Hurricane Hubert Humphrey.  This is not that hard.  All of these are preferable to "Hurricane Nana."  I want this job.

Our Lady of Lake Travis University

Abby was not able to go back to Trinity this fall, but was able to move out to my brother's lake house with my niece Hannah and another displaced college student to join a collective distance learning cooperative.  It sucks that she isn't able to be back in San Antonio, but it has certainly been nicer for her than the alternative Smith House Community College.

She is working on getting dorm housing for the spring, with a backup being long-term stay in a hotel for the spring.  I was thinking about how much fun that sounds is entirely dependent upon how old you are.  The 20 year-old me might have enjoyed that for a month, maybe two.  The now me thinks that I would hate this within four days.

Tracking Varmints

Kaileigh is in the midst of her next research project - tracking the efficacy of aerial vaccines to inoculate racoons and oppossums in South Carolina against a specific form of rabies.  She loves the work, and is living her best life.  I worry that with only a few days left before the election, the president might hear about this and decide to have the Air Force fly over cities dropping hydroxychloroquine, or Windex, or whatever.  But who am I kidding?  She is engaged in a scientific study, so no way it comes anywhere near him.  

Speaking of Kaileigh and voting, I got this exact text this week:

"Hi Russell, this is Josh with TX Dems - thanks for casting your ballot!  Public records say you may live with Kaileigh who hasn't voted yet.  Can you make a plan with them to vote?"

Several things here.  First - kudos to Josh for not assuming which pronouns Kaileigh prefers.  And kudos to the democrats for their ground game and use of data to support get out the vote efforts to remove the orange pestilence from the White House.

But, holy fuck!  Josh knew that I voted, that Kaileigh hadn't yet, and that she gets her mail sent to our house (Josh was a bit off there).  There is way too much accessible info about us out there.

As evidenced by his follow-up text two days later:

"Hi Russell, this is Josh with TX Dems again.  I saw that you had take-out at Mi Amigo food truck on St. John's.  How are their carnitas tacos?"

Rain, Sally, Rain!

 "Hurricane Sally!  You know you've got to slow your top speeds down."

A third tropical storm glanced past New Orleans, where my Alex is just trying to take classes from a distance.  Not bothering anyone.  As far as we know.  

We took her back to school last month, to a new apartment with most of our old living room furniture.  CoVid home renovation backlog means that our new living room furniture could be still a few months.  Add three more weeks for the cats to destroy the new couch, and a week after that for me to find a place to leave one or both of them far far away where they will never find us again*, and we are at Christmas.  Time goes so fast.

Abby was seriously considering college in Portland, and got accepted to Lewis & Clark before ultimately deciding last year on Trinity.  So, we almost sent both twins to live in separate matryoshka stacking disaster dolls.  Rampant wildfires / hurricanes inside a global pandemic inside a world being destroyed by cheeto Voldemort.  Have to say I am done with 2020.

Starting round 10 of max bonus chemo tonight.  Have a finish line in sight - at least for the Chemo - Sunday, November 15, 2020 is my last dose.  For those of you keeping count at home.  And who, like me, have created a color-coded spreadsheet to track the all-powerful Temodar, the Chemo Seer. November 15th will be my 60th dose over 12 months of the bonus chemo, totaling 79.3 pounds of poison. Though that doesn't look exactly right.  Might be closer to 100 pounds.  

Saw the doctor today and reviewed my last MRI.  We seem to be in a phase of "examine the spots."  I had three spots last time.  One is gone, one is getting smaller (mostly gone), and one is getting larger.  Seemingly all three Goldilocks outcomes at once.  The one getting larger can mean anything from nothing at all to something.  And Dr. V was characteristically circumspect on what he thinks.  So I am getting another MRI next month, I think moving up a Tesla or 2.  And then, nothing. Or something, whatever that looks like.  

All you want to do is rain and blow, Sally! Rain, Sally, Rain!

*to be fair, the girl cat could "Incredible Journey" her way home, but the orange boy cat has no chance.  And Elsie don't take no passengers.

My next career

 I lived in Houston for 15 years.  Early on, I ran across "Russell and Smith" Ford.  Someone even gave me a hat from the dealership.  At some point, they morphed into Russell and Smith Honda.

I always thought that at some point I would run for office in Houston. Wasn't sure of what I would run for, but I did know two things: 1) my platform would be simple - "if elected, I will take away your guns."; and 2) My slogan would be "Russell A. Smith, The Name You Know."  I would find the closest approximation to the car dealer's font, and I would make a lot of yard signs and bumper stickers.  This being Texas, and enough people not taking any time to actually learn about candidates, I believe I could have gotten lots of votes by name recognition alone.  My middle name is "Alan", but it could stand for "And" or "Ampersand", right?  Yes, friends from Houston.  I know that the dealership is named after Bubba Russell and Jehoshaphat Smith.  [ok, the Bubba one I know, the other I kinda made up].  But this just proves my point, right?  

But the other day, one of my staff members sent me a picture of a business in Fort Worth, that made me reconsider the signs from the universe.

There is a Russell Smith Auto in Fort Worth!  My destiny is not in sneaking into winning election as Hide Inspector for Harris County, Texas. My destiny is clearly in statewide auto dealership dominance.  My name clearly is synonymous with quality vehicle sales and service.   

Russell Ampersand Smith, the auto dealer you know and trust!

And I Feel Fine

 For fucking fuck's sake.  Sorry, I had to fucking get that out.  I'll taper off the fucks.  

But seriously?  Didn't we have enough to deal with with CoVid, Murder Hornets, and fucking Cheeto Voldemort?  I know, I promised.  Freaking Cheeto Voldemort?

Dry lightning and fire tornadoes in California?

And now, introducing the sixth horseman of the apocalypse - the "Telenovela Days of Our Lives Hurricanes." (TM).  See, it's like Luke and Laura, but it's Marco and Laura.  

I'm not sure if I have the correct shout-out to my stories here.  Might have been General Hospital.  But I read that they had to construct a CoVid tent in the parking lot as overflow.

Just moved Alex back to New Orleans, so this feels personal.  But then, looks like New Orleans is safe and Houston is in danger.  Where Jill's sister and dad, and my mom and stepfather live.  

This is divine punishment for rejoicing about Alex Jones' untreated syphilis, isn't it?

On the plus side, it does seem like Luke and Laura are keeping appropriate social and meteorological distance.  So there is that.

Being Jewish, Revelations was not in our testament. Will someone tell me if the end times are nigh.  Kinda feels like it.  

F*ck. (better, right?)

A Reminder Plea

 

First, a re-print of a 2016 post.  Then a gentle reminder of the last several terrible years.

1) Post from 2016

FRIDAY, MARCH 25, 2016

That Will Go on Your Permanent Record

To my friends and family who are starting to possibly maybe kinda sorta think about voting for Donald Trump.  Don't.  I say this as a friend.  Or as a relative.  And it's not for my sake, it's for yours.

See, I will never know if you do.  Unless you start posting your Trump love all over Facebook.  But then, I would have un-friended you long ago.  Or un-related you.

No - this is a plea to those who don't particularly like Donald Trump, but who really hate Hillary.  Who have a visceral reaction to just hearing someone say "Hillary."  Who can't even watch documentaries about Sir Edmund Hillary without getting enraged.

I am not going to try to convince you not to hate the "H" (though yoga and meditation would help).

I am here with a recommendation, for your sake.

Don't vote.  Do not go on the record as voting for the narcissistic, fascist, racist opportunist.  There is no amount of self-talk that you can give yourself that will justify voting for him.  You will always know that your reasons are full of shit.

"But Russell," you say.  "I REALLY hate she-who-shall-not-be-named."

"Fair enough," I reply.  "Don't vote for her.  Don't vote for President."

"This is just some clever ploy to help Democrats win the White House."

"Interesting theory.  However: a) I am not that clever; 2) I don't believe influencing my tens of readers will make any difference; and iii) there is no chance that my candidate will win here in Texas, even if I could convince thousands of people to stay home."

"I'm still not convinced.  Did I mention I REALLY DESPISE her?"

Let me put it this way.  Say it's primary season for the 2020 election.  Imagine that the Democrats nominate....say....Michael Moore.  Or Sean Penn.  Same logic applies.  I would not vote for President that year.  Even against the Cruz / Carson ticket (though it might look diverse - they both come from the batshit crazy wing of the party).  And I REALLY dislike both of them (hate is a strong word).  I would not vote for candidate Penn because it would make me feel dirty.  And stupid.

[Note: this doesn't apply to a John Stewart / Al Franken ticket - I'd totally vote for them.]

My response to "anybody is better than H" is "No.  Not President Trump."

And you know this.

2) Some recent history

March 30, 2011 – Donald Trump was a vocal proponent of the “birther” myth, claiming Barack Obama was not born in the United States. In 2011, Trump told Bill O’Reilly, “If you are going to be president of the United States you have to be born in this country. And there is a doubt as to whether or not he was… He doesn’t have a birth certificate. He may have one, but there’s something on that, maybe religion, maybe it says he is a Muslim. I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want that. Or he may not have one. But I will tell you this. If he wasn’t born in this country, it’s one of the great scams of all time.” In response to the “birther” conspiracy theory, the State of Hawaii released Barack Obama’s short- and long-form birth certificate.

"I just start kissing them. It’s like a magnet. Just kiss. I don’t even wait. And when you’re a star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab them by the pussy. You can do anything.”

“But her e-mails!”

"When Mexico sends its people, they're not sending the best. They're not sending you, they're sending people that have lots of problems and they're bringing those problems. They're bringing drugs, they're bringing crime. They're rapists and some, I assume, are good people, but I speak to border guards and they're telling us what we're getting."

“But the conservative judges!”

April 13, 2020 – Trump held a 2½-hour news conference in which he attacked the press. “You know you’re a fake,” he told one reporter. “Everything we did was right,” he said. He also incorrectly said that the power to reopen the country rested solely with him, not governors. “When somebody is the president of the United States,” he said, “the authority is total, and that’s the way it’s got to be.”

“But AOC!”

 February 11, 2017 – Donald Trump claimed without evidence that 3 million illegal votes went to Hillary Clinton in the 2016 election. Politifact and Snopes have both debunked the claim—with Snopes saying “the ‘3 million non-citizens’ may just as well have been plucked out of thin air.” The number appeared to originate from an InfoWars article which sought to explain why Donald Trump lost the popular vote by 2.9 million votes.

“But Hillary!”

January 27, 2017 – Donald Trump signed what would become known as the ”travel ban,” an executive order which imposed a 90-day ban on citizens from seven Muslim-majority countries from entering the United States, while also indefinitely halting incoming refugees from Syria. Trump’s travel ban still allowed travelers from other Muslim-majority countries where he held extensive business interests, such as Saudi Arabia and Turkey.

“But socialism!”

May 16, 2018 – The Senate judiciary committee released 2,500 pages of testimony with Donald Trump Jr. and top aides who met with Russian delegates at Trump Tower in 2016, providing evidence of collusion between Donald Trump’s 2016 presidential campaign and Russia. Sen. Mark R. Warner (D-Virginia) stated, “Our staff concluded that the … conclusions were accurate and on point. The Russian effort was extensive, sophisticated, and ordered by President Putin himself for the purpose of helping Donald Trump and hurting Hillary Clinton.”

“Bengazi!!!”

June 15, 2018 – Following the Trump administration’s “zero tolerance” policy announced in April 2018, The Department of Homeland Security stated that between April 19 to May 31, 2018, at the Mexico–United States border, there were 1,995 migrant children separated from 1,940 adults being held for criminal prosecution for an illegal border crossing. Trump blamed the Democrats, tweeting, “The Democrats are forcing the breakup of families at the Border with their horrible and cruel legislative agenda.”

“But Mexico will pay for the border wall!”

This is just a tiny fraction of the arguments for and against Cheeto Voldemort.  Volumes could be written on the norms he has broken, the systems he has destroyed, the idiots he put in power (special shout-out to Betsy DeVoss and Ben Carson), and the long-lasting and likely permanent damage he has done to our democracy, our values, and our institutions.  But, he “tells it like it is.” Except that it is mostly lies. 

So, dear friends and family members.  I will repeat what I said in 2016.  You know you cannot and should not vote for the narcissistic, racist, know-nothing rapist.  Or as he likes to refer to himself, the “stable genius.”

Joe is not Hillary.  Fox News hasn’t been working as long on creating a Skinnerian stimulus-response to “Joe” like it did for “Hillary.”  And I can feel some of you clinching just reading the “H” word.  Feel free to not vote.  But if you go on the record as voting for this terrible person twice, I fear for your soul. 

A Banner 4th

Actually, a full banner month.  If, by "banner", one means "full of things."  What does "banner" mean when attached to an event or time period?  Well, of course the internet knows this.  It's something so exceptional that one would fly a banner or big sign.  And of course, the internet then led me to antonyms.com, to find the opposite of a Banner 4th.  Lots of choices, but my favorite is execrable, followed by wretched.  So, choose you own headline after reading:  Banner or Execrable?

I'll start way back, in mid-June.  I have been slowly catching up on all of the non-tumor related medical care that I have been putting off to deal with, well, tumor-related medical care.  It's been fairly standard stuff, but I do have to say I was both surprised and  mostly horrified by the Zoom colonoscopy my gastro set up.  Mainly, I have been finishing up some dental work on a couple of teeth.  Getting near the end - my endodontist endodonted; I healed from that; my dentist took impressions (or at least that's the impression I get), and sent away for two crowns to be done.  Late June was the final visit, where new crowns meet teeth who are in need of crowns, and everyone lives happily ever after.  The appointment was for Thursday, June 25th.  I remember it like it was a week and a half ago.

The afternoon before the appointment, I got a call from the sheepish-sounding office manager.

"Mr. Smith, I am calling about your appointment tomorrow."
"Yes, thanks for calling to remind me.  I will be there with bells on.  I put the bells on the teeth that need the crowns so the dentist could remember.  Though I imagine she knows which teeth she will be working on."
"About that."
"She doesn't?"
"No.  I mean yes, she does.  But the thing is, your crowns have not arrived."
"I thought my coronation was confirmed for tomorrow."  [I really thought that would get a laugh.  It did not.]
"Well, the lab sent your crowns, but it seems like UPS may have lost them."
"Wait, I know this one.  Likely they told you they can't find them.  They won't say they lost them, but they said something like 'they consider them lost'."
"That's it.  Almost word for word."
"So, we have to redo all the impressions (that's the impression I get), and send them back to the lab, right?"
"Yes.  Unfortunately."
"The thing you don't know yet is that we will do this, make new crowns, put them in, and THEN the originals will show up, after having sat in a Killeen warehouse for a month."
"Probably."
"So, can I hang onto the bonus, lost crowns?  Especially the gold one?"
It was at this point David decided he had imparted what he needed to and promised to call to reschedule.  Which he hasn't, but my beef is not with David.

It's with UPS.  What the hell?  I have never had any significant issues with the USPS or with FedEx, but UPS seems to be run by idiots.  Did I miss something, like the president bought it ("TrUmPS")?

FedEx has been flawless.  They can deliver my monthly poison to my front door in 4 1/2 hours.  It takes almost as much time going through the monthly pharmacy Q&A as it does to get the chemo to my house.

A few days before chemo starts, the pharmacy calls me to confirm and schedule.  The nice woman (likely a different one each time), asks me the same questions.

Confirms name, DOB, address.  Confirms Jill as my emergency contact and that they can call her if they need to talk to someone.  Jill is a lovely person to talk to, but I'm never quite sure why the prescribing pharmacy needs my next of kin.  But whatever.
"We are sending you 20 100-mg pills of Temodar (aka the Chemo Teller), correct?"
"Yes you are."
"Mr. Smith, your co-pay for this is $0.  This is just an estimate, and know that it might change when we run it through your insurance."

Side note:  the second time I had this call (I've done seven now), I went the smart-ass route.  "Tell me about it.  You quoted me that price last time, and the bastards tripled it."  This was both uncalled for, and counter-productive, as it moved her into a different, longer script about drug pricing.  I try to amuse people, but often they just don't want to be amused.

So, round seven: "Understood."

"You don't have any medication left over do you?"
"No."
"Did your doctor ask you to skip any doses?"
"No."
"Did your doctor ask you to hold any of it?"
"Um, no. [thought-bubble] - "isn't that the same question?]
"Did you skip any doses?"
"No.  Just that one.  But to be fair I didn't want to take it."

Side note #2 - no, I did not.  I have already gauged her level of interest in being amused (and determined it to be "very very low"), and this entire line of questioning makes me believe there is some side black market for chemo drugs.  They can ask me the same question eight ways every month, and I will swallow my own smart-assery.

But once we get through the questions, she activates FedEx, and the chemo drugs arrive forthwith.  Depending on the pharmacy's mood, they show up either with or without ice in the package.  I'm not supposed to chill them, so not sure why that changes month to month.  But again, whatever.  It also has these scary warnings all over the packaging about the toxicity of the contents.  Yes, that's the point.  By the way, I've saved all of that and will be wrapping Xmas presents in "Bio Hazard" wrapping this year.  You are all welcome.  The packaging clearly tells me, in no uncertain terms, and in four languages, not to flush the contents.  Well, that's a question they never asked.  "Did you flush any of the chemo drugs you have been hoarding down the toilet, which eventually will find its way into the ocean, thus endangering the fish population and possibly the future of humanity?"  "No."

Fast forward a bit, perhaps three days.

This came in the mail:

I sold a handful of books (on-line pdf copies), and got a $25 check.  I immediately quit my day job.

No, but I did get an inquiry from a publisher.  So I am well on my way to being a famous author.  And by inquiry, I mean that this dude sent me a request to be his LinkedIn BFF.  These days, the vast majority of LinkedIn requests are from people trying to sell me something, so I knew better.  But I actually set up a call with him.  We chatted, and his publishing company could help with design, editorial, printing and marketing of Corner Pieces.  Digging into the numbers he quoted, they would print 2,000 - 3,000 copies and help with marketing.  If we sold them at $15-$20 each, I'd get about $4 a book.  And I'd only have to put $25,000 of my own money into this.  But, if somehow we were able to sell out all 3,000 copies, I could make almost half of that investment back.  That is a tremendous deal.  I'm fine with my $25 check.

Four days and six hours later, I started bonus round 7 of chemo.  Finished it in five days (though I did skip one, hold onto the drugs, and flush half of them.  I don't eat fish, so no worries.  Recovery was a tiny bit harder, but I did recover.  Only five more rounds to go, not factoring all the times I plan to skip.

Now, jump ahead a week.  Last Wednesday.  Jill saw a post about a heeler dog who needed a home.  His human was going into assisted living.  We had the best heeler ever (Blossom), and thought we'd take a chance.  This is Zack.

Zack stayed with us Thursday through today.  He is a very good dog.  The problem is the very bad cats.  We have enough animal drama that we eventually decided that adding even a very good dog was potential chaos.  The good news is that on the way to take Zack back to his foster family, Jill got a message asking her to re-route him to another family who is adopting him.  So, we will miss Zack, but likely will hold off on adding any new mammals till we fix the current ones.

And then there was the Banner / Execrable July 4th.  Yesterday, feeling mostly better after bonus round 7, I went out for a bike ride on the 4th of July.  Started early-ish, but did 26 miles, so still finished when it was in the 90's.  Had a bit of a shaky start.  Headed down Jollyville and was going to turn left on Duval.  [don't worry if you don't know Austin streets.  Just know that Jollyville around Duval was where I had my Honda Fit encounter, almost exactly two years ago. ] I crossed to the turning lane only after confirming there was no cars coming.  The problem was that it was a very long light, longer than I ever remembered.  Just as it was about to finally turn, I hear the squealing of very close tires, and turn to see a massive black pickup screeching to a halt behind me.  It was a little unnerving, but didn't quite feel like my annual near-death experience.  Though as I turned, a cyclist turning onto Jollyville called out, "Man, he almost hit you."  So maybe that was my 2020 near-death experience.  Sadly, the wall poster I made of "Years Without a Near Death Experience" goes back down to "0".  And I had just changed it to 1!

Continuing on the ride, I head toward this neighborhood off Balcones Woods that has a nice 5-mile loop.  As I am cruising through the neighborhood, a lot of the residents were sitting in chairs on their lawns.  About halfway through the loop I figured out why, as I ended up as part of the Balcones Woods Neighborhood Association July 4th parade.  It was two golf carts, a tractor pulling a flat-bed that had two little blond kids and a golden retriever, two teenagers on ATV's and me.  I parade waved through the neighborhood and continued on my route.

I then popped on this paved trail that took me from Balcones District Park to Walnut Creek Park.  All the parks are closed now because of CoVid, so there were no humans in either.  There was this guy, though.

He walked right over, stood there for an unnerving amount of time, and then actually kept inching closer.  I took off when it was clear he was about to climb up on the bike.  The parks have only been closed a couple of days.  I can't imagine the lack of humans leaving their food and garbage everywhere causes the squirrel population to starve in 72 hours.  I wonder if the squirrels mark July 4th on their little squirrel calendars as a day to find and hoard discarded fried chicken, spoiled potato salad, and other delicacies for the long, hot summer.

Squirrel!

A 4C Healthcare Week

Just wrapped up a 4C healthcare week, with none of the "C's" involving CoVid (or even corona virus).

C#1: Chemo - finished max bonus round six a bit over a week ago.  Took me to about the expected level of not feeling well.  Nine days later, I'm about back to my "in between" self.  All in all, not worse, which is still a good thing.

C#2: Cat.  The cat was not the healthcare per se, but caused the need for healthcare.  We still sequester one cat a night in our room, because when they are together, Elsie attacks Leo and Leo freaks.  Last Tuesday morning, with Elsie in house arrest, I get up at 6 like normal to cat screeching from both sides of the door, and slip out of our bedroom to feed them.  Elsie raced past me and went straight after Leo.  I gave chase, and they screamed and ran until they were fighting loudly under Abby's bed.  This was about seven hours before Abby normally awakens, so I reached under her bed to grab one cat and re-separate.  Elsie, who had heretofore shown no taste for human flesh, bit the living hell out of me.  I squealed, the cats kept fighting, Leo freaked and pooped, and I started bleeding profusely.  Somehow, Abby rolled over and went back to sleep.  So no worries there.  Jill cleaned me up and bandaged my SEVERAL puncture wounds.  A bit later, fearing that I might be at higher risk for Cat Stevens Fever, I called my doctor just to check.  The scheduler set me up with a tele-appointment that afternoon.  It was a new doctor who was replacing the doctor I never see anyway (who apparently retired, sometime in the last, say five years maybe).  New Dr. Replacement (I really have no idea his actual name) tele-met me and went over the situation.  Dr. Replacement, to his credit, had read my file, and knew about the chemo.  He told me that cats are, in fact, dirty, bacteria-infected monsters.  He said there were several things that were risk factors for infection:  1) a deep bite.  Check.  2) Close to a bone.  Check. 3) on the hands or feet.  Check. or 4) on the genitals. Um, not sure who spends a lot of time commando with their cats, but no check there.  And to be clear, that would have been the end of Elsie.  And Leo, just for good measure.  But still, three out of four.  So antibiotics it is!  I asked Dr. Replacement:
"So, would it be your recommendation that we get rid of one or both of the cats?"
Dr. Replacement: "No, with the antibiotics, you should be fine."
Me: "But, to be safe, wouldn't you say, on the record, that we need to divest ourselves of cats?"
Dr. Replacement: "I wouldn't go that far."
Me: "How far would you go?"
Dr. Replacement: "I'll send over the prescription."
Me: "For something that humanely fixes our problem, especially if one of the little bastards tries to bite me on my genitals?"
Dr. Replacement: "For the antibiotic."

Fine.

C#3: Counseling.  I gave up on Sanjeep.  I called him about the cat trauma, and he tried to upsell me to psychiatric meds.  I'm already taking Leo's cat prozac, which admittedly may be part of the problem.  So I went back to the nice LCSW who I talked with months ago who does not take my insurance or anything like it.  But I like her.  She and I had one tele-therapy session, which was not great, so we decided to meet in the greenspace between the buildings at her office.  It was BYO Chair.  It worked well enough, but for the next visit I am bringing a blow-up couch.

I told my new outdoor therapist about my cat trauma. [the fact that she is helping me with cat trauma may be one reason Blue Cross Blue Shield did not empanel her, but that's just a guess].
I told her about how the cat problem was this close to being solved.  When Alex goes back to Loyola, she is moving into an apartment.  And wants to take Leo.  Laissez le bon cat roulez!  But that apartment fell through, and she got one that does not allow pets.  I asked my outdoor therapist if she could write a letter attesting that Leo was Alex's comfort animal, or conversely that it would be a bad idea for me to have any cats.  Not sure who I would give that to.  Maybe Jill?  And yes, this is certainly a bad use of my therapy time, but I am 100% out of pocket, so I can do what I want.

C#4: Crowns.  Spent 4 hours on Thursday finishing up some dental work I started, I don't know, back in 2016 maybe?  Getting into the dentist office was like accessing a speak-easy during Prohibition.  Certainly I was grateful to the attention to safety. but I left really needing a drink.  Maybe I'll bring that up with Sanjeep.  They scheduled me for my final follow-up, and then tried to schedule a cleaning.  Oh hell no.  If I am going to live with Christopher Lloyd Back-to-the-Future Doc Hair to avoid needless human contact, certainly my teeth can go a bit longer in their dirty mode.

Not worse!

Just about to start max bonus round six of chemo.  Had an MRI last Friday, and apparently things are not worse.  Which is the bar I aspire to.  Jill reminded me later that on the last MRI in March, there was some, um, something, they wanted to keep an eye on.  Apparently, the something is both not worse and even looks a little smaller.  With smaller being good.  Honestly, I only vaguely remember that there was a something we (meaning Dr. V mainly) was keeping an eye on.  So, this was all good.  Whether by conscious choice, aging, or tumor, I forgot to be worried about the something until the doctor told me the something looked better.  And more good news - even though I confirmed that bonus chemo will go a full 12 months, I get credit for time served with the ill-fated September round.  So, the bonus chemo ends in November.  Possibly right around my 55th birthday.  Yay.  And the underlying part of this is that even though bonus chemo is getting harder, I am still recovering from it.  A bit slower and more difficult each round, but still.

And... I have almost finished my new book.  Putting the finishing touches on "Cheeto Voldemort's CoVid 19 Bartending Guide".  It's being described as* the "definitive Mr. Boston's guide, if Mr. Boston was 'he-who-shall-not-be-re-elected'."  It features my famous Lysol Rita and Comet-Tini, as well as lesser known cocktails like the Windex Mojito and the Clorox Mary.  Each recipe ends with a shot of syrup de ipecac, and a suggestion to call poison control.

* described by me.

While you wait for the book, I suggest you look at my back catalog.  One of these is real.

"The Chemo Diet and Consciousness Raising: One Man's Journey Through his Chevy Astro Cytoma Brain Tumor" by Dr. Rainbow Sparkles**

** my nom de tumor

"Assholery and Douchebaggery: the Comprehensive Guide to the Trump Administration"

"Informed Winging It."  This one is my management book.  I still need a much better name, but I actually teach this (kinda) to my students and interns.  The concept is prepare as much as you can, enough that you can handle any complex or unknown situation that might occur.  One reviewer* said "an intriguing, but ultimately convoluted and completely full-of-shit management philosophy."

* Again, me.

And finally, "Corner Pieces: A Life Amused and Vaguely Annoyed."  This is the one that is real.***

*** kinda real.  It's a collection of my blog posts for a couple of decades.  I made it into a pdf with page numbers starting on the cover, and posted it for sale on Amazon for the Kindle, and on Blurb (link below).  I also printed exactly one copy, which cost $150. [It's much cheaper on Kindle or Blurb.]  Thanks to the three people (that is neither an exaggeration nor a lament, just a fact), who actually bought it.  Making me not quite a best-selling author, but an actual "selling author."

https://www.blurb.com/b/9791182-corner-pieces?fbclid=IwAR3ScunWesfDf5T4gkoWpWueXliYz1SoYaOn2jCNQuUPgNvwdhn_c2KjgFg

CoVidiot

There is no way I came up with the term CoVidiot, but happy to claim it if no one else does.

Certainly, there are a plethora of examples of this these days.

"Give me a haircut or give me death!"  Or, more accurately, possibly both.

"My administration had done the most amazing, beautiful job in the history of presidential administrations.  Just ask anybody who wants to keep their job or needs federal assistance.  They will say great things about me."

But the personal example for the Smith family is the CoVidiot who has now come to our door TWICE, rang the bell, knocked, and then waited.  Finally, I go up to the door, peer through the peephole and ascertain that yes, CoVidiot is still there.

Me: "What?"  At exactly the tone you think.

CoVidiot: "Yes, I am in the neighborhood and have just signed up 14 of your neighbors for our pest control services.  I was wondering..."

Me: "No.  Just no.  Go away."

Three days later.  Knock, ring, and hover.

Me: "What?"  Now with 83% more dripping sarcasm and not thinly veiled hostility.

CoVidiot: "Yes, sir.  I was in the neighborhood and wanted to let you know about our pest control special."

Me: "Can you eliminate pests who knock on our door during a pandemic multiple times and try to sell us random services?  It's fine if you are one of those catch-and-release kinda services, but I'm not opposed to DDT."

Co Vidiot: "We are providing services to 14 of your neighbors."

Me: "Name them."

CoVidiot: "Sir?"

Me: "Name all 14 neighbors you have been able to sign up."

CoVidiot: "Um, is there someone else there I could talk to?"

Me: "No.  Go away before I spray you with the small amount of Lysol we still have."

My Abby came across the CoVidiot while out running with her sister.  Yes, that is how bored the Smith twins are.  They are jogging together.

Abby saw the guy and posed this question to him:
"What are you doing?"  I can only assume it had as much incredulous, are-you-a-f-ing-moron" tone as one would hope.
CoVidiot: "I'm selling pest control services."

Watching the news and seeing the idiot politicians and fake protests for "liberty", I keep thinking of the movie Idiocracy that my aunt Randy worked on several years ago.  It was about a future society who had grown so stupid they were watering their plants with Gatorade.  If the people who are carrying AK-47's to state capitals to open up the tattoo parlors are the ones who somehow survive the pandemic, we are all screwed.

Idiocracy was one of the few movie sets I got to visit when my Aunt Randy and Uncle John were working on movies, especially ones filmed in Austin.  It was being filmed at the shuttered Seaholm Power Plant.  It was way cool to see the magic of movie making.  At least for the ten minutes we were there.  We actually got bounced because of Grandpa Sid.

"What is that?  What did they say? Why are they doing that?"  As you can perhaps imagine, the director was less than thrilled about the loud nonagenarian as he is trying to film.

But grandpa was well into his 90's, it was a little confusing, and it actually wasn't the only place he got us booted from.  My favorite has to be when he almost got us ejected from Yom Kippur services at Temple Beth Israel.

"Boy we are sure getting the full dose of atonement tonight."
Me: "Grandpa, Shh."
"I said, we sure are getting the full dose of atonement tonight."  Much louder.

Miss you, Grandpa.

Tumor-versary

I had my one year tumor-versary on May 2nd.  Thanks to everyone who participated in the drive-by tumor-versary celebration.  The best thing about having a tumor-versary?  Having a tumor-versary.  It would be much less celebratory if I didn't have one.

And now that I have introduced you to a new word, let me give you a second - CoViDiva.  I still occasionally and very briefly go into my office.  If I'm being honest, it's a mixture of needing to be out of the house and my irrational need to print things.  I have a color copier at work, and printing things in color helps me find my happy place.  I know.  But keep it to your own damn self.

The corona virus affected/infected my office light.  Or it was just its time.  It's been flickering for some time, and when I visited last, had gone to its final reward.  I pulled up the maintenance request form for the building, and let them know I needed someone to replace the bulb.  The form has a very clearly marked question asking the priority level. As I don't go in often, and the entire office is empty and therefore I can set up at a dozen different places, I marked it as "low".  Not even remotely approaching medium.  This is clearly the lowest of low priorities.  I submitted the form, and it e-mailed me a copy.  On my copy, the form lied that I listed my request as a "high priority." NO!!!  Now the nice, friendly building dudes are thinking, "Sure, Mr. CEO.  We will leave our families, expose ourselves to the pandemic, so you can have a fucking light."  Though the building is owned by a church, so they likely don't use the f word.  And the building maintenance dudes are very lovely people.  So yes, I am now a CoViDiva.

As you can see, I still have things to work on.  Fortunately, during the pandemic, Magellan has decided to partially pay for tele-therapy.  It's only $115, but I still have to choose from a very limited list.

I set up an appointment with my new therapist Sanjeep, and we had a session Tuesday.  I kinda think he may be in a career transition from AT&T customer service.  It's a tough world out there.

"Yes, Mr. Smith.  How can I help you today?"
"Well, I'm having a bit of anxiety about the pandemic, coupled with my pre-existing health conditions."
"That must be very frustrating.  Let me see if I can help."
"Thanks Sanjeep.  I would like that."
" Have you tried turning your router off and then on again?"
"Um, no, but if you think that might help, I can try.  What kind of therapy is this?  Re-boot therapy?"
"No, EMDR."

45 minutes later, and I did feel a little better.  And our internet is a little faster.  I may upgrade to a higher therapy bandwidth next time.

Here at the Smith compound, we are adapting to the new world.  We are a combination shared workspace, dorm, distance learning site, and cat sanitarium.  As always, ready to switch to cat adoption agency the moment we find an interested party.

We have had virtual happy hours and virtual game nights.  I am putting the final touches on my two new creations.  The Lysol Margarita is just about there, but the Clorox Mojito still needs some work.

I have finished max bonus round four of chemo.  Each time, it is a little harder to bounce back than the time before.  But I am still bouncing back.  Margaritas, with or without cleaning products, are still part of my self-created treatment plan, as is bike riding.

Just after the end of max bonus round four, I went out and did a 27 mile ride.  It was amazing, and exhausting.  It was also a fairly hot day.  When I came back in the house, my socks were wet with sweat, and I did a full slide that only ended when my head impacted the front door.  A squeal and the dropping of both water bottles followed.  To their credit, Jill and Alex came running.

"Are you OK?"
"No.  I just whacked my head on the door."
"That must be very frustrating."

Five minutes later.

Jill: "You know, you spilled your cycling drink."
Me: "you mean when I whacked my head on the door?"
Jill: "Yes."
Me: "I guess I vaguely recall that."
Jill: "You know the puddle is still there?"

Tough house.

Next Thoughts on the Dos Equis Virus (numbers edition)

If you know me at all, you know that I am a numbers person. But I cannot deal with the awful numbers being thrown about - infections, deaths, job losses, projections. So this post will use numbers for (mostly) good.

A. Three - the number of additional Mexican beers I know, limiting my use of them in blog post titles to just three more. But admittedly, one of them is Sol, which I recall is kinda awful. Like the Bud Lite of Mexican beers. Don't agree with my analogy? Try these:
It's like the Cella Lambrusca of Wine
It's like the Montezuma of Tequila
It's like the Trump of Presidents

 It's also very likely my clever joke was funny at most once. Maybe twice. Though I still think I can pull off the next one as the Tsingtao Virus (now THAT is a good beer). It's clever, and a political statement. See what I did there?

2. Capitalism, Arbitrage, or Assholery - this one deserves it's own title. Over the last several weeks, we have slowly been able to acquire the non-acquirables that people have been hoarding - plantain chips, feta cheese, ghee. My order of sanitizing wipes from Amazon early March is now on track to be delivered by next MLK Day.

One product that has consistently evaded us is Comet Cleanser. No store has it, Bon Ami, or anything remotely similar. Somebody has an enormous hoard of Comet. I did find a recipe on the internet and tried to convince Abby to make it as a home-colleged chemistry lab, but realized we have none of the ingredients. It has been so long, I broke down and ordered it on Amazon. A bundle of 3 for $23, which will arrive sometime late May. We just have to come to terms that things will go un-Cometed for a few more months.

But then Jill pointed out that an in-store bottle of Comet retails for $0.83. So the seller through Amazon was marking it up 1,325%. Which made me wonder if I had just figured out why stores are so empty. Checked e-bay, and I currently have the highest bid on a 12-ounce bag of plantain chips, at $63.87. But the auction doesn't end for three weeks, so please don't overbid me.

By the way, is this "assholery" or douchebaggery"? There is a difference. Look for my next book: "Assholery and Douchebaggery: A Guide to the Trump Administration." 

Happy ending - my very-non-sad corner HEB had Comet today (literally the eighth place I checked in five weeks). So I bought 2, spending just under $2. Let me know if you need one. I'll let it go for $182.07. Plus shipping, but no handling. I touch nothing these days.

III. 50 - the number of miles I have ridden on my bike in April, keeping appropriate distance from people and cars. It's not a knock-out number, but it comes with two others - 9 - days of rain so far this month; and 400 - mg of Temodar (my Chemo) that I took earlier in April (and will start again in two weeks).

By the way #2, looking at it written out, Temodar seems a bit like a fortune teller from the movies. Not magical like Zoltan, but Temodar, the chemo teller.

"Oh wise Temodar, what does the future hold for me?"

"I see you generally feeling like crap, and losing some of your appetite. Want me to hook you up with my weed dealer?"

D.  $1,119,000 - the amount of money I borrowed this week from the guvment.  Which ensures 121 - # of employees we will be able to keep on payroll (out of 121) for the foreseeable future.  These forgivable SBA loans ran out of money on the first day, and there are about 700,000 small businesses and non-profits waiting.  Which makes me both grateful and feeling a bit sad for those who have not or may not get it.  Forgive me.

And  by the way #3 (the last one) - there was a specific formula for the request, and we actually asked for $1,119,020.  Our bank rounded it down.  I was going to use the $20 for breakfast tacos.  Which you may not think is a forgivable expense, but this is Austin.  Living in Austin means never having to ask forgiveness for buying breakfast tacos with stimulus money.

5) - seven (ish) - the number of homemade meals I have made over the last two weeks - from the smoked turkey soup to jambalaya, churrasco steak with homemade chimichurri and a chicken dish that I made simply because you put brandy in it and light it on fire. I like doing that. Might do that with my next batch of bacon.

My Next Thoughts on the Tecate Virus

I am happy to report I have moved a bit past shelter-in-place-hole. Figuring out Zoom happy hour helped. Today would have been our final vacation day in the Bay Area, so on Thursday we had a virtual wine tasting with Lisa and Fred. Broke open our finest box of wine. I have several new observations about our new shelter-in-place world. Let's say, well, perhaps there will be 7. Sure. We'll start with that.

1. First and foremost, even though minimal human contact might seem like the ideal situation for an introvert, I am clear now that I need some baseline amount of human contact, beyond my immediate family. And cat contact doesn't count.

2. A few existential questions that had to be answered:
 a) Jill wondered if one had to change out of pajamas before one could start drinking wine, assuming one had been in pajamas all day, working. The answer she came up with was "no", and to be clear, it's a hypothetical, intellectual exercise with no real world example.
 b) I have realized that I need to carefully scan my calendar in the morning, or risk missing that the 11 am conference call with a national funder is in fact a Zoom call. Did a quick shave, just to realize that most people disable their camera anyway.

3. Passover started a couple of days ago. Thinking about it, seems like the perfect holiday for these times. Plagues on the House of Egypt? You've got your CoVid; global warming; Cheeto Voldemort, and last December's frog rain. I started to worry that the slaying of the first-born male child would be next. Then I remembered all my offspring are girls. So, no worries. Then I briefly worried about my nephew Ryan. But since he is part of the tribe, he'll be fine. I hope Stacy remembers to smear blood on the door. I think that was the sign to "Pass Over" the house, or maybe that's just to make sure Amazon leaves your package and drives away.
. So probably if you are going to hoard anything these days, it should be matzah.
4. My agency takes off Good Friday as a holiday. Not sure why, but it seems way low on the priority list for me to address. My specific question, though, is in this new world, how is a work holiday different from a work day? And a follow-up question, any body else having trouble remembering what day of the week it is?

5. Kinda related, I am finding that my morning commute seems to be taking longer each day. I have to get up, go downstairs to get coffee, determine if I have any video calls, shower and shave if I do (and usually even if I don't - don't want to be voted out of the house these days); then walk the few steps to the computer room where I have set up my office. Not sure why this seems to be taking more time every day. Damn cat traffic in the hallway.

6. For a minute, I felt like full-on frontier man. My brother sent us a smoked turkey from the New Braunfels Smokehouse. OK, I didn't raise the turkey, kill it, smoke it, wrap it, box it, and deliver it. But, after I removed the meat, I simmered the carcass with some veggies and made a smoked turkey broth, that I them used to make creamy smoked turkey soup with wild rice. Admittedly, I didn't grow any of the vegetables or rice. Basically, I boiled a turkey carcass. AND - I have now been able to get TWO curbside appointments at HEB. I may be over estimating my self sufficiency. But there are five cherry tomatoes in my garden that will be ready within ten days or so.

I will have more to say on the Dos Equis virus later, including how proud I am to live in a state that makes sure churches and gun stores are deemed essential businesses, but are going to the mat trying to close clinics that provide abortion services because they are "non-essential."

Have to go to my mantra: " At least we are still not Florida. At least we are still not Florida."

Some Initial Thoughts on the Bohemia Virus

Have to start with the unpleasant truth.  Several things added up this week to make me a very grumpy person.  First, this third round of max bonus chemo was harder than the second, and I’ve felt crappy for the last week. Small win - I am now sure I am in the experimental and not control group.  Though to be fair, I’m not in a study, so that wasn’t actually a question.  Being cooped up in the house was less than amazing.  Rainy weekend kept me off my bike, which (interspersed with margaritas) is my recommended treatment plan.  Plus of course the monthly poison.  And finally, there is the whole global pandemic with possibly millions dying.  So yes, I know why I was grumpy, but it still does not excuse me being a shelter-in-place-hole.  Especially since Jill and the girls are the ones who have to put up with me.  Was finally able to ride today, and it really does make things better.

While it remains to be seen if the CARES Act will make a difference, I saw pretty quickly the possibilities. SBA loans to help small businesses and nonprofits keep people on payroll opened Friday.  I applied, and by Sunday had been awarded a $1,119,020 loan that is 100% forgivable if I keep all 121 people employed through June.  Going to use the $20 for breakfast tacos.  Truthfully, that doesn’t suck.

And on a roll, I had an instinct that H-E-B couldn’t possibly have every single curbside appointment filled till Thanksgiving. So I checked at various times, and lo and behold, at 11 pm tonight a spot opened up for tomorrow afternoon.  I grabbed it and filled my cart with the max 75 items.  Honestly, I was so surprised, and the app kept telling me my appointment was going to expire in 15, then 10, then 5 minutes.  So I ordered a bunch of random things, and plan to be pleasantly surprised (I hope).  The only thing I actually remember is plantain chips. They had them!  Yes, these are for a meal I made three weeks ago, but I was going to get them, dammit.  Though I do expect calls for things not available, and substitutions I don’t want. “I couldn’t find plantain chips so I got planter’s nuts.”  But I’m in!  And I plan to tip $50, though I might need to tape that to the hatchback to maintain appropriate social distance.  And that is a lot of quarters.

To Fool or not to Fool

E-mail to my leadership team this morning:

All,

As Jill pointed out to me this morning, April Fool's Day is my holiday.  I decorate the house, send out cards, and have a big family gathering.

With CoVid, I can't do any of that, and likely will just sit at home tonight, enjoying my greatly increased broadband speed and drinking a dos equis.

I do want to reserve the right to revisit the holiday at some time in the future.  I'm not going to say when, but you'll know when it happens.

Hope you are all having a lovely holiday.

--Russell

I actually think this is more effective than last year's attempt.  Now, they will be on edge for the remainder of the year.  You decide.  Here is what they got last year.  It was my first 4/1 with the team, but the problem was that I started the previous July.  Nine months in, and this really fooled no one.

All,

It was so great to have most of us together last week for the board meeting.  It got me thinking how amazing it would be if we were all in one place all of the time.

I know that in the past RST has had discussions about where our administrative offices should be.  There are pros and cons of Dallas and of Austin.  Over the weekend, I did a lot of thinking and a bunch of research.  I think I came up with the perfect solution.

We are Refugee Services of Texas, so we need to be able to serve the whole state.  I thought to myself, why not move our administrative offices to the geographic center of the state?  Some of you heard me joking about moving to Waco.  I'm not talking about Waco.  I'm talking about Brady, Texas.

Brady is the closest town to the geographic center of Texas (map attached).  It's only 227 miles to Dallas (196 to Fort Worth!), 128 to Austin, 287 to Houston, and 380 to Amarillo.  All of those are easy drives.  And if people did need to fly, the San Angelo regional airport is only 80 miles away.

There is a lot of rentable space in town.  I contacted Jolene, the one realtor in Brady, and she told me that the Piggly Wiggly building has been vacant for more than five years, and thinks we can get it way below market rate.

Have I mentioned the annual World Championship Barbeque Goat Cook-Off held every Labor Day weekend?  Enough said.  And one Yelp reviewer says that you haven't lived until you've had the smothered chicken fried steak at Boondocks, right in the heart of downtown Brady.

For those of you with little ones, Brady has all three levels of school: Brady Elementary, Brady Middle, and Brady High.  I remember how difficult it was trying to find the best schools for my kids, so I envy having only one choice.  And all three schools have been consistently ranked "Acceptable."

I am not sure if any of the 5,523 people are refugees, but we could look at starting to resettle in the Brady metroplex.  Brady housed a German prisoner of war camp in WWII, so they have some history of welcoming displaced individuals.

It's a farming and ranching community.  Two of the primary industries is mohair-combing and sand mining.  I bet those pay at least minimum wage, should we be able to resettle folks in the community.  

Brady has a fascinating history.  This is just a little bit from the Wikipedia page (they have a wikipedia page!).  I recommend the full article.  

"When the area was settled in the 1870s, the community was named Brady City after Brady Creek, which runs through town. The name was shortened to Brady when the town was incorporated in 1906. In 1787–88, Spanish explorer José Mares crossed the creek near the site of present Brady. Henry and Nancy Fulcher, the first settlers on Brady Creek, donated land for the townsite in the mid-1870s. Allison Ogden and his father-in-law, Ben Henton, built a store in 1875. A post office opened in 1876. After residents of McCulloch County chose Brady as county seat on May 15, 1876, the town grew fairly quickly. Brady had about 50 residents in 1877, and a stone courthouse was completed in 1878."

I am thinking that it may take us a bit to move all of our operations to Brady.  My initial plan is to try to get us all settled in our new administrative home within one year - by April 1, 2020.

I hope you are as excited as I am!

Happy April.

--Russell

Third Time's a Charm

Or what is the opposite of charm?  Curse?

Started third round of bonus chemo last night.  Since the first two went swimmingly, we decided it would be fun to finally go up to the full dosage.  Again, fun may be the wrong word here.  Perhaps "awful"?  Maybe "unfortunate but likely needed"?  Let's stick with fun.  Feeling a bit more crappy today.  Though it could be any combination of: extra bonus poison, being cooped up in my house, a serious lack of broadband capacity, and just the general state of the world.

I'll be doing my max bonus chemo till Tuesday, then likely sheltering in place for some time after that till my immune system is no longer compromised.

So, I need to cancel poker night next Thursday.  And the rave we were supposed to host on Saturday.  And I no longer can volunteer at the blood drive in two weeks.  Sorry everyone.  

Oh, and I likely have a pass to Aqua Fest over the summer that will go unused.  But I kinda think Aqua Fest may have ended several decades ago, so max bonus chemo may be justified.

Eight things I've learned during the corona virus zombie apocalypse:

1) people are stupid.  Not all, but some.  And you know who you are.

2) Mainly because they have decided to hoard every fucking thing they can get at HEB.  I don't actually think end times are here, but if they are, some of my neighbors have a crapton of Rice-A-Roni, butter, English muffins, and jackfruit.

3) Central Market is still my favorite store ever.  Before retiring to the Smith compound, I made one last tasteful trip and got brie, sticky toffee pudding, malbec, a single box of risotto, and a well-marbled ribeye.  We may not have provisions to last the winter, but we will have one damn good last meal if we get to that point.

4) some healthcare professionals have the whole telemedicine thing down better than others.  My oncologist is getting things figured out, but no way I'm letting my new gastroenterologist do a virtual colonoscopy.  That'll have to keep waiting.

5) kinda wish that Theranos woman hadn't been a con artist.  An at-home blood test would have come in handy this week.  Had to get blood work done before starting the poison.  Left the first lab while they were checking my insurance because some woman in the waiting room started hacking up a lung.  Probably just COPD, but seemed wise to leave quickly.  I'll get a new license, insurance card, and credit card later.  And

6) I still have a seriously compromised ability to pre-estimate the number of things I am about to include in a list.

A Sacrifice to the Harvest God

I replanted my garden today. Hey, there are pickles to be made at some point in the future.

As I was finishing putting in the final seedlings in the ground, I noticed something completely terrifying on the back fence.

No, it was not this baby skunk.  This is perhaps one of the cutest creatures I have ever seen.  I start with Apollo here to give you some benign context.

I’ll explain. Kaileigh graduated in December 2018 with a degree in  wildlife biology. When Kaileigh came back from her travels last summer, she stayed with us and did a gig on a research project with bats at Texas State.  This past January, she did a short internship in Northern California studying mountain lions.  Or maybe it was Pumas. Or it could have been cougars. It was definitely kitties!

Then she moved to Illinois where she is on a project studying skunks.  And has sent us pictures that make me want a pet skunk.  Like Apollo. No, this is what was on our back fence. And actually still is because there is no freaking way I’m touching it. I could only think of six possible explanations.
1) this is the neighborhood association’s way to tell me our grass is too long.
2) brain tumor. But you can see this, right?
3) Elsie finally got the upper hand in the cat wars. But that assumes she killed the boy, stripped the body, and somehow managed to hang his skull and spine on the fence. Two problems- I don’t think she can get out the back door, and 2) exactly who is she trying to warn off with this display, seeing that in this scenario there is an ex-Leo?
4) Jill has a new hobby and I really need to pay more attention.
5) I have a new hobby that I don’t know about, See #2 (brain tumor) above. Or
6) my wildlife biologist daughter left us a present.
likely the last one is the most plausible, but I really don’t want to think about my lovely daughter ripping the spine out of some mid-sized mammal.
And one final possibility. I don’t watch horror movies, but I imagine this could portend some looming evil upon our homestead. If it’s in a different part of the yard tomorrow, I am so out of here.

Therapist Seeking Behavior

I am on a quest to find a therapist.  I haven't gone to therapy before.  It always sounded like a good idea, and I know lots of people who have been benefited from it.  I don't have any real reason I haven't gone before.  My best explanation is that I express my feelings through sarcastic blog posts.  Yeah, I know, not actually useful, except when blogspot responds "and how does that make you feel?"

But now that I am heading into my one-year anniversary of the diagnosis (is there a different set of anniversary gifts for illness than for marriages?  If not, I guess May 2nd is the "paper" anniversary for my tumor.  Prescriptions, explanations of benefits, and test result print-outs would all be good presents, if you were looking).  But I digress.  With the life-changing/threatening diagnosis and treatment, seems like a good time to try therapy.

I used to run a mental health agency, so I know people who know people.  I had some of them give me some recommendations.  The inter-web gives me an idea of who might take my insurance.  So, I chose a nice psychologist from amongst the recommendations and set up an appointment.  I liked him, but turns out he is both location- and insurance-undesirable.  Turns out that even though I thought I could head south of the river for therapy, I can't.  It was a fine session, but the idea of getting on MoPac every Thursday at 5 and sitting in traffic for an extra 90 minutes is a deal breaker for me.  I's not that I don't like South Austin.  I don't.  Sorry, but I really don't.  Been a north Austin boy my whole life.

It also turns out that every therapist lists my insurance as one they take, with the caveat of "out of network".  What this actually means is that they don't take my insurance. 

So I set up an appointment with an LCSW (one of my people), who was a little-more geographically desirable.  Called my insurance company, who explained they would pay absolutely nothing for it.  Hey, I testified to the Texas legislature a few years back in favor of mental health parity rules that make sure mental health is covered the same as physical health.  It passed.  But it isn't.  They also let me know they actually farmed out mental health coverage to some place called Magellan.  I called, and waited the requisite two hours on the phone (hey, he was out of the office looking for the fountain of youth, or the City of Gold, or something).  But when I finally got to talk to the famous explorer, it turns out that yes, they only pay for in-network therapists.  And while there are (and this is not an exaggeration) just over 6,000 therapists in central Texas, there are exactly 39 who take Magellan.  Take out the geographically undesirable, and the list drops to about 20.  Oh, and one fun thing I found - since I ran the Austin Child Guidance Center for almost eight years, at some point I actually employed a significant percentage of the therapists I was finding.  This knocked out another 8 or 9 from my short-list.  But admittedly, these were more focused on children.  And while play therapy doesn't sound like a terrible idea right about now, probably not what I actually need. 

So, I  now had an ultra-short list.  I started reaching out.  Three of them never got back to me.  Two said they weren't taking new patients.  One sounded like she was in the midst of some type of mental health crisis of her own.

Which narrowed me down to my final list.  With exactly zero therapists on it.  Finding a therapist is going to be the first thing I talk about in therapy, assuming I could find a therapist.

I don't have an unreasonable set of criteria.  Someone who: takes my insurance; has an office north (or at least not south); doesn't sound suicidal; hasn't worked for me (or didn't go to high school with me - this was actually another problem I found); and utilizes at least some of the therapies I have heard of (CBT, DBT, humanistic, systems, gestalt - yes, I know what it is and even took a class in it) and doesn't focus too much on interpretive dance, journaling, and the like).  How hard can that be?

Recommendations welcome.  Though, admittedly, I feel a little bit better just writing all of this down.