I meant that to read like a fake headline and not as a fact. But also kind of as a fact.
Since the dawn of time, people have been too lazy to read books. So people put those books on tape. And sometimes when they are teaching their eldest son to drive in their minivan, they play those tapes to entertain the younger child in the back seat during these drives. Thus was my introduction to Harry Potter on tape.
(Before we proceed, I will never stop saying "book on tape" even when you give me a nice little word conglomerate like "audiobook," because it harkens back to a simpler time, and sometimes it's fun to get all old fashioned.)
The books really were on cassette tapes, which I played on my little stereo before bed almost every night during late middle school and high school, before I got really emo and started listening to The Early November. Now they sell them on CDs, and you can find the entire collection, all 7 books, on Amazon for $286.52. Which is down from $454.80. (Or you can scoff at anyone who thinks it's fair to charge that much for something that could be transmitted to a computer as data, and download it. (I said SOMETIMES I like to get old fashioned. I reserve the right to be completely contradictory when I went to be.)
But you should buy them, because the books are narrated by Jim Dale, who is a British voice phenom, and I like to think some of the money gets back to him. On the Random House web site, you can hear what he sounds like by playing the "guess which character is speaking" game on the right. (I ruled at it (No duh.)) As crazy as it is to think J.K. Rowling thought up hundreds of really fleshed-out characters, equally impressive is the way Dale gives them voices. And he doesn't just "do a voice," he creates the EXACT voice that you hear in your head when you read the books. It's like if your mom or dad or grandparent who read to you when you were little had book-reading superpowers.
He's a genius, and I'd like to take a moment right here and thank him for getting me through a lot of rough spots in the past couple months. There have been days after chemo where I'm someplace between too tired to keep my eyes open but restless enough not to fall asleep, and I've put on HP on and just been... comforted. (Ugh, Harry Potter nerd/sentimental overload all up in here.)
So thanksssssssssssss (that was "thanks" in Parseltongue), Jim--You'll never read this, but I owe ya one!
1. Hear about some hurricane something or other coming up. Curiously check the weather app on your phone. See the little raindrops icon--not even the one for heavy rain--and definitely no little lightening bolts. Hurricane Schmuricane.
2. Overhear the weather channel give what is probably a more accurate forecast.
3. Grouch when your parents cancel your trip to Maine (the only getaway you had planned all summer.)
4. Watch the Iron Giant on Netflix. Weep.
5. Have trouble falling asleep because you're thinking about what a beautiful message that movie sends and how you want to show it to any little kid who will sit still to watch a movie, but then admit you're kinda thinking about the hurricane.
6. Google "Hurricane Irene." Before reading results, open new tab and google "Why are hurricanes named?"
7. Wonder why no hurricanes have been named after yo--Oh wait. nevermind
8. Read that Hurricane Irene is set to hit the East Coast with winds that could reach up to 120 mph. Think about how gloriously the mandevillas you got from Cosco have bloomed this summer. Promise yourself you'll find a dolly or a wheelbarrow tomorrow to get them to the safety of your garage. Remember the goddamn bird bath. Damnit anyhow.
9. Read that you shouldn't go outside if the rain and wind dies down because you're probably in the eye of the storm. Develop (what might actually not be, you guys) an irrational fear about foolishly mistaking the eye of the storm for the end of it and being suddenly swept away into the sky.
10. Text your friend Andrew that. Bristle a little when he doesn't immediately agree that, oh my god, how scary, but just says "I want to watch Twister."
11. Ruminate about reading by candlelight and how it might be a fun!
12. Remind yourself to have your lap top charged--damn flickering givin me a headache y'all.
13. Remember your dog refuses to pee anywhere except her own backyard. Consider creating a small backyard-esque scene in the garage. Fleetingly wonder how much five feet of sod would cost.
14. Remember the earthquake yesterday, when you were at the beach with your mom and she made you guys leave "in case a tsunami hits!" and you acquiesced because it was her birthday but also, yeah, what if it DID?!
15. Realize that maybe, just maybe, over-reacting to potential natural catastrophes is just another trait you picked up from your mother, like freaking out when people use metal utensils on non-stick pans or buying jewelry at Chico's. Also that it's time to go to bed.
Back in March, I was sitting in Gorilla Coffee in Park Slope (convinced they put crack in their coffee, but that's neither here nor there) when my friend Dan convinced me to scrap together what very little money I had to buy a ticket to Bonnaroo in Tennessee this past June. As it turned out, I spent the opening day of Bonnaroo receiving my second chemo treatment. Whattayaknow.
I sold my ticket and told myself I'd go next year, but something better just may be on (a closer) horizon--the Quiksilver Pro New York, a FREE national surf competition and music festival right on LI in September. It's a two-week national pro surf competition. I don't know much (read: anything) about pro surfers, besides that I am probably more attracted to them than non-surfing people. So there's that. But more important are the bands to be featured: Taking Back Sunday, Saves the Day, Matt and Kim, The Flaming Lips, Neon Indian, and more. You can check out the event guide here.
And not to sound like an alcoholic or anything, but girl is goin' to be getting her drink on for this. Throughout the past four months, I've had maybe four drinks due to the fact that chemo's really taxing on your liver and kidneys. Ironically, every time I get a chemo treatment, I experience what feels like an intensified 3-day hangover. But the weekend of September 9th, smack dab in the middle of the festival and long enough before I start radiation, I should be free and clear to enjoy a few beverages. And I seriously mean only a few, considering what will be my low tolerance and the fact that I'd like to make my debut into the world of drinking in as graceful a manner as possible. I should probably not wear heels.
What better way to wake up on a chemo day than to watch a small town perish in the ash of a massive volcano that everyone very mistakenly thought was dormant? Catching said perishing from the beginning (that never happens!) while drinking coffee and sampling lemon bars you baked the day before.
I've been neglecting my blog. Fortunately, SOMEONE'S been giving it attention--DJ designed the very badass Hodge logo you may have been intimidated by just now. Cheers to Deej, I owe you a drink in a month.
I went to my radiation consultation day before yesterday. I'm seeing the head radiation oncologist at Stonybrook Hospital. For some reason my mom said he was 7 feet tall. He wasn't. Maybe like 6'4''. Anyway, he was really nice. During the visit, my mom was in the room with me, along with my doctor, a nurse, and a young medical student. It was a little awk, because the med student had to be around my age, and we were discussing the lovely intimate details of my medical history in front of him, but I figure you have to learn somehow, eh? I also habitually dole out more personal information than people need to know, so nothing new.
My radiologist explained that there's "favorable" types of Hodgkin's and "unfavorable." Favorable means you can treat the cancer with either chemo OR radiation, but it's not necessary to use both. I have the unfavorable kind, apparently, which just means you need to follow chemo with radiation just to make sure everything is zapped.
Dr. C, my oncologist originally told me I'd need a month after chemo before I could start radiation so my bone marrow could regenerate, but my radiologist, Dr. M, said it was actually fine to start after 3 weeks. This means I finish chemo September 1st, have my port removed sometime during the week of the 12th, go for my radiation "tattooing" procedure the same week, then have my first appointment the week after on the 19th.
I wonder how many times they said "This thing's gonna blow!" during the course of this movie. Update: Google doesn't have the answer for that. That's a first.
I go for radiation five days a week for up to five weeks--Dr. M will determine how long it will actually turn out to be after my long set-up visit. But I calculated it, and if I start the 19th, the latest I can be done is by October 22nd.
You would think that having an actual end date as opposed to "sometime in the fall" would make me ecstatic, and of course I'm happy. But it also set in that this is it. This thing will all be over, and I have to get back to normalcy--get a job, save some money, get a job in the city, move, settle. It's incredibly daunting.
Ok the volcano blew up and I was held captive for about 20 minutes just now. Even if the kids really REALLY loved their grandma, would you drive TOWARDS this? They grew up at the base of a volcano. I'm pretty sure their elementary school education on volcanos was more extensive than mine, and even I knew by their age that maybe doing anything except running away from it wouldn't be advisable.
And when they get there, the grandma goes "What are you two doing here?? :) :)" as if they just showed up to play bingo with her. Um, they're saving you, because you had to be more than stereotypically stubborn and pigheaded. "This mountain's not gonna hurt us, believe me!" as she's covered in volcanic ash, right before molten lava busts through the door of her cabin. Ugh.
Anyway, at the end of my first visit with Dr. M., they all leave, and the med student pokes his head in the door and says "Hey, can I ask you a non-medical related question?" And I'm like, Oh geez. I thought he was gonna say something like "I'm new to the area, and I was just wondering if you knew where a good mexican place to grab lunch was?"
"Sure," I say, a little apprehensively.
"Well, I happened to notice during your exam that you were wearing a really beautiful watch," he said. I looked down at my wrist. Really? "Is it from a store around here?" He asked.
"Oh, thanks," I said, "It's from BCBG, there's one in the mall."
"Oh ok, thank you. I thought I'd ask because my mom would really like it. Sorry to bother you."
A med student who thinks of presents for his mom? Maybe I should've hoped he'd ask about a mexican place for lunch, amiright ladies?
Oh god, they just passed the dog and he jumped into the truck. He's safe y'all. He's got a stupid name, but Scruffy's safe.
That's the title of a blog post that originally appeared in The Hairpin, a favorite blog of mine. Although it's a hilarious blog, it's unusual to find something so pertinent and profound in there. If you're a 20 something, or a 30 something or even if you just appreciate a writer who can say something smart in a succinct way, check it out.
1. I hate it. Let me be clear on this though--I do not hate sharks. Sharks are awesome. If they're not swimmin', they're dying, we're gonna need a bigger boat, and so on and so forth. I just hate the hype that has built up around shark week, which seems to happen at least more than one time out of 52 weeks in a year. Or maybe it's because I'm extra sensitive to it because omg I hateeeeeee ittttt.
2. I'll most likely lose friends for saying that. But let me remind you that half of you probably made status updates about SHARK WEEEEEEEK MY LIFE IS MADE NOT LEAVING THE HOUSE then literally have not turned on the Discovery Channel once. You don't even know which channel it is. I can see riiiiight through you.
3. This guy is the only one I'll truly believe when he tells me how cool shark week is.
3. I hate when people write snarkyass posts like this. But when you wake up on the morning after chemo to a damn lawnmower and dog barking at said lawnmower, you need to project your crankiness on something, and I think my mom might appreciate that I'm getting it out here before I go downstairs.
Last Friday night, I went to see what will probably turn out to be one of the only concerts I see this summer. That's a sad fact when I compare this summer with last, when I went to about 8 really solid shows. Butttttt, weep womp, this isn't a normal summer, yadda yadda. And the show was pretty kickass.
Rosie, Keith and I piled into their jeep and fought about whose way we were going to take to the train station to pick up Cody. My dad won, being that he had his hands on the steering wheel. When we got to Jones Beach, the sky was light enough to trick us into holding out hope for staying dry, but my mom brought four ponchos we had from Cody's graduation ceremony in May.
We walked in right as Yeasayer was opening, so Cody and I went to our seats, which were the closest seats I've ever had at a sit-down show. Like 13th row or something. I wasn't super into Yeasayer besides liking a few songs Cody had played for me, so I figured it would be a "see them live, then like them" kinda deal, which was half true; they sounded great, but they lacked any sense of humility whatsoever. The stadium wasn't packed out while they were on (because, um, they were the opener and all), and they totally bitched about it to the crowd! I don't know whether they're used to playing smaller venues or to more people or what, but the lead singer actually said, "There is no way we would be doing this unless our childhood idols asked us to. So whatever, thanks, all 10 of you." That kind of entitled attitude is what makes young people who live in Brooklyn so easy to make fun of.
As Yeasayer was getting their diapers changed or finishing up their last song or whatever, my mom pointed to my right at the dark clouds huddling together out over the water like gang members preparing to fight. She and my dad put their ponchos on. I scoffed. "It's a lovely summer rain!" I said as droplets began to pepper my face.
Ten minutes later I shivered under my poncho as a river of rain water ran down my legs and into my boots. When lightening struck, we made our way out of the stadium and into the vestibule to wait it out. I went over to the Candy Shack or whatever it was called and asked the girl there whether lightening automatically meant cancellation. She practically looked through me before saying, "Well it depends on like, whether the storm moves fast or it stays here. Because it has rained but like, sometimes people leave and they'll say it's back on and then they're mad they missed it, but then if there's a lot of lightening, like A LOT, then they'll probab--" and I tuned out.
We stood in some weird entry way that smelled like a sixth grade science classroom waiting for news. "This reminds me of this concert we went to at Watkins Glenn," my mom said. "When we were young, Daddy and I and a bunch of our friends piled into a pick up truck and drove to this state park for a show where the Allman Brothers and a few others played. A huge rain storm came with droplets THIS BIG and flooded the roads home. So we all stayed in some medical tent covered in mud with only hot red wine to drink and no food. It was great.
"But then in the morning, we all get back in the truck and Daddy starts driving and this guy starts screaming, 'My leg! You're running over my fucking leg!'"
Apparently some guy was so messed up he passed out underneath the truck and didn't wake up
up until after 8 people loudly got into and ran over him with it.
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"Well, we called an ambulance and waited with him and went with him to the hospital," my dad said. "Then he sued me for $3000.00."
Not soon after, the announcer came back on and said the show would go on! So we joined the people flow back into the stadium, and rather than sitting on the very right of the stage, my dad lead us to seats up a few rows and right in the center. A wise choice, as they were not claimed and I had the aisle to dance in.
The two bands alternated every three songs. It was really cool and refreshing to have music presented to you that way. I sang along to more Weezer songs, but was really awed by the Flaming Lips live show--big space bubbles, confetti, lazers reflecting off a giant disco ball.
Wayne Coyne is so adorably weird. He just wants everyone to be happy, I think. And Rivers Cuomo ran up into the stadium and the nerds of Weezer nerded out and all was well. Oh and Weezer covered "Paranoid Android" by Radiohead, which was awesome, but then really just made me wanna go to a Radiohead show. Also, I may have cried a little bit at "Do You Realize??" (which I don't think anyone in my family noticed, thankfully). I took a tiny video of the beginning. Look how cute he is!
I was thinking about buying tickets to see Band of Horses next week, but unfortunately, they were touring with Kings of Leon, whose lead singer cancelled the tour due to his inability to not be an alcoholic.
The past two weeks since my last chemo sesh went really fast, but I also feel like I didn't do anything productive whatsoever. Like, this is what I did:
-Saw "Crazy, Stupid Love" and developed a really intense crush on Ryan Gosling.
-Threw out my GODAMN topsy turvy tomato plant who could only find it within itself to produce rotten tomatoes after I painstakingly cared for it for 3 months.
-Took Lily to the beach in West Hampton, where she tried to sneak over to other peoples' blankets for food.
Anddddd that's about it. Well, I did go to Balbany to visit Thea and get caught in a ferocious thunder storm complete with tennis ball sized-hail on the way home, so there's that. I just need to get myself in gear and try to work out a plan for I guess winter. Even though it still seems really far away. And for some reason every time I think about going on on job interviews, I picture myself going in with my tiny, bald head. That doesn't even make sense, because beginning hopefully sometime in early September, my hair should start growing back. And GIRL, am I ready for that.
I've been struggling with the ambivalence of holding onto summer as long as I can while urging August to move at breakneck speed. Maybe this winter won't suck as much as the last one did. I kind of think it's impossible for that not to be the case, seeing as the Hodge should be behind me then, instead of inside my chest, making me wonder why my cough wasn't going away and why I was so tired. This winter I just want to wonder why Chipotle is so delicious, and which bar I should go to with my girlfriends for drinks to discuss why Ryan Gosling would be the perfect boyfriend.
