My Nightly Roll of the Die

It was a stroke of luck that my daily dose of poison occurs at night.  They say take it about the same time every day.  Why they do not advise taking it at night is a puzzle.  No time of day is specified.

I got the idea because a hematologist in Iowa came to my acquaintance through my ex boss, the house manager who hired me way back.  Her brother in law has reviewed my stuff and gave the proper Dx long ago.

He is quite the guy.  He actually cares and pays attention, and thinks to himself, "How can I make this process easier for my patients to take?"  It is obvious. He doesn't say it.  Not like politicians who claim such compassion in areas of life where they do not belong.  But he found that evening hours for certain things made life much less unpleasant for his clients.  The man is a saint.  And he really helped guide me, and indirectly some of the medical people here.

Anyway, I found out that he goes in at night to administer chemo and such to his ailing cancer patients.  He did it at night because they are more likely to do OK and to sleep through the worst.

I do not think the people handling my case are even close to that considerate.  I'm beginning to think they hate most of their patients--bunch of whiney creeps, dying of cancer.  They exist for the benefit of the doctor's ego and that is it!

And you think Obama and Pelosi's system helps this?  Keep drinking that koolaid. They didn't even know what was in the bill, and still don't. Neither do we, really.  Contrary to the tone of the discussion, Obama no more wrote that bill or even served as general architect of the thing than I wrote A Midsummer Night's Dream.   People are greedy and stupid in large voting blocks. How cool is that? That means anything is possible.

What the heck.  things were screwy anyway, so why not buy votes buy screwing it up more in the name of the little guy or whoever.

This is not chemo, but it is designed to shut off a lot of stuff.  Kind of a killer thing and toxic. All the talk of people using gloves and shooting anyone who touches the stuff bare handed who is not taking it.  Medicine. When did it take the wrong turn into lala land?  Maybe thousands of years ago.

I am not set up for anything as drastic as that, and no need, so all is well.  I think now that it all may improve. Every time I feel good for twenty minutes I decide that it is going to be OK. And I feel it deep down.

So, I think at night is the ticket to hope to sleep through the worst.  Often it knocks me right out. Sometimes, not.  So, before I take it, I hope and beg for a good night and morning.  Mostly I do OK.
And from now on I am fighting the fatigue just to prove to any bastard who needs come uppance that I am not putting up with this nonsense.

I'll use my anger at those who fancy themselves superior to show them who is superior.  And the rest is all love. Even if you are a hopeless dimwit. As long as you are not mean.

Where was I?  Right. One ice cream sandwich and one hydroxyblablabla.

What if this wounded warrior guy gets tour gigs?  I think he might get some opening slots, and I'mn their harp player. Can I do it?  We'll see.  I have to do everything.

Hard Rock Cafe tomorrow with new viola, substitute bass and drummer with bone issues of the hand.  What a band of weirdos.  But we are pretty good.  Hell the viola played the symphony. And yet she thinks I am worthy. She maybe thinks I am the Mac Daddy of back up and solo musicians.  Clearly she made a friend for life out of me!!  Married. Geez.  Figures.  Not that I feel confident bringing anyone in to my iffy life.

No Good. I'm Still Angry. Drat!!!

Anger will not do.  I cannot afford, nor do I want to spend the time and energy on that wasted condition.  Sure, a little anger now and then is helpful. It could get you out of the path of the speeding bus just in time.

But cultivating it, or letting it run where it does no good--now this is the stupid thing to do.

The subject of family came up and I realized I am mad about certain reactions and behaviors.  But these were the exact behaviors that existed in certain others when I was one or two, and from then on.

Older siblings know instinctively that they can have a hope of destroying you if they demonstrate no respect for you no matter what.  That is different from being nice, but not a lot different.  So, I am pissed that I valued such opinions and that they still sting.

I never should have sand bagged because people more pitiful than myself wanted so badly to win at any cost, and seemed so crushed if I won.  Screw them. I should have done better.   I could not fight everyone.  Especially because I was too young to know everything I needed to know to survive these people any better than I did.

But I cannot set myself up for that feeling again.  I will make some claim about scattering me in the gulf stream or Shasta lake or something.  Gulf Stream. Caribbean. That's the real ticket.  Just to annoy them.  But before that, who cares?

I have to get past the anger to the point that if I am confronted by this old childhood insecure jerky behavior, I can view it with something other than anger.  At this point anger is all I got.

It is sad.  If I were bleeding in a ditch far away from home or friends.  Family would be way the hell down on the list of those I'd call for help, if on it at all.  I would probably rather die than see that look or hear one word.  Why now?  I do not want to feel this.  But I see no changing.  Changing is always left to me.  I'm defective and everyone else is productive and , oh geez the I word, intelligent.  On that last, the degree of superiority or any evidence of superiority, if it comes down to it, is dubious, or non existent.

But I do not have the long term career, bank account, offspring , etc. to prove it, therefore I am inferior and not to be allowed admittance into the halls of the self appointed elite in life.

Seriously, this is not healthy but I cannot think of how to fix it.  I do not want to be resenting anyone. We are lucky to have life. It is an amazing condition. Everything is. Existence itself is mind blowing. We don't even know what it is.

Dilemmas May Emerge

It sure is difficult trying to get a few people to show up and not make trouble when playing music.  Now the bass player's ver part time job has called, and he can't make Thursday at Hard Rock Cafe. We only play from 5 to 7.  A nice, early supper time thing.

So, we know a guy who does play some bass and he is willing to take the time to listen to mp3 versions of the material and show up.  I was pretty sure he would not refuse.  He is also one of the best sound men around.  He's run sound at a few events, like the Dia de Los Muertos festival in Old Town.  It was good.

This guys is the quintessential geeky nerd guy.  You would probably see him at trekkie conventions comic-con. I don't even know how to write the last one.  Never heard of it before living here.  A big huge deal with people dressing up oddly and Hollywood celebs hanging out and comic book nonsense is the star.

It always sounded like people were saying "commie con".  For the first year or two I thought it was a democratic party event.

It has nothing to do with commies, but the con, I suspect, is quite robust.  "Public servants", the kind who make laws for us but are dumb enough to think Guam or Okinawa might capsize from too many marines, like to say that word, "robust".  It is less obviously hip, but still almost as hip as variations of sustainability, sustainable, etc.

Yes, yes, yaz, quite a robust and sustainable piece of legislation.  That is their speak for, people will be sacrificed for our view of the common good.  Must break some eggs if we want an omelet.

Where was I?  and why am I here now?

Bass player. Check.

The drummer has something wrong with his hand and is going to have to find a way to take time out. Not easy to replace him at all.  I am not sure if he hasn't pushed that hand too far. I told him. Dang it.

And then there is no telling the sort of time bomb I have become.  Boom, you're outta here.  Mostly the annoying attacks are manageable, but not always.  This esophagus issue is not good.  I may be seriously afflicted with an exotic ailment which may all be my imagination.  I always tell myself that.

And the Marine who brought me in to record on his project wants me with him from now on.  It could present a conflict.  He knows I play with Sande, but if he ends up with a little tour in the works, I cannot say no, I don't think.  I believe he has at least one or two songs that will do well on the country charts if no one screws it all up.

Temperamental people, like performers, do screw things up.  The ego and view of reality become very confusing.  

Anyway, I am trying to play where it suits me while I can. That could change at any moment.  If I kick on stage at a stadium or something that would be fine.  Otherwise maybe not.  I may have to go back and tell the internist I have an issue and quit arguing. I hate stubborn doctors. Does he think I made it up?  He didn't see it because when he was removing his device he messed up something in there. By then he was out so of course he didn't see it.

It is such a f'ing bureaucracy to navigate just to see these people. Hardly worth it.  The model of dealing with patients is similar to the corporate, and even small business, way of hiring.  Anything to avoid actual face to face contact.  Anything to avoid admitting that you are human or they are human.  How can we manage to never meet?  Somehow I blame the state.  But it is too tedious to back that up.

So, how is it going to end?  How will I ever get this mess sorted out so I am not worried about it?  It was good about a year and a half ago.  Year and three months, anyway.

Hunger does not show up like it did.  Now all my fatso clothes, that I bought when I thought I'd be a heavy non smoker forever, are becoming dangerously loose.  Time to gain some weight back.
I'm almost back down so that the skinny clothes are not even tight.

I decided the playing makes me feel better for minutes and hours at a time.  I can't do much else that I would like so this is the last maneuver into some sort of swan song scenario, or just exit in a moment of enjoyment.  I do not think this life can continue all that long as is.  But as long as I get everything organized, then I am OK. That is my only worry.

Real Hotshot Producer at the Studio

Apparently this project is hooked in with wounded warriors.  The guy is a Marine back from some crazy ass islamic countries and wars.  Anyway, he can get just about anyone in town to sit in or do studio tracks.  So, it is big flattery to be asked to play.

At first I was skeptical of the engineer and producer.  Soon I realized that they were the real deal. The producer, Johnny something, has a gold record I'm told.  More importantly, he used to play and hang out with Norton Buffalo.  That means he knows how the greatest sound.  Norton was among the greats.

I did not know what they wanted or if they liked what I did for the first three takes.  In between they kept talking to the lead guitar, who was laying down a track at the same time.  Dobro and rhythm were already there. So, this was a case of fitting when and where it works or makes sense to me.

With no feedback I was clueless.  I took a break and the marine's girlfriend told me it was good.  They didn't talk to me because they had no desire to alter my approach. That was a compliment.

This was interesting because everyone involved was really happy with what was going on.  Lots of takes, and lots of waiting on my part. But it was fun and worth it.  By far the best produced studio sessions I have done.

Last night was beyond anything I anticipated, and so was this afternoon at the studio.  It was a little dicey towards the very end and on the way home because of an unruly esophagus.  Sounds kind of like asparagus.  That is not an attractive word.

I'm glad these guys understood the concept of blend and enhance.  My part is not way out front or even 100% or the time.   It is what I would do if I were me.  I remember hearing Toots on a tune by Julian Lennon, and it is just a very small part of the whole.  But that is all it called for. That is what separates him from whoever is not like that

Another fine day

I've learned not to assume I'm healed every time things are not too bothersome.  It does make for a good day.

The toxic pill has not created much problem today, nor have the other physical anomalies with which I deal more and more of late.  

Off to a real studio

I like the studios with wide open spaces.  So much is done with computers in living rooms and basements, you don't often find the kind of studio we'll be checking out today.  Maybe they can use me for other things.  Probably not.  

Why Are All The Hot Viola Players, Over Forty, Married?

Alright, here's how it all goes; the violin player wanted to do a few of his own songs, and wanted to play MC when Sande, the front person, is tuning.  All well and good, depending on how you do these things.  It wasn't really in keeping with what this project is, so she said No.  Don't issue ultimatums unless you are ready to walk, or know you will get your way.

He walked.  He thought his ultimatum would win him his way.  But he didn't count on her being as strong as she is. And she is right.  Qhen you try to be special, or more equal than others, watch out.

So there is a couple, friends of Sande; she, a viola player, he a DJ, her husband ergo C. Blocker.
So to speak.  If you are married then no one should even test the water or push anything. Same goes all around.  If you are married, do not be a dweeb or dweeba and screw up. Just don't.

Anyway, here we are doing the first gig with no violin and Sande brings in Karen on the viola, and it was so much more fun than we expected.   Sande ran through the stuff with her yesterday. But without the rest of us, and there are many tunes.  Karen rocked it, and to boot, her husband the DJ tweeked the hodge podge bunch of amps and PA stuff so the sound was better than normal and feedback about it was more precise and critical. Jim.  I have to forgive him for being married to Karen and taking yet another off the market.

I don't care anyway, except it is great playing with her.  We blended well.   I'm still hesitant to pull anyone in, even the unencumbered.  Who wants to deal with days like to day.  Four or five hours it takes to get breakfast and be OK enough to take off.  "Hey, look!!! Didn't throw up blood this time! yay.

Tried to meet a guy at 1:30 at the ranch, before heading to the Spring Valley Inn to play.   I finally was able to get there at about 3:50pm.   Had the gig been an early afternoon thing, I don't think I could have done it.  I don't care what they say, my main troubles are between my diaphragm and throat.  How it ties with wacko blood production I do not know.  But I know I am in closer touch with what is up that any doctor who even hints at doubting me.  Some do.  Some have learned; like guitar players learn that if I say something is out of tune, it is out.  Made many doubters eat crow on that.

This viola player is another classically trained musician.  When they caught our show some weeks back, she and her husband complimented me.  She especially did.  I remember because she said nice enough things that I told her she was my new best friend.  And here we are.  I did not know at that time that she plays.  Whenever I can impress real musicians with my mouth harp, I figure I did it right.  Besides, I consider that what I have evolved into playing is not often done by harmonica players, and I'm somewhat pleased with this direction.

I made up my mind to play as much as I can with people that appreciate what I do.  Tomorrow I hit the studio for the Marine who is the star of the music therapy program they have for vets who need something besides a bunch of insincere, sycophantic "Oh (gush) thank you so much for your service".    Some things can become so generic that they lose their soul, and the ring of true feeling and passion.

Anyway, last night and this morning were not the piece of cake I prefer.  I am no stranger to hardship, but I think of myself as one, so little troubles always throw me for a loop.  I am always surprised that I, of all people, should have any difficulty.  I'm just not the type to be visited with misfortune.

My current saga with the soap opera disease which may not go away soon, or ever, actually has positively influenced my outlook, and even my behavior--sometimes.  I do not ask questions about mortality rates or how my particular complications influence things. I've done research.  I know what I test, and what has probably been missed and how it could work, best case.  So, I know where I am and I am quite happy to do my best to achieve certain very personal goals.  They aren't big things, except to me.

Oh man, I heard a girl today, aty the ranch--is it OK to say girl? or better to say I heard a wo-perbeing (must not say wo MAN, or perSon.  That is sexist. So perbeing, and if you have to push it, woperbeing.

I don't know how to eliminate the word "man" if man is the topic of the sentence.  Perbeing with outie.  Who knows.  God help us if they get too carried away with the official international picture language for illiterates.   Not so easy to read in all cases.

I never finished the sentence or thought above. This perbeing, with innie, named Chas, just blew Dan and I away at the Ranch.  I did play a little with her but mostly sat out because the tasty resonator and electric guitar backing her acoustic and rich full voice were all she needed.  They were keeping it soft and subtle and perfect.  One of those times when I felt listening was the thing to do.  Some things do better without me.  Knowing that gives me a smug sense of satisfaction because I know when not to add unnecessary things to a piece, whereas many do not.

Tough day, beautiful night.  Let us hope I timed food and toxicity so that I sleep through it tonight.
People with real issues and real chemo madness must be far tougher than I.  I couldn't do it.  It takes too much effort and planning.  And some stay sick all the time.  I'll bet playing this music helps me.  Even if you hate this music, which you shouldn't do, the act of doing what I do has to be helpful. I work out the diaphragm and lungs, and various muscles up there. And the vibrations are inhaled as much or more than exhaled.  That has to shake thing up internally.  We hope and believe it is for the good.

Whatever is Kava, I'm In

Last night I met a friend at a Kava bar.  I did not sample any kava, but I did have green juice and a gilled cheeses with avocado and something. It was good.

So, I ended up sitting in with both acts.  One of them has studio time at a very nice studio, and has asked me to come out and lay down some tracks.  I am looking forward to that.

Surprisingly, there are not many real studios around.  Everyone is recording in the their living room with a laptop and some software.  I haven't seen a real studio since Memphis.

Not that some of the home studios aren't good.  But they aren't making money off of their recordings, for the most part.   Just gives you something people can hear when you are seeking gigs which will probably never pay your cost of recording.  That is cynical, but true.

I cannot wait until automatic tuners are mainstream; a device that maintains the tuning automatically because it can't stand it when the guitar player has out of tune strings any more than I can.

They already have them somewhere for big bucks.   I wonder if they just hate to tune or if it does not bother them.  Or both   Shudder.

The Kava bar was mostly academic looking twenty somethings with a plethora of tattoos and great attitudes.  It worked out.  Easy to talk which most people did, but also easy to listen to the music if you cared to.  I think I was happy to play somewhere other than a bar.  Plus, I was just sitting in, as asked, so no obligation or responsibility.  Is that the definition of utopia?  I guess plenty of food and shelter need to be in the mix. And a car.  But other than that, it defines utopia.

Racially in Solidarinosc,

No one can do that embarrassing thing of talking about "white boys playing the blues" again in my presence.  Usually if I'm on stage when they do that, I ask who they are calling white.    Or I comment that "you people" are always bringing race into it.

Well I'm taking the same stuff you take if you have sickle cell anemia.  That is extremely hip, egalitarian, and solidarinosc out the yingyang.   So, where's the friggin' white privilege in that?

I fully understand the white privilege concept.  The problem is that much of it is false and pure political manipulation.   Unless you treat people equally under the law, and do not punish some and reward others based on condition of birth, things will always be hostile and tense.

Hostile and tense people are easy to control.  Once you convince a group that their trials in life are all the fault of another group, they are easily led using victim psychology.  They will kill for you, never knowing they are being used.  Well orchestrated fomentation of hatred ensures that.

The charlatans exploiting and creating racial tension are from both races.  I love it when some white celebrity or political figure rants about something being "just a bunch of white guys", or "nothing but white faces" blababla.  The old self-hatred-so-I-am-not-really-white card.   If only that were true...  But the positive part is that your existence prevents me from getting all chauvinistic regarding my race.  (the word chauvinist, per se, has zero to do with male or female.  So many people are clueless about that)

Once again, race is not a virtue.  Neither is your sex, lack of any gender identity, or what have ya.

However, now that I am in solidarinosc, I may reconsider.   This is why I am so soulful.  Well, and because I am a documented mutated person.  Part of me, anyway. Next craze?  Mutant music.  More soulful than soul, more everything.

Seriously, it is probably not common for someone to leave an office cheering with the news that I cheered. But this type of trouble leaves a little more wiggle room for hope than the other possible choices.  I don't have sickle cell, which means this new drug was working before I even took it.

Played a test run tonight at the open mic without the fiddle, who split the group. Of course it gets back that he's talking BS.  Too bad.  No need to spin it or try to make anyone seem bad.  He left because he wanted to be more special than the three other sidemen. Happens all the time with groups.  That is why so many very talented people never really see any action or even the inside of a studio. Ego, and foggy view of their best place.  I have that too.

But I have paid attention to my favorite harp players and how they did things.  Much of even Lee Oskar's career was as a side man for War and others.  He was good at it.  And the smartest of all is Willie's harp player.  It takes very good sense to stick with a good group, and don't worry about being the big bright light.  Just help the others make the song sound good.  Funny how it takes a libertarian to know when group action makes sense.

Mickey has had a great run, and far more stability and breadth of music than the usual harp fronted band.  Good sideman harp is an art and not all that common.

I wanted to do a short post but I got carried away.  The exuberance of a little wiggle room and no immediate indication of the definitely don't buy any green bananas stuff.

So much of my effort with this group has been laying down fat chords, many of them split, so the fiddle can play freely without clash.  I did not find he was ever pleased when requirement or chance for turn about presented itself.  It is rare to find people who get the blend, and if a player feels superior due to training or just because, it won't happen because they don't respect me.

A rare occurrence but it happens.  I'm not sure the fiddle respects me as a player.  Fortunately most others do.  And it may not have to do with playing.  That is what I think.  When people want to change me or bulldoze me, I know what is up.  Been around the block. So, now I call it out.  Maybe that is why he left, though that is no one's official story.  I'm glad of that.

I do think I was central to his decision in some way, but it is perfect that to indicate that would be a bad PR move for him, so he has not said that, as far as I know.  But he was encouraged to stay.  He split, and Sande wasted no time removing him from the band pic on facebook and from any written material about the group.  She is not doing it as anger or revenge.  She is right.  I like it that she is strong about drawing certain lines, and decisive with these things.  Strong woman, that one.

So, now I am changing how I play again.  Somewhat more of a hybrid thing. But it is taking some experimentation; trial and error.  If you don't take chances and try things, you don't know.  It settles in soon enough.

Dracula vs House

I forgot to mention that my esteemed hematologist, Dr. Dracula is clearly a proud graduate of the Dr Gregory House school of bedside manner and client charming.  The good thing is that I do not put up with it.

We had a minor dispute the first visit, over some material that I had ordered sent to his office from another bureaucratic medical facility.  It took all morning with many calls back and forth because many dimwits are in the loop and they screw thing sup, lie, and forget.

Anyway, I knew it had arrived.  But the info never made its way to him.  I convinced him to go check, over his superior-toned protests.  Finally he says, "Oh, you were right".  I replied, "Of course I was right!!  I would not have told you that if I had the slightest doubt!"  Then something else came up and he had to back pedal.  He is good but a little rushed.

This last time he tried to be gruff and brusk, and when he finished telling me was what, he wondered if I was thoroughly confused.   No, I am an astute patient.  He raised his eyebrows and suggested I'd be the first in thirty years.  "Your lucky day!"  I love it when I can confuse the ego of a guy like that.
It is fun.
Definitely a House candidate though, but he doesn't limp or appear to be on drugs, unless maybe some form of speed or cocaine.

It's a Miracle or something

This is my second attempt.  I wrote one post but I felt it would be boring and too long.

I've been waiting to hear whether I have multiple myeloma or some other bone marrow type of cancer.   The blood being produced is wacko.  That is the latin for not quite right.

What kept throwing them off was the very anemic condition of the fluid in my veins.   Various disorders in the blood factory (bone marrow) can be the culprit, they were thinking.  But what's up with this anemia situation?  The boy claims he does not menstruate.  They looked askance as I denied it over and over.

Finally they decided the lad was leaking a little blood from upper intestines, and it posed no real problem. Nothing worth fixing there.  And it fit with the idea that too much blood may be produced but an anemic condition still persists.  They need to fit stuff into a category in order to categorically deal with it.

Fortunately no weirdness showed up in a bone scan--still glowing from that xray.  I thought it would be cheaper to just go to my friendly local TSA.

Then they find out I am a mutant.  That is no surprise and it pleases me deep down.(if you had been my pal in college, you would see the humor and irony--inside joke I guess) They test for a mutated gene marker, JAK2, it calls itself.  Oh, that is a sure sign of polycythemia vera.  Yippee, you do not have multiple myeloma or other nasty death sentence condition.  So far.  It can go there, but maybe will not. Not any time too soon anyway.

I take a toxic pill that impedes cell production and hopefully lets me keep my hair and become more functional.  They monitor, tweak dose, etc.  But it is not like radiation and chemo or something that only a bone marrow transplant can cure.  That is what it looked like we were into.

This is not curable or wonderful, just by itself.  But in context, this is unbelievably good news.  I am so friggin thrilled, I'd probably kiss you if you were here.  Depending on what "you" is.  With a little more luck, maybe I won't have adverse reaction to this toxic pill and all will remain under control.  It very often does work out that way with this trouble.  Polycythemia vera/ and sort of essential thrombocytosis.  

I find it amazing that my body already has been getting rid of blood in a benign sort of way because that is the first step; they bleed you.  In my case there is no need.  Is that bizarre or what?  Some would call that a case of syncronicity because the forces of nature, God, angels and the like tend to treat me with special care.  I get the interesting breaks.  That is how my fortune works.

Some call it luck. Who knows.  I'm the guy who would be unlucky enough, or dumb enough, to fall off a tall building and land on a soft plant or awning, so instead of dying I'd just break a few bones.

It has been said that for an unlucky guy I am the luckiest guy around.  I think I get that.
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