If & when I get out of the chemo doldrums, I intend to find a cajun music festival.

Via Mostly Cajun…

That’s the woman who was in charge of the tax office where all the scandal started, and who is now in charge of the Obamacare nexus with everybody’s favorite federal agency.

I suppose it’s immature to use looks as a gauge of what to expect. Sue me. Wait, what am I saying?

Have I mentioned that I’m extremely weary of all this chemotherapy? It’s grinding me to a nub.

Via Protein Wisdom…

Guy’s got something…

Drive out to the VFW post in West Tawakoni on Sunday afternoon, have a couple of beers, and listen to Todd & Travis Wendel running a little pickin’ party. Go home exhausted but happier than all get-out.

I hardly recognized either one of those boys — Travis only barely, and Todd not at all. It was so cool catching up with them, and the inevitable reminiscing. They still got their musical chops, and they completely made my day by playing one of their original songs from their one and only CD, sadly but appropriately titled Adios. Here’s my new theme song, Life In The Country by the Wendell Brothers.

It was a good reminder how much I love small-town Texas, its watering holes, veterans, live music, beer and bluegrass music. I really should endeavour to do that kind of thing more often. All this damnable surviving needs some living to make it worthwhile, frankly. I really, really need me a Driving Mr Daisy cohort, though, at least until this chemo crap is over in June. Maybe further, if I grow to enjoy it.

And yes, longtime OG TFG readers, that picture is from Buck’s on the Brazos.

All right, then…double-dose chemo in four hours…see yall on the other side.

After all the hoopla & huzzahs for the billions of LEOs that finally “got him” last night, it seems egregiously overlooked by the hairdos on the teevee, and a whole lot of other people, that it was a random private citizen who was finally allowed out of his darkened Watertown hovel, a ‘civilian’, who found the sonofabitch Musselman bomber hiding in his tarped-up boat in the backyard. I read that it was also outside of the ‘perimeter’ the cops had ‘established’, but I haven’t got corroboration of that. So…the lockdown of hundreds of thousands for hours did what, exactly?

Anyway. I could rant, but who cares? They treat us like sub-morons because they’ve done a fine job of teaching us we’re sub-morons, and plenty have taken that education to heart & soul.

OTHER THOUGHTS:
Via Popehat, I learn that the 5-0 allowed the Dunkin Donuts to stay open. The stale jokes about fresh donuts and cops write themselves.

Mostly Cajun looks at the ‘asymmetrical’ nature of the entire clambake, reaches conclusions I concur with.

Here’s a good song by the under-recognized Proclaimers that has nothing to do with radical Chechen Islamists. Really, it doesn’t.

Most people only know one Proclaimers song, and they generally don’t even know it’s the Proclaimers. They’re a superb uncategorizable bunch of good music…you should give them a try-out, if you can find their stuff. If you can’t grin big at their (faithful) rendition of Roger Miller’s King of the Road, well I just don’t want to know ye.

OK, then…

I got the results from my latest CT scan on Monday, and they were positive. They show the lymph node to be decreasing. Don’t ask me if it’s decreasing in size or activity or some other measure…I can’t seem to get a straight answer, or one that I can understand. Part of the joy of chemo, that. I believe it means the size has decreased. The numbers on Monday show it to be 2.0, down from 2.8.

The bottom line is that the chemo will continue, and there will be another scan in six weeks to see if it’s still working, which it should do.

I apologize for not being very entertaining or engaging here on this stupid blog. For two weeks in a row, the chemo weeks, I’m basically useless. I’ve documented all of this, I think — muscle pain, joint pain, nausea, fatigue, insomnia some times, chemo brain. Cogitation is what I miss most. I can handle the pain, sometimes with the dope, most times not. But just losing my faculties for critical thinking is…worrisome. The good news for me is that they kind of come back on the “week off” when I don’t get chemo.

Anyway…that’s the latest from here, for my two or three readers. Lots of stuff going on the world that I can only barely follow. Good to see the gun grabbers failed, and that it made Obammy, in the words of Tam, a sad clown. Which he is. An all-around, top-drawer, emotional-blackmailing sad clown.

GO RANGERS!

Thanks to JDM for the patch.

I’m now officially halfway through the chemo regime scheduled to run till the end of June. My next scan, scheduled for next week, will theoretically tell the tale…if it’s working and reducing the lymph node growth, the chemo will go on, and if not, we stop and go back to the drawing board. Or the doctor goes back to the drawing board. I told a friend no matter what, when it’s done, I’m going to a beach, wearing short-sleeved pants, sandals, maybe fishing, but certainly drinking beer and ogling young gals in bikinis. Old gals, too, if they’re around. Because I am quite wiped out from all of this mess. The better part of two out of every three weeks is completely gone. The rest is kind of good day / bad day, with three or four days of good days at the end — just in time to start over. It can grind on you if you let it, and sometimes I let it. Most of the time not, though. I’m truly blessed, and in every sense, I’ve got a grand life. Still, a few prayers for a good scan result, and another three months of getting my ass kicked by chemo would not be misplaced.

In much sadder cancer news, my absolute favorite sci-fi author, Iain M Banks, has been diagnosed with a super-aggressive form:

I am officially Very Poorly.

After a couple of surgical procedures, I am gradually recovering from jaundice caused by a blocked bile duct, but that – it turns out – is the least of my problems.

I first thought something might be wrong when I developed a sore back in late January, but put this down to the fact I’d started writing at the beginning of the month and so was crouched over a keyboard all day. When it hadn’t gone away by mid-February, I went to my GP, who spotted that I had jaundice. Blood tests, an ultrasound scan and then a CT scan revealed the full extent of the grisly truth by the start of March.

I have cancer. It started in my gall bladder, has infected both lobes of my liver and probably also my pancreas and some lymph nodes, plus one tumour is massed around a group of major blood vessels in the same volume, effectively ruling out any chance of surgery to remove the tumours either in the short or long term.

The bottom line, now, I’m afraid, is that as a late stage gall bladder cancer patient, I’m expected to live for ‘several months’ and it’s extremely unlikely I’ll live beyond a year. So it looks like my latest novel, The Quarry, will be my last.

Banks writes the MOST compelling science fiction available today with his Culture novels. Great, grand space operas set in a post-scarcity, AI-run future utopia, where, unshockingly, ‘human’ impulses and instincts remain…super-interesting to noodle about and ponder.

28 bleeding degrees this morning when I awoke. I’ve simply had it. I broke out the shorts last week in a fit of idiotic optimism, and now I’m being punished.

This, on the other hand, is breathtaking:

Shelby American, the Las Vegas-based performance outfit founded by the late Carroll Shelby, says it will take starting orders right away and can start delivering cars within a matter of weeks.

The Shelby 1000 is built off of a 662-horsepower 2013 Shelby GT500, a high-end Mustang with a howling 5.8-liter V-8. The aftermarket firm rebuilds the engine — actually pretty much the whole innards of the car — to add the astounding extra horsepower and suspension, steering and other components to support it.

At 1,200 horsepower, the new Shelby 1000 equals the sheer output of a Bugatti Veyron 16.4 Super Sport, a million-dollar-plus supercar.

Owners bring in their new car and Shelby rebuilds it for $154,995 for the track version, $149,995 for a the street version, according to Shelby American. Luft says total cost of the car and conversion will come to about $210,000 — a fraction of the cost of the Veyron.

This kind of unmitigated raw power in the hands of an individual makes our Progressive Betters tee-tee in their drawers. How long before Mommy Bloomberg bans them for New Yorkers? Hell, federally banned, for that matter.

You all know slack, right?

Last week was a no-chemo slack week, so I went down to Old San Antone to handle some personal business. It turned into a crazy-making pell-mell helter-skelter week that I finally escaped yesterday. So goes things, and all is well now. Remember, slack will find you, not the other way around. Plus, I hauled my gas grill back, so I will now be able to have grilled delicacies, like Slovacek or Opa jalapeno & cheese sausages on demand.

I stopped at Quality Seafood in that Red Austin on the way back, and bought my customary five pounds of alligator/pork sausage. They get it from Crescent City Meat Co of Metairie. It is consistently the greatest sausage I’ve ever eaten. I highly recommend it. My preferred prep method is to smoke it at about 175 for a couple of hours, and then grill it to crisp up the skin as needed. Quality Seafood is an excellent choice for seafood dining, as well…there’s no place in Austin I’d rather go to eat.

Also of note was the garden show I listened to leaving SA where I learned that their fall tomato plants are still producing. They’re fretting about when to replace them with spring plantings. That just seems unfair. On the flip side, I arrived to what appeared to be snow lining the bar ditches of Kaufman County and frigid windy conditions…it turned out to be hail. I hope our tomato plants are OK.

The best part of the drive was the radio scan (yes, I still have only terresstial radio) landing on a college radio station, KOOP in Austin, for the beginning of The Lounge Show. I immediately wanted to be in a dark smoky bar wearing a nice suit and drinking a martini. It occurs to me that Saturday at 10am is probably not the optimal time for The Lounge Show, but I appreciated it.

OK, then…off to try to un-explode a network. Baseball in one week, thank the heavens.

I got to spend most of yesterday outdoors in the sun yesterday, piddling around, wearing shorts, and working on tomato plants. That’s 50 some tomato plants up there, with the Wall of Water system in place trying to get a jump on spring. They were planted Wednesday, and in just three days, we lost seven to cutworms. Much hullabaloo and tearing about with styrofoam cups and Sevin dust occurred to handle the pestilential outbreak. This is only important in that, for 52 years, I would not willingly allow a tomato past my lips in it’s whole form. Until I ate, somewhat under duress, home-grown tomatoes. I’m a convert. I still look at them askance, with all that gore just under their tender skin, but I do eat them heartily now. I still want nothing to do with a tomato on my cheeseburger, thanks. Or a supermarket tomato — those are just sawdust or something.

Today will be corn planting, and more piddling around. Spring is great. It makes a man feel good, to be outside. I gots the strength of a new-born kitten, and the stamina of one of those Walmart scooter people, but it’s good to stretch myself some, I think, and try to get out of the damn winter Tub-O-Guts mode. Learned a little something, too. Tomatoes are an extremely delicate crop, with practically everything conspiring against them.

This post brought to you by five days after chemo, and two days after opiods. I can feel like a human being, you see, but only after detox, apparently. Man, that stuff is rough, but there are only five more courses to go, and there’s always the chance that lightning strikes and I get to stop early. When I do stop, I’m taking a week near a beach and look at girls in bikinis and tan my bald old head.

Not complaining, it’s just the way it is. I can hardly follow Twitter, where people discuss their lunch, much less an interesting discussion of, say, fusion power, where Lockheed’s famous Skunkworks has thrown their hat in the ring, and made some big promises. Which I doubt…though it would be nice to think they might do it.

My favorite shuffled-up iPod song from my chemo session yesterday — hard not to wiggle around and tap your feet with good zydeco.

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That’s off an ancient compilation CD I’m sure I bought at a truck stop in the middle of no
where back before the internet. It’s probably still impossible to buy these truck stop CDs online, which is why I’m glad I ripped all those eons ago. A trip to Louisiana would do my soul some good, I think. I miss the coonasses. Well, the Bossier City Mudbug Madness Festival is coming up. Looks like it’s all growned-up since the last time I was there, though…might suck now with all the corporatizing.

Nolan Ryan could leave Rangers by the end of spring training, sources say

Yes, there’s been a shift of power in Arlington, which may or may not be the same as a power struggle, but the end result is the same.

Either way, Jon Daniels wins and a guy named Rick George wins, because the ownership group of the Texas Rangers decided that was the direction to go.

And the loser in all this?

Nolan Ryan.

Single-sourced “bombshell” — I’m not buying it. It’s a troll. In fact, don’t click the link…I don’t want to give Galloway any more pageviews than he’s already getting. I can’t see a single reason for Nolan Ryan to get pissed off and blast off. More freedom, less jacking around with details, what’s not to love? Plus, all the changes were made back in November.

Yay!