Thursday, August 6, 2015

She's a machine and she was built to last

There's a new Frank Turner record coming out tomorrow. I'm equal parts excited and filled with dread.

Excited because I know it is going to be awesome. I know it is.

Dread because... Def Leppard.

While everyone else was a Motley Crue fan, I was a Def Leppard fanatic after Pyromania. Their first two albums were two of the best rock albums ever put down. I KNEW Hysteria would be the best album ever.

I had no idea.

I bought Hysteria the day it dropped. I still don't know what happened. It was not bad... it was offensive. Who spends six years overproducing saccharine pop and shoving it where gut punching rock once lived? I gave my cassette to my girlfriend. She loved it so I dumped her.

Every time I hear Pour Some Sugar On Me (I am likely in a strip club) I want to shove an ice pick in my ear.

And while I seriously doubt Senor Turner's new album is going to be anything less than stellar, I will never feel completely safe in my excitement.

You stole that from me, Def Leppard. You did this.


I spent some time answering some questions for an upcoming book about laughter and cancer. Yes, scientifically speaking, laughter is actually quite good in the fight against the insidiousness of cancer. Anyway, I answered a few questions about how humor played a part in dealing with TGB's cancer and I caught myself getting a little mushy on my insides as I answered.

The thing about finding the funny in the dark times is that sometimes the dark times just aren't funny and you need to just... be. Every few months we have to go back to visit the oncologist so she can have another follow up. In a way, we live our lives in blocks of four months. Then we spend a few days holding our breath until we know whether or not we get another block of time to just enjoy being alive or if the monster is trying to rear his ugly head.

By the time we head to Pensacola in a few days, we'll be laughing at every inappropriate thing imaginable again. But right now, anxiousness has set in and I just want to go upstairs, wrap my arms around her and tell her it's going to be okay.

But she's asleep. And I want to live.