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'Distant Early Warning' is the Cold-War themed first song off the 1984 album 'Grace Under Pressure' by Canadian prog rock band Rush. The title references a line of US and Canadian-owned radar stations across far northern Alaska, Canada, Iceland and Greenland tasked with early detection of a Soviet invasion. They were the best of three such lines, including the Pinetree Line, and the line that would've made a much funnier song title, the Mid-Canada Line which was so shitty it was overwhelmed by flocks of birds, and it was placed under a major migration route. But it was cheap!

[during a close-up of the bass] Here we see Geddy Lee's futuristic bass guitar, the headless Steinberger, an instrument also used by Bill Wyman of the Rolling Stones and Tina Weymouth of the Talking Heads. This futuristic, minimalist design was very impressive to teenage Tycho. Look at it, it's so cool!

Rush is another band like Yes that was around forever; they were formed in 1968 and and retired in 2015, which was cemented when 33% of their members died from brain cancer in 2020. This was the incomparable drummer Neil Peart, the bookish nerd to Geddy Lee and Alex Lifeson's goofy childhood buddy dude-bros.

Peart was born 35 years old and never met a percussion instrument he didn't like, and his increasingly complex set-up of standard drums, electronic stuff and other random things to make noise on grew, requiring more and more elaborate set-ups with rotating stands which took over the stage, prompting his band mates to compete for space with stacks of tumbling clothes dryers full of laundry and industrial chicken rotisserie ovens (I heard but was not able to confirm that Geddy Lee fed the local homeless with the chickens).

Anyway, Peart's lyrics were often inspired by his favorite books at the time, which led to his nickname "The Professor" and even included an unfortunate foray into Ayn Rand's works that is common to overly-intelligent young men, and which he thankfully outgrew.

Geddy Lee was born Gary Lee Weinrib in suburban Ontario to two Polish holocaust survivors. 'Geddy' was how his mom pronounced Gary, and it stuck. He became friends in elementary school with fellow goofball Alex Lifeson (born Aleksandar Živo-ji-nović; his last name can be translated to "son of life" so that's what he changed it to), and they dropped out of high school to be in a rock band in '68 with some non-Neil-Peart drummer who was more into hair-bands like Bad Company and was eventually replaced, since Geddy and Alex were into bands like Yes and Genesis.

The band languished in Canada for a few years; no musicians had ever come from there so it was just assumed that they sucked and there was no one around to sign them to a record deal. A programmer at a rock radio station in Cleveland picked their self-titled and essentially self-published debut album up in 1974 and liked it because the song 'Working Man' was long enough at over seven minutes to allow the DJs to take extended bathroom breaks, it caught on, and thus a successful rock band was born.

They released several weird albums with songs about elves, necromancers, and Libertarians, songs that clocked in at over twenty minutes long (allowing DJs to take even longer bathroom breaks), and songs that changed time signatures so often that no one could dance to them. They almost got burned out and were definitely sick of the high-concept shit. So songs started getting more poppy starting in the eighties, which leads us to this video. Geddy Lee gets to play his Steinberger (so cool!) and to indulge in his love of keyboards, which pissed off a lot of their metal-head fans (not to mention their guitarist); Neil Peart gets to write high-minded lyrics invoking cold war fears, relationship issues, and Biblical characters. Alex Lifeson gets to play the guitar, so maybe he should just quit complaining.

I would like to thank the makers of the 2010 documentary 'Beyond the Lighted Stage' (available to watch on YouTube) which helped immensely with my research. If you'd like to learn more about the band Rush, feel free to check it out! Fair warning though- it will make you hate Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins. But it also has Les Claypool and the lady who picked the Rush album in 1974 so her DJs could take a dump, so it's worth the risk in my opinion.
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OOALH by the prog rock band Yes was the first track off 1983 album '90125', which was named after it's record label catalog number (90125). This was Yes' 11th studio album, but the first with the new line-up that coalesced after bassist Chris Squire (RIP), drummer Alan White (RIP), and previously-fired keyboardist Tony Kaye teamed up with new guy guitarist Trevor Rabin, the giant from South Africa. They originally called themselves 'Cinema' but when Yes singer and tiny British elf person Jon Anderson decided to join in, they reclaimed the name Yes and started farting around with more a more poppy, commercial sound in contrast with the band's previous trippy, weird songs that lasted entire album sides (other members of Yes, guitarist Steve Howe and Kaye's keyboardist replacement Geoff Downes, co-formed supergroup Asia).

[This also marked a change in album cover art. Yes was formerly known for featuring Roger Dean's dreamy designs... Dean could not stay away from members of Yes, and designed album covers for Asia while Yes went through their eighties phase. Meanwhile, Yes turned to Garry Mouat who designed their new album art on a Apple IIe with a more eighties vibe, which he continued on Yes' next album 'Big Generator'.]

This eighties-only roster would only last for a couple of albums, when Trevor Rabin was chased off by angry prog rock fans and was relegated to a life of writing movie soundtracks like 'Con Air' and 'Armageddon', and sports themes like 'NBA on TNT' and 'MLB on TBS', as well as a set of system software alert sounds for the Apple Power Macintosh. Rabin would rejoin Yes a few more times and continues to do soundtrack and solo work. [Keyboardist Tony Kaye moved to Florida and was never heard from again.] Tiny Jon Anderson would also go on to leave and rejoin several iterations of Yes, and enjoy collaborations with Vangelis of 'Chariots of Fire' fame, and team up with Tangerine Dream on the soundtrack to 'Legend' starring, among others, fellow short king and recent Pancake subject Tom Cruise (RIP).
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How interesting that as I was searching for the proper tag for what I want to do here (the blockquote one) that I last used it in a post about blame.

I have discovered that, like probably a whole lot of other people, I am absolutely terrified of being blamed. This probably is a result of what I'm realizing is growing up in an environment where change was mostly motivated by using shame... if something is going sideways, I want to for the LOVE OF GOD make sure it's not my fault. If you want to tell me some bad news, up to and including direct criticism, you can make it go down a lot easier with me if you make certain I know that you're not blaming me; another less grown-up way of looking at is just make sure I know it's not my fault; unless it is my fault, in which case make sure I know you're not angry with me; unless you are, in which case make sure I know you still love me.

Anyway, on to the article that started me thinking about this.
Okay, I have to say some stuff about Trump voter schadenfreude:
A little bit of it is cathartic. But in general I'm actually really worried that it's going way too far and eroding our empathy.
Here's how it happens:
1 - Horrible things are coming, and we feel helpless to stop them.
2 - When we feel helpless, we want to take out those feelings
3 - To cope, we look at our neighbors (whose actions helped cause them) and who will also be suffering / often be suffering first, and feel smug about it, because at least that's somethign. We start going, "welp shit, we're all fucked, but at least you're fucked too haha."
The thing is that there is an increasingly fine line between the justice-satisfaction of, "Well, they are finally seeing some consequences" and the coping-contempt of celebrating someone else's suffering.
And I see an increasing fraction of my progressive world moving toward the latter, this is what I have to say:
YOU NEED TO REALIZE THAT THIS EXACTLY FEELING IS WHERE "LIBERAL TEARS" COMES FROM.
On average, rural and low-income Trump voters have felt helpless, disenfranchised, and facing inevitable doom for much longer. Living in areas long economically abandoned, they have been staring down the barrel of an ever shittier future.
Someone told them it was progressives' and immigrants' and queer people and pro-diversity people's fault. That part is false.
But faced with this SAME feeling of helplessness we're confronting now, THEY all got sucked deep into the rabbit hole of "Well, nothing is going to make anything better, but at least screw the libs".
And that is way, way, way too close to what we're all saying now. Nobody can make it better anymore, so at least screw the conservatives.
THIS IS HOW SOCIETAL FABRIC DIES.
We are just the SECOND wave being hit by the same playbook.
We cannot control what politicians do. But we CAN control what each of us do. And WE HAVE TO hold the line that we want a generative world with less suffering for everyone regardless of who they are.
Now, I'm NOT saying that we should spend active empathy on conservatives when vulnerable people being targeted by them need it 100x more.
What I'm saying is that when they go low, we should also go kind of low, but there is a floor past which we must not cross. And that floor is taking emotional solace in another person's suffering.
---
And here's another take: I think it is very, very, very dangerous (and morally wrong) for us to believe that progressives somehow have a fundamentally different psychological constitution than conservatives and that we cannot fall for the same misinformation and emotional manipulation they can.
First, because it keeps us from recognizing the ways (like the above) in which it is happening right now.
Second because an important skill in surviving fascism is understanding our limitations. Almost anyone's values can be changed, converted, brainwashed, scammed-- with the right incentives and messages and people and time. We cannot plan to make a long-term stand for what we believe in if we don't understand the thousand ways that the coming world CAN erode it.
Third, because it's dehumanizing. Yes, it's upsetting that millions of people voted for Trump, but there is NOTHING that millions of humans do that doesn't have its own good reason in there. To believe in the strict inferiority of any group that large is imperialism.
Fourth, because it's hubris. We often underestimate how much they have been hit by propaganda harder and longer than we have.
And again, here, I don't mean that we should spend limited resources to include those who have broken the social contract of inclusion themselves. I just mean that any answer to the question, "Why?" that is not rooted in curiosity and empathy is not a true answer.
---
There is a saying when dealing with abusive people that I really wish was more popular. It's, when you know someone is being abusive to you, don't JADE.
JADE stands for Justify, Argue, Defend, Explain.
In other words, when someone is being toxic and abusive to you, don't SPEND your own effort trying to change THEIR mind.
Instead, recognize that your own swirling about the injustice and hypocrisy is actually part of the POINT of the abuse and the very distraction that makes it possible. Just step out of the swirl altogether, realize you're never going to be on the same page, and move on with guarding your own wellbeing.
Trump voter schadenfreude is an indirect form of JADE.
It's us saying, "Fuuuuuuckkk will they EVER UNDERSTAND?!!!!! what they did to all of us??!" and somehow hoping that, if not the actual conservative themselves, then at least some hidden objective narrator/audience of the story, sees and validates what we've been saying all along.
It's a reaction that comes from being gaslit, ignored, misinterpreted, and otherwise abused for so long; that we can't have nice things anymore, but we can at least feel like we were right.
But validation is not coming, and the Trump voters will never understand the story in our way, and there is no third party narrator.
The only narrators are us.
The story is the story we are telling today.
We are the people who will save ourselves.
And that means that the people who save us will be the people we are choosing to be.
----
Edit: Because this post is going around more than I expected, I want to make an important clarification:
I'm not saying 'we should give conservatives our empathy because all humans deserve to receive empathy'-- I'm saying we should not let the cruelty of others goad us into cultivating bile in our own hearts.
In addition to withholding our positive energy, we should also keep them from sucking in our negative energy. The only real way to leave abusers is to emotionally disconnect from the swirl altogether and live well; to not let their actions shape the language of our emotions and instead live the inner emotional palette that's true to us. ---from FB username J Li

[now for how I processed this in the moment, and made it more palatable for a wider audience]

Look, I get it. I GET it. Fuck those voters who put us here... but. Just like the OP says: "Now, I'm NOT saying that we should spend active empathy on conservatives when vulnerable people being targeted by them need it 100x more." BUT the flip side of that coin is don't spend active antipathy on broke-ass people who are guilty of succumbing to propaganda, which could happen TO ANY OF US. If you must cultivate your ire to survive, don't spend that precious resource on anyone making less than a million a year.

I know I'm very tempted to find someone, anyone, to blame for The Horrors. For me, finding blame is something I scramble to do when I'm feeling ungrounded and out-of-control, and I'm looking for anything to grab onto to help me feel more in control. It's kind of a first-response reaction that is more about my feelings than any facts. And while the feelings get to speak all they want, letting my feelings drive the car has gotten me into trouble a lot in my life. I want to have someone to feel mad at. I need to figure out whose fault it is, so I can feel reassured that I didn't somehow bring this on myself. It's all about me, so it's important to me- but it's not a relevant, reasonable solution to the problem here.

"What I'm saying is that when they go low, we should also go kind of low, but there is a floor past which we must not cross. And that floor is taking emotional solace in another person's suffering." Understanding that my feeeeeeling is that I'd dearly love go back in time and kick Ronald Reagan in the nuts hard enough to launch him into orbit, I only want to have enough ire in me to save for a few key figures. To run this marathon, I need to save my soul/heart/emotional landscape/whateveryouwanttocallit from the bitter acid that holding active anger for several million people would do to me. 99% of those assholes are for all intents and purposes in the same boat as I am. I need to focus what little energy I can on those big targets.
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any recommendations of things to see/places to eat/etc? We're going through Kansas City going one way and St. Louis heading home.

Zoë
Ooh, i dont know kc very well, but i grew up in the st louis area
so, probably the thing that most people immediately tell out of towners to do is the city museum -- which is the old Brown shoe factory, that closed in the early 90s, and the've taken the industrial equipement, and turned the whole thing into a four story playground, basically
the other thing famous thing that I genuinely love is Forest Park, which is a huge public park that has a bunch of buildings built the aout for the 1904 world's fair. The art museum and the zoo are quite good and are free
and that area is close to...
1. university city, which at least when I was in my early 20s, was the fun nightlife place to go, with clubs and stuff. Uncle Tupelo (before splitting into Son Volt and Wilco) got their start playing this pizza parlor/punk rock venue called Ciceros there, and there's the chuck berry-affiliated blueberry hill down there, and the Pageant is legitimately one of my favorite concert venues ever
and...
2. The Hill, which is the traditional italian neighborhood, and still has a ton of high quality italian
Also nearby is Mokabe's, which is a delightful queer anarchist-style coffee shop
the architecture int he south st louis neighborhood of soulard is neat, and that's where stl pride marches through, but I was so closeted back when I lived there that I'm not super familiar with queer bullshit in stl, beyond knowing that there's a pretty vibrant scene
(there is a polyamory/sexuality resource center/coffee shop called Shameless Grounds that is prety neat, but they keep on changing locations)
if you have time to go to IL, not a lot of out of towners know about the Cahokia mounds, which is a pretty
and, a kind of fun tourist thing to do, maybe tied with the city museum, is going to Crown Candy Kitchen in the north city, which is a greasy spoon diner that's been in business since the 1890s
you can try the st louis pizza, but I will say that julie is the only person not from st louis i've ever met that likes it
there is also quite a live music scene there still, but everything I know about that is 15 years out of date
oh, there is a stl barbecue
but vegetarian, so I'm kind of ignorant there, but there should be a rec
if Joel is out to do the stl pizza, I would recommend going out to Serra's pizza in the suburbs
which is a little family owned place
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Opinion
Lydia Polgreen

The Strange Report Fueling the War on Trans Kids
Aug. 13, 2024

In its upcoming term, the Supreme Court will once again hear a case that involves a highly contentious question that lies at the heart of personal liberty: Who should decide what medical care a person receives? Should it be patients and their families, supported by doctors and other clinicians, using guidelines developed by the leading experts in the field based on the most current scientific knowledge and treatment practice? Or does the Constitution permit lawmakers to place themselves, and courts, in the middle of some of the most complex and intimate decisions people will make in their lives?
Read more... )
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Day three of COVID.

The doctor says to count my infection as having started the day I showed symptoms, which was on Sunday. I had a scratchy throat after church (FUUCA, where I sing in the choir), and assumed it was the allergies everyone was complaining about including the director- one of the few allergies I have is to mold which tends to shoot up whenever it rains, so this was sound reasoning. But by the evening I could tell it was something worse, so I took some cold medicine and went to bed. It wasn't until yesterday that COVID even occurred to me when Joel suggested I take a test, and as the liquid crept to the test line it showed up bright and strong before it even hit the end of the strip. Awesome.

I informed all the people I'd been around in the last couple of days, including the people I went to the hockey game with (attendance- 6000) and the Aggie game (attendance: over 90,000) and the church (attendance- at least a couple hundred, I think?) and am seriously concerned because a lot of these folks are immunocompromised, or north of 65yo, especially the church, and did I sing COVID onto them? I sure hope not. The asst. director has already sent out an email to the church. Sorry y'all! 😕

I then called my doc and said I wanted some Paxlovid. They tried to tell me I would need to be seen at a clinic and I bitched and whined enough to get that requirement met by teleconference. A prescription was called in and soon I got a message back saying they were out of stock and working on getting more. No estimate on how long that would take... I assume that they can call other pharmacies and get meds sent over, but nothing was changed this morning and since you're supposed to take this stuff within 5 days of onset I went ahead and called. They told me to call around and see who has it (thanks for nothing) so I called around and got a hit on the 3rd pharmacy. As soon as I can convince someone to go pick it up for me, I will be starting it up and getting the taste of dog ass in my mouth in no time!

This is my second bout of COVID; I had my first in January where I suspect I caught it from Joel's parents. He and I both got it, so I spent the week at his place. This time I seem to be the only one who caught it, so I'm at home in my own bed thankfully, sleeping as much as I can. There's so many places I could've gotten it, and the fact that the pharmacies are out of Paxlovid makes me think we're going through another wave. I've got a birthday camping trip planned for the weekend after next and I just hope I can clear this before then.
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https://vid.amat.us:10443/w/pc3Tw3JPUXxi6XWYgp3JsM?start=5h17m9s

Christmas is All Around (Christmas in Bellmead) (2020)
Scott Chester

Christmas is all around
It permeates the very aether
I feel it in my fingers
I feel it in my toes
Everywhere I look
I just see Christmas
I try putting toothpaste on my toothbrush
But it's just Christmas
This thing that looks like my phone
Is actually Christmas
The air that I breathe
Is really Christmas
If I was swimming in the sea
All the water would be Christmas
Things that I dream about
Have to do with Christmas
My grandmother's name
Was Christmas Christmas
She ate a sandwich
That was completely made of Christmas
I went to see God in Heaven
And he was Christmas

(instrument break)

Christmas is everything
To try and make the world belieeeeeeeeeve!
Tomorrow is Christmas
Today is Christmas
Every day is Christmas
Christmas in Germany
Christmas in Sweden
Christmas in Italy
Christmas in Tasmania
Christmas in Bellmead
Christmas in Paris Texas
Christmas all around the world
Christmas is trying to
Blow my mind!
Christmas is like
When you are Christmas
Just when you think Christmas is Christmas
You are right
Because you said Christmas
It became Christmas
And that's why Christmas is tomorrow, today!
You know I love ya Christmas
Just like you were me
I love myself
Because I am Christmas
So much Christmas
I would be run for President
And people would be saying
"Quit being Christmas so much
It's too much Christmas"
I say: Bring it on!
Because I love Christmas
So much that
I want to sell Christmas to me!
How much? Who cares!
I'll buy it right now
And I'll give some to you
And leave some for me!
And then when I'm through
I'll go to bed
The bed's made of Christmas
NO SURPRISE
Goodbye Christmas
I barely said hello
To you Christmas
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I posted the article Anton found where the trans CPS investigator basically had to leave a job he loved because he was told to put families through hell for the sin of caring for their trans kids. There were a couple of comments along the lines of "Typical Texas" but goddammit, it's NOT. So another post was in order, which follows.

I've seen comments about the CPS trans thing as being 'typically Texas' and it's true in some ways, but here's why this is going down so much harder now. I'd been working at Texas social service agencies for decades; them being underfunded and besieged by budget-slashing bureaucrats who would rather save a buck than feed a child (or whatnot) is a tale as old as time. The agencies, who jokingly say "thank god for [Louisiana/Mississippi/whichever state spends less on social services; TX is often in the bottom 10% but there's usually one or two states that have it worse]" have always held their own and did whatever they could to reduce suffering with whatever budget they can manage to beg from the legislature.

That's what makes this so upsetting to me- the Department of Family and Protective Services, which is what Child Protective Services runs under, is complicit in this idiotic political stunt. Abbott's directive wasn't law, and the rules of the agency weren't changed- from what I can tell, he made a suggestion. The agency could have defied or just plain ignored it, but someone up at the top, or several someones, made the decision to go directly against the stated mission of the agency, the whole reason it exists, to protect the unprotected. It's on all their letterheads and everything.

That's what's so surprising to me about this. DFPS is supposed to protect the unprotected; how that's done is always going to be a matter of debate and meetings and endless procedural adjustments and whatnot, because bureaucratic public agencies are like that. But not this. Protective is in the name of the agency, and this is the opposite of protection. I worked there for over twenty years and I feel personally betrayed by this. And I am not alone.

https://www.houstonchronicle.com/news/houston-texas/texas/article/Texas-CPS-workers-say-investigations-of-17410968.php?

Quote from current and former employees in a statement to an appeals court looking into the legality of this bullshit: "“Professionals at DFPS did not enter the child protection profession to remove children from loving homes with parents or guardians merely because they follow medical advice and a doctor’s care, only to place them in a foster care system that is riddled with actual abuse, sexual assault, and even sex trafficking,” the 16 employees wrote."
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Scars are all healed up; I'm still trying to improve on the deconditioning/low energy thing that is, I assume, a result of the surgery recovery, and the three months preceding it when I was working full-time at a job I'd grown to hate and stopped most of my exercising.

I have a torn meniscus from a combination of a rollerblading accident many years ago and fifty-odd years of wear and tear. I've been doing physical therapy for it since shortly after the surgery at the end of June. The meniscus is the pillow of cartilage in your knee joint. Knee injuries really suck! Sometimes I have to use a cane, which I haaaaate. The ortho doc said she wanted to see how physical therapy went before deciding if surgery would be helpful. Meniscuseseses don't heal by themselves; they're made out of twangy stuff that doesn't really fix itself. Surgery seems to mostly involve 'trimming' (DO NOT WANT, it means removing part of it and my reglear doc warned me off of that) but in certain situations, possibly sewing it back together. The PT guy said he wants me to do a few more sessions of PT and then we'll talk to the ortho doc again. I've improved my strength around the knee but there's room for more improvement, both of strength, and range of motion. Joel tells me my NFL punting career is over.

During my recent trip which was going to have a lot of walking and hiking in it, I realized that I have about a mile to a mile and a half limit. In addition to the knee problems, there's the energy level. And I can do my mile and a half in one run or in bits, but once I hit that limit I am absolutely, call an Uber, done-zo. Pushing this doesn't seem to be improving things. I'm still trying to figure out the middle ground between doing nothing and pushing things.

Other cancer stuff- the scars don't restrict movement much; I kayaked 6 miles on that trip without a hitch. But I haven't gotten used to my new body yet. I wasn't consciously aware of the notion I apparently held that all I had to keep my old fat self attractive anymore was some titties, and now that these are gone it emphasizes my belly, and I have the profile of an old white guy with a big beer belly. I feel really ugly sometimes, because I still have enough sex drive that I kind of have to care about how attractive I am to straight men. The closest body shape I've seen to my own is Godzilla- Godzilla has no titties and a great big booty. I'm trying to embrace my Godzilla body. It's a work in progress.

The cancer drug I'm taking has hoovered out every last bit of estrogen I may have had floating around in my system, and potential side effects of this are many. The biggest one I've noticed is that it's robbed me of the ability to regulate my body temperature. You know those jokes about old ladies always being too hot or too cold? That's me now. If I'm a little chilly, it seems like I get colder and colder until I'm huddled under a blanket shivering. Then when I start to warm up, my body goes all the way in the other direction and I'm covered in sweat and throwing all the covers/most of my clothes off. I guess this is what hot flashes are, and I seem to have them when I'm trying to go to sleep almost every night, and they're stupid and I hate them. I'm aware that some people have a much worse time with these meds, so that perspective helps a little. I realize that "It could be worse" is not the best coping skill, but it's what's working for me right now, so we're running with that for now. For one thing, it could tank my sex drive and dry up my vagina to a barren desert, but that's not happened so far. Fingers crossed! Even though having the sex drive means I have to care about my appearance as detailed above. It's all a mixed bag.

Wow, this seems like it's a big bummer post! I'm doing some kind of exercise every day, and have started on some strength training too. It's not instantly fixing things, but I didn't instantly get to where I am now either so I'm trying to be patient with myself. Bodies are wonderful and gross and miraculous and frustrating and amazing.
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I'm cancer-free, as far as we know, but there's a one in ten chance that there was a bit of cancer that broke off and is floating around in my body and could attach itself to a bone or my liver or brain. That would sure suck! Since we know from the biopsy that this particular cancer eats estrogen, I will be staring on a drug that basically makes sure there is no estrogen in my body. The stuff I took for a bit after my last cancer (Tamoxifen) worked by making sure there was none in my breast, but since I'm post-menopausal (verified through labwork) we can take this other class of drugs that won't give me a blood clot like the Tamoxifen did. Having all the estrogen shown the door means I can have hot flashes, hair loss, bone and joint aches, and osteoporosis, but it could also mean that none of that happens. Either way, it'll drop my chances of having this cancer show up somewhere else to about two percent.

Which is... I mean, it's pretty good, but ugh.

The incisions are healing. I split the one on the left side near my armpit somehow but the surgeon cleaned that up and it's getting better. I'm on the long end of how long it takes for the drains to get removed; I'm still making too much sangria, but past a certain point the risk of infection from leaving them in outweighs the benefit. I bought a compression vest (also recommended as a binder for trans guys!) that will smush down the area so that after they get pulled out, if I'm still making sangria it'll just get smushed back into my body rather than forming an unpleasant sangria boob, because WHO WANTS THAT SHIT? Not me. So we're giving it one more week, and the drains are coming out one way or another. I was surprised to learn that there is like a few feet of tubing in my body; I don't know why I thought it was like a few inches. That's going to be a riot when it gets pulled out.
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Tim Kreider once again reads my mind. I'm posting the whole thing in case the NYT decides to try to make me pay for it later. He also quotes a lady who used to be a local comedian and a regular on the Master Pancake shows, Kath Barbadoro.

It’s Time to Stop Living the American Scam
July 7, 2022
By Tim Kreider

Ten years ago, I wrote an essay called “The Busy Trap,” about the curse of “busyness” that seemed endemic at the time. The treadmill had been imperceptibly increasing its speed for a while, and people were nervously starting to notice. As happens with a lot of unavoidable evils, they tried to rebrand their frantic busyness as a virtue. “Busy — so busy, crazy busy,” was the answer you got whenever you asked how they were. I came out, in my essay, as anti-busy; I advocated idling, daydreaming, hanging out and goofing off. My conclusion: “Life is too short to be busy.”Read more... )
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I met with the surgeon today. She had the results of the MRI I had done Monday (MRIs- noisy as fuck, otherwise NBD), the genetics testing, and the extended labs she ordered on the biopsy.

Good news is that there doesn't seem to be any indicators that I could benefit from chemotherapy. Balancing 'will this kill the cancer before it kills the patient' means chemo is usually indicated for extra-aggressive cancers, and mine is apparently not that bad.

Bad news is the MRI found two other masses in the right breast that are 'concerning', in addition to the 1.7 by 1.3 by 1.3 cm mass that started all of this. God damn, boobs, you guys suck!

Good news is that we're firing all of it anyway, so it doesn't matter how much crap we find in them as long as it's all confined to the breast tissue. The MRI did not show any lymph nodes affected, but she'll take one out anyway just to be sure. She didn't seem too fussed.

The original appointment with the surgeon was supposed to be at 1pm and got moved to 4:30pm on Friday. Someone else schedules the surgery, and they had left for the day so I should hear from them Monday; the surgery said it'll happen within the next couple of weeks, and as soon as next Thursday- fuck! I'll probably stay overnight (boo) and won't be able to lift my arms over my head for a couple of weeks or swim for even longer (booooo) but otherwise, hopefully I'll be done with all of this bullshit sooner rather than later.

I'm continuing to go to therapy online every week, which I think I like better than the every-so-often marathons with my former therapist. I've started having feelings after getting past the Get-Shit-Done/shock of the initial reaction, and they vacillate between crushing sadness and incandescent rage at my body for betraying me. Then guilt for being mad at my poor body which is surely doing the best that it can, but that's feelings about feelings and we don't need to go down that rabbit hole.

Maybe by the next time I write I will have zero boobs!
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
I did this backwards from how it usually do- you have a mammo, something's wrong, you see an oncologist, you get set up with a surgeon. I saw a surgeon for something else, got the biopsy and the diagnosis from her, and scheduled further labs, genetic testing and an MRI before even meeting the oncologist- the ringleader, more or less, of this whole beautiful scientific production that is identifying and curing cancer.

So today I met the oncologist, a lovely Jersey lady. She explained the results of the further labs, which give me a more attuned profile of the flavor of this particular cancer I'm harboring that, to boil it all down, means I will probably not need chemo, and will need to take an estrogen-blocker medication since this guy (we're going to call him... northern reticulated arboreal cancer, just to make things easier to follow) feeds on estrogen. Double de-boobing means no need for radiation, which is localized, but if the MRI or surgery show that it's wandered somewhere else, then chemo could be needed. But, everyone seems to feel the chances of that are low. Northern reticulated arboreal cancer is not particularly aggressive, and responds well to having its food source limited, so... yay?

By the way, neither the surgeon nor the oncologist have said a damn thing about my weight, and that's been absolutely delightful. Also one of them said she preferred edibles to smoking cannabis since smoking is bad for you, so that was nice to know.

The oncologist, as well as the nurse who helped with the biopsy, both said I was "handling this very well." My shrink said I'm in the shock stage of grief (which I think should be generalized to "stages of Dealing With A Big Thing", personally) since when she asked me what I was feeling, I said "I'm in Get Shit Done Mode", which she pointed out was not a feeling. And that's my M.O., get shit done, then have feelings. This is not unusual for certain kinds of people.

All of this happened to occur when I was also scheduled to have a routine colonoscopy, which the surgeon told me not to reschedule. So I'm on the all-liquid-all-day before the procedure. I've had my bottle of lemon-flavored boot to the head, and the first of two of my bottles of cranberry ass. And water, lots of water. Do not recommend any of this bullshit.
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
Tl;dr- Could be worse; double-mastectomy incoming. Outlook, and I quote, "great!"

Long-ass version: Invasive ductal carcinoma. Grade 2 (not slow, not aggressive), Stage 1 (left the nursery, but hasn't left the breast as far as we can tell). Further tests are pending to gather more information including an MRI to get a better look at everything, further genetic testing (8 years ago I tested negative for two factors- BRCA 1 and 2, now we're up to looking at 47 different markers), and testing the tumor tissue from the biopsy to see if we need chemo which is generally indicated for big tumors or aggressive flavors, and mine is neither as far as we can tell but this will get into the nitty-gritty and give more info. We know it's got estrogen and progesterone receptors (...typical?) but not HER-2 (this is good news, those are harder to treat).

Treatments: we're testing to see if I should get chemo, and I'll probably be taking aromatase inhibitors for a few years based on the receptor thing above. This is better than the Tamoxifen I took before but then had to stop because it gave me a damn blood clot- thank the gods.

I will have to have surgery. The doctor said since I've had cancer twice now, and in different breasts, she'd lean towards a double mastectomy. Evidently this is sometimes a hard sell to some (often male) doctors who worry their patients will be depressed and not feel like women anymore. I don't have any emotional attachment to having breasts anyway, I see myself as gender-fluid and not strictly a woman and I view my breasts as sweaty, troublesome, useless bags of fat that can just fuck right off, so I am 100% behind this plan. I also am not inclined to bother with reconstructive surgery either, since the idea of having more surgery to get sensation-free fake boobs seems laughably pointless. She says she will make things nice and flat and smooth, which sounds, frankly, terrific.

Since we're taking out everything that would need radiation, there would be no need to mess with that either. She'll take out the nearest lymph node since that's usually the first non-breast place breast cancer jumps to, just to be sure we've got it all.

This will all go pretty quickly. I will not go quietly into the night, I will not vanish without a fight. I'm going to live on, I'm going to survive. On July 4th, I will very likely be celebrating my Independence Day from boobs. This will coincide nicely with my hysterectomy anniversary on July 6. Farewell, useless organs all, and trouble me no more.
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
Right, so since that cancer scare I had back in 2014, I've been getting mammograms fairly regularly. Last year, there was an irregularity in lefty that spurred a second mammogram then an ultrasound then a needle biopsy, with a titanium bit placed to facilitate finding it later. The biopsy turned up nothing; it was a blob of crap that people get that probably needed to get removed eventually, but nothing worrisome. I wasn't in any big rush to get it out when everyone started getting COVID, and didn't want to gum up the healthcare system, and didn't care to expose myself to COVID, all for something non-essential. Anyway, I made an appointment to see a surgeon to get it looked at today and since I had my tits out anyway she had a feel. She said the left one had the "best recovery she had ever seen" for the procedure and subsequent radiation treatment protocol I went through. Yay! On the right, she said "Uh oh." Said she felt a "big mass" and got out the ultrasound equipment. Checked it out, found a jagged-edged blob that she said was "probably bad news" and that I should "prepare myself for a diagnosis" that was going to suck. Checked in my armpit for anything in the lymph nodes, nothing. She offered to do a needle biopsy right then, and I said hell yeah. They prepped, and this was when I started crying; just tears leaking down into my hair as I laid back. They hosed everything down with iodine and *SNAP-SNAP-SNAP* took out three chunks and put in another titanium bit. She said results were going to be in Monday at the latest, but hopefully sooner. When she asked me if I had any questions, I said "How certain are you about this being cancer?" and she said "Pretty certain. I'm sorry."

The nurse spent a little time cleaning me off. It bled a lot; the doctor did a fantastic job of numbing me up because I had no idea. She said, "For what it's worth, you took that biopsy like a champ." So, that was nice to hear, I guess.

Stages I've been through:

1. I did not come here for this today.
2. I have to tell everyone. [this may seem weird but I want to get my support system ready for the shit to hit the fan as soon as possible.]
3. Oh fuck, not this again. [this was when I started crying.]
4. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
5. This is bullshit.
6. This is my fault because I'm fat.
7. I wonder if this is why I've [insert every notable physical symptom I've had in the past three months or so, including the knee pain].
8. I wonder if this will fuck up my trip to Yellowstone this fall.
9. I wonder if this will kill me.
10. I wonder if I will have to get radiation. I wonder if I will need to find people to drive me to get radiation like I did last time. I wonder if I will have to get chemotherapy this time.
11. I need to finish that letter to Dad.
12. I want to eat so many carbs tonight.
13. I AM LITERALLY TWO WEEKS FROM RETIREMENT
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
My best friends have just told me they are making plans to flee this benighted state in fear of their queer marriage, and I cannot fault them. My brother and his husband have left, and several more of my friends have already moved away, or are quietly looking at housing options in bluer pastures.

My husband and I have a nominally traditional marriage, and I'm unable to have children, so these latest developments don't affect me directly. I have the privilege of being able to retire, and after seeing how easy it is for evil monsters to make my job, which I used to be proud of, into a tool of the fascists who want to be performatively cruel to some of the most vulnerable of it's charges, I am entering my last month of service to the state of Texas. I will be retired as of June first.

I am staying to fight. I believe that the majority in this state wish no harm to them and theirs, but the noisy fascist minority has been (temporarily, I hope and pray) emboldened to make this place a hostile environment for progressives and any flavors of queer. In my heart Texas is still the state of Ann Richards and Molly Ivins, and I think those days could return in reality, with a lot of work. I am promising today to do what I can. I don't have a good idea of what that is, currently, but I'm working on some plans.

I know many of you hate Texas. I can't blame you for it. But I was born here and I love this land, and I want to fight for what's right. That is the 'right' that is meant in this quote from abolitionist theologian Theodore Parker when he said:

"Look at the facts of the world. You see a continual and progressive triumph of the right. I do not pretend to understand the moral universe, the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways. I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. But from what I see I am sure it bends towards justice."

It's not going to be easy. I think we're at a very low point in this state, and this country. I'm not gonna tempt fate and say things can't get any worse, so I guess I'll say we have a lot of room for improvement, and I hope to figure out my part in wrenching my beloved state away from the assholes who have made it a place where my family doesn't feel safe.
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
3 cups (450g) flour, bread flour preferable but AP will work well enough
2 tsp instant or rapid rise yeast
2 tsp kosher salt (not table salt)
1 1/2 cups (375 ml) very warm tap water (130°F)

Instructions
Mix flour, yeast and salt in a large bowl. Add water, then use the handle of a wooden spoon to mix until all the flour is incorporated. Dough will be wet and sloppy – not kneadable, but not runny like cake batter. Adjust with more water or flour if needed for right consistency

Cover with cling wrap or plate, leave on counter for 2 – 3 hours until it doubles in volume, it’s wobbly like jelly and the top is bubbly. If after 1 hour it doesn’t seem to be rising, move it somewhere warmer.

Optional – refrigerate for flavor development- at this stage, you can either bake immediately or refrigerate for up to 3 days.

Take chill out of refrigerated dough – if you refrigerated dough per above, leave the bowl on the counter for 45 – 60 minutes while the oven is preheating. Cold dough does not rise as well.

Preheat oven – Put dutch oven in oven with lid on (10" or larger). Preheat to 450°F 30 minutes prior to baking.

Sprinkle work surface with 1 Tbsp flour, scrape dough out of bowl. Sprinkle top with 1/2 Tbsp flour.
Using a dough scraper or anything of similar shape (cake server, large knife, spatula), fold the sides inwards (about 6 folds) to roughly form a roundish shape. Don’t be too meticulous here – you’re about to deform it, it’s more about deflating the bubbles in the dough and forming a shape you can move. Slide a large piece of parchment/baking paper (not wax paper) next to the dough, then flip the dough upside down onto the paper (seam side down, smooth side up). Slide/push it towards the middle, then reshape it into a round(-ish) shape. Don't get too hung up about shape. In fact, lopsided = more ridges = more crunchy bits!

Remove piping hot dutch oven from oven. Use paper to place dough into pot, place lid on.

Bake 30 minutes covered, then 12 minutes (at least- this tends to take closer to 20 for me) uncovered or until deep golden and crispy.

Cool on rack for 10 minutes before slicing.
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
I thought about calling it something else because evidently Eminem wrote a song with this title about barfing, but this recipe existed before Eminem did so fuck it. Like most of my mom's recipes, it's inauthentic and a little trashy and delicious, especially for leftovers.

1 can large peeled tomato (2 for longer recipe)
1 onion, diced
Some garlic, diced
1 bell pepper, diced
8 oz mushrooms, sliced
1 can tomato sauce (omit for longer recipe)
1 can tomato paste
1 jar pre-made spaghetti sauce (omit for longer recipe)
Various spices
Water and/or red wine in all cans and jars

Simmer at least two hours; longer is better. Serve over spaghetti, or chickpeas if you're trying to be healthy for some reason.

Meatballs
1 lb ground beef or Italian sausage
1 egg
Parmesan cheese
Some chopped onion and garlic
1 cup oatmeal
Worcestershire sauce
Ketchup
Salt, pepper

Cook in oven for quick balls; throw in sauce if you're going to be cooking it for at least two hours.
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
Turns out, I have access to lot more time off than I thought I did! So I took off more days off. I mean, I could opt to work them all and get paid for the leave when I quit, but my philosophy is that time > money. Thus I present the latest holiday calendar for the speed run to retirement:

21 March - March Equinox (technically the day before, but close enough)
28 March - Flula Borg's birthday
5 April - Stan Ridgeway's birthday (Wall of Voodoo singer)
18 April - Rick Moranis AND Conan O'Brien's birthday
23 April - John Cena's birthday
6 May - astrological Beltane (halfway point between spring equinox and summer solstice)
16 May - Full Moon with total lunar eclipse (starts 15 May, ends after midnight)
21 May - Mr. T's birthday
austin_tycho: crater (Default)
The first day of full-time work was brutal. I think this was because of a couple of factors. First off, and this is the main reason why I am retiring so early, doing this job takes an enormous amount of emotional energy, and doing it for ten hours at a go is exhausting. So I wasn't used to that. Then, it was a Saturday- most of my calls are usually from teachers when I worked all weekdays, but on the weekend, it's a lot of angry non-custodial parents, folks in psych hospitals, police in emergency situations, and other similar situations where people are really angry or charged up. I got one call from an Italian guy from New York who was upset that his mom was keeping him from seeing his grandmother, and he was straight up screaming at me; I had hoped I was forever done with New York Italians screaming at me, but I guess not. Anyway, I was in tears by the end of the shift; I'm really hoping that I can get my full-time sea legs quickly so I can finish up these shifts.

In light of that, as previously mentioned, I've scheduled all of my leave for days off. I tried to get Saturdays because evidently those suck the most (but I'm getting paid shift differential, so I guess that's cool) but when I couldn't I went for the next closest day, basically. I will be inventing things to be celebrating on these days. Here's what I've got so far:

All those days off for JoCo starting this coming Friday- and I have to say, I was nervous about going when they announced it was on, but Christ am I glad now. Celebrating the reunion of the JoCoNauts.
28 March - Flula Borg's birthday
5 April - Stan Ridgeway's birthday (Wall of Voodoo singer)
23 April - John Cena's birthday
6 May - astrological Beltane (halfway point between spring equinox and summer solstice)
21 May - midpoint of Mercury retrograde (looking for something better but that's what I've got for now)

I'm also going to try really hard to make sure I walk every day. I think part of what contributed to my mood tanking Saturday was not having walked the couple of days before due to nasty weather. It is starting to feel like Dad was right about this one thing, and one thing only- exercise helps mood.

I got a reply from my boss' boss about the trans bill. Her reply was this: "Per the governor's order, we are sending those that meet the interpret [sic] of the law as intakes. If the situation comes up and you have misgivings, do staff with a supervisor and/or a PA. Thank you for being honest." Okay, this word salad doesn't make a lot of sense. At first read it sounds like "do what the governor says," but a closer read seems to contradict that- because 'the interpretation of the law' seems to point to the fact that this letter Gov. Asshole wrote is just a letter and is not "law" in any sense of the word- our definitions of abuse and neglect come solely from the Family Code which makes no mention of any of this bullshit. I will deal with this as it arises; I suspect that the chances I'll actually get a call on this are very slim, but I guess we'll see.

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