Thanks to Sarah for introducing me to Hyperbole and a Half, and particularly to the post “This is Why I’ll Never be an Adult.” Hyperbole and a Half is a blog with jokes and feelings, and it has art that seems like an amalgamation of the cartoons of Don Hertzfeldt and The Brothers Chaps, even if the blogger herself considers them to be “shitty drawings.”

Adulthood has been on my brain a lot lately. It also seemed to be a popular topic of conversation among friends in New York City during my most recent visit. I want to catch up on the years I’ve missed, then maybe I’ll be ready to start considering becoming an adult. I’m fairly certain that’s how it works. At least I hope it is.

–Reid.

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Now playing: The White Stripes – Little Acorns
via FoxyTunes

A Literal Brain Poking

Yesterday I underwent the quick brain poking chemotherapy procedure that I undergo once every three months. I remained ever optimistic that, since I was feeling soooo strong and healthy, the intrathecal methotrexate injection and CNS fluid extraction would be a breeze. Ha ha!! I fooled Me again! My adorable youthful naivete got the best of Me yet again. Oh Me, when will I ever learn?

While I’m never exactly eager to get that needle in my noggin, I do recognize the necessity of the procedure. If, after I’m done with chemotherapy, sneaky Old Man Leukemia and his huge family of li’l leukemites don’t emerge from secret bunkers they’ve built in my brain and spinal cord (and *ahem* testicles) with noise makers and a big banner that says “Surprise! Recurrence!” well then, the brain pokes will have been totally worth my brains leaking out the top of my head every once in a while.

It was pointed out to me that if I did the math right, which I never do, with only 11 months of chemotherapy left to go, I only have two more of these brain pokes left to undergo (hopefully forever). Since I didn’t do the math, I will just trust this information as accurate, although this voice in my head keeps going on about how three goes into eleven three times. I don’t know what that means or if it’s even related to this–the voices in my head often just ramble on and on. I knew I should’ve never converted my brain into a wiki.

A Metaphorical Brain Poking

Farewell friends,

I am moving to an island in The Middle Of Nowhere, totally uninhabited by humankind. The only idiocy I will ever have to deal with ever again will be coming from someone I know well enough to give a stern talking to, and sometimes even a good smack upside the head.. Without any other humans, this island will be free of petty politics, pedantic pundits, and a population of peons. While I’m at it, I will pig out on packs of peanuts, piles of pineapples, and plenty of pickles (my potation will be pails of pop)–put that’s all peside the pig point! Er… I mean, that’s all beside the big point!

What finally encouraged my new secluded, misanthropic, castaway life? The top story on CNN.com last night was “Obama’s speech ‘too difficult’ for audience” Seriously? I’ll admit, it wasn’t the greatest speech ever, not by a long shot–it lacked a lot of specific information on how things he mentioned will actually be implemented. However, “Leaking oil bad,” and, “I will make them pay,” and, “This really sucks,” were concepts considered too hard to understand?

Perhaps the President should dumb down the facts a lot more while angrying up his response a whole bunch, so all those people who don’t even pay attention to anything he says anyway can understand the situation better. He could show some alphabet flash cards, each with a picture of different Gulf species covered in crude, and very slowly, he could show each and explain, “‘O’ is for ‘oiled pelican,’” “‘P’ is for ‘poisoned bobcat,’” and, “‘D’ is for ‘dead roseate spoonbill,’” all while making successively more melodramatic angry faces for each. How about President Obama shows a video of Tony Hayworth and then responds to in sarcastic gibberish, since that seems to be all that’s behind everything BP’s CEO says? Then there’s showing the all too familiar oil plume still spewing out of the Gulf floor, and playing the always popular peak-a-boo with it, showing that even if we’re not looking at it, it’s still there! Oh! And, of course, he should jingle his keys at the camera every now and again to make sure he’s keeping the audience’s attention.

Of course, if he does all that, the media will say he needs to dress up like a sad circus clown and play a sad song on a violin and shoot the BP logo with one of those guns with the flag that says “BANG!” on it. Although, after his dramatic concerto honoring the lost livelihoods of the men and women in the Gulf region, the media would probably say what he really should have been playing his concerto on a ukulele. Oh, and that a black man firing a gun was scary.

As Fareed Zakaria wrote in this week’s Newsweek (and I may be paraphrasing a bit here), “Who the fuck cares?” There’s so much idiotic focus in the media about what the President should be wearing, whose butts he should or shouldn’t say he’ll kick, and what emotion he should awkwardly mold his face into. For God’s sake, the kind of cologne he wears while working on this crisis, this “epidemic,” as he called it, could not possibly matter any less! I just can’t take it anymore! The Gulf of Mexico’s ecosystem is being decimated, which makes me so incredibly sad whenever I think about it, and yet, people care more about landing with better political standing in what should be a nonpolitical issue, when they should be having no problem being on the right side of an ethical issue. OIL PLUME: BAD! THE PRESIDENT’S ROLLED UP SLEEVES AND THE COLOR OF HIS BOXER SHORTS: TOTALLY IRRELEVANT!

The media is focused on how the President is not focusing enough on the Gulf. O, bitter irony!

I’ve saved some space on my island for you if you’re tired of having your brain poked with this nonsense. Don’t worry, there’s no oil rigs nearby… yet.

–Reid.

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Now playing: They Might Be Giants – James K. Polk
via FoxyTunes

As of Saturday, June 12, I have eleven months to go in my chemotherapy regimen. Performing in New York City at The PIT with Better Than The Machine again, with lots of great friends in the audience who then came to celebrate afterwords, was a great way to mark this day!

Thank you all.

–Reid.

I know you are all very interested in the findings from my potentially world changing anthropological study because you keep emailing me about it. We’ll get to those findings in just a moment. Like I said before, the results will probably surprise you!

Before we get to that, I’d like to thank all of you for your feedback on the study. Anthropology is really about people, so it goes without saying that all of you people’s emails and messages really had something to do with anthropology. Without people, there would be no anthropology, or so I am lead to believe. Imagine that. Okay, enough imagining, let’s move on.

As you will no doubt recall, I set out to collect data about who would be more impressed by a modern, 80″ flat screen, high definition color television with over 300 cable channels, 100 premium channels, the Playboy Channel, and a terabyte DVR. The two groups studied were an American family from 1950 and a Neanderthal family from 33,000 years ago.

The study revealed fascinating results. The Neanderthal family destroyed the TV before it could even be hooked up in their living room, and then they badly wounded two of my interns in the process of stealing the time machine, which led them straight to the American family in 1950. Those damn interns never listen! How many times do I have to tell them to reset the dates in the time machine?! Needless to say, the unsuspecting Homo sapiens stood little chance for survival against the more warrior like Homo neanderthalensis, who tend to lash out when scared. And boy were they scared!

Despite the deaths of three unpaid interns, and more importantly, the TV setup, I think this study bears repeating. As I covered up the Neanderthals presence in 1950′s America, it really hit me just how much I owe it to mankind to complete this study correctly and reap the millions and millions of dollars I’ll get from the book tour. However, I’m going to have to wait for another grant to begin all over again. I have already sent out my proposals, but have yet to hear back from any accredited universities. Until I get that precious money, you will just have to keep imagining what this study will mean for the human race when it is completed and how extremely wealthy I will be.

Also, if you have any interest in becoming an intern on a potentially world changing anthropological study and don’t mind not getting paid and potentially getting lost in time, please send me your resume.

Excelsior!

–Reid.

Today, I felt so healthy and strong that I had to roll down the windows of the car and crow as I drove down the highway. I have not felt this good since at least the summer of 2007, before I started feeling the strange and oft misdiagnosed disease that was eventually identified as leukemia.

Earlier this evening, my family was honored by the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), who presented us and another family with their 2010 Torch of Liberty awards for demonstrating “a tradition of community service.” The ADL, in their own words, “fights anti-Semitism and all forms of bigotry, defends democratic ideals and protects civil rights for all.” There’s not much else in the world that I consider more important. It was truly an honor to be recognized by this organization for which I have such deep respect.

Oh, and I didn’t know the award would be an actual physical thing I got to take home, but it turns out that it’s a kind of sharp blunt object. It’s a very neat flame shaped hunk of granite, into which has been chiseled “2010 Torch of Liberty Award”, “Reid Levin,” and an inspiring quote. Everyone who was honored got one. I asked people if theirs said “Reid Levin’ on them, too, but nobody else let me look at theirs. Probably because they thought I was kidding, and knew they all said “Reid Levin” on them. Which is a little odd, but pretty cool. Not as cool, of course, as the honor of actually receiving the recognition for which we were given the sharp blunt awards, for which we are all very honored.

That I felt better than I’ve felt in three years on this particular night was nearly unbelievable. Maybe it was God, or Karma, or Carl Sagan manipulating the cosmos from that place he sent Jodie Foster in Contact. Or maybe it was none of that; maybe it was just a coincidence.

No, that’s wrong. All of it. I just liked the way that sounded. I was totally leading you astray. Keep reading! You’re almost there!

As my dad and I said goodnight to one another, he wondered aloud about my good health and an old, familiar saying that always makes me wince: “laughter is the best medicine.” Before I could even think to lament the use of that tired adage to someone with leukemia who needs real medicine, I heard myself telling him that I woke up laughing this morning.

Clearly, I gotta do that more often.

–Reid.

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Now playing: Joe, Marc’s Brother – Ready to Change
via FoxyTunes

I just woke up, and I was laughing. I had to lie awake and laugh some more. I was having a dream that was overwhelmingly happy, for the first time since… as long as I can remember, since all this started. I’ve been having nightmares that wake me every day for months and months and more than months, years, since I’ve been home from the hospital? Since I went on sleep meds… and off them. You were there, and you, and you… all my best friends. It was great, and I woke up laughing….

–Reid.

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Now playing: The Mamas & The Papas – California Dreamin’
via FoxyTunes