Mark L. Van Name's Blog, page 228

On the road again: a long trip, day 2World Fantasy Con, San Diego, day 2

The antibiotics arrived today, which is good, and I am now taking them. I have to moderate a panel at 2:00 p.m. tomorrow, so I am hoping my voice is far closer to normal than today's version, which sounds a lot like a large frog croaking. At least you can hear me now from more than three inches away.

Most of the day went to work, but I did get to make a pass through the dealers' room (always a treat) and spend about two minutes browsing the art show. I plan to spend more time on the latter tomorrow.

The con highlight of the day was a presentation by some very entertaining and knowledgeable folks from the (deservedly) world-famous San Diego Zoo. They brought with them many very cool animals, including a great horned owl, a three-banded armadillo, a North American porcupine, a white-bellied tree pangolin, an African serval cat (which would never come out of its travel crate), and a binturong. Seeing them all in person was a great treat, and the lead presenter from the zoo made sure we were always entertained. The room was full of writers, everyone there no doubt making mental (and sometimes physical) notes for use in future works.

Tomorrow, I hope to have more voice back and to feel much better!

On the road again: a long trip, day 1World Fantasy Con, San Diego, day 1

I hate this hotel's bandwidth. Hate it. Ready to go kill someone over it.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

I woke up after two and a half hours of nightmare-filled quasi-sleep. I was more tired when I got out of bed than when I entered it. Clearly, I'm having a stress crash.

Further evidence was my almost complete lack of voice. I coughed up green in the shower, my voice is still barely present, and I have to moderate a panel in well under two days. Oh, boy. The good news is that Rana persuaded my doctor to call in a prescription for antibiotics, and they will reach me in the morning.

The plane flights were reasonable. I was lucky enough to score an upgrade on the first leg, so I had space and all the water and Diet Coke I wanted. I also managed to doze fitfully.

On the second, I had an exit row aisle seat, and bandwidth was on offer, so I worked the entire flight and for a short focused time didn't worry about having almost no voice or a tumor in my face.

San Diego is, as always, an absolutely beautiful place. The hotel is lovely, the room is fine, the breezes are amazing, the balcony overlooks a pool...and the bandwidth sucks. Blows. It is the worst I've had in a decade, worse than the nightmare that was the blasted Omni in Austin. Amazing. If I can find other places on the grounds to work, I may be able to get by, but otherwise, I will have to find a local bandwidth source and spend time every day in it.

In the early evening, I paid the insanely high fare to go to the wonderful Mysterious Galaxy bookstore for a mass signing/party/author drop-in event. The staff were wonderful and gracious to all. The book selection was lovely; with a smaller crowd and some time, I could have dropped some serious coin there. To my pleasant surprise, half a dozen or more folks sought me out and had me sign books. Most of them had four or more books for me to sign. I was floored and grateful each time.

I dream of becoming a bestselling novelist whose autograph line stretches around the block. I don't expect that to ever happen, but if it does, I hope I am always and forever grateful to each person who shells out his or her hard-earned money for my books. I am now, and I think every writer should be.

Dinner was back at the hotel, followed by work and now, the crashing. Man, do I need some sleep.

The Three Musketeers

Many movies are messes, unkempt things with weaknesses sticking out of them like unbrushed hair and dirt all over them and key bits in tatters. The fact that a film is a mess, however, does not mean it won't be fun.

After all, there are many kinds of messes.

The Three Musketeers is a very big mess that also just proved to be very big fun, at least for me. (The reactions among our group of eight were highly variable and ranged from "I can't believe I wasted my time on this" to "I loved absolutely every second of it.") The frequently silly plot was a mess, but the dialog was far worse. The steampunk tech was a mess that disregarded all real-world concerns. The comic relief was entirely too predictable. And so on; you get the idea.

Yet I enjoyed the movie.

Much of the acting was scenery chewing, but not all of it. Milla Jovovich was a pleasure to watch, delivering a relatively subdued performance, given the action and dialog, and actually showing a range of expressions. Matthew Macfayden and Ray Stevenson were reliably good. Orlando Bloom was better as a silly bad guy than he's ever been as the hero.

Sure, the younger cast members generally performed about as well as cardboard cut-outs of their faces, but they were also not particularly offensive.

The film's look and basic good heart, however, carried the day. A diver emerging from a Venetian canal. A hidden Da Vinci vault. Airships with cannons. Swordfights in slow-mo in a courtyard with peasants cheering the action. Silly fun, but fun indeed.

If you are looking for that fall film that will challenge your mind and enrich your soul, definitely skip this one. If you're willing to snack on some extremely pretty empty calories, though--and tonight I was--check out The Three Musketeers.

The tumor is benign

My doctor called me a few minutes ago. The expert who analyzed my cells had called him, so he was being nice and calling me to relay the news.

To the best of the expert's ability to tell, the tumor is benign. There were no malignant cells or signs of trouble in the entire rather large sample.

This is excellent news. I am very happy.

The news actually gets slightly better.

The cells suggest the lump is most likely a Warthin's tumor. This type of tumor is highly unlikely to turn malignant and also unlikely to recur. Oddly, smoking is associated with it in several places I've read, and I've never smoked--though perhaps I'm paying for years of childhood secondhand smoke.

The other possibility is that the tumor is an oncocytoma. This type of parotid tumor is also benign, unlikely to recur, and unlikely to turn malignant.

I still have to interview doctors for the surgery and then have major surgery on my face, but this news makes today a good day.

Weird shit brings needles to my face

The tumor news story of the day was my visit this morning to my doctor for what's known as a fine needle aspiration biopsy, or FNA. The idea is simple and useful: get some cells from the tumor so a specialist can stare at them under a microscope and declare them benign or malignant (and if malignant, ideally to name the type of bad cells they are).

The process sounds nasty: The doctor sticks a needle into your face to numb the skin. Then, after waiting a bit for the numbing to take hold, they stick in another needle and withdraw a bunch of cells.

The doctor also warned me that it would hurt like hell.

Consequently, when I entered the doctor's office this morning, I was expecting a rather unpleasant stay in his chair.

To my pleasant surprise, the FNA was no big deal. The numbing needle barely hurt at all, and the FNA needle, which was in my face for close to 20 seconds, hurt even less. I have to give my doctor credit; he did a great job. If this was all the tumor cost me, I wouldn't care at all.

Of course, that's not the case. What the tumor will at the very least cost me is major surgery on my face--and, of course, a ton of time and emotional energy.

The results of the FNA are likely to tell surgery is the end of the story. Three outcomes are possible.

The first, which is the least likely to happen, is that the results are "not diagnostic," i.e., the specialist who studies the cells can't tell what they are. In this case, another FNA is probably in order. I could live with that.

The second, which is far and away the most likely to happen, is that the results show benign cells. Over 80% of all parotid tumors are benign. In addition, everything about my tumor--no symptoms, cleanly defined mass, location on the superficial node of the gland--argues for it to be benign.

This is the outcome I want.

The third option, of course, is that the tumor is malignant, i.e., cancer of some sort. I'm still focusing on the belief that this one will not happen--and all the data so far argues against it.

No matter what, of course, I'll have surgery. I'm already set to interview my first doctor the day I get back from the upcoming thirteen-day trip.

I won't know the FNA results, sadly, until at best Friday, so until then I'll be on pins and needles a bit hoping the tumor proves to be benign. Thanks to all of you who have sent me notes of support; here's hoping the FNA brings good news!

Drive

Critics love it. Rotten Tomatoes has it at 93% fresh as I write this. The 79% audience rating is worse but still respectable.

The movie certainly looks the arthouse part. The shots almost scream, "Look at me: I'm art!" Though it tries too hard to be cool, I still liked its look.

Ryan Gosling showed that it's possible to go an entire film employing fewer facial expressions than Steven Seagal or Jason Statham. He had two expressions: blank, and blank with a creepy smile. In one flashback, he actually yells and shows emotion, a moment so jarring with authenticity that you can't help but wonder if it was an accident.

Almost all the actors were so muted that you the dead emotions were clearly the director's intent.

The film makes sure you know that it has things to say about life. I get the meanings. I really do. I appreciate the value of bringing cool style to action flicks. I see the film's appeal.

Which brings us to the problem.

I didn't care at all.

Not once, not for one second, did I give a shit about any of these characters.

Go see this one for its look, but don't expect to walk out touched or moved.

Drive is all art and no heart.

I swear it's not me

Sarah tipped me to
Well, not directly, though one was in the same Austin convention center where I was.

And, I did get Mexican food one night.

Maybe it is me after all.

By the way, if you're not reading Sarah's study-abroad blog, you should be. It's awesome--of course, because she is--and now she's reporting from Paris, one of my favorite places in the world.

How are you feeling?

As soon as they hear about the tumor, almost everyone asks this question. It's always with a good intent, but the answer is sufficiently complex that I decided I would use this blog, as I have with the news, as the mechanism for explaining it.

Most of the time, I feel no more about it than I do about the sun. It's there, I'm busy, and I'm focused on what's in front of me.

When I do think of it, which admittedly is a hell of a lot more often than I think about the sun, my overwhelming reaction is anger. I didn't ask for this thing. As best I can tell, I did nothing to cause it. It just arrived. It will cost me at least a major surgery, possibly surgery plus radiation therapy or worse if it's malignant, and in the worst case, my life. That pisses me off.

I'm also scared, of course. I very much do not want to die. I do not want major surgery, though next to death, it's a price I'll happily pay.

I'm sad at times, because if this thing does kill me, I will miss so very much. I have books to write, decades of life I should get to live, people I want to grow old with, and most of all, two amazing kids I want to watch grow up.

Annoyance is also there. I have to wait from Thursday when the doctor called to Monday for the biopsy. Then I have to wait days for the verdict: benign or malignant. Then more time to schedule a surgery. And so on.

Every one of those feelings, though, takes me back to my old friend, the one ally who's never let me down: anger. That anger will make me fight, and with luck it will make me win.

The Young Marines tried to break me, and they couldn't. I owned the place before I left. Fuck those jerks who abused me.

The woman who beat me for four years tried to break me, and she couldn't. I had her life literally in my hands, and I let her live and walked away. Fuck her.

All through my life, people and events have tried to stop me, tried to beat me, and they have failed. I fought, and I won. Fuck them.

Now, this tumor sits on the side of my face, barely noticeable, and it is doing its inanimate best to mess with my head, force surgery, and maybe even try to take my life. Well, fuck this tumor.

If it's benign, I'll have the surgery, deal with the pain, and move on with my life.

If it's malignant, I'll fight it with every asset I can bring to bear and every bit of will I can summon. No way in hell am I going gently into any night.

No matter what, I'll get mad, and I'll fight this clump of unwanted cells.

Fuck this tumor.

The State Fair and a shout out to Sarah

This post is long and full of pictures. Click on any image to see a much larger, higher-resolution version of it.

Monday night, a group of us made our traditional annual trip to the North Carolina State Fair.

I'm in it for the food and the weirdness, and mostly the food. The goal is to try as many odd Fair dishes as you can handle. This year, I decided on a new algorithm: I'd buy anything that looked interesting, take a bite, and then share it with the rest of the group. One dish, one bite, move on.

Others in our group, which to my great pleasure included Scott taking a few hours off from studying chemistry, had their own approaches, but I mostly stuck to mine. (Okay, I ate a couple of bites of a few things, but until the ice cream, I was doing well. More on that later.)

First up was Scott's pretzel dog on a stick, which he nicely let me try.


Wow, was it tasty, the perfect blend of pretzel and dog.

Gina needed me to hold her salty pretzel, so Scott and I exacted holding fees of a bite each. It was warm and chewy and salty, exactly as it should be.


We ate things as we passed them, which meant that this red velvet funnel cake with cream cheese icing hit our stomachs next. It was amazingly sweet, the sort of sweet that would make your teeth hurt, so it was fun only for a bite or two. (Kyle, you would loved it and eaten it all.)

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I know what you're thinking: is that all the fried food you've got?

Why, no, it's not.

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Yeah, fried macaroni and cheese bites. These little rascals are cheesy hot goodness personified. I restricted myself to a third of one; much food was still to come.

Next up was meat: a half-pound pure beef hot dog from a local guy who makes it himself. Five of us shared it, so we each got only a bite or two, but man, was it satisfying.


That's mustard, not cheese on it. We certainly didn't want to overdo anything.

Every year for a long time now, Scott and I have gone into the bear trailer to see the bears. I know it's silly, but it's our tradition, and we enjoy it--and I really like doing it with him. So, in we went. Dave and Jo joined us.

Boy, am I glad I did, because I've never seen anything quite like this before.


That is a lot of head on the man's lap. He and the bears were catching a snooze, and everyone looked mighty happy.


Well, maybe not everyone.


This bear grabbed the woman's shirt with its teeth, pulled her next to the man and down into a seated position, then went around her and put its head in her lap. No way was it going to let those other bears have all the naps.

After some time with the poultry, we aimed ourselves at the building of giant fruits and veggies. Along the way, though, we had to fortify ourselves with an assortment of vegetables of our own.


All fried, of course. It is the Fair.


Pickles count as a vegetable, right?

Okay, okay, I promised giants, and giants you shall have. Such as this watermelon.


And this pumpkin.

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In the same building were the Brahman cows, whose briefcase folds are the stuff of a famous Wikipedia entry.


Next up for us were visits to some craft areas, so Scott decided to fortify himself with a giant turkey leg.


I, of course, demanded a bite as tax, and damn, was it good.

While walking through one of the craft buildings, we came upon it: the base of the Hot Dog Throne of Doom.


Yes, one day it will be mine.

But not today.

From the crafts to the gardens, where Scott showed his flat affect while posing as a flower.


At this point, our hearty crew had gone whole minutes without eating, so naturally we had to make a pilgrimmage from the gardens to one of the Fair's greatest attractions: the N.C. State ice cream stand.


Cherry vanilla is my poison. I dug into it so quickly that I almost forgot to photograph it. Fortunately, I did remember.

As we headed to the next (and last) craft building, one way on the other side of the Fair, we wandered by a stand selling this glob of greasy goodness.

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Damn right, that's a fried cheeseburger.

What, you don't believe me? You question what is really inside that mound of fry.

Fine. Take a gander inside.


Yup, meat and cheese, baby, meat and cheese.

While wandering the competitive craft area, we came upon this remarkable piece of work by our friend, Merrie Burnett.


All of us agreed: Merrie definitely should have won a ribbon.

On the way out, we had to stop at Kimmy's Kupcakes, which serves cupcakes that resemble all sorts of foods.


Which one did we choose to share?


As if you had to ask.

On the way out, I moved the car to a good position and stayed to watch the fireworks. My iPhone's camera, which I used for all of these pictures, wasn't really up to the job of capturing a sky awash in color, but I ended up liking a few of the shots.

This one is recognizable, just so you know that I'm telling the truth about the fireworks.


This one, on the other hand, was just odd enough to capture my interest, even though it did no justice to what we saw.

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The murkiness of this last shot somehow charmed me. I could stare at it a long time without being bored.


The only thing that could have made the Fair better was having Sarah there. I'm happy she's in Italy and having a great semester abroad, but as much as I always miss her, I miss her more at these family traditions. (If you're not reading her blog, by the way, you are missing out.)

The Fair is always a wild night, which of course puts me in mind of this song.



When Sarah and Scott were little, I'd play this loud in my office as they ran in circles around the room and I tried (not very hard) to catch them. I'd usually miss, and they'd run away screaming in mock fear and triumph. Even as I did it, I knew it was magic, and I loved it. I still miss doing this with them.

So, Sarah, when you're feeling homesick, play this video, think of the Fair, think of us, think of running around my office, and know that I am always only a song away, always there to catch you, always a dad who loves his girl.

Yup, it's a tumor

The doctor left me voicemail saying he had received the CT scan photos and confirming that it is what he expected: a tumor. Monday, we'll do the "fine needle aspiration and biopsy" to determine if the tumor is benign or malignant.

Internet research FTW on this one.

Here's hoping I stay with the odds and have only a benign tumor.

I'll still get you that State Fair post later today.