Blue Heron in flight

Thursday, August 31, 2023

I'm Tommy James

First some housekeeping.

I underwent my last immunotherapy regimen last Friday. I am happy to say that not only is it over, I had less reactions than to any of the other four treatments. Not getting an infection obviously makes all the difference. Last time it took a week to get out of bed.

So this week has been the first week of the rest of my life, where I get to step out of the rubble and dust myself off and make a go of it. Hot damn! Rebuild, off and runnin'. Then wait another year and maybe try this cancer drug again.

It's not easy and the cupboard is bare after the involuntary three month time out. Today was billpay day and god was it thrilling. 

Gravel and fumes.

My life has always been boom to bust to boom. It is the path I chose I guess. Thank god I never had kids to subject this mishigoss to. Poor wife. While I have many friends going to Europe and going around the world and finally enjoying the well deserved fruit of their labors, I can only see a slow, laborious grind in my near future. Victim of a misspent youth I suppose.

So be it, have had my fun. More than my share. Now I get to eat road dust for a little while. Beats dodging shrapnel in the Ukraine for sure.

I had a friend write me the other day to tell me that I sure got sick a lot. Nothing I planned, I can assure you.

Anyway I had an epiphany yesterday after recounting my travails to a friend who most assuredly would rather have been talking about the weather;

Nobody is going to come wipe your ass when you are 65. You have to do it yourself.

Maybe they will do it twenty years later but only grudgingly. And they get paid a lot for that work later on and often end up stealing all the jewelry. Not there yet. It is my job and only my job to dig myself out. Or not.

2008 was bad. Losing the Del Mar Show last year was was really bad too as is the general contraction in my buggy whip profession of antique dealing. We can solve every problem but lack of interest. Every Del Mar dealer I know is hurting.

I was watching YouTube this morning and I saw this video from one of my favorite 60's performers, Tommy James and the Shondells.

Nobody could write a short catchy pop hit like Tommy. What a talent!

And now, he is relegated to playing the run down State Fair circuit, this performance from up state New York with an equally old band going through the motions and probably living on corn dogs and deep fried twinkies. Same tired set night after night, I'll bet. Still fixing the van that keeps breaking down. He should be beyond that at this point but shouldn't we all? Rock and roll, baby!

The bad Jackie Mason combover that was never any good has turned into an even worse haircut, a reverse Trumpian coiffure with everything in the back.  The red vest used to fit, I swear. The Shondells can barely rev their engines these days but they are still going to give it a go, because what the fuck else are they going to do at this point, besides the eventual trip to the aging rockers hospice home?

It is sad and beneath me but I take a small solace in knowing that I don't care how set you are and how many trips to Papeete you can take in your splendid and exalted life, sometime in your life the shit sandwich is coming.  

And if you take leave of this mortal coil and arrive on death's door with the sudden realization that you don't have a real friend in the world and maybe never did or you have never loved anyone like you love that person you stare at in the mirror every day, well, then, you really got the shit end of the stick. I don't care how rich you are. And somewhere along the line, everybody feels the pain, no matter how well insulated they might think they are sitting.

Thank god I have friends and family. I appreciate all of you.

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