Of course, there’s a whole lot of butt-hurt going on, mostly from the right-wingers who have fought so hard to impress their values on all of society, but it is drowned out by the cheers of elation that rose from Ecolab Plaza in St. Paul last night as thousands gathered to celebrate this historic day. Local band The Suburbs, who were in their heyday when I first moved here in 1981, performed their 1984 song “Love Is The Law” which became an anthem of the Freedom to Marry movement in Minnesota. TCGMC had a presence there too, of course, singing “Marry Us” from Naked Man, which we have been performing quite a bit during the struggle not only to defeat last year’s amendment but to get this law on the books, and the disco version of our signature song, “Walk Hand In Hand” which I foresee singing at a lot of weddings in the future.

Of course there will be more butt-hurt next year when the legislature comes up for re-election. Republicans will run on a platform promising to repeal the law, which won’t happen. Minnesota is a very progressive state, a deep blue state that hasn’t voted Republican in a presidential election since 1972. Sure, there’s that ignorant wench the Sixth District keeps electing to congress, but I’m starting to think they only keep her around for laughs.

The best burn of the day was when by brother in law asked if he can marry a tree now. I told him that the text of the law (and I have read it) states defines marriage as being between “two consenting adults.” If he can find a tree that can not only sign a marriage license but also say I do, then hell, I’ll be his best man!

It also means a new phone number. That’s okay; too many people have my old one anyway. Actually, I still have about 300 minutes left on my old Tracfone, so I’ll probably burn those up on business calls to people I don’t want to hear back from. It’s a good number to give the spammers.

I realized an interesting transition on television last week. While drama has been replaced by reality television, reality on television (i.e. the news) has become more dramatic. Last week’s spectacular events in Boston, from the horrific tragedy at the finish line of the Boston Marathon to the carnival atmosphere in the streets as the good guys drove off into the sunset after catching and/or killing the bad guys. This was the kind of story that’s gonna make a great movie someday, probably someday soon, and it’s probably gonna get a nod at the Oscars™. While only three people were killed, plus one a few days later, this still hit the nation with all the force of a September 11th. We all thought and stood as one for a few days. It’s always a good thing when that happens. Pity it takes a bad thing to make it happen.

And yeah, it’s already been pointed out that Djokar Tsarnaev is kinda cute. Jim thinks his big brother Tamerlan was cuter, but we won’t debate that ’cause they’re both evil. It doesn’t sound to me like this was any kind of covert operation planned by a larger cell; rather, these two Chechnyan brothers were just a couple of isolated wing-nuts who flashed off on their own one day and burned out quickly, like a spark ejected from a roaring fire. But we need to make an example of them, hopefully to dissuade the next lone wolf who tries to write his name into history like this.

And as with any tragedy, the rumor-mongers and conspiracy theorists go into overdrive the moment the news breaks. While it is my personal belief that this was an act of domestic terrorism, I’m not going to point any fingers of blame until the dust settles and the forensic investigators have a chance to do their job. Nobody is helping matters any by muddying the water with pictures of a mystery man on top of one building or a badly doctored clip from Family Guy claiming to be a prophecy of the attack. Even Seth McFarlane wouldn’t stoop that low!

My heart goes out to all the people of Boston, and all of the runners whose hard work and dedication have been overshadowed by this tragedy. One of the runners in the marathon was my roommate’s brother (thankfully, he and his girlfriend are both okay). Meanwhile, the perpetrators of this crime are watching the wall-to-wall news coverage and probably gloating inwardly that they have managed to get the world’s attention. NBC is giving them exactly what they want. They have won already, or they think so. Maybe if the media didn’t pay so much attention to them, they’d stop. Ignore them and they’ll go away.

April snowstorms aren’t unheard of in Minnesota, they’re just rare. The last April snow I remember was in 1984, and that was when we were coming down from a series of particularly hard winters that were probably attributable to Mount St. Helens erupting in 1980. (Volcanic ash in the stratosphere has been known to cause unusually cold weather, such as the “Year Without A Summer” in 1816 after the eruption of Mount Tambora.)

I’ve been documenting the progression of the snow over the last three days, mostly just to do something with my new camera. When I went out this morning I encountered my next door neighbor Chris. I should have realized the conversation wasn’t going to go well when he said “so much for global warming.” I really can’t stand that term, because it’s a misnomer. Global climate change is the more appropriate word. Chris seems to think this is all just part of a natural cycle, as demonstrated by the medieval climate optimum and the little ice age, which occurred between 1350 and 1850. The problem is, this is a five-hundred year period, whereas we have seen the same climate shift take place within my lifetime. One need look no further than my hometown for proof. When I was a kid, we got hit at the peak of hurricane season by storms with names like Betsy and Camille. Hurricanes are named alphabetically, and in the last few years the same time of year (from the middle of August to the middle of September) now sees storms with names like Isaac and Katrina. Before 2005, we had never gotten to V and W, the last two names on the list (there aren’t enough X, Y or Z names). Even storms whose names begin with S are extremely rare, but now Sandy is only the second S name to be stricken from the list. (The first was Stan in 2005.) Chris, you need to turn off FOX News and start getting some real information. I guess it’s obvious where he gets his news from. I put the kibosh on the argument pretty quickly, not wanting to engage an unarmed opponent in a battle of wits. I just told him there are a majority of scientists who disagree and left it than that. I guess he’s one of those guys who look bright, until they start talking.

The health news, on the other hand, isn’t just good, it’s gr-r-r-r-r-reat! Okay, so the jury is still out regarding whether my cancer treatment worked or not, but the HIV indicators are looking faabulous. For the first time, my viral load is undetectable. My T cell count is a little down, but that’s to be expected from chemotherapy. With a viral load this low, the counts will bounce back quickly now that I’m finished with chemotherapy and radiation. Looks like I’m gonna live after all.

The financial horizon is looking good, too. Jim has finally paid off the mortgage on the condo: he now owns it free and clear. Sure, there are still association fees to be paid and bills like electricity and cable internet, but I’m still living here pretty cheap now there’s no more mortgage payment. In fact, at the end of the mortgage they send back money they’ve been holding in escrow for property taxes. Thus, in effect, my rent is paid for the next month and then some. I’m taking advantage of that fact to get caught up on some old bills, especially my medical bills. By this summer life should run a little more smoothly.

It’s not like there’s anywhere I want to go anyway. Recovery from cancer treatment has been slow. I’m still feeling a tad anemic from the chemo and badly burned by the radiation in a spot where I can’t really bandage it. I’m just hanging around the house, resting and trying to heal. I wish there was something they could do to accelerate that process.

I’m hoping to be back to nearly full functionality by opening night of the concert. I’m not singing, but I’m going to see the show that night. It kinda bums me that I’m not singing this show, because it’s about bullying, a cause that is close to my heart. The Chorus is performing Oliver Button Is A Sissy, which I’ve never heard, only heard of. I’m trying to avoid hearing it in advance, actually, even though they do have it up for download from the members only website; no spoilers, please. Chris Mellin plays the title role, though I don’t know if he’s going to wear that costume. (We’ve dressed him in stranger things.)

The Tuesday after the concert is when I’ll be rejoining the Chorus to begin work on the Pride concert. I might need a couple of weeks to get up to speed, but I should be fully functional by the time we take to the risers at Ted Mann. Actually I want to be back well before then, because somewhere in there Jim is taking me to Disneyworld.

So what next? First, I have to let the treatment finish its course. I’m done with chemo and radiation, but they aren’t done with me. My blood counts need to return to normal after chemotherapy and the radiation left a large third-degree burn on my bottom that needs to heal. On April 1st they’re going to do some blood work to make sure my white blood cell count has rebounded, and if that looks good then then can remove the port catheter that’s been implanted in my chest for a month and a half now. If I wanted to, I could just leave it in; it does make blood draws a little easier. On the other hand, I don’t want to explain it to a TSA screener when Jim and I fly to Disney World at the end of May. Later in April, I’ll be meeting with the surgeon who first found the cancer, and hopefully he’s going to tell me it “ain’t there no more.”

Actually, even though I find the man reprehensible, I was hoping that Cardinal Peter Turkson from Ghana would get elected. Sure, he lives under the delusion that the sex scandals which have rocked the church to its very foundations are “an American problem” and that such things “couldn’t happen in Africa” because “we don’t have homosexuals there.” Hey, is it any surprise coming from a man who believes that a virgin gave birth, or that she stayed a virgin all her life? (Poor Joseph!) No, I was hoping he’d get elected because he’s black. The reaction of my über-catholic and closet-racist mother would have been priceless!

Paging Dr. Freud

From the open mouth, insert foot file: Paul Ryan accidentally shows his true colors.

“This to us is something that we’re not going to give up on, because we’re not going to give up on destroying the health care system for the American people.”

Yes, he actually said that! Here’s the clip:

Oh, Paul Ryan. You are just such a moron. So is anyone who would vote for you.

Today was just a bad day. I didn’t sleep well last night because I was in so much pain, and I’m still a little wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey after the switch to Daylight Savings Time. Dr. Haley could tell; I wasn’t the me he’s gotten used to since I started seeing him. I’m down almost ten pounds since last week (not good!) and pain makes me cranky. He dialed up his pep talk a little – I needed it – and gave me a ’scrip for something stronger for the diarrhea and a refill on the oxycodone. I hate asking for that stuff; I’m always afraid the doctor’s going to think I’m “drug seeking.” But the stuff does the trick for my badly burned buttom.

Marry Us

A bill going through the Minnesota legislature that would legalize same-sex marriage in the state cleared another hurdle today. It’s next step is the Senate floor, and since the democrats took over the legislature in the last election, it’s likely that we will be following closely on the heels of Colorado in adding marital equality to our laws.

Of course, the conservative elements in our state are trying to defeat it, but there some Republicans are even breaking ranks and supporting the bill. It’s pretty likely if not completely sure to pass, and it’s pretty much a given that Mark Dayton will sign it. It’s a good thing the Pope resigned when he did; the Catholics will be distracted while we get this through.

I see the Chorus singing at many weddings in the near future…

Today was one of those days when I was scheduled to be there just about all day, or at least all morning. So I dragged Jim out of bed early (what a trooper, he didn’t complain a peep) and had him drop me off at the clinic then go back to bed. I checked in at eight o’clock and the first thing they did was drew blood through the port, a complete blood count plus liver and kidney function tests. Apparently all of this has to be on line before they can even administer the chemotherapy. After the law draws Dr. Sherman came in, and we had a chance to talk about what happens next, especially when I get this Borg implant out of my chest! If all goes well, and it has been so far, I’ll probably be losing it in early April.

Once the lab results came through, then the pharmacy had to prepare my premixed, premeasured dose of 5-FU, then they had to order the infuser that will be attached to me until Sunday. But by then it was time for me to go get cooked in the radiation therapy department, so they sent me off to do that. They were just looking for me when I arrived.

I should have left a trail of bread crumbs; I got completely lost trying to find my way back to where my chemo was supposed to be waiting. I would probably still be wandering the maze of cubicles and corridors now had I not encountered the nurse they had sent in search of me.

There are actually two phases to chemotherapy. The first is one big shot of a clear cobalt blue liquid called mitomycin that goes in through the port. Then they flush the port with heparin and saline, then hook up the infuser pump that shoots a little bit of 5-FU into me every minute and a half or so. Living with the ball and chain attached is a pain in the posterior, but it’s only for four days and this will be the last time.

With my infuser hooked up, I called Jim around noon for a ride home. There was a little confusion when they sent over the wrong size casing for my chemo pump. I also mentioned that I had attached my own strap to the last one. Their responses was, “so that was you!” The strap was on a shelf in the nurse’s office with a note that said “return to patient” but not which patient. So I got my strap back and attached it to my new best friend for the next four days. Grumble, grumble, grumble, groan.

One more time. Fortunately, one last time.