I won a two-week stay of execution last week when the Cipro worked and bumped up my lung function. Not back to normal, but moving in the right direction – up. At least now I get to enjoy spring break with my daughter and wife. We didn’t make big vacation plans because it’s hard to make them when you’re not sure if you’re hospital bound or not.

We do, however, have something to look forward to this summer: We’re going to rent a beach house in Oxnard or Ventura for a month. We want to remodel the kitchen and bedrooms and it will be better  if we move out during the dust storm of construction. So I thought, where would I want to move out to? The beach. Yes, number one answer. And I thought why not, life is short and we don’t take many vacations. So, my wife and I will work part of the time and take vacation part of the time. It feels like something the rich and famous do during the summers.

A month of this will be very nice indeed. © Yahya Idiz - Fotolia.com

I return to the cancer hospital next week for round two of too many people looking at my ass. I feel like I should be doing lunges every day to pump up for the big reveal. I am, however, working on my jokes for the doctor. What do you call a colorectal surgeon with a scope up your ass? Three martinis and one llama short of a good time. I’m still working on the punch line. I can only imagine how well that joke will go over. Though, it wouldn’t be any worse than the ones I told last time.

I wish they had a medical procedure to make me look like Don Draper (Jon Hamm). It would be nice to be a genetic wonder, not a genetic failure.

I watched the first two seasons of Mad Men. Thanks, OCD. Great show, though it makes me feel like I’m having an asthma attack when I see all of the cigarette smoke. And it reminds me of my smoking parents, their fondue parties, and my father’s drinking. Even now I have to laugh when I think of my mother smoking in the Pinto station wagon as we drove places. She did her best to blow the smoke out the window so I wouldn’t inhale it. I know some think the 60s were a glamorous time, but I’m not sure I see it that way. I’m not sure it was our brightest generation. I’m probably wrong. My memories have the feel and look of faded Polaroids. There is something cool about the photo, but the memory when thought about deeply, well, not so cool.

Until next time.