It’s time for some weekend humor.  I have been spending so much time scribbling in other venues that I don’t have time to write here.  Doesn’t make sense, really.  If you’re giving away the milk, nobody wants the cow.   But I have allegiances to the the PC community a whole, and I’m not about to give that up.

Anyway:  since I’ve been living in “Cancerworld,” I’ve been having visual and auditory hallucinations.  And my husband complains of the same thing.  This means that when you see or hear something, you’re brain interprets it in “cancer mode.”  Then you have to convert it to “reality mode.”  For example: 

Reality:

Man writes: “I was treated with radiation, but it didn’t work after the first two tries.”

Cancerworld:

 Man writes: “I was treated with radiation but it   didn’t work after the first two fries.”

Joel Nowak’s wrote in his excellent blog on advanced PCA about how members of that “club” greet one another:

Reality: 

 “We ask each other, ‘How’re you doing?'”

Cancerworld: 

 “We ask each other, ‘How are you dying?'”

Cancerworld: 

There’s something on the cover of the NY Times about “Mets“.  Bony mets (metasteses), no doubt.  Boy, am I pleased.  We have finally made it!

Reality: 

Of course, they’re talking about “The Mets,” our local baseball team.  Duh.

Cancerworld:

I’m looking thru my CDs and I spot a collection of “Hormone Music.”

Reality:

“Harmony.”

My favorite episode happened on May 6, when we were scheduled to go on a short cruise from LA to Vancouver.  We hadn’t had a vacation in ages.  And I like cruises.  Anyway, I was not quite awake, when I heard on the radio:

 “This program is brought to you by the Coffman foundation of “Cancer City.”

As Anatole Broyard wrote (about his PC diagnosis), “when I heard this, my mind became ‘immediately erect.'”  I thought: “Let’s ditch the vacation plans.  Why go to San Francisco when you can go to Cancer City?”

Reality:

“Kansas City.” Could be worse.  Ted’s got family there.

This just happened the other day:  I was reading a letter from my friend Hughie in Glasgow.  Hughie happens to be a *really talented guy*: not just a chef extraordinaire but a virtuoso organist.  The problem is that he writes me about all the technical details of  organ-playing.  Help, I need a translator!

I’m used to hearing about organs all day, but not the kind they have in churches.  You know: the male kind. In the past year I’ve even had a crash course in how the  male organ functions. 

I do like organ music a lot, but I don’t know anything about it — I eat the sausage, I don’t care how it’s made.

Anyway, Hughie wrote that he had been rehearsing some choral music in church the other day.  That reminded me of something.

I asked Ted: “Remember the last time we saw a concert.  Do you remember what music they were playing?” He replied:

“Mozart’s Mass in C Minor”

(and the Requiem).  I wrote myself a note to pass this on to Hughie. Then when I looked at the note later, I couldn’t read my own writing.  After some close scrutiny I finally got it: 

“Mozart’s Mess in C Minor.”

Ted tells me, “Mess is correct: that’s how they say it in German (‘messe?’) .” Mess is correct indeed: life is a mess.

Finally: I was just reading some messages in another PC group.  The subject is love versus lust.  Do you need an erect penis to have love?  A man suggests that people should consider engaging in “martial intercourse.”

Does he mean that people should fight when they have sex??  Couples fight all the time, but it seems to me when they’re doing *that* they lay down the swords.

“Marital,” maybe?  I’ve seen that mix-up before.

Anyway, just to let you all know, I have a black belt in martial  intercourse :- )

So long.