So, as of this morning - er, whenever anyone in America woke up, they will have heard - the Mets fired head coach Willie Randolph.
Personally, I didn't think it would happen that quickly. I thought it was yet another example of media fluff and those jerks whose livelihood relies on meeting deadlines taking a story and blowing it out of proportion. Obviously, I was wrong. After the Mets won a game against a very good Angels team (that's right, I said win - it's not a typo, yes, they actually managed to win a game! crazy, I know) GM Omar Minaya and the Wilpons sent Willie packing.
To be honest, I don't really have a problem with this move. I loved Willie when he first came here. It was painful in the beginning of 2005 when it took the team 6 games to get him his first win, and after getting hot and making covers of magazines and sports pages, they cooled down and missed the playoffs by a somewhat large margin. 2006 was, well it was 2006. It was the year they should have won. Untimely injuries, cold streaks, and Guillermo Mota were the reasons they lost to the Cards. 2007 saw the biggest collapse in baseball history (I still like the Yankees 2004 ALCS collapse personally). However, me being in Europe for the last month of the season made that a lot easier to deal with.
2008, they were sluggish right out of the gate and are performing at a level below mediocrity. The bottom line is that everyone is, overall, cold. Not one of their regulars is having a hot season, and except for David Wright's RBI total, none of their regular starters are even playing to their potential, their norm, their average season. Everyone in the lineup is, currently, under-performing. The pitching's been spotty, the bullpen's blown a lot of games. The bottom line is that they lost A LOT of extremely disheartening games. Their bullpen blew a lot of leads, Delgado grounded into too many rally-killing double plays almost daily. These weren't just a lot of games surmounting in the Loss column. They've been losing a lot of extremely painful games. Three 2-1 losses to San Diego (one of which saw Scott Schoenweis walk the bases loaded and hit the batter to force in the winning run), only to blow a 6-4 lead the next day to lose 8-6?
You cannot blame Willie for all the players being cold. Omar Minaya gives him a 25 man roster, and he picks the "best" of those 25 to put out on the field. What I can blame on Willie - I've disagreed with his pitching/bullpen moves countless times. That IS something he has control on, and I disagree heavily with the way he uses his bullpen, which is the reason for many of their losses this season.
I didn't really care if they let him go at this point. I don't know what goes on in the clubhouse or on the bench, all I know is what I see on TV - but that being said, he's too quiet. In the sense that he needs a little more fire on the bench, and energy from game-to-game. The Mets need a manager that shows emotion (ehem, Bobby Valentine, ehem) and fights for ballclub, not during the post-game conferences, but on the field in the umpires faces. They need a guy who will fire up the team, get them going, and stick up for their players on the field.
So hearing that he didn't "have this team" or that "these guys don't really play for him" I don't know how much stock I put in to that. I think they respect him, and they want to succeed, and they want their success to be a reflection of him. But I also think that they needed a little more umph from their manager, and that was something they didn't get from him.
Sorry Willie, but you'll do just fine with your $millions and a definite future coaching job; I don't feel too bad for him except that some people put the blame of the season thus far and the 2007 collapse almost solely on his shoulders, which is unjust. But yes, they needed to shake up the team. And while I never bought in to the theory of "when the team sucks, it's the manager's fault, and that's why you fire him," this was a necessary move for other reasons (I just didn't think it was going to be this early).
Like I said, I don't have a problem with THIS move. However, they also fired pitching coach Rick Peterson (and first base coach Tom Nieto, but that doesn't matter at all. I think they can find first base with out him. In fact, they've been able to do that all season, they just can't get beyond first base, that's their issue).
Rick "the Pitching Guru" Peterson. The Mets were among the league leaders in total team ERA ever since Rick Peterson came to town. By far and away, the only good thing to come out of the "Art Howe" era was that it brought Rick Peterson to Shea and he wanted to stay. The Mets got rid of Art Howe because A) the team sucked, B) to cover up the fact that they threw money to ex-All-Stars that no longer deserved it (see Roberto Alomar, Mo Vaughn, Jeromy Burnitz, Tom Glavine), but mostly they wanted a manage that wouldn't just sit there on the bench with the same expression whether they were up 7-0 in the third inning or down 7-0 in the third. And with Willie, though I loved him in the beginning, he was the same way.
He came over saying "I'm a Joe Torre guy, and I'm going to coach like him" a.k.a. sit on the bench with his arms folded, showing as little emotion as possible, making as few moves as possible. My personal beliefs is that the Yankees success had a lot less to do with Torre than fans and the press made it out to be. They had some great teams, and hot seasons from over-achievers (ehem, steroids much?).
But back to Peterson. I honestly thought that when Willie was given his pink slip, that there was no way they would get rid of Rick Peterson. I am blown away. I think this was a very unintelligent move. Only time will tell, and if they go on without him to have one of the best pitching staffs at the end of the season, then great. But I cannot imagine that the team without Rick Peterson is better than the team with Rick Peterson. This guy helped a lot of Met pitchers. "He's regarded as one of the best pitching coaches in baseball," the TV just said, as I type this.
It's not his fault that El Duque is 45 years old and hasn't pitched yet this season. Pedro's freak injury woes is not his fault. Oliver Perez being Oliver Perez is not his fault. Rick Peterson is a great asset for any baseball team, and the Mets just let him go. I can't fathom that their bullpen will all of a sudden click and do their job now that Peterson isn't there anymore. I would love nothing more than to be wrong, and for everything to click with this team.
The bottom line is, as bad as they've been, they're not far away from anything. All they need are two hot months during the summer, win series against their division rivals and they will make the playoffs. No team in the NL has been the best team for the whole season so far. The D-Backs were the top, then they got cold (real cold). The Cubs started off so-so, now they have the best record. For a little too long, the Florida "our entire team payroll is less than A-Rod's" Marlins held the best record in all of baseball.
It's not just the NL. Even in the AL, no team has consistently been the best. The Tampa Bay [no-longer Devil] Rays held the best record for most of the first two months. In the NL, and especially in the NL East, nothing is sealed. The division is most definitely still up for grabs.
So even though the currently 34-35 Mets are 6.5 games back, they can definitely still be a good team this season and make the playoffs.
They're just going to have to do it without Rick Peterson.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
The Unentertaining Cedric The Entertainer
What’s the deal with Cedric: The Entertainer?
Seriously, what’s his deal?
Seriously, what’s his deal?
First of all, what kind of name is that? First name Cedric, that’s perfectly fine. Middle name The? Last name Entertainer? So when he goes to the doctor or files his taxes, is his file under Entertainer, Cedric The? Entertainer, Cedric T.?
Seriously, did he legally change his name to that? Or is it in the way Bob Dylan’s real name is Robert Allen Zimmerman? I would draw a comparison to Larry The Cable Guy, but I don’t have enough respect for him to even mention his name… Oops.
I suppose that alone, on the surface, really bugs me about him. He was born Cedric Antonio Kyles, and I suppose having a somewhat generic human name wasn’t good enough for him. He needed to stand out, and as an aspiring comedian that certainly makes sense.
He really needs a “The”? Ceddy, the Entertainer. Psh.
Well, I suppose it really doesn’t matter as long as his work speaks for itself. Let’s take a look at how some of the movies he headlined fared at the box-office.
Codename: The Cleaner (2007): $8 Million
The Honeymooners (2005): $12 Million
Johnson Family Vacation (2004): $31 Million
Kingdom Come (2001): $23 Million
Cedric: The Entertainer in Codename: The Cleaner, $8 Million. A movie that cost $20 Million to make only pulled in $8 at the box office. So, apparently he’s not at the iconic status in the eyes of
What really bugs me about him is that I just plain don’t find him funny. Yet, I feel like he’s everywhere. It’s as if he and Monique signed contracts with the Devil to be everywhere. Why couldn’t they sell their souls to the devil to have some comedic talent? Wouldn’t that have worked out better for them?
I really just don’t see why he’s funny. Is it because I’m white? I really don’t think so. I like a lot of comedians. I just don’t understand how people can find him funny.
His shtick is to say unintelligent things, and make fun of other black people. I mean, youtube him and make a choice for yourself… I just don’t get it.
To me, his greatest achievement was his sidekick role on The Steve Harvey Show (1996-2002). I think he should’ve stopped there.
But, being that his last headline project was 2007 we’re probably due for another amazing Cedric The Entertainer bust due out 2009.
Look out for the 2009 flop Chicago Pulaski Jones with Kel (You know, from Keenan and Kel? You might’ve heard those odd rumors that he was dead, but – no, not dead. Just resurrected by Cedric THEE Entertainer).
He continues to put out movies, and declare himself as one of the kings of comedy of our time. And I suppose to the people who find him funny – you know, Steve Harvey, Bernie Mac, Nick Cannon, Katt Williams and President Bush - they will agree with that.
But as for the other 300 Million Americans… Cedric, stop.
Follow in the footsteps of
Thank you.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Friday, June 6, 2008
Three Years Ago Today, I Almost Died (In A Few)
It's that time of year again. School's out, the weather's nice, and spirits are lifted as the temperature rises.
Oh, and it's the anniversary of my brain surgery.
Three years ago today, June 6, 2005, I underwent brain surgery. It was by far the scariest thing I've ever had to deal with. I thought my life was quite literally over. And in honor of that day, I choose to do something that I've been meaning to do ever since; put it all down in writing. Of what I can remember at this point, that is.
For years, ever since I can remember, I used to get these odd head pains. It would come so randomly and without warning. I'd just turn my head slightly and it felt like an electric shock was hitting me all throughout my head. It was a really intense pain, and I wouldn't be able to move for a few seconds. Then after about 10 seconds the pain would fizzle and my head would feel numb.
This had been going on for years, ever since I can remember, but it would only happen two, maybe three times a year, so I never really thought much about it. As I got older, I started to wonder about it a bit more. I don't remember if they were necessarily becoming more frequent, but it was on my mind more, thinking that I ought to get it checked out.
So, towards the end of my senior year of high school in March 2005, I was in gym class. We were playing badminton and my partner and I (not as in the homosexual, significant other, life-partner sense, but you know, badminton partner in doubles) were both about to swat a birdie. It just hit me, and immediately brought me to my knees. I fell over on to the floor grabbing my head, wondering when it was gonna go away, because it seemed like it was getting more intense. My partner was freaking out because he thought he slammed me in the back of the head.
"No, no, don't worry - it's just uh, this thing."
Yeah, that seems normal, right? I decided it was time to get it checked out; to make sure nothing serious was going on. So of course by the time I actually had an appointment with my doctor, it was now late April/early May. He said he thought it was just a pinched nerve, but being it's not his expertise he sent me to a neurologist.
It was mid-late May by the time I saw Dr. Grossman, my neurologist. He saw me, checked me out and thought the same thing - probably just a pinched nerve. But he had me go back in a few days for some tests. Let me say, it's a lot of fun having wires from a computer attached to your head. Not the least bit scary at all. (If you really couldn't tell, for whatever reason - yes, that was sarcasm).
But none of those tests showed anything wrong. Why push on? He schedules me for an MRI.
Monday, May 31st, 2005 - I went in for an MRI. And believe it or not, I wasn't really freaking out about the seriousness of all of this. I was just thinking, Jeez, an MRI? Is that really necessary? Seems kinda heavy duty. Now, I'm not really one to be claustrophobic, but being slid into a little cylinder-shaped container not much bigger than me isn't so fun. My nose was practically touching the ceiling. An hour of loud bangs, clicks and buzzes all around my head was a little nerve-racking.
Finally, it was over. I made plans for afterward and went about my day. Stephanie, let me just say I'm sorry that this was the last time I saw you for a few years. I didn't exactly plan all of that - but the next month my head wasn't in the best place, then I was gone for the rest of the summer, then it was off to college. I'm sorry.
So I went about the rest of the week as normal, thinking nothing of it.
Friday, June 3rd, 2005 - While the rest of my esteemed soon-to-be graduating class was getting ready for the prom that night, I wasn't going. For whatever reasons, I'm not getting into that now - but in the end, it's good I wasn't planning on going because in the end, I was going to be elsewhere that night.
I was heading out the door with my mom and grandma on our way to my cousin's house for dinner, when the phone rang. I picked it up; it was my neurologist asking to speak with my mother. I'll never be able to figure out how she was able to stay so calm, but she hung up and told me we had to go to his office.
I'm not sure why, but even then I didn't think it was going to be anything serious. In reality, when a neurologist calls you and tells you to come in to his office immediately, you can kind of figure it's pretty serious, but I don't know. Probably because my mom was so calm, I didn't think anything of it.
My grandma waited in the car and we went in to the office. We were called in to his office right away, and sitting there waiting for him I began to become a little wary.
He came in and cut right to it. I'll never be able to forget his words...
"Mark... there's something on your brain, I don't know what it is, but it has to be removed immediately."
My heart sunk. I couldn't breathe. All the blood from my head drained in an instant. Naturally my mom couldn't hold it in anymore. All I could think was, I am going to die. I am going to die at a very, very young age. Or what if I don't die? Oh my God, I'm going to be brain dead. I can't believe this is happening to me. Why me, God?!
I sat there crying, just bawling. I couldn't help myself. I felt numb. I felt as if I were already going to die. My life was over. Here I am, not yet 18, and I am going to die? How fucking unfair is it that I should have to deal with this? Haven't I been crapped on enough all my life? Really, this is how it's going to end? I'm never going to have children. My parents are going to have to bury me.
I couldn't believe this was happening to me. He told us to go to the hospital right away; he let them know before that we were gonna be coming in. Head to the ER.
We leave the office and get in the car, where my grandma's been sitting there waiting. My mom tells her that we have to go to the hospital; she wanted to scare her as little as possible. My dad, who was going to meet us at my cousin's house, met us at the hospital when we got there.
I'll never forget the car ride there. Not that anything specific happened, but I can remember exactly how I felt. Exactly. Sitting in the car on the way there, being driven by my mom, sitting next to my grandma, I just felt so utterly and completely helpless. I already felt like a vegetable,to put it poetically. I felt like my fate was sealed and it wasn't going to allow me to live a long, normal, healthy life.
At the hospital, dad took grandma home while mom stayed with me. After my dad got back my name was finally called. I was brought in to a small room. Some young doctor took my blood and asked me what was going on, describe the sensations I was feeling in my head. This was a recurring theme that night. I must have seen 6 or 7 different people, all of whom needed me to tell them everything from the beginning.
When you're in a situation like that, you really don't feel like telling your story multiple times. Why couldn't they just communicate with each other, or have 5 doctors in the room at the same time? Anyway, they finally took me to my room. I was going to stay overnight.
I wasn't yet 18 when this happened, so they put me in the children's ward. I must say this was the greatest thing that could've happened to me during the whole ordeal. The way they treated me there just made me feel so much more comfortable.
Late that night while I was lying in bed, two surgeons walked in my room, Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler. They told me they were going to be the ones operating on me. They looked at my MRI films, and they think they know what it is. I had a small growth wedged between my brain and my brain stem. They said they didn't think it was cancerous, it seemed benign. It was like a grape, fairly small and curiously enough, perfectly round. Because it was so round, they said it should be fairly easy to remove.
So the growth was not malignant, and it was not that huge. But what made it so serious (besides the fact that, you know, I had a growth on my brain) was it's location. Like I said, it was wedged in between my brain and the brain stem. But they said they felt confident ad they were gonna take care of me, and they'd see me in surgery on Monday.
It must have been 1 or 2 AM when this happened, and my mom started crying again, this time the tears were closer to joy [relief]. She slept on the chair next to my bed the whole time I was in the hospital. I don't know how, but eventually, somehow we got to sleep that night.
Saturday and Sunday were both extremely long, fairly uneventful days. I went in for another MRI on Sunday, but other than that it was just lying in bed watching in TV for hours. My dad was there all day, every day, too. My brother was in Europe. My parents didn't want to call him and tell him what was going on until after the surgery, which made enough sense. Why worry him when he's on the other side of the world?
I got a lot of phone calls from family and friends, teachers, my boss at my luxurious Marshall's job, Stanley-the owner of Camp Monroe. And some visits too, family and friends. That was nice. It helped pass the time and it was really great seeing all these people that on Friday I wondered how many more times I'd be able to see them.
So Sunday night, I'm lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. Yet, believe it or not, it was a little hard thinking that when I woke up I was undergoing brain surgery. So of course, the bed next to me in the room that was vacated ever since Saturday morning was filled. A family was involved in a car accident, and they were keeping one of the kids over night but of course they all stayed there. Of course, they were extremely noisy throughout the entire night. I felt bad about complaining, but it wasn't that dire of an accident and it was like 2 in the morning and all I wanted to do was go to sleep so I can wake up and have surgery.
Monday, June 6th, 2005 - Surgery was supposed to be at 11. I was nervously watching the clock wanting the time to come already, but of course it got pushed back. A couple of hours passed and then around 2 or 3, someone came in to wheel me down to prep me for surgery. Wha- Now?! I'm not ready, I need time to, you know, mentally prepare.
So I was wheeled down in this waiting room/line. They wheeled me in and you know, the anesthesiologist is cracking jokes, trying to help me not worry so much. I was actually okay that day. I was ready. They gave me the anesthesia, and told me to count backwards from 100. I'm thinking Ugh, great. There's no way I'm gonna pass out, I'm too nervous... 100.... 99... 98...97...
97 was the last number I remember.
I woke up in some pretty intense pain. I couldn't move my neck at all. They wheeled me back to my room and I couldn't have been happier to see my parents faces. They had me on a morphine drip, and I was able to control it by pressing a little button another dosage of morphine would hit me. It was so good. So good, in fact, they took the power away from me the next day. They said it was to be expected, but I was taking a bit too much morphine than I should, and well, I was in more pain for the rest of my stay.
Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler came in and I thanked them. I stayed in the hospital until Wednesday. I was in this foam neck cast, and the ride home was killer. When I got home, no position was comfortable. Everything was painful. I stayed at home until the very last day of school. My mom had the glorious job of removing the bandages from the back of my head. You can imagine how cute she thought it was when she saw 13 bloody staples when she took it off.
I went back to school for the last day. The last day of senior year, my last day of high school. I was walking around with my yearbook, this stiff board, unable to rotate my neck at all, so I'd have to turn my whole body when I moved. It was eerie. Most of these people knew why they hadn't seen me in two weeks, and the conversations were... interesting. So that was the glorious memory of my last day in high school.
I went back to see my neurologist, who told me that although the growth was benign, because of the location of it it was very dangerous. Had they not caught it, I could have potentially only had a few years left. Had I not gotten it checked it out, I could've died shortly after college. Well, I'm entering my senior year now, and that still stays with me.
I had the surgery, the growth was removed. Had that not happened, I could've mysteriously dropped dead in a few years. I still wonder a lot that that might still happen. I've had follow-up MRIs every year, and nothing appears to be regrowing; but I still think about that.
The truth is, you never know how much time you have. Everyone assumes that they're going to live a full life and get to see their grandkids grow up. People always think that if there's some danger around the corner, there'll be signs or they'll be able to deal with it. Not to sound too much of a downer, but the truth of it all is you never know what's gonna happen. You just never know.
I owe my life to Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler. Without them, I might not be here. Or maybe in a few years. Thank you, Dr. Schneider. Thank you Dr. Mitler. I owe everything I have to them.
I had been meaning to do this for some time; write down the whole experience. I feel like this was not as emotionally driven, or fact-filled as it could've been if I'd done this right after it happened. But I liked this, it was good for me to do this. I was looking forward to writing this today, and I'm glad I did.
Like I said, today was third year anniversary of my brain surgery. Not a day goes by that I don't think about it.
Oh, and it's the anniversary of my brain surgery.
Three years ago today, June 6, 2005, I underwent brain surgery. It was by far the scariest thing I've ever had to deal with. I thought my life was quite literally over. And in honor of that day, I choose to do something that I've been meaning to do ever since; put it all down in writing. Of what I can remember at this point, that is.
For years, ever since I can remember, I used to get these odd head pains. It would come so randomly and without warning. I'd just turn my head slightly and it felt like an electric shock was hitting me all throughout my head. It was a really intense pain, and I wouldn't be able to move for a few seconds. Then after about 10 seconds the pain would fizzle and my head would feel numb.
This had been going on for years, ever since I can remember, but it would only happen two, maybe three times a year, so I never really thought much about it. As I got older, I started to wonder about it a bit more. I don't remember if they were necessarily becoming more frequent, but it was on my mind more, thinking that I ought to get it checked out.
So, towards the end of my senior year of high school in March 2005, I was in gym class. We were playing badminton and my partner and I (not as in the homosexual, significant other, life-partner sense, but you know, badminton partner in doubles) were both about to swat a birdie. It just hit me, and immediately brought me to my knees. I fell over on to the floor grabbing my head, wondering when it was gonna go away, because it seemed like it was getting more intense. My partner was freaking out because he thought he slammed me in the back of the head.
"No, no, don't worry - it's just uh, this thing."
Yeah, that seems normal, right? I decided it was time to get it checked out; to make sure nothing serious was going on. So of course by the time I actually had an appointment with my doctor, it was now late April/early May. He said he thought it was just a pinched nerve, but being it's not his expertise he sent me to a neurologist.
It was mid-late May by the time I saw Dr. Grossman, my neurologist. He saw me, checked me out and thought the same thing - probably just a pinched nerve. But he had me go back in a few days for some tests. Let me say, it's a lot of fun having wires from a computer attached to your head. Not the least bit scary at all. (If you really couldn't tell, for whatever reason - yes, that was sarcasm).
But none of those tests showed anything wrong. Why push on? He schedules me for an MRI.
Monday, May 31st, 2005 - I went in for an MRI. And believe it or not, I wasn't really freaking out about the seriousness of all of this. I was just thinking, Jeez, an MRI? Is that really necessary? Seems kinda heavy duty. Now, I'm not really one to be claustrophobic, but being slid into a little cylinder-shaped container not much bigger than me isn't so fun. My nose was practically touching the ceiling. An hour of loud bangs, clicks and buzzes all around my head was a little nerve-racking.
Finally, it was over. I made plans for afterward and went about my day. Stephanie, let me just say I'm sorry that this was the last time I saw you for a few years. I didn't exactly plan all of that - but the next month my head wasn't in the best place, then I was gone for the rest of the summer, then it was off to college. I'm sorry.
So I went about the rest of the week as normal, thinking nothing of it.
Friday, June 3rd, 2005 - While the rest of my esteemed soon-to-be graduating class was getting ready for the prom that night, I wasn't going. For whatever reasons, I'm not getting into that now - but in the end, it's good I wasn't planning on going because in the end, I was going to be elsewhere that night.
I was heading out the door with my mom and grandma on our way to my cousin's house for dinner, when the phone rang. I picked it up; it was my neurologist asking to speak with my mother. I'll never be able to figure out how she was able to stay so calm, but she hung up and told me we had to go to his office.
I'm not sure why, but even then I didn't think it was going to be anything serious. In reality, when a neurologist calls you and tells you to come in to his office immediately, you can kind of figure it's pretty serious, but I don't know. Probably because my mom was so calm, I didn't think anything of it.
My grandma waited in the car and we went in to the office. We were called in to his office right away, and sitting there waiting for him I began to become a little wary.
He came in and cut right to it. I'll never be able to forget his words...
"Mark... there's something on your brain, I don't know what it is, but it has to be removed immediately."
My heart sunk. I couldn't breathe. All the blood from my head drained in an instant. Naturally my mom couldn't hold it in anymore. All I could think was, I am going to die. I am going to die at a very, very young age. Or what if I don't die? Oh my God, I'm going to be brain dead. I can't believe this is happening to me. Why me, God?!
I sat there crying, just bawling. I couldn't help myself. I felt numb. I felt as if I were already going to die. My life was over. Here I am, not yet 18, and I am going to die? How fucking unfair is it that I should have to deal with this? Haven't I been crapped on enough all my life? Really, this is how it's going to end? I'm never going to have children. My parents are going to have to bury me.
I couldn't believe this was happening to me. He told us to go to the hospital right away; he let them know before that we were gonna be coming in. Head to the ER.
We leave the office and get in the car, where my grandma's been sitting there waiting. My mom tells her that we have to go to the hospital; she wanted to scare her as little as possible. My dad, who was going to meet us at my cousin's house, met us at the hospital when we got there.
I'll never forget the car ride there. Not that anything specific happened, but I can remember exactly how I felt. Exactly. Sitting in the car on the way there, being driven by my mom, sitting next to my grandma, I just felt so utterly and completely helpless. I already felt like a vegetable,to put it poetically. I felt like my fate was sealed and it wasn't going to allow me to live a long, normal, healthy life.
At the hospital, dad took grandma home while mom stayed with me. After my dad got back my name was finally called. I was brought in to a small room. Some young doctor took my blood and asked me what was going on, describe the sensations I was feeling in my head. This was a recurring theme that night. I must have seen 6 or 7 different people, all of whom needed me to tell them everything from the beginning.
When you're in a situation like that, you really don't feel like telling your story multiple times. Why couldn't they just communicate with each other, or have 5 doctors in the room at the same time? Anyway, they finally took me to my room. I was going to stay overnight.
I wasn't yet 18 when this happened, so they put me in the children's ward. I must say this was the greatest thing that could've happened to me during the whole ordeal. The way they treated me there just made me feel so much more comfortable.
Late that night while I was lying in bed, two surgeons walked in my room, Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler. They told me they were going to be the ones operating on me. They looked at my MRI films, and they think they know what it is. I had a small growth wedged between my brain and my brain stem. They said they didn't think it was cancerous, it seemed benign. It was like a grape, fairly small and curiously enough, perfectly round. Because it was so round, they said it should be fairly easy to remove.
So the growth was not malignant, and it was not that huge. But what made it so serious (besides the fact that, you know, I had a growth on my brain) was it's location. Like I said, it was wedged in between my brain and the brain stem. But they said they felt confident ad they were gonna take care of me, and they'd see me in surgery on Monday.
It must have been 1 or 2 AM when this happened, and my mom started crying again, this time the tears were closer to joy [relief]. She slept on the chair next to my bed the whole time I was in the hospital. I don't know how, but eventually, somehow we got to sleep that night.
Saturday and Sunday were both extremely long, fairly uneventful days. I went in for another MRI on Sunday, but other than that it was just lying in bed watching in TV for hours. My dad was there all day, every day, too. My brother was in Europe. My parents didn't want to call him and tell him what was going on until after the surgery, which made enough sense. Why worry him when he's on the other side of the world?
I got a lot of phone calls from family and friends, teachers, my boss at my luxurious Marshall's job, Stanley-the owner of Camp Monroe. And some visits too, family and friends. That was nice. It helped pass the time and it was really great seeing all these people that on Friday I wondered how many more times I'd be able to see them.
So Sunday night, I'm lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. Yet, believe it or not, it was a little hard thinking that when I woke up I was undergoing brain surgery. So of course, the bed next to me in the room that was vacated ever since Saturday morning was filled. A family was involved in a car accident, and they were keeping one of the kids over night but of course they all stayed there. Of course, they were extremely noisy throughout the entire night. I felt bad about complaining, but it wasn't that dire of an accident and it was like 2 in the morning and all I wanted to do was go to sleep so I can wake up and have surgery.
Monday, June 6th, 2005 - Surgery was supposed to be at 11. I was nervously watching the clock wanting the time to come already, but of course it got pushed back. A couple of hours passed and then around 2 or 3, someone came in to wheel me down to prep me for surgery. Wha- Now?! I'm not ready, I need time to, you know, mentally prepare.
So I was wheeled down in this waiting room/line. They wheeled me in and you know, the anesthesiologist is cracking jokes, trying to help me not worry so much. I was actually okay that day. I was ready. They gave me the anesthesia, and told me to count backwards from 100. I'm thinking Ugh, great. There's no way I'm gonna pass out, I'm too nervous... 100.... 99... 98...97...
97 was the last number I remember.
I woke up in some pretty intense pain. I couldn't move my neck at all. They wheeled me back to my room and I couldn't have been happier to see my parents faces. They had me on a morphine drip, and I was able to control it by pressing a little button another dosage of morphine would hit me. It was so good. So good, in fact, they took the power away from me the next day. They said it was to be expected, but I was taking a bit too much morphine than I should, and well, I was in more pain for the rest of my stay.
Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler came in and I thanked them. I stayed in the hospital until Wednesday. I was in this foam neck cast, and the ride home was killer. When I got home, no position was comfortable. Everything was painful. I stayed at home until the very last day of school. My mom had the glorious job of removing the bandages from the back of my head. You can imagine how cute she thought it was when she saw 13 bloody staples when she took it off.
I went back to school for the last day. The last day of senior year, my last day of high school. I was walking around with my yearbook, this stiff board, unable to rotate my neck at all, so I'd have to turn my whole body when I moved. It was eerie. Most of these people knew why they hadn't seen me in two weeks, and the conversations were... interesting. So that was the glorious memory of my last day in high school.
I went back to see my neurologist, who told me that although the growth was benign, because of the location of it it was very dangerous. Had they not caught it, I could have potentially only had a few years left. Had I not gotten it checked it out, I could've died shortly after college. Well, I'm entering my senior year now, and that still stays with me.
I had the surgery, the growth was removed. Had that not happened, I could've mysteriously dropped dead in a few years. I still wonder a lot that that might still happen. I've had follow-up MRIs every year, and nothing appears to be regrowing; but I still think about that.
The truth is, you never know how much time you have. Everyone assumes that they're going to live a full life and get to see their grandkids grow up. People always think that if there's some danger around the corner, there'll be signs or they'll be able to deal with it. Not to sound too much of a downer, but the truth of it all is you never know what's gonna happen. You just never know.
I owe my life to Dr. Schneider and Dr. Mitler. Without them, I might not be here. Or maybe in a few years. Thank you, Dr. Schneider. Thank you Dr. Mitler. I owe everything I have to them.
I had been meaning to do this for some time; write down the whole experience. I feel like this was not as emotionally driven, or fact-filled as it could've been if I'd done this right after it happened. But I liked this, it was good for me to do this. I was looking forward to writing this today, and I'm glad I did.
Like I said, today was third year anniversary of my brain surgery. Not a day goes by that I don't think about it.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
So I Have An Internship... Now What?
Ahh, summer vacation. The greatest 3.5 months of the year, right? School's out, the weather's nice - this is what we've all been waiting for all of last summer, right? Ehh, not in every case.
I've just finished my junior year and I have an internship, albeit part-time, at an advertising agency. This is what I wanted. This was the plan.
I've spent the last nine summers of my life at a sleep away camp. I lived for the summers. I was a camper there for 4 years, a waiter, and then "worked" there as staff for the last four summers. I surround the word worked with quotation marks because I believe in order to technically be working, you in turn get paid for the work. Technically some small sum of money did exchange hands in my favor, but the amount could hardly be deemed fair payment for my services.
Besides, most if not all of the money that I was to be paid over the summers were spent primarily on booze at Legends, the crappy hole-in-the-wall bar up by Camp Monroe. But it was our crappy hole-in-the-wall bar, and it was amazing. They served us, despite the fact that more of us were under 21 than over.
Spending the past nine summers away from home, I cut a lot of ties around here on Long Island. And now, for the first time since 1998, I'll be spending the entire summer on Long Island.
Before I even started college, I planned to return to Monroe up until last summer - figuring I wouldn't really need an internship until the summer after my Junior year of college. So now, Junior year has come and gone, and despite unnecessarily sweating out the internship that I unknowingly had ever since mid-March, I can breath a sigh of relief. I am not a sorry excuse waste-of-life college bum.
I am an intern.
Again, a part-time intern. Nonetheless, I have an internship at an advertising agency. Pretty legit, eh?
For two days a week until my Senior year starts up at good ol' Syracuse University, I'll be learning the crafts of my trade that'll hopefully help land me a job in 12 months, that hopefully won't make me want to pluck my eyeballs out with a fork.
So the other five days a week... well, let's just say that so far my summer has been a tad more dormant than I'd imagined. And although I'm starting my search much later than I should have, it is time...
I need a summer job.
I already have the internship that'll do something for my eventual career... That's the plan, at least - otherwise it's "Hello, Devry!" (No that's not funny, that's scary.) But now I really need to make some money. Otherwise, there's no reason I couldn't return to Camp - and that can't happen.
Thank God the list of respectable summer jobs for college students is endless!! Oh wait, no - that's an entirely false statement. So now it is the beginning of June, and I have been home for almost an entire month. In no specific order, it's time to examine possible summer job opportunities.
Waiter: In theory I wouldn't mind doing this. I enjoy people, so long as they don't suck. Which can be taken as both a universal and/or contradictory statement. But I mean it, I'm a people person. I enjoy the atmosphere of a lively restaurant chain more than most, probably. But when it comes to people who suck, and reminder, I live on Long Island, so like... a carefully calculated 62% of people here fall in to that category. Also, although it was an entirely different set-up, my summer spent as a waiter in the sleep away camp setting was anything but a success. I can be clumsy at times, and that's putting it politely. So maybe that experience will drive me away from doing that.
Bartender: I've always wanted to be a bartender. I think it would be so cool to work at a buzzing local bar, but again: Long Island. Guidos, bitchy japs driving around on their daddy's money and all around shitty people ain't my bag, baby. Plus, I'd have to spend $2-300 getting my bartender's license, and then honestly... who wants to hire an unexperienced 20-year-old male as a bartender? I could get a job if I had long blonde hair and a nice rack, or experience behind a bar, either one really. But realistically, no. Plus, the whole clumsy factor.
Temp Agency: I really wanted to steer away from this. Not wanting to do secretarial bullshit work is the reason why I became an advertising major - in hopes that I'd be able to something creative with my life and actually enjoy getting up and going to work in the mornings. Although this is the most realistic, probable and possibly profitable choice, I'll save this one for later.
Fast-food: All I can think of is my days working at Marshall's my senior year of high school. Making minimum wage and having to accept customers talk to you like you're a complete idiot isn't as glamorous as it sounds. Hey, Lady! You're the one spending 3 nights a week at Marshall's carefully setting up a scheme to swap SALE stickers on other merchandise, all so you can save $4.99 on a shitty shirt. Then when you get caught, because it's pretty easy to tell, I'm forced to receive and accept your tongue-lashing because I'm working behind the counter? I was 17, who's gonna give a high school kid, no matter how smart they are, a real job? Anyway, I'd rather not relive those minimum wage memories so I can actually utter the words "Would you like fries with that?" to the scum I went to high school with. I'll pass.
The Internet is your friend: I could sell shit online, or find those abstract, odd, yet reliable ways to make money online doing different things (no not porn, don't worry, even I wouldn't wanna see that). I recently came across a site where I can make money for sending in my ideas or writings. But if I'm gonna write something, it's not gonna be so I can sign my rights away and make $100 while this company turns it into a book. Maybe I can stumble across focus groups or lend my body to science experiments. One friend, who shall remain nameless, came across an ad on Craigslist that they responded to. Said person got paid $500 to go over to some old man's house and pee on him as the old guy laid in a bathtub. I don't think I'll be going in that route.
Jones Beach: I just thought of working concerts at Jones Beach. I have cousins that did it years ago, and they hated it. But I'd like to think I wouldn't mind it all so much. I'd get to (sort of) hear (yet definitely not see) concerts (from bands that I will most likely not want to listen to at all). Maybe not work concerts, but doing something else at the beach. Or some other beach. A cabana boy? I could definitely make some coinage that way.
I'm not sure how big the market is out there for employers with fun summer job opportunities still looking, specifically for people who can work only Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. I was kind of hoping writing this would help me figure out what I'll do, but really I'm no closer than I was when I started.
I thought I'd be able to pass out floating around in my pool, listening to some good tunes all summer. Isn't there any way I can get paid for that?
Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I'm also actually hoping for a surgery this summer that would in effect put a halt to my internship and whatever job I do or do not land. So I'm sure by the time I figure out how I'm going to make my millions over the next few months, Surgery #5 of my life would be more than a minor roadblock. Ain't doctors fun?
I've just finished my junior year and I have an internship, albeit part-time, at an advertising agency. This is what I wanted. This was the plan.
I've spent the last nine summers of my life at a sleep away camp. I lived for the summers. I was a camper there for 4 years, a waiter, and then "worked" there as staff for the last four summers. I surround the word worked with quotation marks because I believe in order to technically be working, you in turn get paid for the work. Technically some small sum of money did exchange hands in my favor, but the amount could hardly be deemed fair payment for my services.
Besides, most if not all of the money that I was to be paid over the summers were spent primarily on booze at Legends, the crappy hole-in-the-wall bar up by Camp Monroe. But it was our crappy hole-in-the-wall bar, and it was amazing. They served us, despite the fact that more of us were under 21 than over.
Spending the past nine summers away from home, I cut a lot of ties around here on Long Island. And now, for the first time since 1998, I'll be spending the entire summer on Long Island.
Before I even started college, I planned to return to Monroe up until last summer - figuring I wouldn't really need an internship until the summer after my Junior year of college. So now, Junior year has come and gone, and despite unnecessarily sweating out the internship that I unknowingly had ever since mid-March, I can breath a sigh of relief. I am not a sorry excuse waste-of-life college bum.
I am an intern.
Again, a part-time intern. Nonetheless, I have an internship at an advertising agency. Pretty legit, eh?
For two days a week until my Senior year starts up at good ol' Syracuse University, I'll be learning the crafts of my trade that'll hopefully help land me a job in 12 months, that hopefully won't make me want to pluck my eyeballs out with a fork.
So the other five days a week... well, let's just say that so far my summer has been a tad more dormant than I'd imagined. And although I'm starting my search much later than I should have, it is time...
I need a summer job.
I already have the internship that'll do something for my eventual career... That's the plan, at least - otherwise it's "Hello, Devry!" (No that's not funny, that's scary.) But now I really need to make some money. Otherwise, there's no reason I couldn't return to Camp - and that can't happen.
Thank God the list of respectable summer jobs for college students is endless!! Oh wait, no - that's an entirely false statement. So now it is the beginning of June, and I have been home for almost an entire month. In no specific order, it's time to examine possible summer job opportunities.
Waiter: In theory I wouldn't mind doing this. I enjoy people, so long as they don't suck. Which can be taken as both a universal and/or contradictory statement. But I mean it, I'm a people person. I enjoy the atmosphere of a lively restaurant chain more than most, probably. But when it comes to people who suck, and reminder, I live on Long Island, so like... a carefully calculated 62% of people here fall in to that category. Also, although it was an entirely different set-up, my summer spent as a waiter in the sleep away camp setting was anything but a success. I can be clumsy at times, and that's putting it politely. So maybe that experience will drive me away from doing that.
Bartender: I've always wanted to be a bartender. I think it would be so cool to work at a buzzing local bar, but again: Long Island. Guidos, bitchy japs driving around on their daddy's money and all around shitty people ain't my bag, baby. Plus, I'd have to spend $2-300 getting my bartender's license, and then honestly... who wants to hire an unexperienced 20-year-old male as a bartender? I could get a job if I had long blonde hair and a nice rack, or experience behind a bar, either one really. But realistically, no. Plus, the whole clumsy factor.
Temp Agency: I really wanted to steer away from this. Not wanting to do secretarial bullshit work is the reason why I became an advertising major - in hopes that I'd be able to something creative with my life and actually enjoy getting up and going to work in the mornings. Although this is the most realistic, probable and possibly profitable choice, I'll save this one for later.
Fast-food: All I can think of is my days working at Marshall's my senior year of high school. Making minimum wage and having to accept customers talk to you like you're a complete idiot isn't as glamorous as it sounds. Hey, Lady! You're the one spending 3 nights a week at Marshall's carefully setting up a scheme to swap SALE stickers on other merchandise, all so you can save $4.99 on a shitty shirt. Then when you get caught, because it's pretty easy to tell, I'm forced to receive and accept your tongue-lashing because I'm working behind the counter? I was 17, who's gonna give a high school kid, no matter how smart they are, a real job? Anyway, I'd rather not relive those minimum wage memories so I can actually utter the words "Would you like fries with that?" to the scum I went to high school with. I'll pass.
The Internet is your friend: I could sell shit online, or find those abstract, odd, yet reliable ways to make money online doing different things (no not porn, don't worry, even I wouldn't wanna see that). I recently came across a site where I can make money for sending in my ideas or writings. But if I'm gonna write something, it's not gonna be so I can sign my rights away and make $100 while this company turns it into a book. Maybe I can stumble across focus groups or lend my body to science experiments. One friend, who shall remain nameless, came across an ad on Craigslist that they responded to. Said person got paid $500 to go over to some old man's house and pee on him as the old guy laid in a bathtub. I don't think I'll be going in that route.
Jones Beach: I just thought of working concerts at Jones Beach. I have cousins that did it years ago, and they hated it. But I'd like to think I wouldn't mind it all so much. I'd get to (sort of) hear (yet definitely not see) concerts (from bands that I will most likely not want to listen to at all). Maybe not work concerts, but doing something else at the beach. Or some other beach. A cabana boy? I could definitely make some coinage that way.
I'm not sure how big the market is out there for employers with fun summer job opportunities still looking, specifically for people who can work only Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. I was kind of hoping writing this would help me figure out what I'll do, but really I'm no closer than I was when I started.
I thought I'd be able to pass out floating around in my pool, listening to some good tunes all summer. Isn't there any way I can get paid for that?
Oh yeah, I almost forgot, I'm also actually hoping for a surgery this summer that would in effect put a halt to my internship and whatever job I do or do not land. So I'm sure by the time I figure out how I'm going to make my millions over the next few months, Surgery #5 of my life would be more than a minor roadblock. Ain't doctors fun?
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