And so it begins

Alright, I'm off to get blood work done. Biopsy happens tomorow. I'll blog about the experience later tonight. Hope you're all having a good day.

Nerveosity

I just made that word up. I really like to make up words. In this case it stands for the whole starting to get nervous thing that arises from the knowledge that I start having crap done to me tomorow. Our boy John Humphrey had mentioned maybe getting some sushi for dinner tomorow night. Anybody interested in some sushi and perhaps some saki?

The gift of John

So yesterday I got a gift from my friend John. I appreciate it, I think it's an awesome gift. I've always wanted a book of mormon for my very own. Especially since my people are the lost sixth tribe of the Isrealites. I think that's awesome.

He also gave me some hershey's kisses, a cigar, A pair of Bracers of Power, 5 mystic stones, 1 girl scout pen, and one small, yellow troll. I think all in all this is a pretty good haul, and I very much appreciate it. Especially of interest was the mini reece's peanut butter cup with the message taped to it that says, "you're a damned home wrecker Kyle." I'm not entirely sure how or what home I wrecked, but we all know that my heart is a cold, dead stone, so I'll accept that I did, in fact, wreck a home.

This girlscout pen friggin' rules. For one thing it's huge. It sort of makes me feel slightly inferior. But there's all kinds of springs and gears and sprokets and stuff inside the pen, and when I push a button it makes this donkey laugh. It really is a great pen. My thanks to John, his mother, Becky, and the girl scouts of america.

One other thing. I'm calling off the dogs. I have all the chocolate I could ever eat. I think I'm going into insulin shock. At this rate I'll die of diabetes before the cancer. Thanks for it all, and I appreciate it a lot, but really, I just got done being a giant fat-ass, I need to move in the other direction now.

An open letter to Wallmart

Dear Sir or Madam,

I have always greatly loved your establishment. Long have I relied on Wallmart to be my moral compass and tell me what to believe. When you removed Maxim and Stuff magazines from your racks I applauded the death of filth. The day I learned of that action was one of the happiest days of my life.

The removal of cds with lyrics that are not propper for me to hear was a Godsend. For years I listened to music and thought that I really enjoyed it, but the Wallmart taught me that it was wrong for me to listen to music with the "F" word or the "S" word. Today I am truly a better person because the Wallmart told me to be so.

Perhaps the thing that I most love the Wallmart for is the decision that birth control is sinfull and not worth being carried. I am truly happy that the morning after pill is not available. Nothing makes me happier than the fact that all around the country Wallmart has decided that accidents and mistakes should now turn into crying mistakes who crap diapers and eat gerbers that can in turn be purchased at the Wallmart. I appreciate them showing me the light.

This leads me to today's visit to the Wallmart. I was deeply dismayed to find that the Wallmart had placed KY warming gel in the checkout lane of the Wallmart. At the moment I saw that, my entire world shattered. The Wallmart had always taught me that sex was something dirty, never to be enjoyed, and only to be embarked upon once every nine months so as to provide more business for the Wallmart.

You can imagine my dismay to see something so, so, sensual in your checkout aisle. Wallmart, why have you forsaken me? Please remove that disqusting bottle from your store. You have taught me that anything one does to the human body (besides shooting it in a freak hunting accident) is wrong. You have given me my morals Wallmart. You are my compas in this scary and confusing world. Before you came along I was lost, but now I am found. But then you did this.

Wallmart, I weep for my lost anchor, my missing direction.

Alas poor moral bedrock. I knew it Horatio.

Sincerely,
Kyle Martin

Another Day

So today is like the sixth day in a row that I won't be home till late. I'm tired man, real tired. But I'm taking the next two days off. I'm kind of enjoying today, though. I'm being creative and I think this Matt Nathinson guy might cause some girls to take their pants off. It sounds like it's that kind of music, so I've got that going for me.

I brought a bag of peanut butter dollops enclosed in Hershey's Kisses, and they are friggin' awesome man! Like super good. I want to just take a moment again to express how much Jenn and Jess rule in regards to the seven pound box of Kisses.

I'm very sorry that I had to miss the Dan Band in DC yesterday. I need you now tonight! I fucking need you more than ever! I'm pretty sure that it would have been a very special bonding moment for me and my quasimoledos. It's a scientific fact that melanoma secretes the aroma of fresh mountain rain when confronted by middle aged men singing women's songs from the 80's. I honestly think that's one of the most promising routes of Oncology research. Maybe Laura Vella can get on that for me.

Speaking of which conratulations to her.

I'm exited that I get the choping done on Wednesday because it's March 1st and the picture on my callendar for March is much cooler than my February picture. But it gives a new meaning to March coming in like a Lion.

Declaration of War

This is my official declaration of war.

I would be lying to all of you if I always pretended that this whole deal doesn't have me worried, concerned, and even a little scared. Fear and sadness are always those black miasmas just on the peripherals trying to advance into my thought. They lose. It's never easy dealing with them. In fact it's a constant battle. Don't think that I just constantly wake up happy and joking. I fight, tooth and nail. It always comes down to making a conscious decision between humor and melancholy, and even though facts and events may be screaming "Despair!" I choose humor. The battle has been truly joined.

I have amazing allies. Pete and Shea called me at work and offered to pick me up a crunch wrap supreme. Sadly I didn't get the message till much later, but I certainly appreciate it. Jenny and Jess left me a box wrapped in Foxtrot cartoons, and the box contained 7 POUNDS of hershey kisses. John, Jon, and Erik have all offered beers. Karl wants to play starcraft. The list goes on and on. And for everything I am tremendously gratefull. Thanks to all of you. And seven pounds man! That's friggin' awesome, but lets remember, I'm losing weight (80!) After those kisses it'll be down to 73.

I've always been up for a good scrap. I'm very strong. I will win. And I will do so with a smile and a joke. Quasimoledos are going down. They have been evicted from Notre Dame. Melanoma is a little bitch, and it's going to get smacked around like one.

Vital Signs

Blood Pressure: 114 over 72
Pulse: 80
Temp: 98.4
Height: 5'9"

What was the worst thing about the doctor today? I seem to have shrunk an inch and a half. That's messed up man, it's not like I was very tall to begin with. But at least my awesome blood pressure and pulse go to show that this whole thing isn't just a front and I am relatively calm about the whole deal. And the temperature just shows that I'm hot!

But we all knew that allready.

Oh, and for those of you who were wondering, the Rebellion is advancing. We now have a strong foothold in every core galaxy and in nearly half of the rim galaxies, although there are still 5 that I have not yet explored.

On another note I'm not sure what I should have for dinner. Peace a Pizza sounds delicious, but I might have to get a boring, yet healthy wrap. We shall see.

I think I forgot to tell you, but the thing on my head isn't actually a mole. It's some weird blood vessel that dead ends at my skin and makes some word that I promptly forgot after learning that it was fairly normal and not a health risk. So I get to keep my hair for a while longer. Score!

Just got back from the doctor

Hey gang,

So I just got back from the doctor's office, and here's the deal. He looked at my seeping moles, which happened to not be seeping at the time, and he was ready with his, "laser beam." He shot my quasimoledos with this, "laser beam" in an attempt to cauterize the bleeding hearts of my damned liberal quasimoledos. You would think that my cancer would be against universal healthcare. I guess it takes all kinds.

Anyways, judging by the odd smell and the stinging I would say that the "laser beam" did something, and I haven't seen any blood in the past hour. I should take a moment here and say that these "laser beams" are nothing compared to the laser carbines that the storm troopers use. I'm guessing the pansy Alderaanian guards on Princess Leia's Corellian Corvette used "laser beams" like these and that was a major contributing factor to why they did so poorly against the invading storm troopers. That and the ion cannons from the star destroyer disabling the shields, engines, and turbolaser batteries on the Corvette. As if a corvette could escape the iron clutches of a star destroyer anyway. Well actually, there must have been an interdicter cruiser there that we didn't see. But I digress.

So the doctor shot my quasimoledos with this "laser beam" and then told me to keep my apointment for Wednesday at which time the original suposition of one removal and biopsy has been upped to five removals and biopsies. He said that results could take as long as two weeks, but are usually much faster. It depends on the backlog at the lab they send the biopsies to.

So that's the story of that.

a minor miracle

Amazingly enough I've had all this stress between the whole melanoma thing and work being busy as all hell, and I haven't destroyed my diet. In fact last night for dinner I was at Iron Hill and instead of something awesome, like meatloaf, I got friggin fish on a bed of rice. What the hell's wrong with me?

After the doctor this afternoon I think I'll make a run for the border and get one of those crunch wrap supremes. You know, they're good to go. And they're packed with nacho cheese. Mmmmm, cheese.

This brings me to the next point. Cheese is awesome. Do you know cheese tours of England exist. I think that would be an awesome thing to do when I'm older. I think it's probably an older crowd right now. But to visit cheddar England, that would be awesome.

And traveling brings me to the next point. I just saw an ad for Sandals and I really want to go. Anyone want to go? Preferably if you don't have a twig and berries, but beggars can't be choosers.

This brings me to my next point. Blue berries are the supreme variety of berry. All others neel down before the greatness of their blue brethren and sistren.

melanoma research

Ok, so I finally sat down and did some melanoma research, and here's what I've come up with.

Melanoma is a Brazillian word which means, "prostitutes dancing the samba on the beaches of Sao Paulo 43 days before Carnivalle." You largely catch melanoma by having too much money, or parents with too much money, by having one's shirt off at the beach, and by not using terrible smelling lotions on your body. Bananna Boat is a fine example.

So once you've cought melanoma there's lots of ways to get rid of it. Apparently the best way to remove melanoma is a concoction of lemon juice, Absolut Mandarin, gecko excrement, 10W-30 motor oil to prevent viscosity and thermal breakdown, and holy water. This is applied to the melanoma and supposedly kills her.

Barring that a spirit journey to the straights of Magellan is needed. Once there one must meet the Shaman of the local McDonalds. He will anoint you in french fry grease and sweet and sour sauce. Honey is extra. He then strikes you on the head with the ceremonial dish rag. This should purge the dreaded melanoma from one's system.

Rehabilitation is dreadfull. The only option here is to attend a performance of Russia's hottest boyband, Dos Preyontica. They are notable for their sunken eyes, and for casting cabage onto the audience in lieu of on encore. I would charitably call the girls at this concert, 'fugly.'

After this concert one must visit a traditional Russian steam room. Sadly these rooms are inhabited chiefly by wrinkled men in their seventies.

Pray for me, this fate, it is a dreadfull one. I wish there were some way to avoid the steam rooms. I must away to the library for further research on some other magical cure. Something such as skin removal and even radiation would be preferable.

An open letter to MSNBC.com

Dear Sir or Madam,

Today, sadly, I was rudely forced to work through lunch and was unable to visit the Korner Diner for my usual. You see, my practice on weekdays is to visit said dining establishment and order a chicken wrap with brocolli was I sit at my booth and peruse the Wilmington News Journal, a.k.a. the bastion of solid newsastical mediocrity.

As my previous statement clearly states, however, work forced me to miss my apointment with lunch. So as a result I was unable to read Foxtrot. I then turned to your esteemed internets pavilion for aid and timely succor. I have often done this in the past, and have generally been quite happy. Your travel reporting in particular is of great interest to me.

But I digress. I turned to your internets pavilion and was mortified to see that you hid Foxtrot behind an advertising banner. Not only could I not read this most glorious of comic strips, but the edges were peeking out from the edge of the advertising column as if they were taunting me and my cruelly misformed skin.

Why do you hate me MSNBC.com? Have I wronged you in some way? Did I sleep with your girlfriend or scratch your car? Maybe I said that your mom was a MILF and it got back to you? Whatever it is, I appologize. Please don't taunt me with this. My frail constitution can't stand up to such harsh atrocities.

MSNBC.com, I implore you to let a poor soul such as mine have his one crutch. All I ask is for my Foxtrot to be returned to me.

Sincerely,
Kyle Martin

Question of the day

What happens when a $100,000 9 foot Steinway concert grand piano is delivered without the hinge pins to hold the lid on? And then what happens when one doesn't realize that the pins are missing and goes to open the lid?

I'll give you a hint, it involves insurance and carpentry.

seepage

So I'm doing a lot of work today. Like moving heavy speakers and lights and stuff. So I was actually smart and got to work a little early so I could raid the first aid kit and prepare myself by creating back diapers out of tape and gause. This has saved my shirt, although I haven't looked under the back diaber yet.

Well last night my mom and brother were all like, "Kyle, you should call back the doctor and tell them about your seepage. Because that shit is F'd up hommie." Forgive my liberalness with their exact words. So I called the doctor and I'm going back tomorow to have him re-look at my quasimoledos.

This leads me to another unfortunate occurance. Perhaps the worst of the quasimoledos, the king if you will, resides on the very top of my head. And the king started leaking just a little bit today. And let me tell you, the blood caked hair look is in for spring! So I'm going to have him take a look at that bad boy. I'm gonna tell you guys right now that my head is terribly lumpy and mis-shapen. almost like Chunk from the Goonies. The first person who laughs at my Chunk head gets a swift kick to the balls. Because really, I do enjoy soccer a lot and not many people play it, so you'd better be ready to go out and play before you call me Chunk.

To sum up

It has come to my attention that perhaps thus far my blog has been less than helpfull at explaining the details of the situation. Apparently I am too funny and forget to actually give details, or they are burried in funny stuff and you are too busy wiping the tears of mirth from your eyes to read the serious stuff. So here is a concise summary.

-I have several nasty moles that blead, are mis-shapen, and multi-colored

-My non-English as his first language doctor thinks they are Melanoma, so he sent me to get some of them chopped off and biopsied.

-Mr. biopsy happens in a magical place I like to call Glasgow Delaware on Wednesday.

-I've been all over Scotland, but not to Glasgow yet. That said Edinburgh is my favorite city on earth. I love it.

-I don't know when the biopsy results will get back. With my lack of knowledge of scientific fact I can only assume that I have to wait for the biopsy fairy to consume enough pickled herrings for her to activate her bionic vision and tell me of the presence of an excess of vapours.

-Donations of pickled herrings can be made to -428.9 Santa Claus Lane Land of Fairie 22456

-If the results come back positive I'm pretty sure that I would need to be transported to the secret underwater lair of team Excision! Where I will have a remarkably comfortable afternoon of mud wraps, salt baths, hot stone massages, and something called Reiki.

-I will then go to Michael's restaurant and purchase Bananna's Foster. a.k.a. the best dessert known to man.

Hershey's Kisses

So I just finished my sub-par turkey club wrap from lettuce feedyou and I'm waiting for my event to start. Not it just occurs to me that I don't have any hershey's kisses here in my office. This is unacceptable people! Didn't you read the headline of this blog? I know that 107 people have looked at it so far today, and yet I'm still kissless?

Well, I'm doing ok today. Except for the whole being friggin' tired thing my spirits are still hi. We have supplies to last us out the fortnight and the horses are still sure of foot. The men look at me with shifty eyes, though. I told Wintrhop that we needed Nepalese Sherpas, and he hires me these listless vagabonds. They're fine on the opening leg of our journey, but how shall I bring down the great Yetti with these pathetic beaters? And not the good kind of beaters, like the type that roust the birds from the brush so that Dick may shoot at them and his friends, but the surly type of beaters who are constantly masters of their own domain. I shudder to say the word, 'wankers' in polite society, but alas I must say it...Gilbert just informs me that my hunting hound Bartholomew has just perished. Excuse me as I weep.

Alas poor Bartholomew, I knew him Horatio.

Tired

I really shouldn't be this tired. I did like one hour of physical activity on stage this afternoon and I'm friggin' exhausted. At least I caught the bleeding before it ruined my shirt today. Oh, and don't challenge me or I shall run you down and touch you with the dreaded cancer blood kleenex!

So I figured I would make a list of things that make me tired and bloody, and things that don't.

Tired and Bloody.
-Moving pianos by myself
-Stacking dozens of chairs
-hanging lights and using wrenches
-carrying tables around the theatre
-pectoral flys
-lat pull downs

Not Tired and Not Bloody.
-Playing video games
-Watching TV
-Listening to music
-Making up nonsensical words
-Shoobaloobada
-Asking the internets for the answers to life's nagging questions

Not Tired but Bloody.
-Sleeping apparently.

You know how there's diapers for people who can't keep their urine to themselves when they sleep? Is there like a back diaper for when I can't keep my blood to myself. I know, you're going to say something like, "Damnit Kyle, you're friggin' retarded. Back diaper? It's called gause and tape, Einstein. And you say you graduated college?"

To that I say, "YES!" I graduated with degrees in English and Theatre. Nowhere in my five years did I take a course on how to be smrt.

I could sure go for a donut right about now. Preferably kreme filled from DD.

Alas poor Delaware Krispy Kremes. I knew them Horatio.

An open letter to the Make a Wish Foundation

Dear Sir or Madam,

Let me start off by saying that I am fully cognizant of the fact that your group is designed to provide last wishes for children in the terminal stages of disease. I am also fully cognizant of the fact that in ageific terms I am technically no longer a child and that I believe I am (not) dying. Despite that, I would like to get you guys working because there's a wish I'd like to get taken care of.

I would like a weekend in a nice jacuzi suite of a fine hotel spent with three hot chicks. I would preferably like a blond, a brunnette, and a redhead so I can cover all the bases. It would be a magical weekend of fun and games. Uno comes immediately to mind but we could quite possibly play jenga, scattegories, and twister.

If you guys at the foundation could make this happen I promise to write you into my will. When I finally die you could be the proud recipient of half of all my debts and obligations. Then you'd be fullfilling Citibank's wishes as well. Isn't it a great feeling to know that you're making a difference.

One more slight suggestion before I wrap up. I think things would be better all around if these three spectacularly attractive women come into this whole wish deal with very low expectations. I'm pretty sure we would all be happier if they are not easily dissapointed.

Sincerely,
Kyle Martin

Foxtrot

So I really enjoy the cartoon Foxtrot. I'm not entirely sure why, but it's probably because it's a dork's paradise. That's like a rappers paradise except it references LOTR, WOWC, Star Wars, and physics instead of guns, hos, and money money dolla bill y'all.

Now is the time you should be asking, "Kyle, you increadible git! What does Foxtrot have to do with you having melanoma? I'm so confused and I hate you for making me confused!" Well I'll tell you, Foxtrot has nothing to do with melanoma.

Except that I like it. And my Quasimoledos hate it. You see melanoma is like Al Qaeda, and Foxtrot is my 'Merican freedoms. Quasimoledo hates my American freedoms. Sometimes it's hard to harbor islands of extreme Islamic terrorist groups on my back, but I perservere. It would be un-American of me not to. And John Ashcroft would stop being a lobyist and crush me under his steel-toed boot.

work, newt-shirt, reading shit, playing a video game

So here's what my day has been like so far.

I get to work and start hanging lights. As my previous post points out, I started to bleed and shit.

-I decide to go to lunch, and purchase a new t-shirt for myself at the 5&10 so I don't get my lovely and comfortable cardigan sweater all bloody.

-lunch was delicious, by the way.

-I then sat down and decided to read other blogs and websights about melanoma. There's a lot out there, and apparently this thing is crappy. melanoma can suck my balls!

-So I said, "screw that Kyle." And I started to play Star Wars Rebellion instead. I started down the road of crushing the mighty empire under swarms of X-wings and Mon Calamari Cruisers. But now I have to go back to work.

And, yes, for those of you who don't know me too well, I am a total dork. I saw every one of the star wars, LOTR, and Matrix movies at midnight. I'm proud of it!

Bee Stings

So, around the time that my quasimoledos started bleeding, they also started stinging. It's like there's five or six little bee stings on my back. They don't really hurt too badly, they're just friggin' annoying. They especially hurt this afternoon when I went to try to hang up lights and move pianos and crap. I guess this might mean that I'm going to have to be more organized and actually get employees in to help. Damn, I hate having to be all organized and crap. I fly by the seat of my pants Damnit!

On another note I've started listening to Death Cab for Cutie. Sweet, sweet melancholy on a cd. Did you ever notice that whenever you see a truck driving around with a Mexican flag in their back windshield they also have a cd hanging from the rear view mirror? That's so ghetto.

Oh, and I just ruined another t-shirt trying to do this work. Friggin' blood just does not come out!

"Alas poor Old Navy 5.99 tshirt. I knew him Horatio."

That's what friends are for

My friend Karl can always cheer me up. His response,

"Now I know in a situation like this you start doing some serious reflecting on life and stuff. So as you look back on the wins and losses in your life, remember this...You have never seen a Manning lift a championship trophy in victory, EVER!!!! Now if that don't bring a smile to you, I don't know what will."


He also suggested I write a blog entry entitled, "Fun with bloody sheets, a guide to practical jokes." I shall take this idea under carefull advisement.

Oh, and just because I can't spel doesn't mean you can judge me!

First Post

Hi, my name is Kyle.

I might have melanoma, that's a funny word. Try to say it out loud, malanoma. Doesn't it sound funny? I appologize, I digress. Probably not a good sign on my first blog entry in my entire life, but I shall push onwards.

Let me start from the begining. I grew up sailing, it was a great time notable largely for the lack of sunscreen reapplications. These gave rise to mis-shapen, mis-colored moles on my back that I made a point of ignoring. This happy state of affairs led me to a few days ago.

So a few days ago I wake up and my sheets are covered in blood. My first thought was one of great relief, "Awesome! I finally got my period, I must not be pregnant!" A seccond later I realized that I'm actually a dude. I'm not good in the mornings. My seccond thought was that I offended karma with my recent purchase of 800 thread count Egyptian Cotton sheets. It decided to punish me by bleeding all over them. But I love those sheets! They're so comfortable!

Anyways, after looking in the mirror I realize that my Quasimodo-esque moles actually decided that February was a good month to bleed. So this is where I do something completely out of character. I call the doctor.

Fast forward to today. My doctor's name is Martin. He's a very nice African gentleman that I have trouble understanding. He looks at my back, pokes, asks if the moles sting (they do), and then says, "Don't worry, you have many moles, and they appear to be melanoma, You need biopsy as soon as possible." I too was jolted by the apparently misplaced "don't worry." But Martin is a nice guy and English is not his first language.

So now I'm here. I get a biopsy next Wednesday. I've decided to reccord my journey through this space. Hopefully this is a very short-lived blog. But if not, this is where you come for updates. And maybe some cartoons, but I'm not sure about that yet. Do you think the dude who writes Foxtrot would let me post some of his cartoons? Neither do I, oh well.