Running Away from Cancer

Cancer scares the shit out of me.

I’ve joked before that I’m already beyond my midlife crisis stage because my life expectancy is, at best, 65. I grew up with the general impression that cancer, especially on my dad’s side, stalked the family, attacking this one or that one and, depending on its mood, killing amazingly fast or siphoning away life over the course of painful years. It didn’t matter if they were drunks or smokers or didn’t take care of themselves. In fact, in a few of the cases that stand out for me, the victims led clean lives. My grandmother’s sister didn’t drink, didn’t smoke and ate food so bland it was considered a joke in an place like South Louisiana. Her oldest son contracted some form of cancer and was dead before 50.
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Overheard in Soho: Me

Monday night, I was out with part of the Twitter Clan having a few drinks. My phone rang. Caller ID pegged it as mom. I’d just talked to her on Sunday and I was out with people, so I ignored the call.

Tuesday night, I was out with a former coworker having a few drinks. My phone rang. Caller ID pegged it as mom. Now, I’d just talked to her on Sunday, but she’s not the type to call three days in a row unless something is wrong. So I picked up the phone.
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Deep-Fried Book Review (Or: OMG YALL!)

My life was made complete on Monday when I received an e-mail about my book, The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival. Now, full disclosure, I’d had a business lunch with this person and gave her a copy of the book. So it’s not like she picked it up on her own and read it. That said, she did read it, while on a business trip, and took the time to write back. To those of you who know me well, when you see the signature below, you’ll know why this is like getting an email from Santa Claus:

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Dear Ken,

I just got back from a two week business trip to the Middle East. I took your book along for the ride. And I truly loved it! Your writing style is wonderfully engaging. I felt like I knew the characters. And I could not put it down.

Thank you for sharing your book with me. I’ll look forward to reading the next one!

Cheryl

Cheryl A Bachelder
CEO & President
Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen

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That’s right. THE CEO OF POPEYES LIKED MY BOOK.

Spring Into Monday

These rainy spring mornings aren’t exactly conducive to hopping out of bed. This is nice. There’s something about nice about waking up and not feeling the urgent rush to get out of bed if it’s one of the first sunny weekend days of the year. It can’t be wasted! We may never get another one. Even better to wake up to a sunny weekday, convinced the weather gods are mocking you because you will have to sit in a cubicle all day while all the other kids are outside playing.
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Death to All Flowers

It’s day four of my long national nightmare. There are no signs of relief. My head hurts more with each passing day. I sneeze–repeatedly. Overnight, I’ve developed a hacking cough. My eyes feel like they will pop out of my head.

A few years ago, when I went to a doctor telling her this cold or sinus infection was kicking my ass, she said, “Silly little man. You have allergies.”

“I never had them before,” I said.

“You do now,” she said.

So who do I blame? Old age or New York? Obviously, blaming either of those would be silly because a) I can’t go back and time and b) I’m sure as hell not moving anywhere else.

So that leaves me with one solution. And that isn’t medication. I haven’t found any that works yet. They all make me feel like I have allergy symptoms AND I’ve taken some lame-ass drug.

So, only thing to do is kill every bit of vegetation in New York. The flowers won’t be hard. But the trees? Hmmmm. Well, if you see a guy on the nightly news arrested for running around New York with a chain saw, you can tell all your friends you know me.

Cuz The Night Time Is The Right Time

A little joy in your morning. The Huxtables lip-synching Ray Charles’ “The Night Time (Is The Right Time).” This is like getting your chocolate in my peanut butter in someone else’s cocaine. It’s that awesome.

I was listening to Ray Charles on the way into work this morning and as I thought about what this bit of entertainment — one snippet from The Cosby Show — meant to me, I became certain I’d written about it before. And I had. After a similar commute on Jan. 7, 2005, I wrote something for The Subway Chronicles, created by my friend Jacquelin Cangro, who now blogs here. (You’ll have to scroll down as there were no permalinks on the site.)

What I wrote then — I don’t know if I’d be capable of writing it the same way today.
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Book Review: Sorta Like a Rock Star

On Thursday, I started reading Matthew Quick’s Sorta Like a Rock Star. On Friday morning, I finished it. I managed this despite taking Ambien on Thursday night. Ended up staying up until 1 in the morning and then, when I woke up before the alarm, instead of going back to sleep or turning on the television, I finished reading the book.

I’ll say this much: I’m glad I finished the book in the privacy of my own home. While it may have helped his sales some, I don’t fancy the idea of sitting on the 4 Train and blubbering like an idiot as the story crosses the finish line. The short version of this review: Buy this book and read it. (Full disclosure: Matthew Quick blurbed my book and though I’ve still yet to meet him, I think he’s a cool cat.)
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Chick With Books Likes My Book

Another review of The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival:

The First Annual Grand Prairie Rabbit Festival is light-hearted, fun and an adventure in reading. His characters have a certain charm and resilience that just make you love them. You can tell Ken Wheaton writes with a genuine affection for his characters as they deal honestly with the situations handed to them and no one is ostracized for being “different”. Gently touching on racism and sexual preference, these issues are part of the big picture of the book, but does not overwhelm the story. Hilarious one moment, tender the next, I thoroughly enjoyed my time spent in Grand Prairie.