Goob Is Goofy

Hey Disney, don't sue me.

I’ve Been Inked For Years

Originally drafted on April 16, 2011. This is part of a new series where I clean out my Drafts folder.

There’s an old proverb that says “the faintest ink is more powerful than the strongest memory.” At least I think that’s how it goes. I should probably write it down.

I was constantly terrified of writer’s block when I started Shyzer. I soon discovered the real threat was thinking of a great idea while sitting on the bus and then completely blanking once I finally got my ass to a computer. I spent dozens of hours trying to recreate moments in the off chance that it would help me remember whatever it was I thought I was forgetting. “Okay, so I was sitting on the couch like this, watching Price is Right and eating half a box of Froot Loops. Wait, no, maybe it was half a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch…”

I finally went out and bought one of these little spiral notepads when I was living in Australia. The fact that I was keeping great company was a mere bonus on top of never forgetting anything. They were the perfect dimension for riding in your back pocket, but the spiral inevitably destroyed itself. I blamed it on the lax Indonesian construction standards, but it probably had something to do with all the falling down that mysteriously coincided with my discovery of beer.

After some searching, I was able to find Field Notes. And yeah, that’s clearly a stock image. There’s no way my handwriting is that fancy.

This was a vastly superior option. I liked the grid layout and the pad itself held together with an unusually strong spine. However, the reason I had to use a stock image above was because every freaking pad I bought ended up looking like this.

I don’t know why in the world the cover is so flimsy, but it is. It came off on every pad I owned within weeks. It didn’t really bother me at first, but eventually the ink on exposed pages began to fade and blur, so once again I was in the market for a new pad.

Enter Moleskine. I’d used their larger notepads for journals, sketch & joke ideas, etc. But it was only recently that I tried out their softcover pocket pad. Tough as nail spine, lined pages, bookmark string, back pocket for scrap paper, and elastic band to keep it closed. You can’t beat it.

Oh, and don’t bother with any other pen than Uni-ball’s Jetstream. They’re like writing with magical Unicorn blood.

Hey Cancer. Eat It.

I asked my Oncologist if “the R word” applied to me yet. He thought I was asking if I was retarded.

My brain has always worked faster than my mouth. In a debate, I always end up shooting myself in the foot by stumbling over my tongue. That’s why I enjoy writing. To hell with making your point on the first try, in real time no less! My typical method for an article is to pound it out all at once, edit, re-edit, wait a few hours, edit some more, wait a few days, edit some more, and finally force myself to publish the damn thing before I end up rewriting every word.

I took the exact opposite approach with this post.

I didn’t want to type anything before I knew for certain because I’m superstitious inasmuch as I can jinx myself. It happens every time. I’m winning in a game? Trash talk seals my opponents crazy comeback. I mention it’s nice the plane is taking off on time? We stop halfway down the runway due to a broken flimflark. So the thought of writing this post ahead of time felt like an unnecessary tempting of fate I couldn’t afford.

Luckily yesterday my doctor said I’m officially in remission. He went on to say I’m not cured, obviously, and it could come back at any moment but I had kind of tuned him out by that point. My tumors were gone! All that self-groping hadn’t been in vain!

I plan on telling this individually to all my friends and family members, but until then, I just wanted to proclaim a public “rock the fuck on” to them. The support of Hiffers was fantastic, but I don’t want to ever make it sound like I was in this alone. Those around me stepped up their game and were simply awesome throughout this whole ordeal. I couldn’t have done it without them and I hope they know how much I appreciated their support.

Now, onto the next challenge life throws my way. Hopefully this one doesn’t involve boatloads of poison.

Luckily There Are Some Cute Nurses

So I’ve got cancer.

Well, I’ve actually had cancer for nine months now. Ten months? I don’t know. Math was never my strong suit. You’d think I’d better remember when I first had surgery, but it’s baseball season. I’ve got more important things to keep track of.

Things didn’t get too serious until last month when, during a routine visit, my doctor said “so yeah, get ready for chemo. Your cancer is a little bitch.” I’m paraphrasing.

Thus began lots of chemotherapy. I’m four weeks in and luckily it’s one of those good cancers. Stage II Testicular Cancer is fairly curable, plus I get the bonus perk of talking about my junk with complete strangers. But I felt like I needed to say something, otherwise the jokes that are soon to follow on Twitter and Facebook might seem a little out of left field.

In the mean time, if you want to help out, say a few extra stupid jokes today in my name. Trust me, I can sense them.

I Need A Map To Find My Map

I recently ordered a wall map from Amazon.

It showed up on my doorstep yesterday, wrapped and ready to be hung.

However, it came in this box.

Well done, Amazon.

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