Go Betty

The Battle For My Breasts

Though I may never fully win the battle, I will never lose it either. Everyday I look, check, wonder, and glimmers of my mom never leave my dreams for very long. She exists only in my dreams now: where I live in my childhood home as an adult, dressed in my St. Clement's uniform, holding her, explaining what happened. Then too soon that fucking moment of clarity shatters it, always, and I wake and groan knowing it's a dream, wishing it was real (ok, but not the part about wearing my school uniform).

How long will they stay healthy, perfect and beautiful? Or are they ticking time bombs just hanging around waiting to devastate our lives? My first mammogram is coming up soon. If I don't have children in the next 24 months should I just go for the double mastectomy / reconstruction? It's drastic but at least I won't get breast cancer. And it's free.

I looked around the table at Grano on Monday night and wondered how many of you, of us, will go down, have lumpectomies, mastectomies, chemo, terrified husbands and children who wonder am I going to lose her?

I have no idea why I'm still here. But I am. I try my best. I am proactive. I am careful. I love and am loved.

Rachael

I called Rachael "Michelle" a couple of times, and that embarrassed me. She was changing a bunch of stuff in her life right that minute. She was fun. She got frustrated at what a man-camp Kanuckistan was, and still she did some organizing and cleaning up (a completely losing battle). She experimented a fair bit. She got an infection (urinary tract or yeast, not sure which), and had to go to the first aid place each day to get the meds, cuz they don't dole out the whole course at once. She made sure I was ok all the time. That's because she's really a caring person. She had good New York stories. I helped her with some skin problem she was having (or maybe it was a burn?). She was a good girl.

The Fun Continues...

After getting a UAT signoff on my project on the condition that we cram through a bunch of change requests right after implementation I went to play hockey. I played a great game, the score was 1-1, and then I made a save, and then pulled the puck into the net with me... ARGH! The game ended with a score of 2-1. WE LOSE!

Driving home I rear-ended a dude southbound on Greenwood just north of Danforth. I was trying to avoid running over a squirrel so I sped up... and then basically rammed the dude ahead of me. Not hard and not fast, but I definitely bumped him and he bumped the dude ahead of him. The guy in car #1 had nothing wrong, so he drove away. The guy in the middle was a little shocked. Eventually he rolled down his window and I could tell he was just dumbfounded. I gave his shoulder a little squeeze. Then he got out of his car. I hugged him. He didn't speak English (he was Chinese). My car was fine. His car's rear bumper was a little off, the driver's side mudflap was almost touching his wheel. His car was pretty old, rusty and banged up anyway. I assured him I'd pay his damage, gave him all my info and wrote everything down on my business card. I told him to see my mechanics, who are Chinese guys, totally fast, honest and cheap. We shook hands. Poor guy, he was genuinely worried but I think he'll turn out to me an ok guy. I hope he does get in touch with me to pay his damage. It looked like a really small job, less than $200.

It All Just Caught Up With Me

I'm no longer sore in the hips (from walking 60km) but I do have a raging yeast infection! Mmmm, messy!

It could be from many, many porta-potty visits, using that awful 1-ply tp, and sweating like a wildebeest for the better part of the last 3 weeks; ditto wearing synthetic fabric around my crotchetal regions, endless travel, ceaseless walking, eating on the run, massive amounts of crazy sex (yea!), and ginormous work stress. And guilt that I've been neglecting my brother and my dog, not to mention my girlfriend.

Oh and both ears are also infected.

All I need now is pinkeye to complete this trifecta of pain.

I Dunno.

I’ve seen some VMA footage now of Britney (I know, VERY late to this shitstorm party, but I've been MIA lately). Everyone’s saying she’s fat. I don’t think she’s fat?! Not a hardbody, to be sure, but kinda sweet looking, stupid, bad extensions yes, and a cutely dumb outfit. Hell ya’ll I'd tap that. She’s a mother of two. Not looking too bad.

Alex From Brooklyn


One morning I decided to get ice for Kanuckistan. Arctica station at 9 o'clock & Boreal opened... I'm not sure when, 9am? 10am? And my watch was safely tucked away, not being worn on my wrist because I was nervous of wrecking it. It's my dad's old watch and I love it. And my rental van clock seemed to be the wrong time although in SF it was the correct time. See, I have this theory... that you drive so far north east to Burning Man that you leave Pacific Time and the computer in the van talks to a satellite. I know this is a crazy theory but how could the time be wrong in the desert and right everywhere else? Anypoopers, "real time", as burners say it, can be elusive. No one ever quite knows what time it is. The timings of things are loosey goosey.


So I walked along one morning and it was very quiet. And Arctica was clearly NOT open, so I decided to wander over to the Centre Camp cafe, so I started walking towards 6 o'clock along Boreal. I passed this little dude who said, "What's up?" and I replied something, like "Good Morning," I don't know what, and kept walking. Then I see him a little later peering into a side view mirror of an RV, looking closely at his face. I said something smart like, "Finding anything?" He said that he really needed to shave and then asked me if I had any water. I think, oh boy, this dude has, like about 5 facial hairs, AND he has no water. My first thought was complete annoyance because I had to help him with water, but a millisecond later I just kind of laughed and gave him a bottle of my water. You have to give with an open heart and not be so looking out only for yourself. We walked and chatted together after that.

We talked about BM, what it all meant, his sister serving her second tour in Iraq, where he grew up in Brooklyn, how to pronouce "Bedford-Stuyvesant" (now I know), his becoming a Kung Fu Master, and inevitably the topic of my upcoming divorce came up. By this time we were in the cafe and I had bought Alex a chai tea and myself an amazing cappuccino. I told him the G-rated version of my story because I try not to bog people down with my shiz, and I'm not a huge "sharer" of my internal landscapes of pain, unhappiness, suffering... I don't feel the need to unload (on strangers or anyone), I feel partially like it's my business, but also like, everyone suffers and has badness, mine is no more important than anyone else's... so I TRIED to keep it light.

But somehow this business-y overview of me and my marriage breakup made Alex dissolve into tears into my arms. Know that at this moment I was wondering if it was me...? Because basically every day at Burning Man someone was crying in my arms and telling me something deeply sad in their lives that was eating them up inside and that they were seeking to heal at Burning Man, and so I was always carrying around kleenex at this point.

Alex told me about his girlfriend (a high school teacher, on whom he cheats). When I talked about myself it triggered in him a deep feeling of fear and regret about his own behaviours. I guess he doesn't want to do hurtful things to a good woman whom he really loves and knows is "the one". And yet, he did these hurtful things. And it made him sad.

It was the kind of cry where you've got the person's snot on your shoulder, where the weeping is loud and the people around you take a look to see what's happening, and then politely look away and sort of just carry on their own thing, but then it's a little quieter all around you. It's like, oh shit, that dude is totally losing it and crying in that lady's arms (BUT THIS IS NORMAL AT BURNING MAN).

Anyway... after that, after he calmed down and told me everything about his girlfriend, we talked and walked some more. Then we parted ways and walked in completely opposite directions. And I did return to Arctica and buy some ice. And I never saw Alex again.

Bret Roberts: Actor

Maybe I'll just tell the stories backwards.

As I was driving out of Black Rock City, slowly, slowly, already dreaming and smiling a gigantic smile, still riding the wave of an enormous hit of ecstasy that I did the night before, waving a lazy hand to the other citizens as I passed them on the outer ring, all while watching a naked man fly a kite... I saw a tall, thin man walking, wearing very few clothes and carrying a skateboard.

I rolled down the window.

- Need a ride?

- I'm going to Reno.

- Me too, hop in.

(This, after Sarah said "No hitchhikers!")

I don't mean to sound cavalier but c'mon, after the better part of a week at Burning Man, you know that most people don't mean you harm, and the purpose is to give / receive freely. Including a ride to Reno.

Bret Roberts is an actor from L.A., originally from Alaska (it's true: everyone in the States lives somewhere but is actually from somewhere else "across state lines"). We talked for 2 hours straight about our Burning Man experiences, Bret Roberts' roles, his life in L.A., his music (he plays harmonica and sings in a band; he loves The Dears), his football career (Colorado College QB scholarship), becoming an actor, 'The Business', some of the women in his life (The Lady Tigre), his movie Blind Man (it's amazing to have a filmaker tell you about how he wrote and then starred in his own film - it's a VERY funny sounding movie), his upcoming shoot for The Birthday Party (with Henry Thomas) and his favourite role to date (which was in May). I pretty much pegged him for an Aries... And later, due to the internet, I learned I was right. We spoke non-stop. We touched each other as we spoke. We saw two dogs fucking on the road! And then Bret Roberts sang a few bars of "Why Don't We Do It In The Road?"

Bret Roberts was wearing tiny, filthy white terry cloth Sergio Tacchini tennis shorts, old Chinese man slip-on canvas shoes, and a leather vest. THAT'S IT. He was also carrying, besides his skateboard, a small army surplus man-purse (which I learned later contained Cheez In A Can).

His original intention had been to skate to Reno or let fate lend a hand. I guess fate arrived in a navy blue Dodge Caravan which contained all the garbage and recycling from Kanuckistan 2.0, and thus smelled a little punky.

Bret Roberts shared my orange with me. I ate some of his Wheat Thins topped with Cheez In A Can. He said about Cheez In A Can: "One million obese Americans can't be wrong." At first I said no thanks, then later I tried it. It was really good.

Bret Roberts fell asleep for about 30 minutes as we rolled into Reno. I woke him up because I wasn't sure where he wanted to go... straight to the airport? My hotel? He was hard to wake up. I squeezed his wrist really hard.

We pulled over into In N Out Burger. Bret Roberts bought me lunch. Note to those who eat at In N Out Burger with Bret Roberts in the future: he doesn't like onions. We dumped the garbage at their dumpster, illegally I guess. He was great to help out Kanuckistan like that.

We got directions to the airport and then I cruised the downtown strip for a cheap-ish motel with a pool. I checked myself in. We shambled to my room. There was a t-shirt and a pair of pants in Bret's man-purse. He put them on and laid down in the fetal position on top of the bedspread. He slept while I sat on the balcony, sent texts to Sarah and read my book (first time in a week).

Bret Roberts slept for another 3 hours. I had a bath and washed the playa out of my hair. It never felt weird to have a strange man asleep in my bed in my Reno hotel room while I soaked in the tub and sipped a cold Coors Light. I didn't even lock the bathroom door.

I woke him up. I drove him to the airport. He used my phone to call his manager and a production person on the film. He left messages assuring them that he would be back in L.A. in time for his shoot. We exchanged digits and hugged. And then he skated away towards his terminal.

The Ocean is a Desert With its Life Underground

"How is it that one day life is orderly and you are content, a little cynical perhaps but on the whole just so and then without warning you find the solid floor is a trapdoor and you are now in another place whose geography is uncertain and whose customs are strange? Travelers at least have a choice. Those who set sail know that things will not be the same as at home. Explorers are prepared. But for us, who travel along the blood vessels, who come to the cities of the interior by chance, there is no preparation. Somewhere between the swamp and the mountains. Somewhere between fear and sex. Somewhere between God and the Devil passion is and the way there is sudden and the way back is worse.

Lovers are not at their best when it matters. Mouths dry up, palms sweat, conversation flags and all the time the heart is threatening to fly from the body once and for all. Lovers have been known to have heart attacks. Lovers drink too much from nervousness and cannot perform. They eat too little and faint during their fervently wished consummation. They do not stroke the favored cat and their face paint comes loose. This is not all. Whatever you have set store by, your dress, your dinner, your poetry, it will go wrong. Passion is sweeter split strand by strand."

- Jeanette Winterson

The Road to The Man


Sarah drives me to the airport and we watch the lunar eclipse from the car. It is 5am or something like that. Very dark, no traffic. Despite the early hour, the airport is really busy. My three hockey bags are huge and heavy (I know now that although I could've brought far fewer clothes, the things that I packed and brought to BM were totally appropriate, good and helpful. For instance, I brought a lot of first aid stuff that I didn't use, but I was glad that I had them. I brought containers in which to collect grey water, and I used them all. I used ALL my camping gear, and wish I had brought more and better rope. My rebar, though fashioned for me by Dawson as a favour, was totally wrong and inappropriate. Note for next year - Make rebar OUT OF REBAR, make it 1.5 feet long, and weld a 3 inch "T" to the top of each piece. Bring a big mallet to pound it into the playa, and bring a crowbar to pull it out of the playa).

My flight. Coffee. Eggs. Croissant. About 7 trips to the head. Sleep. Land. Elevators in SFO almost not wide enough to drive through the doors with hockey bags on the cart. I arrive at Dollar to learn that none of their economy cars are back yet... would I mind taking a mini-van instead? Hell, yeah? Huge, comfy, and a breeze to drive.

California. The state of my dreams. It is easy to take the 101 north to the 80 east. I see lots of fellow burners in their various vehicles as soon as I hit the 80. They drive cars, vans and trucks loaded up with gear, with pimped-out bikes strapped to the rear. I search the radio up and down listening to all the different stations... I love the radio. Out through the San Fran suburbs it gets much hotter.