I don't know where to start. I don't know how to phrase it. I should just say it.

Two wonderful pieces of news at the doctors' appointments yesterday:

1) I am now legally blind in one eye.

2) The brain tumor that started all this mess is "active" again (growing, breathing, prowling, menacing).

boom boom POW

That's exactly how I feel right now. Although I am a grown man, I am completely hormonal like a pregnant teenage girl in her second trimester. It's like I have all this knotted-up energy inside of me, both angry and sad.

Is it because I have an MRI tonight? Is it because I have four doctors appointments tomorrow? Was it from a meeting yesterday with a doctor who made a very nice comment about me and my personality?

I can't figure out whether I want to run for half an hour and then punch a hole in the wall or to pray, ball up in a corner, and hope that God fast forwards time to Sunday afternoon where there's nothing to do but relax in front of the television.

Trust me, I can get hormonal: Paul, my sister, and my family have seen it. Sometimes you've heard it on the phone with me as I rip into you when you've done nothing wrong and hardly said a word. My brain tumor that ate my pituitary gland and left me taking hormone replacement therapy pills loves watching me in this frenetic and highly frustrated state of mind.

Memorial Day Is Grrrreat! So Are My Shoes!

Ernie, Repeat After Me:

"I am so in your fan club, Chinner. In fact, I am the President of the fan club. I'm also the founding father of the fan club."

If You Can Figure This One Out, I'm In Your Fan Club

Designer Yard Sale

As I mentioned before, I'm giving up over half of my precious wardrobe due to my freak weight loss. I thought I'd put together a yard sale of these pieces I have to let go: for example, all Polo Ralph Lauren shirts = $7 each, all Lacoste = $6 each, all others (J. Crew, Banana Republic, Orginal Penguin , and more) = $5 each. All shirts are in perfect condition, all originals, nothing counterfeit, clean, and ready to wear. Plenty of colors and fits to choose from, long and short sleeves, polos, oxfords, sweaters, designer tees, and best yet, they're all hand-picked by me.

It saddens me but there's no point in keeping these shirts around if I'm not going to wear them because they're way too big. If you want to get in on the action before I run an ad in the paper for the actual yard sale in early June, e-mail or call me so you can stop by.

"Too Much Fashion, Not Enough Health"

A reader made the above comment, so I thought I'd talk about my health for a second:

I've been pulled off chemo since mid-December because it's wreaked havoc on my body- I have jaundice eyes, liver numbers through the roof, and platelet counts bordering on dangerous.

On top of that, my right eye is definitely jacked up. I had a titanium mesh implant installed behind the eyeball after my second brain surgery and recently, I've been seeing white spots like I've stared at the sun too long, and occasionally, it feels like there's a piece of glass stuck behind the eye causing a sharp pain that makes a man shrill like a teenager on a roller-coaster.

My weight fluctuates around a pathetic 100 pounds. In fact, I've dropped as low as 98. I haven't weighed that little since middle school. I think my true waist size now is 28 inches. I try to eat as often as possible and as much as I possibly can without feeling nauseous but still, no weight gained. The most depressing part of this freak weight loss is having to throw out half of my wardrobe that I've loved so much, built slowly and smartly over the years, and spent a hefty dime or two on.

Finally, I meet with all four of my doctors next week to determine the next chapter of my life- possibly a new chemo regimen, definitely more pills to take, and more weekly bloodwork.

There ya go. Stick that in your pipe, light it up, and be grateful you don't have what I've got.

Daddy Bear: "Papa's Got A Brand New Shoe!"

I Met And Talked To Willem Dafoe

At the airport in Rome, I rode the train that took you from one terminal to another. There was a man standing at the other end of the train that looked so familiar to me. Curiosity was killing me- I had to know who he was. I counted to three, took a deep breath (more like a gasp), and up I went.

Me: "Um, hi."

Willem: "Hello."

M: "I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but are you an actor?"

W: (smiling) "Yes. Yes, I am."

M: "That's what I thought. I'm Ernie. What's your name?"

W: (whispering) "Will Dafoe."

M: "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

W: (still whispering) "Willem Dafoe."

M: (stumbling, turning red, unable to remember any of his movies) "Yes. Um, my sister loves you!"

W: "Thank you."

M: "No, thank you. What a privilege. Have a safe flight."

W: "You too."

As soon as the train stopped and opened its doors, I took off running.

Kowabunga, Dude! Cool Kicks!

Aww, Man!

Do I really have to go home? Do I really have to come back?

I guess so- I didn't bring enough medication to even last through the weekend.

It's hard, nearly impossible, to visit one of the most beautiful places in the world and return immediately to the stark reality that you're sick and fighting cancer.

I feel like I've sat at the chef's table at an expensive five star restaurant, dined on a ten course meal made of only the freshest of ingredients, experienced the best meal of my life, and now the waiter is making his way over to drop off the damage on a little piece of paper.

I'll see you back at home (sniffle).

Half Time Report

Sorry I have not blogged in a while, I've been very busy soaking up the local life here (i.e. I'm in Prada stores all day long).

Rome: big city, tons of tourists, traffic etiquette that makes you scared to ride in an Italian taxi.
Venice: simply beautiful. It should be a law that all people are required to visit Venice.

1) Italian menu - pizza, pizza, pizza. Pasta, pasta, pasta. Coffee, coffee, coffee. Gelato, gelato, gelato.

2) I wish I could live in Venice. It is not a city by the sea, rather it's a city and sea thrown in a blender, set to puree, and poured into a magnificant colorful glass served with ice, a pink straw, and orange umbrella.

3) All toilets (including men's) outside of home are "hovers"- no seats. Hover in a squat-like position and bombs away.

3) More details later . . . .

"Giggity! These Shoes Are Allllriiiight!"

"Oh Homey, Nike Created A Shoe After Me!"

Miuccia (I Mean Italy) In Two Days!

I'm blown away that I'm on a plane Tuesday afternoon bound for Venice and Rome.

I've barely read the travel books. I did crack them open to find out where the Prada is in both cities (I'm so pathetically predictable!) One of the largest Prada stores in the world is in Venice. My sister and I have priced Prada prices at the Milan stores when we went several years ago. Compared to the prices here in the US, it's at least a third off.

And don't get me started on how different the Prada stores are in Italy. In the US, the stores are minimalist in design, as is the selection of merchandise. In Italy, they are like thrift shops: packed with merchandise, stocked to the rim. filling every space available both on the shelves and the floor. It's like a pricey bric a brac store.

The beautiful and tragic ending to this story is that I'm broke and don't have a dime to spare.

Need or want anything at either city? E-mail me back. Grazie!

Ciao,
Ernie