As I was leaving to go to Mom & Dad’s to do laundry yesterday afternoon, I noticed L was watching Pretty in Pink on cable. Never one to pass up an afternoon with Duckie Dale, I took advantage of the fact that no one was home, put the first load of clothes in the washer, and tuned in.

Eventually, Mom & Dad came home and whined and complained that they didn’t want to watch it. I managed to keep the channel tuned in as Mom perused the TV Guide to see what they’d watch later.

“Oh, Joey, Frankenfish is on Sci-Fi tonight!”

I turned to her and rolled my eyes. “You rag on me for watching my movies and you’re going to watch some shit called Frankenfish?”

After Andie and Blane made out and ruined the movie, Mom took over the remote for some channel surfing. She stopped on MTV2, which was showing Making the Video: Eminem’s “Just Lose It”. Now, while I like Eminem’s music and I find him hilarious, my mother never ceases to surprise me with the things she likes. This is the woman who shares Pam Anderson’s taste in men (Tommy Lee and Bret Michaels), and thinks Esai Morales is hot when all I can ever picture when I hear his name is him running up the hill at the end of La Bamba screaming “Richiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie!”

So there’s my mother, watching Em dress up as Madonna, Pee-Wee Herman, Michael Jackson, and MC Hammer, and she’s snickering.

Full of surprises, I tell you.

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Randy was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and given a diagnosis of three to six months of good health. He made it almost a year after that diagnosis, and from everything I’ve watched and read about him, I believe it was because of the things he spoke about in his lecture: he had fun. He was a Tigger and not an Eeyore. He knew what was important and what wasn’t. And he was willing to fight.

I have watched cancer affect so many people I know, directly or indirectly, and I’m a firm believer that your attitude and your outlook do have an affect on how long and how successfully you can fight. No, you won’t always beat it. No, it’s not easy, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. But we all have the opportunity to teach others what we’ve learned on this crazy journey, spinning around on a rock in the middle of the universe, and I’m glad to have had the opportunity to learn from Randy Pausch.

Frank Voisin has a helpful summary of Randy’s lecture and what he took away from it here. Read. Learn. And think about what you can take away from a Cornell professor’s last lecture. Already know what you took away from it? I’d love to hear, so share in the comments.

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I do remember one time I felt especially ugly. It was fifth grade and I had the chicken pox. My little brother had just gotten through a bout with them, and I got out of the shower one Sunday evening and found a spot on my chest. My mom banished my grandparents out of the house because Pop-Pop, at sixty, had never had the pox and it’s worse when you’re older.

So, I was home from school for about a week. I missed the California Achievement Tests (no big loss) but someone sent my homework home for me. Ugly red bumps sprouted up everywhere. Most noticeably on my face. I can still remember looking at myself in the mirror and crying because I thought I looked like a swollen horror show. And then the bumps scabbed over. And I wanted them to go away because scabs? On your face? When you’re ten? Yeah, not the look you’re going for with your neon pink and black outfit.

I don’t remember much of the itching or general feeling of lousiness, although I’m sure they both contributed to my tear fest at the sight of my face. I just remember the fear of never looking “normal” again. And that, my friends, was pure vanity.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pluck the stray hair from my chin and Nair my ’stache. I may not be vain, but I use my better judgment for the sake of those who have to look at me daily… Sometimes.

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Once upon a time, when I was a wee lassie, I had a big wheel. You know, three-wheeled plastic monsters, with streamers attached to the handle bars (at least for the girlie ones). I would get on and pedal, except I would pedal backwards. This was of such concern to my mother that at my next checkup with the pediatrician, she told her about it. And I burst into tears. Ah, my oldest memory of shame. And while we’re on the subject of memories, do you ever wonder if these snapshots of your life that have been ingrained on your mind for so many years, aren’t real memories? Sometimes I wonder if this really happened. But I would never ask my mother. I don’t want to remind her of my shortcomings if she forgot, and I don’t want to suggest I have any in case it never happened.

Besides, I think there is evidence that this big wheel deficiency is real. The evidence is in the fact that I could not ride a bicycle without training wheels until I was ten years old. By that time, I was too big for training wheels. Not just in the age sense, but physically. They bent under the weight of someone who should’ve taken them off years prior. But for some reason, I couldn’t do it. Fortunately, I never fell and cracked my head open. This was before kids were forced to wear bike helmets (unless I blocked one from my memory). I did wear knee pads and elbow pads though. You’re talking about the oldest child of the most overprotective mom I know.

By the time I finally mastered the art of balance and pedaling, all the neighborhood kids were watching. Yes, I had an audience when I achieved what most six year olds know. A proud moment. Seriously, I think there was applause. “Yay! The complex idiot finally did it!” I kid (kinda).

This was an especially momentous event since I still couldn’t swim, even after takinglessons. I think I have a problem with multi-tasking of the physical kind. Kicking your legs, moving your arms, and turning your head? Yeah, can’t do it. I almost drowned trying to dive into the pool and do a scissors kick. The lifeguard or swimming teacher or whoever had to pull me out of the pool. So riding a bike without a near-death experience was a pretty big deal.

Unfortunately, once I learned to balance and pedal, we moved away from our suburban apartment complex in central Jersey, and my bicycle went the way of the garbage dumpster. I haven’t been on a bike since.

They say once you learn, you never forget. I’d like to find out someday.

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The back of the shirt says “Jesus is coming, look busy.” I have worn it to work a few times, wearing a hoodie in case anyone would be offended by that statement. The new dress code at work has come out, and says to “use your better judgment”, so as I folded that shirt yesterday, I sadly thought about how it was unlikely I’d be wearing it again until the weather was colder and the hoodies can come out again.

I woke up this morning and clicked on my blogfeeds. And there was the news: George Carlin Dead at 71. I seriously did a “No FUCKING way is George Carlin dead!” before I started to cry. Then I texted TLo.

George Carlin is someone that says a lot of funny shit, and most of it is funny because it’s true. You probably know him; your parents know him… it’s possible that your grandparents know him (I’m pretty sure Nanny watched his standup back in the day). Pop culture would not be the same without the man - imagine Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure without Rufus. Kevin Smith used him in three movies. There’s way more on Carlin’s resume; go do a Google search and educate yourself.

Tonight, after work, a tribute is only appropriate. Will have to see which comedy shows we have on DVD and rock them out.

I’m sad today. Thank you, George, for making me laugh and for making me think.

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