Never Argue with a Spider (and other reflections on my 10th "Canciversary")

10

Never Argue with a Spider

(and Other Reflections on my 10th “Canciversary”)

On November 18th, 2005 at roughly 3:00 in the afternoon, Dr. Donna Hill at Emory University Medical Center, Department of Neuro-Opthamology, called to tell me that I had a brain tumor.

More specifically, she told me that I had a very rare type of cancerous brain tumor called a clival chordoma and that I would need brain surgery immediately and would likely have to follow up with several weeks of radiation therapy.

It was a Friday afternoon and as she hung up the phone she said apologetically, “I hope you have a nice weekend.”
I wondered to myself, “How bad IS a clival chordoma?”
The internet did not help.
Available research at the time suggested that the average life expectancy of a person diagnosed with a clival chordoma is between 3-5 years from diagnosis to death.

The first doctor I saw in person was a friend’s mom who works as a neuro-psychiatrist - someone who is trained in the intricacies of brain trauma and disease and can assess what level of pre-injury competency and capabilities that a patient might reasonably expect to reach.
Before I could fully pronounce the “-oma” in clival chordoma she had burst into tears and was hugging me hard enough to bruise my ribs.
“Well, that’s that,” I thought.
“The end.”

I was 35.

By early December the tumor had grown large enough to compress my 3rd cranial nerve which controls motor function to the right eye. I put the eye-patch on for the first time when double vision and light sensitivity became unbearable.

In January of 2006, I was wheeled into an operating room at Emory and had my first brain surgery. The surgeon was only able to remove about 30% of the tumor.

In May of 2006, despite dire warnings from my Atlanta doctors, I flew to Pittsburgh to have another brain surgery at The University of Pittsburgh Medical Center. This surgeon, Dr. Amin Kassam, was able to remove all of the remaining tumor using special tools that he designed and a technique that he pioneered.
(The expanded endo-nasal approach.)
(They enter the skull and remove the tumor through the nose.)
(The one and only time that the family schnoz has paid off.)

I spent over 12 hours in the operating room. Though the surgery was a success, less than 36 hours after being released from the hospital the patch from my incision leaked, which resulted in brain fluid running out of my nose.

(Pro-tip: Brain fluid does not taste good.)
(Do. Not. Try.)
(Kinda metal-y or copper-ish tasting. )
(Just, FYI.)

I was rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night where I received an emergency spinal tap.
My big brother held my hand when the doctor put the needle into my spine.

I had a third surgery to fix the leak and was treated for bacterial meningitis.

I spent another 2 weeks or so in the hospital receiving various treatments, recovering, and watching more Law & Order than any single person should ever be allowed to watch.
(I’ll never look at Mariska Hargitay the same way again.)

In August of 2006 I began radiation treatment.

Every day for nearly 2 months I drove to The Winship Cancer Institute at Emory to receive a total of 42 treatments.
(You get weekends off and free parking.)

Radiation is measured on the “gray scale”.
Chordoma cells are killed at 78 gray. Healthy brain cells are killed at 56 gray.
You can quite literally smell your brain burning when they turn the machines on - like a vague whiff of bacon being cooked on a plastic skillet - coming from inside your head.
It took a full year to recover from the radiation.
Sometime in 2007 I was given an all clear.


Since then I have:
Swam in the ocean below the Mayan temples of Tulum, Mexico

Walked along the blooming cherry trees that shade “The Philosopher's Path” in Kyoto, Japan.

Gotten drunk while doing shots of Schnapps with German tourists in Prague.

Received a Swedish massage from a grumpy Hungarian in Budapest.

(Pro-tip: “Swedish massage” apparently means something really scary in Hungarian.)

(Pro-tip #2: “Hungarian” and “grumpy” are synonymous.)

I saw The Black Crowes in concert, on the final night, of their final tour ever, in a converted church in Amsterdam.

(They were back on tour 8 months later.)

(You owe me $1,200 bucks Robinson!)

I trained an amazing German Shepherd who “starred” in The Hunger Games.

(They cut his scene but I’m still counting it as a win.)

I’ve fallen in love.

I’ve fallen out of love.

I had my heart broken.

I had the dog that I trained to protect me save my life by climbing a jungle gym and coming down a playground slide just to cheer me up when I was most depressed about that broken heart.
(He did it twice that day and not once since.)

I gave my mother the nickname, “The Source of the Trouble”, and got her to embrace it.

I partied like a rock star as the only guy on a pub crawl with a dozen of The Blue Ridge Roller Girls roller derby team in Asheville, North Carolina.

(Pro-tip: If you ever have the opportunity to party with any roller girl, anywhere, at any time, I will personally track you down and smack you hard in the face if you don’t take it.)

I was part of the World Cup celebrations in Madrid.

I saw the palace and cathedral in Seville and Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch”.

I felt humbled and small at Anne Frank’s house.

I had a beautiful little French girl absolutely melt my heart when she took my hand as she and her mother and I walked the streets of a tiny French village on the Cote’d Azur looking for perfume and soap and candles to send to my aunts back home.

I bought a Harley and rode it cross country, from Atlanta to Vancouver, even though I’d never owned a motorcycle or even ridden one in 15 years.
(I still don’t have my license.)

I reconnected with friends I hadn’t seen in ages, made some new ones, and lost a couple old ones.

I walked in the rain with a pretty woman.

I got in a snowball fight with the neighbor’s kid.

I saw a Hitchcock film in an old theater and saw the old church where he filmed “The Birds”.

I made a porn star mad.

I had my own t-shirts made.
(El Pinche Pirata del Fuego Summer Tour 2012.)

I saw The Leaning Tower of Pisa in the early pre-dawn minutes when I was the only person around.

I saw the kindness of strangers up close and personal when my Harley broke down in 106 degree heat, 40 miles from everywhere, out near Ft. Stockton, Texas.

I met a lady tow truck driver out there whose grandfather is from the same small town in Spain as mine.

(Salamanca.)
I had dinner with her and her family.

I shot beer cans off a fence post and raced go-carts.

I saw my baby niece graduate from high school, turn into a young lady, and get married.

I lost one girlfriend in Barcelona, another in Tokyo, and had a third none too politely ask me to leave France.

(Pro-tip: It’s possible that I’m not a very good traveling companion.)

I saw the lights of Marfa.

I saw the Golden Tori.

I said a prayer for the dead at Hiroshima.

I made out with my high school sweetheart.

I was stone cold sober when I saw the face of an angel, clear as day, form in the clouds above me in Lordsburg, New Mexico. I could see his pupils, his lashes, even the tiny rolls of baby fat under his chin. It was gorgeous and breathtaking and there was a moment of serenity there unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before or since.

I rode an overloaded Harley Springer 30 miles down a dirt road, deep into the wilds of Arizona, so I could spend the night on top of a mountain drinking Peyote tea and communing with my spirit guide.

Mine was a tarantula the size of a pie plate with a shitty attitude.

(Pro-tip: Never argue with a spider.)

A rattlesnake crossed my path.

I got chased by a bull.

I crossed Mobile Bay on a ferry for 8 bucks and crossed the Mississippi and Eel Rivers more times than I can count, as well as the continental divide and The Golden Gate Bridge, all on motorcycle.

I bought shots for the house.

I rode thru a tree.

I listened to live jazz in a smokey basement bar.

I bought a cake for a stranger because she was upset.

I worked on The Metropolitan Museum of Art, The Art Institute of Chicago, The High Museum of Art, The Dia: Beacon, The Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial, The LA County Museum of Art, The Standing Bear Native American Museum of Art in Ponca City, Oklahoma, The Silver Spur Saloon and Brothel turned Welcome Center in Roanoke, Texas and even got a call from museums as far away as China and Israel.

The morning of my 42nd birthday I woke up in Los Angeles and rode my motorcycle to Elton John’s house in Beverly Hills to discuss business.
(You can see my work in the February 2013 edition of Architectural Digest.)

A few hours later I was in Malibu watching Pam Anderson order a latte at Starbucks.

I’ve argued politics with friends and family and strangers.
And won.

I benched 220.

I felt the hands of God shield me in his grace when I lost control of my bike and left the highway at over 50 mph.
I walked away without a scratch on me or my bike.

My cousin/brother Rhonnie and I got kicked out of the same bar 3 nights in a row in Austin, TX.
We laughed about it every time.

I told a girl I really loved to, “...get the hayull outta my truck...”.
(It broke my heart but she had it comin’ - don’t judge.)
(You can take the boy outta Clay Hill.......)

I nearly had a complete nervous breakdown in a grocery store because I couldn’t find taco mix.
(It was a long year - don’t judge.)

I shot crazy big weapons with a crazy nice former Green Beret who, along with his lovely (and only marginally crazy,)) wife, welcomed me into their home like a long, lost brother.

I saw the Grand Canyon from a helicopter.

I ate mushrooms on a houseboat in Amsterdam.

I’ve come to consider the dancers and staff at The Clermont Lounge my personal friends and felt like a big shot when the doorman pulled me and my friends out of line one night and told me,
“C’mon dude - this is not for you. Go on and get inside and have a beer.”

(I can’t get enough of the way the dancer “Lady Godiva” at The Clermont Lounge calls me “her little pirate-man”.)

(Protip: The Clermont Lounge is not a strip club; it’s an historical institution and one of the last great American dive bars. Act accordingly.)

I saw Meatloaf play “Bat Out of Hell” live at Austin City Limits and met the band the next day.

I met “Darryl” from The Walking Dead on set and spent the day pointing a machine gun at him.
(He called me Snake.)
(Snake Plissken - Escape From New York.)

I was at the family reunion we held after my grandfather passed away.
We toasted grandpop and his life.

I met my great uncle Joe, a former WW II Navy fighter pilot and test pilot and all around badass.
(He flew Hellcats. Helldiver Joe was his call.)

I hurt my neck head-banging to The Scorpions, “Rock You Like a Hurricane” with a couple of heavy-set Mexican fellas.

I’ve heard “Arrrgh” shouted at me more times than any single person could ever reasonably be expected to hear it and not go completely bat-shit crazy.

On occasion, I’ve gone completely bat-shit crazy.

I played badminton in the dark, on a school night, in downtown Atlanta, with a rather pretty young lady.

I had a member of The Outlaws slap me on the back and shout, “Yer awright, Brother!” when I told him I knew Reverend Anne at The Peyote Way Church of God.
We proceeded to trade shots of tequila and drink Bud Lights until I could barely stand.

I took classes on Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, ballroom dancing, white water rafting, kayak rolling, 15th century British Literature, Rhetoric, Philosophy, and both Russian and German languages.

I was asked to never, ever speak French again.

I learned that I’m a helluva lot more dangerous in a ballroom than in a dojo.

I learned how to “scissor” from a lesbian.
(It was a long year - don’t judge.)

I wrote a paper and gave a speech.

I got an “A”.

I danced 70‘s disco with an 80 year old woman.
(That old broad could shake her damn money-maker!)

I saw a gorgeous fiddle player performing in Nashville, Tennessee and convinced her to call me without ever saying a word.
(And then immediately scared her away.)

I challenged three men to a fight.

I read On the Road, The Life of Pi, For Whom the Bell Tolls, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, and Brave Men more times than I can count plus most of Shakespeare, William Service, Hunter S. Thompson, Stephen Ambrose, much of the great histories of the world and Stars in Their Courses by Shelby Foote.

(I don’t ever get tired of hearing Shelby Foote speak.)

I’ve memorized much of the dialogue from True Romance, The Usual Suspects, and The Big Lebowski - it’s just that good.

I went to the symphony.

I put hot peppers on everything.

I had a psychic in Jackson Square tell me that I, “ …was on a journey…”.
("Nooo Shhiittt!!")

I dated a redhead.

I sent Godiva to my high school sweetheart’s momma.

I memorized Billy Collin’s poem, “Forgetfulness”, a dozen times.

I held my brother’s newborn twins when they were too small to leave the hospital.
(When they were old enough I taught them to love barbecue, sweet tea, and fried okra even though they’re a couple a’ damn yankees.)

I learned to like sushi, yogurt, greens, olives, and tomatoes and to cook the best damn ham hocks and lima beans you ever tasted.

I tried snails, pickled herring, fried anchovies, and bone marrow.

I dropped an IPhone into a pitcher of margaritas.

I tried to surf.

I tried but failed to ever appreciate a good wine or an old whiskey.

I tried but failed to ever appreciate modern art.

I saw The Foo Fighters, Old Crow Medicine Show, Van Halen (with David Lee and Sammy Hagar), The Scorpions, Band of Horses, The Black Crowes (many times), Shovels & Rope, Dehlia Lowe, The Lumineers, and Lyle Lovett, both with and without the large band - all live in concert.

I met the great blues singer Francine Reed after a show and very nearly got her on the back of my Harley.

I was voted “hottest white dude in Publix”.
(Ponce de Leon location only.)

I saw the first black man get elected president of The United States.

I stayed in a 5 star hotel AND ordered room service.

I drove a 26,000 pound, 80 foot boom lift thru Central Park - with police escort.

I went back stage.

I got tattooed.

I got scarred, broke a bone, and tore my rotator.

I grew an excellent beard.

I got a private tour of The Met.

I planted and grew a fig tree that came from my great-grandmother’s farm in Perry, Florida.

I got stopped and frisked.

I held momma’s hand when we crossed the street.

I had to pay $50 AND pick up the garbage.

I got kicked out, snuck in, led on, brought down, pissed off, lifted up, lied to, and talked about.

I got dressed up for no reason.

I was blocked by the editor of The Rolling Stone and “favorited” by Danny Trejo.

I kissed a lot of pretty girls.

And I. Planted. My. Fucking. Flag.

(Seriously - I have my own flag. It’s flying out front of the house right now.)

I’ve been called sweet as pie, mean as a snake, genius, insane, psycho, thoughtful, concerned, uncaring, a “shell of a man in a sham of a business”, a good friend, a son of bitch, beautiful, sexy, stupid, an angel, an asshole, a jackass, a poet, a pirate, a creep, and a Goddamn shame.

I’ve made it a point to be nice to strangers and to buy donuts for friends and random folks in my neighborhood. (The good ones - not that Krispy Kreme bullshit.)

I bought chocolates for a neighbor because I saw her crying on Mother’s Day and blasted heavy metal at another because she wouldn’t shut her damn dog up.

I made a bunch of mistakes and occasionally found myself being ornery, contrary, crazy, and/or intolerable - even to myself. I’ve made friends and strangers laugh, cry, scream, and occasionally jump around and break stuff - sometimes in the same afternoon.

In short, I’ve lived more of my life in the past 10 years than I did in the first 35 and I did it on my terms, for better or worse, when, where, and how I wanted.

Maybe that’s what those over-exuberant “Embrace Life” bastards were talking about all along.

To those I’ve hurt, made mad, disappointed, offended, or just plain irritated - I offer you my most sincere apologies

To those I’ve not I say, “Good intentions and good luck do occasionally cross paths.”

I’ve had more good days than bad days and having brain cancer gave me the opportunity to learn more about myself and the world around me than anything else I might have gone thru or done.

It was a terribly difficult event - but a profoundly meaningful and positive experience.
And I am truly very thankful for it.
And more thankful to those who were there with me thru it all.

That being said, I quote a wise man who once advised me to, “Fukabuncha kaincer buulllshit!”
Which is exactly what I’ve tried to do.

If you find yourself in the vicinity of the Virginia-Highlands neighborhood this November 18th at roughly 3:00 PM, stop into Limerick Junction and share a toast to celebrate 10 years of life.

If not, I hope that wherever you and your loved ones are, you will pause for a moment and contemplate your own life and loves, your wins and your losses over the past decade, and then raise a glass of a fine Irish Stout in hopes of another fine decade yet to come.

(Sweet tea is a suitable substitute if you’re one of “those” people.)


Much love from your friend (and mine),
Your little pirate-man,
El Pinche Pirata del Fuego him and/or herself,

Joey Rodriguez

Important links:

The Chordoma Foundation
http://www.chordomafoundation.org/?_kk=chordoma%20foundation&_kt=ff3a02a8-b7c5-41b3-a08a-623bd514bd2e&gclid=CJWWmaOq7sgCFdcRgQodNasADQ

The University of Pittsburg Medical Center - Minimally Invasive Neurosurgery Center
http://www.neurosurgery.pitt.edu/

The Winship Cancer Institute
https://winshipcancer.emory.edu/

The Peyote Way Church of God
http://www.peyoteway.org/

Billy Collins - “Forgetfullness”
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poem/26905

The Scorpions - “Rock You Like a Hurricane”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxdmw4tJJ1Y

The Black Crowes - “Soul Singing”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sqs69CE7Zqw

Fox Bros. BBQ
http://www.foxbrosbbq.com/

The Clermont Lounge
http://clermontlounge.net/

Ivalee Pitts - Musician
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBQTYBmrySs

The Blue Ridge Roller Girls
http://www.blueridgerollergirls.com/

Casino El Camino - Austin, TX
http://www.casinoelcamino.net/

A Pop’s Wrecker Service - Ft. Stockton
http://www.fortstocktonpioneer.com/marketplace/business_1127081971.html

Architectural Digest - February 2013
http://www.architecturaldigest.com/story/elton-john-david-furnish-los-angeles-home-article