I was diagnosed with cancer the week of my birthday in April, 2011. That seems a really long time ago now that we live in a state of constant political PTSD. In actual fact, it was seven and a half years ago. In a nutshell: out of the gate, I had metastatic breast cancer which had spread to my spine. My oncologist at Memorial Sloan Kettering put me on a hormonal treatment to curb the estrogen that was feeding the cancer.
For several years my biggest quandary was aching joints due to the medication. I worked full time. I did not in any way feel disabled. I was absolutely sure that state would be my status quo for, say, twenty years. And all remained copacetic except for occasional frightening scans which resulted in medication changes, for a very long time. Sometimes I even forgot I had cancer. …
We’re all familiar with one of the august obsessions of our time: binge-watching a television series. My first binge several years ago was Battlestar Galactica, and my experience was exactly like the Portlandia sketch of bingeing that particular show. I could not stop watching it. If you’ve never seen it, it’s not just a series about sci-fi and dystopia; it’s also about The Fear of The Other and what it’s like to not realize the evil standing right next to you until — in some cases—it’s too late.
My latest binge is American Horror Story. I had worked my way through all the seasons up to Roanoke as of yesterday. Then I turned on the news (which I have less stomach for now than I ever did) and saw a real-life American Horror Story taking place in Pittsburgh: what the Anti-Defamation League called the deadliest attack on the Jewish community in the history of the United States. …
Today marks exactly one year to the day that The New York Times first brought film executive Harvey Weinstein’s decades of sexual abuse into the news cycle. Following on the Bill Cosby victim stories which had surfaced prior to that, and the Access Hollywood tape of Trump cavalierly bragging that he just grabbed women whenever he felt like it (“when you’re famous, they let you do it”), the Weinstein story was like a massive mulch-covered rock that had been suddenly moved to reveal hundreds of squirming bugs.
And out it all came into the light; it was a violent earthquake that couldn’t be stopped once it had begun. And then, the accompanying tsunami. Because every woman has memories of being touched, groped, raped, kissed inappropriately at one time or another in their lives. …
Crime Fiction Author and Journalist Dick Belsky brings a unique perspective to his craft; that of a hard news background at The New York Daily News, The New York Post, and NBCNews.com, among others.
Dick Belsky effectively brings his background in one of the most hectic, stressful news environments in the world — New York City — to his addictive crime novels, which first caught my eye four years ago with the page-turning mystery The Kennedy Connection. …
believe it or not, you can play mind games & win
pictured above: my Valkyrie Nun doll, who accompanies me to all my appointments at Sloan Kettering
I was diagnosed in April of 2011 with Stage IV Metastatic Breast Cancer. There was a time (years, in fact) where I didn’t let anyone know that I had this disease. I had only told very close friends and family. Then, one day, I decided to come out to the world via the Huffington Post website. …
The Night That Changed My Life Forever, 40 Years Ago
August 27, 1978 — from my journal, written The Day after The Night:
The agony and suspense of waiting, waiting, waiting. My seat in the 19th row suddenly wasn’t close enough to the stage. Finally the lights went out, and a voice called out in the dark “Hey Providence!” The lights went back up and then Bruce addressed the primal question, “Got Summertime Blues?” Everyone screamed. We all did, of course.
The concert lasted forever (three and a half hours) but not forever because it’s over now and I know that I must see him again, that live wire angel, that exuberant elfin dancer all in black. His hair curly and dripping, sweat flying from his wrists as he played. Incredible! The stories — the music — he smiled, he leapt in the air, he crawled up the amps to the piano and around the stage. He played on the lip of the stage, then walked into the audience to sing “Spirit In The Night.” “All Night!” the audience echoed back like a church service.
He leaned into the crowd, what a trust in that vast audience he had. He is divine. He is human. He is divine. He took such joy in the act of music, it was palpable. He was the focus of all our dreams.
I could not help moving, smiling, crying… the music put a melody to my longing, each song more incredible than the last. He gripped the mic stand with head bowed, legs spread — I kept thinking to myself, he was ALIVE i’ve never seen anyone more ALIVE — and then, as if he were listening to my thoughts, he cried out, “Are you ALIVE?”
During the encores people filled the aisles and I got up as if I were dreaming. I slid through each break in the crowd and found myself touching the stage, peering around the back of a security guard, staring up at Bruce in total awe and disbelief. “Am I crazy?” he yelled, then that marvelous scraping laugh.
I could feel the entire arena full of adoration and hysteria — I have to see him again. I have to see him again. Afterwards I was in a pure state of grace — Bruce is in the world. In this city. There was nothing else to say — he’s here, that’s all.
I went to sleep last night replaying the lighting on his face and dreamed about him. …
The first time I saw it, eight months ago, I felt that my cells had been rearranged.
by Holly Cara Price
It was a night in late October and I sat in the theatre with one of my dearest friends, one with whom I’d seen dozens of Springsteen concerts over many decades. We grasped each other’s hands in giddy excitement before the lights went down much the same way we probably did in our twenties. …
The above lines are from a Woody Guthrie song called Deportees (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos) written in 1961, but clearly it could have been written this morning.
Last night, a vehicle packed with twelve undocumented immigrants speeding on a rural highway in South Texas lost control, flipped over, and crashed during a Border Patrol chase. Most of the passengers were ejected at impact and at least four were killed. Another victim died at a local hospital. This incident took place roughly fifty miles from the Mexican border.
Babies torn from their mothers’ arms. Children relegated to holding pens where they’re kept for an indeterminate amount of time before being processed. People who have lived in the United States for decades suddenly put on planes and sent to countries where they don’t even know the language because they were babies or not yet born when their parents came to the States. A Spanish speaking pizza delivery man grabbed and deported after he delivers a pizza to a group of soldiers. …
40 Years On
The summer of 1978 found me at an important crossroads; I’d graduated from college the previous spring and through a series of serendipities, ended up in Providence, Rhode Island rooming with my high school friend Dayle. I was a terrible roommate; I’ll just throw that out there apropos of nothing. We lived together for over a year and then later lived together in New York City, and parted ways so dramatically and egregiously that we didn’t talk for years.
Of course, that has nothing to do with Bruce Springsteen’s third album, Darkness On The Edge Of Town. My relationship with Bruce Springsteen up until 1978 had been absolutely nada. I knew well who he was, because I hailed from Philadelphia, where he was played on the radio as often as if he were Frampton or Aerosmith or Judas Priest or Lynyrd Skynyrd. …
buckle up, it is likely to be a bumpy ride
I participated in a group call last week with several other women who also have Stage IV Metastatic Breast Cancer. We were all anonymous — I don’t know who the others were, and they didn’t know who I was. We discussed a lot of things, but mostly mortality. As opposed to immortality.
It brought up a lot of interesting questions for me, since I tend to err on the side of extreme positivity balanced with dark humor about my situation, of which by the way
!IT’S BEEN SEVEN YEARS!
7 YEARS!!!!! …