There are a couple of other things I’d like to talk about this evening. They’re basically personal, really rather trivial, and a mite odd. So, take from this post what you will.
Two main points here:
- Men’s neckwear, in which the importance of Brad Pitt at this year’s Cannes Film Festival is highlighted; and,
- The occasionally bizarre side-effects of medical procedures, or, How the Law of Unintended Consequences Decided to Autograph My Body.
To begin – Men’s Neckwear. Surely, you say, an odd topic for a blog about a guy with cancer. True, but remember these two things: first, I can (but am not required to) breathe through a hole in my throat; and second, I plan on returning to work next week. Regarding my current employment, I work in an office building. I share an office with two others. I have a desk. Long story short, the men wear ties. Most of the time anyway. Now, do you know what a tracheotomy looks like? Suffice it to say that, while I can easily wear a collared shirt, I cannot button the collar. Therefore, a traditional necktie is out of the question. What to do? Enter Brad Pitt. No, not literally; stop looking at me like that.
Brad Pitt at the 2009 Cannes Film Festival
Does anyone else pay attention to the Cannes Film Festival? I enjoy reading about it (and Sundance, and Tribeca, and. . .), but I’ve never really paid any attention to the fashion before. However, this year for Cannes, I was stuck in a hospital bed, held prisoner by a television that had only a dozen channels (and half of them were Disney, and so help me if I catch myself humming the Hannah Montana theme one more time, I’m going to. . . I’m sorry; please forget I said that.), so I made due with what I had.
Anyway, please notice the choice in neckwear made by Mr. Pitt. You’ll see that it is worn beneath the collar of his shirt and fits loosely around the neck. This is the perfect solution, wouldn’t you agree? Of course you would. So here’s my question. What in the name of Zeus’s bellybutton lint is that thing called? I turned to my old friend The Google and asked the same question. I inquired about neckwear, ties, ascots, cravats, and anything else vaguely masculine that I could remember. All to no avail. I did find one page with detailed instruction regarding the hand creation of an ascot that did seem to paint a picture not dissimilar to the one above, but every image of an ascot that I could find bore little to no resemblance to Brad’s choice.
I suppose I’ll hit the fabric store later this week and then break out the sewing machine. Nothing like a little trial and error to pass the time. Oh, by the way, yes, I sew. And knit. These aren’t the droids your looking for. Anyone have suggestions about the type of fabric to use? It’s summer, so I want something light. The main problem is that I’ll murder anything too light when I try to stitch it; I’m lousy with silk. Are you still reading? Have you skipped to the next section? Are you wondering why not? Please let me know if you can think of something easy to work with but still relatively lightweight. I said that I can sew; I didn’t say I was any good at it. I just need something to cover up the trach tube while not making me overheat. It’s not like people in the building won’t notice that something is different; I’m still swollen (especially under my jaw), there are scars aplenty, and I walk with a cane. Yet I’ve noticed that the presence of a trach tube makes some people uncomfortable. This I would like to avoid. And no, I’m not expecting those people to buy tickets to my lunchtime extravaganza.
Ahem. Moving on. The internet muse Wikipedia gleefully asserts that, “The “law of unintended consequences” (also called the “law of unforeseen consequences“) states that any purposeful action will produce some unintended consequences.” Sounds almost like a truism, doesn’t it? Didn’t anyone ever tell Wikipedia that you can’t use a term to define itself? Apparently not. Oh, yes, I’ll get to the point. As I mentioned in several posts ago in the brief history of the medical procedures conducted so far, my new “tongue” came from my left thigh. It is a combination of muscle and skin tissue, expertly positioned and placed to allow for the the highest possible level of utility in its new environment. Its size and shape are designed so that I can manipulate it to form some sounds – obviously not with the same facility with which I once spoke – and maneuver some foods toward my throat. In that way, it has fulfilled all its intended consequences. As for the unintended ones. . . Well, let me say this. I’m a rather hirsute fellow. While researching my genealogy, I came across a mysterious great-great-grandfather (paternal) whom I believe to have been a Yeti. So, unintended consequence number one – my new tongue is growing hair. Remember I said that it was partly composed of skin tissue? it is difficult to verbalize just how odd a sensation this is. I’m quite sure, dear reader, that you have had one or two instances in your own life where you have removed a wayward follicle from your mouth. Do you recall that odd not-quite-discomfort that prompted you to go digging around your own oral orifice in search of a most negligibly sized piece of matter? Now, imagine that sensation not going away. It’s not uncomfortable. It rather tickles.
So, what to do? Is there a legitimate course of action to rid myself of this unwanted growth? Waxing is simply out of the question. This new tongue was only recently sutured in; I would be loathe to disinter it so soon after its creation. Plus, just ouch. That’s all I can say. Ouch.
There are those acid products that promise to gently and efficiently burn away all unwanted hair by cauterizing your flesh like a seventh-grade science project gone horribly, horribly awry. Hmm, let me see. Nope. No thanks. I’ll pass.
That leaves shaving. Here’s my main problem - between the swelling and the broken jaw, I can’t open my mouth that wide yet. That’s one of the reasons I still mumble much of the time. So, does anyone know where I can purchase a baby-sized razor? Yes, exactly, one like Baby Herman might use. That’s exactly what I need. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Beuller? No? Oh, well.
Fine, I’ll admit it. This entire line of conversation is ridiculous. I know that. You’re completely correct. The radiation therapy will take care of this problem for me. My tongue will be devoid of hair soon enough. You’re just no fun sometimes, you know that? In the meantime, I’ll try to find a small comb. Or be thankful that I can actually taste the styling gel. Seriously, there’s got to be a world record in it for me if I can style the world’s first tongue ponyhawk, right?
I know. I’m not right. But it’s fun here. Thanks for joining me. It’s good to laugh a little each day, don’t you think? Hope this helped.
Take care of each other.
