Journeys 3.1

My big cycle ride today was just two blocks to Open Book for coffee with a friend I’d normally be cycling with. Open Book was serving as a polling station for the primaries, but with no masked government agents lurking, my friend and I talked freely. We chuckled at the image of the prez hiding in an airline catering container, fairly confident we weren’t offending anyone at the adjacent tables.

My low energy nudges me toward an equally low-energy task: learning enough about crypto to answer the question, “What is crypto?” Forbes classifies 67% of crypto investors as high confidence, low literacy; it seems they’re attracted by a belief wealth can be safely created out of thin air. Like them, I cannot even explain its basic terms, so today, I opened a Kraken account and transferred $100 to kick off my research, triggering a fraud alert from my bank questioning this “suspicious activity.”

As planned, I crossed the Hennepin Avenue Bridge while Dwight continued to Plymouth Avenue; I’m not yet firing on all cylinders. Picked up peaches at Trader’s for a chicken dish Dwight’s planning. Emptied our almost empty mail box: flyers for County Attorney in the upcoming primary convey the importance of this role against a vindictive federal government.

Spent my day on the couch nursing a fever from the study drug. My current read, Embracing Defeat, covers the years of the American occupation of Japan, 1945–1952. Among all the failures of a collapsed society to support itself, a glimmer of hope is Japan’s 1947 constitution, which was written by a committee of Americans and remains Japan’s constitution today, remarkably with no amendments. Back then, America imposed democracy; today, our leaders undermine it.

Up at 3:45 AM for an early start with the final dose of this first phase. I managed to cycle home, but once I walked through the door, I was ready to slump onto the couch. Still, so far, so good. The research oncologist told me that over 80% of men at this stage of their prostate cancer journey have bone metastases. I don’t, and that inspires a massive dose of gratitude. For the next two weeks, apart from routine monitoring, I’m planning on living a normal life.

Like most Thursday evenings, we retired to a local hostelry to compare our days. Dwight had been volunteering at the U’s greenhouse, as he does every Thursday, where he dug a hole for a bog liner for orchids and other plants that like having wet feet. Meanwhile, I had been volunteering my body for medical science (and my own self-interest) at the U, just as I have daily for the past two weeks.

Tonight at the Guthrie: Noel Coward’s Private Lives. I’m just a wee bit tired these days, but I’m betting the rapid-fire verbal ping-pong will hold my attention, as will Dwight’s elbow, PRN.