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Time for some pride.

So it's Pride weekend and San Francisco is a-buzz with positivity and love. This, despite the fact that our political and social climate in the nation is toxic with conservative backwardness. I'm humbled by how the city is still able to smile, laugh and hug in spite of the step backwards our government and the governments of many other countries have taken in this sad unfortunate year. 2017 has NOT been easy, for any of us, and yet we grow closer as a community. Humbling.

Yesterday while walking through the throng of happy rainbow faces, I saw a sign that asked me, "what are you proud of?" Later, Sky asked me the same question and suggested a blog prompt. Great idea! So here's a little breakdown of what I'm proud of this year. 

1. I'm proud of my relationships.

I'm proud of Sky, and I'm proud of Christine. I'm proud because they are two of the loveliest people that have ever existed in the history of people. I'm confused sometimes that they chose me to share so much of their love, time and happiness with. But I'm proud of whatever I did to earn that love.

I was at dinner with Christine the other day and we talked about who we would populate our starship with if we were ever to explore the galaxy some day. Well, I know my bandmates, festival mates, family, and good friends, people like Sean and Deb, Breckin and Adina, Adam, Liz, all would be welcome aboard. But my helm and ops stations would be most certainly manned by Christine and Sky, because nobody steers my ship better. 

I'm also proud to be rocked by cancer and yet still flirting (hee hee) with a lovely new lady in Indiana. While we work on planning a first someday-visit, I'm kind of amazed that such a lovely sharp gal is expressing interest in this beat-down hair-falling-out son of a gun (that's me I'm talking about). She sends me poetry from across the country and texts me fond wishes and positive vibes when my spirits are low. Holy crap I'm blessed!

2. I'm proud of Great Highway.

I'm amazed at how far the band has come. I can so easily still remember sitting down with my first bandmate Summer in 2012 and saying, "gosh, I'd really love to start a band some day" and her nodding and replying, "we should think about doing it together." At the time I figured we'd maybe buy an acoustic guitar, do a few open mics, and then quietly peter out and go back to singing a cappella.

Five years later, the now 5-piece group is planning a gig at Bottom of the Hill, one of the biggest indie music clubs in one of the coolest towns in the world. As with Sky and Christine, I'm kind of confused how the band managed to get so good. I can take only partial credit at best. But I'm proud, so very proud. Proud of my bandmates, and proud of the music.

3. I'm proud to be a star patient.

I'm well past the 1/3rd mark in time and almost halfway through in chemo appointments. I have been tired, nauseous, gassy, sad, rash-y, panicked. But I've also laughed and loved and gone to festivals and dressed in goofy costumes and jammed out hard and loud on saxophone and bass guitar.

I get told by my hematologist every 2 weeks that I'm "doing even better than expected." I'm not just surviving, I'm KICKING ASS. And guess what? Yep, you got it. I'm fucking proud.

4. I'm proud of this town.

I love San Francisco.

Don't get me wrong. I'm fond and nostalgic for Atlantic Beach, Florida, the tiny ocean town where I was raised. I'm wistful to go back to Galway Ireland some day and once again walk the halls of NUI. Sometimes on a foggy grey day I long for the always-75-degree sun of San Diego, where I started my career.

But walking around San Francisco Pride this weekend, I couldn't help but feel more at home than ever before. I'm proud of this city, proud of its young and smart and positive and original and weird population. I'm proud to live here, and I'm proud of my home.

I'm proud of about 100 other things, but, new as I am to blogging, I'm pretty sure I can't write 100 more pages. So I'll end by saying, I'm in love with my life and in love with my friends and in love with my town. And the love is shooting right back to me. Maybe that's why the cancer is losing.

#FuckCancer

#Pride2017

Fast forward.

In amidst a veeeeeeeery difficult week, a bit of good news came in the form of a math error.

When I was first diagnosed with lymphoma, doctors and hospitals buzzed a lot about "the 180 days." "180 days of treatment," "12 chemos lasting 180 days," "a 6 month course." 

Turns out this is kinda bogus - in a good way!

I was sitting down with my schedule planning out the rest of my summer and fall, and realized that the date of my final chemotherapy - which is set for September 25th - was a full month or more earlier than "day 180." As an English major, I spent a good half an hour believing I had just gotten a decimal point wrong in there somewhere. But after further research, I realized the doctors had me counting down to an arbitrary date.

It isn't the date you get the last chemo, or the day after. It's not even the later dates - like when they take the chest port out, or conduct your final scan for a few months, or even the date when they tell you you definitively don't have cancer anymore. Actually a lot of those dates remain nebulous until the very very end - doctors don't like to say "we'll tell you if you still have cancer or not on Monday 10/6 at 9:00am." Doesn't work that way - go figure!

For a date they call "end of treatment," they add an amount of recovery time after the final chemo that's sorta made-up. It's their idea of when you can expect to be "recovered," but really chemo can continue to impact you for months / years after you're done. So it's meaningless!

Good news is, the only day to really count down to is the final chemo. After that date, they will never squeeze bags of poison into my body through a hole in my chest. (Sorry; cancer is gross.)

For this reason, I've moved my countdowns, and am now essentially

90 DAYS AWAY from being DONE.

90 days from now, I will be in the hematology ward for the last time. After that, I will still be weak, hairless, and druggy for a little while, but the nightmare will be on its way to ending.

So cheers to countdown adjustments, to better living through more exact timelines, and to maths! Too bad there aren't any more shortcuts I can cash in...

Mixtape mixtape mixtaaaape.

Please allow me to write several more long pages about what it's like to have stage 2 lymphoma. 

Psych! 

Instead here's a SUPER FUN PLAYLIST CLICK HERE CLICK HERE YAAAAAH!!!!

This is brought to you by a very high-profile music PR company called Muddy Paw. They were generous enough to include us on their summer best-of-indie-music mixtape.

This kind of recent coverage, combined with the announcement of our first-ever performance at the very elite Bottom of the Hill club in San Francisco, is pushing Great Highway yet again to the next level. And as usual, I'm just standing around shaking my head and wondering how I got so lucky.

Thanks to our booker and violin extraordinaire Makiko; to Muddy Paw, who were so kind to include us along with so many other awesome NYC, Chicago, and SF groups and groups all around the country; and of course, to the many friends and fans of the band. 

I got 87 more days to write about cancer. Wouldn't you rather listen to some great music for now? 

Hot buttered Great Highway. Aug 6 at Bottom of the Hill.

For the first time in Great Highway's almost 5-year career, I have to sell me some tickets in advance to our next show. Because this is the largest venue we've ever played in San Francisco, the booker is a big big deal and we have to commit to selling advanced tix. So if you've been asking yourself any of these questions, the answer is, buy a ticket!!

1. How can I help out poor lonely sad cancer-y Jason? 

2. How can I guarantee myself a future August Summer evening of fun, dancing and frolicking with the neatest electropop band eva?

3. What would generally make me a cooler awesomer person? 

BUY A TICKET!!!

https://www.prekindle.com/promo/id/24898849043385156

To hair or not to hair.

Something most people don't know is, I've been living with two looks simultaneously for the past couple months as I work through chemo.

Back in the early days of treatment (feels like ages ago now), I got a wig from a professional headcover company that specializes in cancer patients. Since then, I've worn it at social occasions for people who don't know about the cancer, at my job, and other random times when I wanted to feel confident. My hair started falling out after only chemo #2, mere days into treatment, and it was a huge loss of confidence / blow to my fragile male ego to watch the hairs fall into the sink basin. 

Despite the ego bruising, however, I've been wearing the wig less and less even as my head goes balder and balder. Part of if is getting a little bit of my male confidence back (you can thank certain loving, strong and confident women in my life for that one). Part of it is also just that wearing a wig is taxing and time-consuming. It's not just the care you have to put into it either; it also itches like bitches and heats up in the sun.

But I think the main reason is, I've gradually opened up to friends, co-workers, extended family and others about the cancer in a way I wasn't quite ready to do at the beginning or even halfway in. As the end of this nightmare looms ever-so-gradually closer (78 days left to go and counting down rapidly), it just seemed to be a little easier to tell people, and to show them - nothing says cancer quite like my sad remains of hair. They're scrappy, stringy and short, patchy around the sides and strangely soft in the back. It's a far cry from the bold mane I usually pranced around with. 

As I find the wig naturally ending up on a hook against my bedroom door more and more and on my head less and less, it occurs to me that the time may finally have come to put it away for good. So what do you think - wig or no wig? And if the wig does go in the closet at last, should I shave what's left of my hair off Mr. Clean style, or let it stay buzzy and short? Ah, the important questions of our day...

When in doubt, go sit in a river.

Signing off for a long weekend to go to the Northern Nights Music Festival! 

As ever, I'm very very grateful/lucky to be able to go at all. Most patients in the back half of their chemo wouldn't have the strength. That being said, I can feel my energy starting to just sap away ever-so-gradually over time. There's 75 days left of this nonsense - less than 3 months to go - but it occurs to me that the last 30 days or so might involve a lot of time in bed. Hey, good news for you - that'll give me plenty of time to write more blog posts! 

This is that part of the marathon everyone hates. I'm through the first 13 miles, and suddenly realizing I have to do that whole thing I just did all over again. Nobody likes miles 15-20. I look forward to the final mile of course, but I also look forward to mile 21, because even though I'll still have 6 to go, those 6 will finally feel reachable. I need that sweet sweet "end is in sight" feeling. 

Since I can't have that, I'll settle for some bumpin chill tunes, some warm yellow sun, and a big open river. See you on the other side...

The Nothing beckons.

A lot of people have asked me how things have changed over the course of chemo. What's the progression been like in terms of symptoms, that sorta thing. 

I don't want to bog this blog down in bad news, so I'll try to answer this briefly and start with the good news.

Symptomatically, the worst stuff is already past me. I spent weeks, even months with all sorts of really unpleasant stuff. Severe inflammation of the neck chest and armpits; inability to drink alcohol; skin rashes; night sweats; nausea, constipation, ugh, a veritable laundry list of nightmarish nonsense. Almost all of that subsided somewhere between the onset of cancer and chemos #3-4. With only 5 left to go in the treatment cycle, I'm in a much better place physically. 

The downside, however, is that even as the symptoms decrease, inversely there's an increase in what I have come to think of as "The Nothing." Fans of Neverending Story know where this term comes from - a blanket of darkness that slowly rumbles over the land, ever-so-gradually absorbing the normal level of energy and life inherent to the world and replacing it with grey. You can probably see where I'm going with this.

My energy level is going down a percent point a day, coinciding roughly with the number of days left. At my very best these days, I've got about 70% of the life in me that I usually have. Most folks don't seem to notice it right now - co-workers and friends and family all say "you look great! You seem to be fine!" And I'm grateful for this. But eventually, I anticipate The Nothing is going to blanket this poor body of mine and make me finally, at last, bedridden.

My hope is this won't occur until the end - somewhere in September would be ideal. But I'm bracing for the day when my time with Uber, with Great Highway, and my usual antics and adventures traveling around California will all be temporarily suspended. Pray with me that if this happens at all, it will only be a few weeks before I'm back on my feet. Signing off at 70%...

Dance to my beatz.

Tonight I'll be performing at El Rio, the club/bar down in the Mission where Great Highway did some of its early shows (2013-ish). It's not a show put on by our band - the next official one is still our August show at Bottom of the Hill. We're billing El Rio as "Great Highway - DJ set" and opening for other electronic artists.

I'll be flying mostly-solo with just my co-singer Sarah accompanying, singing and playing over extended dance remixes of a handful of recent Great Highway material.

It's an experiment to find a new way to play more shows. A couple of our members are very very busy people who can't travel or gig extensively. But Sarah and I tend to have freer schedules to devote to shows. If it's fun and goes well, we'll start doing this more often as a duo. It's a great way to get more exposure to Great Highway material without needing the full group around.

So come join us tonight at 9:00! We'll laugh, dance, and flop around at a great vintage club. See you there...

Ten years in San Francisco.

Something kinda big happened this week, and like a lot of life milestones and happenings in 2017, it was subdued and quiet. As-of right now, I've lived in the San Francisco Bay Area for 10 years.

Yep. It's...my anniversary. A solid decade, longer than I lived in Galway, San Diego, and Baltimore (my last 3 towns) combined. 

It's certainly a little sad and disquieting; this anniversary almost came and went without me even noticing. On a normal year I would've thrown a big party, done a pub crawl, held a Great Highway show, hell at least dropped some psychedelics or something.

But today, I went to a nice chill BBQ hosted by a friend who turned 49. I biked around the city with my sweetie. I read part of a book in the sunshine up on Lafayette peak. I sat at my desk, writing this blog, while an Iron & Wine LP softly harmonized to me from my replica Victrola. It was serene, like so much of the spring and summer have been. 

As with any missed opportunity for an energetic wild bash, I've told myself, when the cancer is over and I'm healthy again, I'll make up for lost time. I'll throw ALL the parties. One for my birthday; one in celebration of the cancer leaving my system; one for my 10 year anniversary in SF.

But a littler, quieter voice in my head wonders if I'll ever really be the same after this. People look at me constantly and say, "wow, you look good." "I was expecting you to be a lot sicker." "You're already over the halfway mark?" I think that positivity is great. Feed me more of it, all the time.

That being said, it's not quite realistic. Maybe I have a nice tan from the festivals, I look good cause I'm still cycling and still going outside. But the toll on me has been immeasurable and deep, and not just the physical one. I look better than I feel guys. Last week, DJ ing at El Rio, blowing sax and dancing around stage and singing my heart out, I was sweating so hard I thought I would collapse. 3 or 4 songs into the set, I started to wonder if I'd have to cut the show short. Pure adrenaline kept me going, but pure adrenaline is not enough to make it through 2 more months without some pretty serious repercussions.  

With that being said, the worried voice is still the quieter one in my mind. Louder is the voice of optimism, the one that says the old Jason is coming back in 64 days, 21 hours, 41 minutes and 6 seconds. "Just you wait," it urges to me. "The next chapter of your life is coming, and it's going to be EPIC." I hope it's right. What do you think? 

Well. Anyways. Happy 10 years. I'm raising a glass of bubbly moscato to you, San Francisco, for all the wonderfulness you've given me. I'm sorry we can't celebrate properly right now. I'm sorry 10 years ended like this. But year 11...year 11 is going to be the BOMB.

Dumpy EDM clubs.

I'd love to talk about something that seems to get overlooked in San Francisco. Quality clubs to watch live music are all over the city. My band Great Highway plays shows in the genre of electronic pop and indie rock all the time at some really neat places. We've played small intimate shows at the lounge-y patio bar El Rio, the oak-walled neon-treed Neck of the Woods, we've played in the two-storied red-lit coziness of Hotel Utah with the outstanding food and craft beers on tap. We've even played big clubs like Rickshaw Stop with its exposed brick and disco-themed lighting. Next month we're doing Bottom of the Hill, which is adorable right from the sign outside. It's my goal/hope to someday play The Independent or even Bimbo's, which are for my money the best stages in San Francisco.

When I go to watch live music put on by musician friends or people in our band's indie pop network, I usually end up at one of these places. But when I watch "famous" touring acts in the EDM genre, which is what I listen mostly to these days, I end up at a couple of OTHER clubs that seem to have an exclusive hold on the booking for these bigger names.

And these clubs SUUUUUUUUCK.

Just this morning my partner Sky excitedly messaged me that two of my favorite DJs were playing in November together: The Floozies (a duo of live drums and electronica that perform in the excellent sub-genre of electrofunk) and The Funk Hunters (soul, reggae and r&b-inspired disco EDM with brass). 

I got excited with her for a moment and then, inevitably, my heart fell when I realized that these two acts would never play anywhere but one of two inevitable places. They were probably going to play at the black box dungeon known only as 1015 Folsom (its street address, a very inspiring name). If not there, it'd be a place called The Mezzanine (again, major creative points for that one), which is basically a concrete bunker wedged between two storage buildings in the sketchiest part of SOMA. Don't touch the curtains that cover the bunker walls either - you'll end up with grease for days. 

Sure enough, they're playing 1015, even though in that moment before she told me, I held out hope that Bimbo's or The Independent might be in play. I believe her exact words were, "The bad news is that the show's at 1015 Folsom...but I don't care. Too much good music! At this point, I'd go there for very few DJs." Well said. 

Why do all EDM acts always play these two dingy-ass buckets? EDM lovers are well-costumed, glittery shiny people who drop major $$ to see DJs and bands that play very high-budget well-produced music. At music festivals and shows outside of SF, I see these acts playing really glamorous locations, outdoors on huge stages under dramatic redwood trees, indoors in vast warehouse-sized clubs decked out with expensive lounge furniture and massive bars serving luxury cocktails.

At 1015 they charge you $13 for a tiny splash of over-tonic'd well gin waved in the general direction of your glass (stay an arm's length away from the aggressive bartenders, or more liquor will end up on your shirt than in your mouth). At the Mezzanine, the only good bars are behind velvet ropes that cost double your ticket price to get through. 

We seem content to put up with these places even though the same EDM-loving audience also travels to music festivals and other events where the stages, the bars, and the setting are also way way more comfortable. I doubt the musicians themselves care very much; a stage is a stage, and as long as there's a decent sound system they probably don't mind if their audience is stuffed in like sardines in a can. But surely I'm not the only electronic music devotee in the city that's bummed out to have to keep ending up stuffed into the human sandwiches that are 1015 and the Mezzanine.

Or do all the other EDM peeps besides Sky and I actually like these places? Do they get off on the tightness, the darkness, the sweatiness? Does it offer them something they can't get in an expansive open outdoor stage, being wedged into an unadorned, we-didn't-bother-trying prison cell of a club? Am I just hating too much on these places, not seeing the advantage? Help me fellow EDM followers. You're my only hope. 

60 days 60 days woooooooooooooooo!

Very little time to blog today because I'm one foot out the door to the next music festival, a little shindig called Guitarfish. Music festivals are the best best thing to do on cancer, FYI. Highly recommended for all my lymphoma peeps. 

Buuuuut, before I go, a little tiny no-big-deal ain't-nuthin oh-wait-it's-everything announcement, I now have only 

60 days left of treatment whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!?

OK so it's actually 62 as-of today, but I'll be in a field of redwoods by a river listening to hot funk jamz when 60 comes around this weekend, so lets celebrate now! I will have made it through 2/3rds of this fucking terrible nonsense. 1/3rd to go. Couldn't have done it without you, friendly friends! Peace out, see you when I get back. Ready to start the last laps with me??

Guitarfish.

Well this weekend marked the final festival in my journey through chemotherapy. On the eve of my 8th of 12 chemos, I attended this truly magical adventure in the woods by a river filled with waterfalls and secret pools. My lovely boo Christine and I watched funk bands, DJs, and some straight up rock & roll while psychedelic-ing out under giant tall redwoods. Mystically magically amazing, and a great way to celebrate 2/3rds of my treatment. 

It's soon becoming time for me to scale back on life as my body gets weaker from the poisons. This will be my last major adventure - I am selling my Burning Man ticket, and turning down offers to travel between now and the end of September. That's the bad news, but the good news is, this will only up the already huge odds in my favor. I'm going to lay low, I'm going to sit pretty, but I'm going to cure the fuck out of this cancer. 

4 chemos left. 57 days. Bring it. 

Jorrrrb! Part 2.

A few months ago I announced that I'd been hired by the design team at Uber as a contractor. My hope at that time was to work for a few months before I got too tired from the chemo, and use the contract wages to supplement other income from donations, federal and state programs, etc. I had no big ambition, particularly after being dropped from StubHub early before my contract even expired. Not to mention a slew of other "bleh" contracting jobs. 

Imagine my surprise when I sat down to lunch with my boss today, and watched him smile and say, "how would you like to stop contracting?" 

Yep. I was offered a full-time job today. After 5 years of this nonsense, I can bow out of the consultant world.

It's amazing. I busted my ass at StubHub, in the prime of my career and working hard to prove myself as both a designer AND a content strategist. I gave them 200% and all I got was a call from my contracting company saying "you're trying too hard, they don't have enough work for you." 

Now I'm at Uber reminding everyone every week, bleary-eyed and leaning on the stair rails, that I'm losing 1% of my energy every day and can't give them even close to my best. Yet they have told me that, on talent and personality alone, they want me around. Thanks, Uber. I'm actually touched by a corporation. Go figure. 

Here's to pleasant surprises amid nasty times. Good news happens when you least expect it.

CANCELLED.

I'll be reaching out to everyone I know who bought tickets for this weekend's Great Highway concert at Bottom of the Hill. The gig be cancelled, yo.

The short version is, the headliner pulled out at the last second. The longer version also involves a negligent, irresponsible booking agent who didn't communicate with the club appropriately. It's not B of the H's fault at all. 

Yeah, it sucks. I was really looking forward to the show. I was excited to perform new tunes we've been working on all Summer, to play our biggest venue yet. I was psyched to perform all-new sax solos I've written, show off some of the DJ jams we played last month at a smaller venue. But...it's ok. First off, 2017 is a shitty year - I think we can all agree, yes? Cancer, Donald Trump. You know, all that. So it's not surprising that our best show of the year got dumped by some bad personalities in the mix. 

Secondly though, and perhaps more importantly, Great Highway has NEVER had a show get cancelled. A lot of bands experience at least one cancellation a year; touring bands and full-timers suffer multiple per year.

We've been around 5 years and never been scrapped. We came close a couple times; Brick & Mortar, another huge club we played earlier this year, almost got canned, but we pulled a miracle out with replacement bands in the lineup. A couple years ago, a club was so empty out in Oakland that we let our opening band just play a double set and watched them instead of playing ourselves. But we've never, ever been cancelled, and it's a right of passage / initiation for all musicians. So, I'm glad we finally got it over with.

If you bought a ticket online or a paper ticket through me, and I don't get to you by this afternoon, please ping me and I'll give you a hasty refund. Also, the band wants to hang out with our audience in the neighborhood even though we don't have anywhere to play. So ping me if you still want to go out Sunday, and lets make plans together to drink and be merry. We will play Bottom of the Hill someday. Just, not this weekend.

One helluva last hurrah.

Well, August has arrived. And with less than 50 days to go, I've been having a deeply lovely week with my brand-new visiting friend, lover, confidante, super-sweetie Erin.

She came all the way from the big city lights of South Bend, Indiana to my humble rural town of San Francisco (heh) just to hang out in the sunshine and snuggle me to pieces. It's been an amazing little vacation. I can't believe it's half over already!

We picnicked on Lake Merritt next to a spontaneous drum circle, horsed around Pier 39 and watched the seals on the docks, had a steamy evening at the Whitechapel speakeasy, and held deep conversations about love, life, change, cancer, the past and the future, about polyamory and about romantic maturity, learning and growing and listening, every imaginable topic that two people can ponder over glasses of Argentinian wine and the soft sounds of Tycho vibing softly from a record player. 

I know already that I'll miss her when she's gone, and yet I'm excited to have discovered someone so rare and special hidden on the other side of the country. I feel like, yet again, I have mined the strange and twisting world of internet dating and found a real diamond in the rough. I'm looking forward to what adventures may come in the back half of her visit, and I'm glad that this could happen before I slide further into the abyss that's waiting for me. This lovely staycation with Erin is likely to be my last hurrah - by the time she leaves, I'll be rolling into chemo #9. Things are going to get extra-dicey. Based on the trajectory of symptoms and the sapped strength of my body, it's unlikely that my original plans for last adventures will come to pass. Bonus fun times like Burning Man and my bandmate's wedding up in Sonoma are just not practical. And so, the back 40 days are going to involve a lot more sitting still and watching TV than I had hoped.

Still, I'm that much more grateful for this happy little bridge to the end. My many thanks to this kind, smiling, upbeat girl for coming to stay with me and remind me that there are good times to be had even in the darkest hours. Perhaps she can help me remember later, when all this is over and done with at last, that 2017 wasn't ALL bad :)