So! Some good news: My first three-month post-chemo checkup revealed further reduction of swelling in my one stubborn lymph node and normal blood tumor markers. In other words, I continue to recover from my little cancer adventure.
My next long-term checkup is three months from now, in January. Hopefully, everything will be good.
Which brings me to my next point. I don't imagine anyone is still checking this blog regularly -- a good and happy result of my being back in health. So I am shuttering it. I won't post here again unless I have some really unexpected good or bad news to report.
In other words, so long as there are no new posts here, assume I am doing well and getting on with life.
Ta!
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Good stuff: Maria Bamford
Paula and I saw her open up the Out of Bounds Festival here in Austin. Awesome. I had seen her on the teevee before, but that doesn't really capture what a force she is in person. She owned the stage as well as any performer I've seen in any format -- creating and sustaining tension, providing release at just the right moment, etc. etc. And her current material is fucking hilarious. If you can see her, go.
On not telling people things sometimes
The cancer patient in recovery, I've quickly discovered, faces a recurring dilemma about subsequent check-ups and screenings. Do you let people know that you're going to get something looked at -- and spread the worry around -- or do you spare them the anxiety if and until there's something to report?
Just this Thursday, I went back to Dr. Baker (my urologist), a mere week and a half after my post-chemo assessment from him. I was feeling a bit of ache in my groin, and, though it was hard to place, it was close enough to my surviving right testicle that I figured, "Don't be stupid don't be stupid don't be stupid don't be stupid asshole just pick up the phone it's probably nothing but you have to go in to be sure don't be stupid you were just there right but go in anyway it's rare to have a recurrence in the second testicle especially after chemo yeah but it happens so don't be stupid asshole you have to go in."
So, yes. I set up an appointment for Thursday afternoon. This was about a week ago, so I had several intervening days in which to obsess about any momentary sensation beneath my waist.
Dr. Baker had the dubious privilege of feeling around my ballsack for the dozenth time. He said that the testicle itself felt fine, that (as I thought) it'd be incredibly unlikely for me to have a recurrent tumor so soon after completing chemo, that since the pain seemed to be in the back, it was almost certainly an inflammation of the epididymis from exercise. He said I was smart to come in, though, should always feel welcome, and should call him if the soreness lingers past a few weeks.
So here's the thing: I didn't tell anyone about this appointment beforehand. Not friends, not my girlfriend, not my family. I thought it would be emotionally wasteful to get anyone worked up over nothing, especially since I only needed to wait a week to confirm that it actually was nothing.
I think and I hope that's the right way to handle this sort of thing.
Just this Thursday, I went back to Dr. Baker (my urologist), a mere week and a half after my post-chemo assessment from him. I was feeling a bit of ache in my groin, and, though it was hard to place, it was close enough to my surviving right testicle that I figured, "Don't be stupid don't be stupid don't be stupid don't be stupid asshole just pick up the phone it's probably nothing but you have to go in to be sure don't be stupid you were just there right but go in anyway it's rare to have a recurrence in the second testicle especially after chemo yeah but it happens so don't be stupid asshole you have to go in."
So, yes. I set up an appointment for Thursday afternoon. This was about a week ago, so I had several intervening days in which to obsess about any momentary sensation beneath my waist.
Dr. Baker had the dubious privilege of feeling around my ballsack for the dozenth time. He said that the testicle itself felt fine, that (as I thought) it'd be incredibly unlikely for me to have a recurrent tumor so soon after completing chemo, that since the pain seemed to be in the back, it was almost certainly an inflammation of the epididymis from exercise. He said I was smart to come in, though, should always feel welcome, and should call him if the soreness lingers past a few weeks.
So here's the thing: I didn't tell anyone about this appointment beforehand. Not friends, not my girlfriend, not my family. I thought it would be emotionally wasteful to get anyone worked up over nothing, especially since I only needed to wait a week to confirm that it actually was nothing.
I think and I hope that's the right way to handle this sort of thing.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Good Stuff: Jack Kirby's Fourth World Omnibus
My friend Jeff from work has been letting me borrow these, a collection of Jack Kirby's bugfuck insane galaxy-spanning DC comics series from the early early '70s. They are full of the unflagging multiple-exclamation-point enthusiasm ("How's that for a chilling conclusion, dear readers!!!") that the funny papers used to have in more innocent times and thick as clay with borrowings from far out sci-fi, fantasy, and classic mythology. I don't think Jack Kirby ever did a drug in his life, but as I read these stories I picture him popping speed and slurping absinthe with Wagner on the hi-fi and a pile of William Blake, Robert Heinlein, Alduous Huxley, J.R.R. Tolkien, and Joseph Campbell by his side.
Anyhow, the comics are hilarious and badly dated and over-the-top and often quite brilliant. Present throughout is Kirby's palpable affection for the young kids with their crazy ideas and damn rock music, which, coming from a man who was 53 at the time, is oddly sweet and touching.
John "a PC" Hodgman has a nice review of the whole set here.
Good stuff: Swedish pop gals
You must admire a culture that gives the world August Strindberg and Ingmar Bergman with one hand and ABBA and Max Martin with the other. (You must. Says so in the manual.) In the spirit of the latter two, here are some of my favorite performers from one of my favorite genres: impeccable, off-beat girly pop.
Lykke Li
Robyn
Annie
I testify from experience -- sticky awesome pop like this does serious damage to the chemo blues.
Lykke Li
Robyn
Annie
I testify from experience -- sticky awesome pop like this does serious damage to the chemo blues.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Good stuff: Toots & the Maytals doing Radiohead's "Let Down"
I like Toots; I like Radiohead. However, I would not have thought that these two flavors belonged in the same candy bar. (Indeed, when I heard about the album this comes from, I thought it sounded like the most inane and unnecessary cash-grab concept since the album that preceded it.)
Wrong. Here is Toots doing an awfully fine job on one of the better songs off OK Computer.
That voice! It's got authority, but such playful authority, if you know what I mean.
Bonus Toots:
Wrong. Here is Toots doing an awfully fine job on one of the better songs off OK Computer.
That voice! It's got authority, but such playful authority, if you know what I mean.
Bonus Toots:
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
So what's happening to me?
Eh! Not much.
And that's good, right?
We are keeping an eye on me. My next checkup is in early October, when we'll look at my lymph nodes again and make sure they're not misbehaving.
Meanwhile, I am back at work. Living life. Doing stuff. Making all the right moves. Later this month, I'll be attending a weekend retreat put on by Planet Cancer, a locally based support organization for young adults being treated for or recovering from cancer. I shall report back from that.
Thanks for asking!
And that's good, right?
We are keeping an eye on me. My next checkup is in early October, when we'll look at my lymph nodes again and make sure they're not misbehaving.
Meanwhile, I am back at work. Living life. Doing stuff. Making all the right moves. Later this month, I'll be attending a weekend retreat put on by Planet Cancer, a locally based support organization for young adults being treated for or recovering from cancer. I shall report back from that.
Thanks for asking!
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Who is this lean and fiery orator?
Now that's how you do it. I guess JK had himself an espresso shot sometime in these past four years.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Is it ...? Could it be ...? REMISSION??
If you're still here, hi. I'm still here, too. I've been getting back to normal things like going to work and walking around and being seen in public, which accounts for the radio silence on this blog. But I thought an update would be in order, so here goes:
Well, I have been out of the chemo for a few weeks now. In that time, I have had a couple of tests to gauge the effectiveness of my treatment. Let's run 'em down, shall we?
1) There was a CT scan to check on my lymph nodes. The size of your retroperitoneal lymph nodes after chemotherapy for TC is pretty crucial information, obviously. Nonseminomous testicular cancer (what I have) has a nasty habit of leaving behind a benign mass called teratoma. Teratoma is not itself dangerous but a) it can grow, putting pressure on your organs, and b) it can become cancerous later down the line, creating a recurrence of TC -- and cancer is always much more dangerous the second time around.
Before this CT scan, I had to drink one of those loathsome barium sulfate "smoothies" that coats your stomach a provides better image quality. Fortunately, I had been so fully briefed on how disgusting this stuff would be that the actual taste, while horrible, was miles better than I expected. (In fact, I think it's the mucus-y consistency as much as taste that really grosses people out.)
Anyhow, the scan revealed that my lymph nodes had shrunk significantly from the chemo, returning to their normal sizes. There is one node, however, that is still inflamed to about one centimeter. This poses a bit of a problem, as some oncologists would recommend surgery in my situation (in fact, would recommend it for any residual lymph node swelling whatsoever) while others would advocate surveillance. Dr. Hellerstedt is in the latter camp.
Post-chemotherapy RPLND surgery is a pretty intense and difficult procedure. Only a few surgeons in the country have done more than a handful of these procedures. Frequently, nothing more than scar tissue is found in the affected nodes. Nevertheless, the surgery does offer some peace of mind by (in all likelihood) revealing that there is definitely no active cancer in the nodes and removing any teratoma that is discovered.
On the other hand, it's certainly preferable not to get the surgery if you don't have to. And Dr. H seems confident that I don't have to right now. (The story will change if we see my one lymph node growing in a subsequent CT scan rather than shrinking back.)
I'm torn. I've done my homework, and I know that many TC specialists think the post-chemo RPLND should be done in any case of residual node inflammation for the the slight increase in statistical long-term survival that is possible. However, surgery carries risks, and these must be weighed against the slightly increased risk of recurrence that comes with not doing the surgery.
I hope I'm laying this stuff out clearly. It's pretty late as I write.
Given Dr. H's confidence, I am pretty comfortable in moving forward with surveillance for now. That'll be CT scans and blood tests every three months for the first year, with less frequent tests in subsequent years. If something happens during surveillance that makes us think surgery is necessary, then we will we move forward with that.
Just to put my mind at ease, though, I am going to ask Dr. H to put in a call with Dr. Lawrence Einhorn at Indiana University. Dr. Einhorn literally wrote the book on modern TC treatment and is famously helpful in answering calls to consult with oncologists around the world who are dealing with TC patients. If Dr. Einhorn concurs with our current plan, then I will move forward with surveillance and consider myself unreservedly in remission from testicular cancer. (Hoot, hoot.)
So! Keep your fingers crossed.
Oh yes. There was another test used to check out my lymph nodes.
2) A PET scan. (If you have any interest, click that link, because this scan actually works in a pretty interesting way that involves injection with radioactive material.) This was done to look for any "active cancer" in my inflamed lymph node -- cancer that the chemo just plain failed to kill. This scan is not really super useful for patients in my position; it is known to produce a significant number of false negatives, and it does not reveal the presence of teratoma. However, Dr. H thought we should go ahead with it because a) my insurance agreed to pay for it and b) if it was positive for activity in the node, we would definitely think about doing the surgery rather than surveillance. Fortunately, the scan was negative, as we expected.
OK. That is all for now, cats. I will continue to post as things develop ... and may even start posting about non-cancerous subjects as I return to normal life.
Thank you to everyone who has taken a moment to express concern and send good wishes. It was all very much appreciated, and I apologize to anyone who I failed to respond to individually. I am in much better energy now and have no excuses, so drop me another line if you like.
Well, I have been out of the chemo for a few weeks now. In that time, I have had a couple of tests to gauge the effectiveness of my treatment. Let's run 'em down, shall we?
1) There was a CT scan to check on my lymph nodes. The size of your retroperitoneal lymph nodes after chemotherapy for TC is pretty crucial information, obviously. Nonseminomous testicular cancer (what I have) has a nasty habit of leaving behind a benign mass called teratoma. Teratoma is not itself dangerous but a) it can grow, putting pressure on your organs, and b) it can become cancerous later down the line, creating a recurrence of TC -- and cancer is always much more dangerous the second time around.
Before this CT scan, I had to drink one of those loathsome barium sulfate "smoothies" that coats your stomach a provides better image quality. Fortunately, I had been so fully briefed on how disgusting this stuff would be that the actual taste, while horrible, was miles better than I expected. (In fact, I think it's the mucus-y consistency as much as taste that really grosses people out.)
Anyhow, the scan revealed that my lymph nodes had shrunk significantly from the chemo, returning to their normal sizes. There is one node, however, that is still inflamed to about one centimeter. This poses a bit of a problem, as some oncologists would recommend surgery in my situation (in fact, would recommend it for any residual lymph node swelling whatsoever) while others would advocate surveillance. Dr. Hellerstedt is in the latter camp.
Post-chemotherapy RPLND surgery is a pretty intense and difficult procedure. Only a few surgeons in the country have done more than a handful of these procedures. Frequently, nothing more than scar tissue is found in the affected nodes. Nevertheless, the surgery does offer some peace of mind by (in all likelihood) revealing that there is definitely no active cancer in the nodes and removing any teratoma that is discovered.
On the other hand, it's certainly preferable not to get the surgery if you don't have to. And Dr. H seems confident that I don't have to right now. (The story will change if we see my one lymph node growing in a subsequent CT scan rather than shrinking back.)
I'm torn. I've done my homework, and I know that many TC specialists think the post-chemo RPLND should be done in any case of residual node inflammation for the the slight increase in statistical long-term survival that is possible. However, surgery carries risks, and these must be weighed against the slightly increased risk of recurrence that comes with not doing the surgery.
I hope I'm laying this stuff out clearly. It's pretty late as I write.
Given Dr. H's confidence, I am pretty comfortable in moving forward with surveillance for now. That'll be CT scans and blood tests every three months for the first year, with less frequent tests in subsequent years. If something happens during surveillance that makes us think surgery is necessary, then we will we move forward with that.
Just to put my mind at ease, though, I am going to ask Dr. H to put in a call with Dr. Lawrence Einhorn at Indiana University. Dr. Einhorn literally wrote the book on modern TC treatment and is famously helpful in answering calls to consult with oncologists around the world who are dealing with TC patients. If Dr. Einhorn concurs with our current plan, then I will move forward with surveillance and consider myself unreservedly in remission from testicular cancer. (Hoot, hoot.)
So! Keep your fingers crossed.
Oh yes. There was another test used to check out my lymph nodes.
2) A PET scan. (If you have any interest, click that link, because this scan actually works in a pretty interesting way that involves injection with radioactive material.) This was done to look for any "active cancer" in my inflamed lymph node -- cancer that the chemo just plain failed to kill. This scan is not really super useful for patients in my position; it is known to produce a significant number of false negatives, and it does not reveal the presence of teratoma. However, Dr. H thought we should go ahead with it because a) my insurance agreed to pay for it and b) if it was positive for activity in the node, we would definitely think about doing the surgery rather than surveillance. Fortunately, the scan was negative, as we expected.
OK. That is all for now, cats. I will continue to post as things develop ... and may even start posting about non-cancerous subjects as I return to normal life.
Thank you to everyone who has taken a moment to express concern and send good wishes. It was all very much appreciated, and I apologize to anyone who I failed to respond to individually. I am in much better energy now and have no excuses, so drop me another line if you like.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
George Carlin is Fucking Dead
Obviously, I am behind the curve on this one, but I thought I should throw a nod in the direction of George Carlin's passing, since the guy was a not-insignificant shaper of my thought and attitude back in my teenage years.
My favorite Carlin was the one who strove to knock the human race off its high horse. We're nothing particularly special -- just clever mammals, though not nearly clever enough. Here he is deconstructing one of the (many, many) lazy and false pieties we humans propped together to elevate ourselves over the muck and tide of the universe, the "sanctity of life":
My favorite Carlin was the one who strove to knock the human race off its high horse. We're nothing particularly special -- just clever mammals, though not nearly clever enough. Here he is deconstructing one of the (many, many) lazy and false pieties we humans propped together to elevate ourselves over the muck and tide of the universe, the "sanctity of life":
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
That's All, Folks (Sort Of)
Monday -- I received my final infusion of bleomycin. My final chemo treatment.
Tuesday -- As my hemoglobin was pretty low, I went into the hospital for a blood transfusion. I wasn't thrilled about the idea, but it seems to have paid off -- I am, at least for the moment, feeling like a million bucks, although I suspect the bleo will start to kick me around in the next day or so.
What's next -- Monday, I meet with Dr. Hellerstedt for what I imagine will be a brief assessment/review/discussion of my forthcoming surveillance schedule. Wednesday, July 9th, I have a CT scan, which will (hopefully) confirm that my lymph nodes have shrunk back down to their normal size. If so: I am officially in remission.
I can't even tell you how nice it feels to be done with this shit, and I am just waiting for my stomach to recover so that I can get fucking drunk.
And now, because I want to give back to everyone who has provided kind words/support/food/books/DVDs/etc. during this ordeal, here is a clip from the 2004 film Karate Dog. Yes, that is Jon Voight, formerly promising actor of the '60s and '70s, fighting the CGI karate dog. In 2004, Voight also appeared in Baby Geniuses 2: Super Babies.
Tuesday -- As my hemoglobin was pretty low, I went into the hospital for a blood transfusion. I wasn't thrilled about the idea, but it seems to have paid off -- I am, at least for the moment, feeling like a million bucks, although I suspect the bleo will start to kick me around in the next day or so.
What's next -- Monday, I meet with Dr. Hellerstedt for what I imagine will be a brief assessment/review/discussion of my forthcoming surveillance schedule. Wednesday, July 9th, I have a CT scan, which will (hopefully) confirm that my lymph nodes have shrunk back down to their normal size. If so: I am officially in remission.
I can't even tell you how nice it feels to be done with this shit, and I am just waiting for my stomach to recover so that I can get fucking drunk.
And now, because I want to give back to everyone who has provided kind words/support/food/books/DVDs/etc. during this ordeal, here is a clip from the 2004 film Karate Dog. Yes, that is Jon Voight, formerly promising actor of the '60s and '70s, fighting the CGI karate dog. In 2004, Voight also appeared in Baby Geniuses 2: Super Babies.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Bloooooood
Only one infusion left to go, kids, and then the road to recovery.
Yesterday I received my penultimate bleomycin infusion, and now I'm just lazing around waiting for it to whup my ass for a few days. My hemoglobin is down, which means my heart needs to work triple-time to get that good ol' oxygen to all my precious organs and extremities. Generally, I feel all right as long as I don't try to -- you know -- do anything. Moving, walking, picking stuff up -- stuff like that. Carrying a bag to the front door makes me feel like I spent a half-hour on a treadmill.
Don't get me wrong, I am exhilarated to be so close to done. But you have never seen such an exhilarated fellow so thoroughly immobile.
Yesterday I received my penultimate bleomycin infusion, and now I'm just lazing around waiting for it to whup my ass for a few days. My hemoglobin is down, which means my heart needs to work triple-time to get that good ol' oxygen to all my precious organs and extremities. Generally, I feel all right as long as I don't try to -- you know -- do anything. Moving, walking, picking stuff up -- stuff like that. Carrying a bag to the front door makes me feel like I spent a half-hour on a treadmill.
Don't get me wrong, I am exhilarated to be so close to done. But you have never seen such an exhilarated fellow so thoroughly immobile.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
All Hail The Swayz
As though playing Dalton in Roadhouse and Bodhi in Point Break didn't already eternally seal his place in the Badass Hall of Fame, Patrick Swayze has re-established his bona fides by delivering a roundhouse kick to cancer's stupid, ugly face.
Pancreatic cancer is as close to a guaranteed death sentence as you can get, and the fact that The Swayz has not only outlasted it for this long but now has his doctors' permission to get back to work is a huge deal.
I think we could all stand to take some words of wisdom from the man himself:
Be nice.
Until it's time to not be nice.
The Finish Line Comes Into Sight
Well, folks, let me first apologize for how sporadically I have updated this thing. The fact is that my life + chemo = boring, for the most part, and I don't really want to waste anyone's time with posts about how many hours I slept in a given day or how many episodes of Law & Order I watched while nailed to my couch.
This past week was the final week of cycle two, and it contained some of the crappiest days yet. My blood counts went waaay down, so I'd get dizzy while standing up and feel my pulse pounding after climbing a few steps. Not too much fun. But that was only for a few days, and now I am once again feeling something approaching normal.
Which is good news because tomorrow is the first day of my last chemo cycle! Meaning, knock on wood and cross your fingers, I could be three weeks away from getting back to regular life.
Once the chemo is over, I'll be CT-scanned once more to check whether my lymph nodes have shrunk back to their normal size. If they have, then booyah, it means remission and frequent surveillance. If not ... well, unfortunately, I'll have to have them out surgically (which was precisely the thing we were trying to avoid by doing chemo first, but you can't win them all), which is not a disaster, but a surefire pain in the ass.
Three more weeks! Mark it.
This past week was the final week of cycle two, and it contained some of the crappiest days yet. My blood counts went waaay down, so I'd get dizzy while standing up and feel my pulse pounding after climbing a few steps. Not too much fun. But that was only for a few days, and now I am once again feeling something approaching normal.
Which is good news because tomorrow is the first day of my last chemo cycle! Meaning, knock on wood and cross your fingers, I could be three weeks away from getting back to regular life.
Once the chemo is over, I'll be CT-scanned once more to check whether my lymph nodes have shrunk back to their normal size. If they have, then booyah, it means remission and frequent surveillance. If not ... well, unfortunately, I'll have to have them out surgically (which was precisely the thing we were trying to avoid by doing chemo first, but you can't win them all), which is not a disaster, but a surefire pain in the ass.
Three more weeks! Mark it.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Completely Bald White Guys Musical Addendum
Michael Stipe
(Special nod to my homeboy from back home, Scott, for pointing out this omission. R.E.M. has always been one of my favorite bands and the exclusion of Stipe from the initial list was my bad.)
CBWG Pros: Tons of good songs. An increasingly snappy dresser. Friend to Mario Batali, whose food looks tasty. Has Mike Mills on harmony.
CBWG Cons: Weak-tea political content. "Elliptical" lyrics frequently mush. Long flirtation with questionable makeup choices.
Billy Corgan
CBWG Pros: Siamese Dream still mostly stands up! Of course, he had hair when he recorded that one.
CBWG Cons: Creepy little megolomaniacal troll. "Poetic" lyrics about as awful as awful gets. Zwan?
That guy from Midnight Oil
CBWG Pros: Midnight Oil was apparently a pretty big deal in their native Australia. I do like the one song I know about everyone's beds burning. Also, this guy is apparently now the Australian Minister for Environment, Heritage and Arts!
CBWG Cons: Can't think of any. This guy looks like a contender!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
LUCIANI STRONG
So that's me with a bald dome and rockin' a couple of cancer accessories on my wrist. The one in yellow is your classic Lance Armstrong LiveStrong bracelet. But what, you may wonder, is its fellow in orange?
That's right, baby! My beloved pal Jared created and ordered these for me. And they're quickly becoming a sensation, I tell you!
Well, I won't say "sensation" (though I just did), but some have asked me how they can get their hands on one of these hot, hot bracelets. Here's the deal: Jared and I can order a re-supply, scaled to how much demand there is out there.
$3 will get you your very own "Luciani Strong" bracelet. That three bucks covers production, shipping, and a modest donation to the Testicular Cancer Resource Center.
How to pay? Well, you can pay curtis.luciani@gmail.com through PayPal. Or you can just shoot me an email stating your interest and your intent to pay with cash next time you see me.
As soon as the bracelets come in, I will try to distribute them as effectively as possible. "As effectively as possible" will probably be still somewhat haphazard.
I ain't winning no bike races. If "Luciani Strong" means anything, it means muddling through in a pleasantly average way. Celebrate your own commitment to the pleasantly average by ordering your bracelet today!
Holy Moly, I Miss Alcohol -- Not in An Alcoholic Way, You Understand, But Just An Epicurean Way
Sigh.
So, one of the classic things about chemo (so I was told and so I am discovering) is that you temporarily lose your taste for certain things, including foods and beverages you once considered a dear, dear part of your regular diet. For me, the most distinct loss has been my taste for things alcoholic.
I've tried a beer or two since the chemo began. They didn't upset my stomach ... they didn't taste bad ... but that warm, contented feeling that usually accompanies a quality beer during its passage down my throat and belly -- gone, at least for now.
Mixed drinks, too.
Sigh.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Completely Bald White Guys Addendum I
NB: Patrick Stewart/Jean-Luc Picard does not qualify for the list. Although almost completely bald, Stewart has a visually prominent C-shaped tuft:
It's a judgment call and a little arbitrary. But I vividly remember Stewart's ear-to-ear ring o' hair from watching TNG. It was like a visual counterpoint to Geordi LaForge's sweet wraparound eye thingie.
Professor X
(Stewart shaved his tuft in order to play Prof. X. -- thus, the character qualifies, but Stewart does not.)
CBWG Pros: Psychic powers to the extreme. Provides a way for nerds to understand why Martin Luther King, Jr. was important.
CBWG Cons: A bit of a scold? Also: can't walk.
Moby
CBWG Pros: Interestingly, Play is actually a pretty great album to listen to while you're getting chemo.
CBWG Cons: Weenie.
It's a judgment call and a little arbitrary. But I vividly remember Stewart's ear-to-ear ring o' hair from watching TNG. It was like a visual counterpoint to Geordi LaForge's sweet wraparound eye thingie.
Professor X
(Stewart shaved his tuft in order to play Prof. X. -- thus, the character qualifies, but Stewart does not.)
CBWG Pros: Psychic powers to the extreme. Provides a way for nerds to understand why Martin Luther King, Jr. was important.
CBWG Cons: A bit of a scold? Also: can't walk.
Moby
CBWG Pros: Interestingly, Play is actually a pretty great album to listen to while you're getting chemo.
CBWG Cons: Weenie.
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