Text of our part of the Memorial Service

Here is the text of what Janice and I read at the memorial service last night.

Thank you again who all who came to celebrate and remember our father.
- Ellen

~~~~~

I think everyone knows that our dad was irreverent - whether telling a cop off in Providence, or asking our highest-level elected officials "how they were going to pay" for whatever rosy-sounding project they had proposed, our father spoke truth to power. Like any good reporter, he was cynical.

But he was not all cynic. He hewed close to some basic values - and was a man with firm principles, and fierce integrity.

Here are some of the values he held most dear:

Family

• He was gentle, supportive and affirming with us - helping us believe that not only did we have the responsibility to make a contribution to society, but that we were infinitely capable of doing so.
• As much as he was a man of words, his actions said perhaps more about how he felt about family. Mom and Dad together prioritized our well-being, sometimes even above their own. When dad was looking for a house in Albany at the time of the big move from Rochester, he saw about 20 kids playing outside on a cul-de-sac in Delmar. While the house wasn't perfect, they were sold. Since it would be best for his girls, that's where they would live.
• While dad did like the metaphor that paying for our college educations was like buying a new car every year and driving it off a cliff, he did it: he and mom lived frugally so that we would enter our adult lives debt-free, enabling us to choose careers in education and public service that pay in ethical and spiritual, but not so much in material, rewards.
• He almost never missed a sporting event of ours, setting earlier deadlines for the other reporters so that he could make our games.
• It was important to him that we spend holidays together as a family, especially Christmas, of which he spent all but three in his entire life in the house that his grandfather built outside of Lowell, MA. He loved meeting the new additions to the family at holidays, and got a twinkle in his eye when he played with his nephews, and later his nephews' children.

Public Service

• Dad thought that there was no higher calling than helping citizens hold their elected officials accountable for serving the public. He told me he was never more proud of me than when I worked in Colombia trying to decrease human rights abuses by the government.
• This appreciation for public service was at least partially hereditary: his father, uncle and sister were reporters, and his grandfather was on the board of selectman.
• While Dad had ink in his blood, he also had teaching in his veins. His mother, sister and daughter were all teachers, and dad's commitment to mentoring young reporters expressed what he always said was his second career choice: a history teacher and coach. He had dreams of teaching in his retirement, perhaps as a professor. He loved that his job, and the book he wrote, gave him the opportunity to travel the state and explain NY government to different groups of people.
• In his last year, Dad got more involved in local politics. He helped a friend with his campaign and frequently attended school board meetings, at which he put his same keen eye to their budget (and its affect on his property taxes) as he did to the state budget.

Fun

• As much as dad was committed to his work, he also loved weekends, which would find him sailing his tiny sunfish, golfing with friends, or sitting in front of the tv rooting for his beloved teams: Red Sox, Celtics, Bruins, Pats and Bills. Vacations were great because they were expanded weekends, and were especially good if they included Aunt Judi, water views, and a long bike ride that ended at an ice cream stand.
• Dad loved games, especially ones he could win. When I started trouncing him at the word game Boggle in my early teens, we switched to ping pong. Which he beat me convincingly at, with both his left AND right hand.
• He loved music and dancing.
• Most car rides between our house and his family's house in Boston as a kid consisted of me sitting in the front seat with dad, belting out oldies tunes for hours. He was never happier than when a falsetto part of a beach boys song came on. The LCA's commitment to reworking oldies' songs AND letting dad have at them was, perhaps, the real key to his longevity in Albany.

Principles of Journalism

• Dad was committed to accuracy, directness, attention to detail, and fairness.
• When we would say something like “there were 3 or 4 people there” he would ask: "Well, was it three or four?" If we said we’d arrive around 8, he’d want to know if it was 8:15, 8 or 8:30.
• Dad asked direct questions that went to the heart of someone's perspective: upon meeting a political theorist friend of mine, he asked the eternal big question: "Why is everything so screwed up? in politics" which launched them into a really interesting conversation about why politics is so, well, screwed up.
• Knowing statistics and facts helped him order the world. Dad knew the populations of most countries and cities. He could tell you the important Red Sox sluggers since he was a kid, along with their batting averages. And he of course knew more details about NY state budgets and elections than one should.
• Dad was fair. The quickest way to get on dad's bad side was to lie to or cheat him. Or let him see you lying to or cheating others.
• His fairness translated into his child-rearing philosophy: I knew that the quickest way to get something from my dad, was to point out that Janice already had it.

Simple pleasures and routine

• In the end, dad was a simple guy, and a creature of habit.
• He kissed mom every day when he came home from work. And hugged us when we drove in from far away, and incidentally, also hugged most everyone he met this past year.
• He started every day, no matter where, with a newspaper, OJ and grape nuts, he ate dinner at 6:30, and followed a consistent, if bland, diet. After a hard tennis match or bike ride, he enjoyed lobster, tater tots, cold beer, or a cold lemonade like no one else: He would sit back in his chair, close his eyes tight, and dramatically take in the beer/fried potato/lemonade slowly, opening his eyes only after the treasured food had percolated inside him for a while.
• Also, he believed that any food in the world could, and should, be turned into a sandwich. For example: filet mignon and salad. Scallops and clams in a biscuit.
• He loved spending lazy summer afternoons visiting with his siblings, cousins, and later niece and nephews on Long Pond.

Love

• For the love of his daughters, dad travelled to Bogota, Colombia and the Amazon in Ecuador when we knew he would probably prefer to be sitting on his screened-in-porch with the Sunday crossword. But because Ecuador and Colombia is where we were, he came to visit and managed to have a good time.
• Dad would turn off the TV, even if there were just 12 seconds left in a Celtics/Lakers game, when mom got home.
• Dad told me that he was happy I was with Allyson because I was happier when we were together. It comforted him to know I'd found love and a partner, and he hoped that my relationship would bring me as much joy as his had with mom.
• Dad was deeply kind. Even when we knew he had a difference of opinion with someone, he would refuse to speak badly about them, and change the subject if others did. Critiquing someone based on a factual error or opinion was what he did - but he didn't personalize his critique.

Community

• Dad enjoyed and believed in the power of connections.
• It was no secret that Dad was a fallen-away Catholic. He found his spiritual home and community in the Albany Unitarian Universalist church, where mom could go to Pagan drum circles, and he could be as cynical as he wanted to about organized religion. He enjoyed the fellowship he shared with others, going to Silver Bay and hamming it up at the Annual Dinner
• The LCA Show was something he looked forward to every year, and he would marvel aloud what a great country this was - where pols would laugh at the reporters' jokes, rather than put them in jail. He saw the show as a way to both be irreverant and contribute to the greater civic duty of holding politicians accountable and keeping them grounded.
• It was important to him to be connected with our neighbors - from watching the superbowl with the guys, to assisting the Moshiers in a small way after Tim's death in Iraq.

Life

In the past year, dad worked to deal with his increasing physical discomfort. Shortly before he died, he had to decide whether the suffering had been enough. He opted for a potentially traumatic major surgery in order to have a shot at extending his life. He confronted cancer bravely, but also let himself feel and react to its injustice. He struggled to find hope given the dire statistics of pancreatic cancer. He loved life and wanted to live longer, and while he told us he was ready and at peace with dying at the end, he desperately wanted more time here with all of us.

Humility

• While the last year was sad in so many ways, kind emails from close friends and strangers alike moved him more than anything else. He was thankful and moved that so many people cared about his health and well-being. He was a man who gave a lot to others without expecting their appreciation in return. So he was deeply grateful when it came.
• He, and we, were most struck by all the people who told dad that his work had mattered and made a difference. Whether this work was mentoring an intern or younger reporter, letting politicians know that the public was holding their feet to the fire, or giving readers straight news and sharp analysis, Dad was touched and surprised that his work affected so many people.
• He would be deeply honored, and humbled, by all of your presence here tonight. Thank you so much for sharing in our father's life.

Video Tribute to Jay from NY Now

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z5wY_0e5qYw

We will not be posting much more, but we thought this was a great (and short!) tribute to dad on NY Now. We like that it shows him laughing and asking tough questions.

Memorial Service Details & Senate Resolution Honoring Jay

The memorial service will be held on Tuesday, June 1 atWestminster Presbyterian Church, 262 State St in Albany. Doors will open at 7pm and the service will start at 7:30.

Today, our family was honored when Senator Andrea Stewart-Cousins and Senator Neil Breslin introduced a resolution in honor of dad. Here is the video of the Senators speaking about the resolution:

Obituary

Jay Gallagher, award-winning journalist and passionate observer of New York state government for more than a quarter century, died Monday from pancreatic cancer. He was 63. Jay’s dogged determination to bring depth to his reporting led to “The Politics of Decline,” his 2005 book which linked political machinations to economic decay across the state.

Gallagher was born on April 30, 1947. More than most, Jay had ink in his blood. His father and uncle worked as reporters and editors at newspapers in Salem and Lynn, Massachusetts; Jay was was born in Beverly and raised in nearby Danvers. As a boy he became a rabid follower of all Boston sports teams, especially the Red Sox. In his online memoirs, he wrote of his first visit to a ballgame in 1953: "If I ever get to heaven, my arrival could be no sweeter than that moment I saw Fenway Park.''

While earning a bachelor’s degree at Colby College (Maine), he met the woman who would give him a happy life, Emily Kreinick, of Brockton, Mass. After their graduation and marriage in 1969, Jay took his first reporting job at the Waltham (Mass.) News Tribune, then moved on to the Providence (R.I.) Journal. He worked there until a fateful work strike and a day on the picket line. After refusing to pipe down when a police officer ordered, Jay was arrested and quickly determined he’d move on from Rhode Island. He next spent eight years at the Rochester (NY) Times-Union, then joined Gannett News Service’s New York Capitol Bureau in 1984. Named bureau chief in 1989, Jay coordinated state coverage for Gannett’s eight statewide newspapers for the next two decades.

He covered the administrations of governors Mario M. Cuomo, George E. Pataki, Eliot Spitzer and David Paterson. He wrote the weekly New York Angle column, a staple in many Empire State newspapers. He also shepherded the careers of many journalists and student interns who worked at the Gannett bureau. He was a regular panelist on "New York Week in Review,'' a statewide public-television show, and has appeared on the CNN show "Inside Politics'" and "The News Hour with Jim Lehrer'" on PBS. In the last year, he became a co-host on “The Capitol Pressroom,” a statewide public radio program.

Among the numerous awards Jay received for his coverage of state government were the 1998 and 2004 New York Newspaper Publisher’s Association Award for excellence, the 1997 and 2004 Legislative Correspondents’ Association award for outstanding reporter, and the 2002 beat reporting award from Capitol Beat, the national association of state capitol reporters, and the 1993 New York Common Cause award for best commentary on New York state government. He was a favorite among fellow reporters and a staple at the LCA’s annual theatre shows.

During this time, Jay and Emily raised daughters Janice and Ellen. Jay passed on his love of politics to both daughters: Ellen works to promote the integration of immigrants into communities across the country, and Janice is a PhD student in Political Science, focusing on human rights and international law. His friends knew countless hours of rooting for his beloved Boston teams from the Red Sox, Bruins and Celtics to the New England Patriots. In 2003, Jay stepped back from daily reporting to tackle the question of how New York’s intractable political problems contributed to its economic decline. Growing out of a series of in-depth news articles, Gallagher’s book, “The Politics of Decline,” (Whitston, 2005) detailed government’s major failures: the failure to address the loss of manufacturing jobs, to stop runaway Medicaid costs and to find a balance in funding for public education system. He laid the blame not only on special interests and the lack of political leadership, but also an apathetic public.

Jay always took care to balance work with his personal life. He was a big sports fan, and also liked biking, kayaking, and cross-country skiing with his family. He was a passionate and competitive tennis player, until a bad hip forced him to switch to golf. In high school, he played on the hockey and football teams; in college, hockey and track. And he always attended all the girls’ athletic events, even doing a stint as co-head coach of a girls’ soccer team with daughter Janice.

Jay’s diagnosis of pancreatic cancer in June 2009 came as a shock. But he immediately began to chronicle his fight in a blog carried by several New York newspapers. With wit and grace, he took his readers through the ups and downs of chemotherapy, conflicting medical opinions and wrenching family decisions.

Jay was predeceased by his parents, Joseph and Hazel Bromley Gallagher and his sister Anne Bromley Pramas of Dracut, Mass. He is survived by his wife of almost 41 years, Emily Gallagher, his daughters, Janice Gallagher of Ithaca, N.Y., and Ellen Gallagher (and her spouse, Allyson Goose) of Somerville, Mass. and his brother, Neil Gallagher, of Berwick, Me.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks donations be made to Friends of Five Rivers, 56 Game Farm Road, Delmar, NY 12054 or the First Unitarian Universalist Society of Albany Endowment Trust, 405 Washington Ave, Albany, NY 12206.

The memorial service will be held on Tuesday, June 1 at Westminster Presbyterian Church, 262 State St in Albany. Doors will open at 7pm and the service will start at 7:30. Please check this blog for further updates.

Good Bye Boys

We have both known we would have to write this blog since the day we started it almost a year ago.

We will try to do our dad justice, and be clear and direct and not too sad or sappy, and to laugh as we cry.

ALBANY, NY_Jay Gallagher, 63, died at about 8:30 Monday evening. He was surrounded by his family as he had wanted. Our father passed quickly and without much pain.

He spent his final day resting, and giving his visitors and callers a hard time about overspending, late budgets, and high property taxes. He muttered, while in a sleepy morphine state, "school board elections." He died at the time of a rare television trifecta: a Red Sox game, Celtics game and the 24 season finale were on at the same time. The decision of which to watch seemed to be too much for him.

He was a great man, father, husband and friend. We thought that was our secret, more or less, until this year. We have been totally overwhelmed at how many other people have figured this out - the emails that have poured in over the past year, and especially in the last week, touched him and our family deeply.

After he passed, we tried to talk about our memories of him but it was hard to come up with just one, or ten, things. We talked about how deeply he affected every part of our lives - his integrity, along with his love of politics, family and sports, shaped us. We sang his favorite Beach Boys song together (a little bit badly - as he would). And we cried because we will miss him.

It is actually really scary to write this blog and NOT have it vetted by him. We have been honing our inner BS-meters, too-wordy filters, and grammatical correctness our entire lives. This is the first time we don't have our dad to give us the final edit.

Details will be forthcoming on this blog about the memorial service.

This blog was very important to dad, and he thought about what his "final blog" might say quite a lot. With the help of Yancey Roy, a longtime friend and colleague, here is the closest we can get to our father's "final blog" entry.
----------------
Everything felt like a long shot from the beginning. And it turned out to be just about what they said -- just shy of a year.

As the doctor who visited this morning said, pancreatic cancer is one of the most difficult "problems" in medicine. Seems like an understatement from this vantage point.

I don't want this to be maudlin. It's been a long -- and, in some ways, extremely short -- 11 months but I feel like at least we didn't flinch from taking any opportunity -- being daring enough to try whatever was available. The bitch is that every sign of progress was eventually met with a new complication. And the body just can't take it after a while.

It's been an amazing year in other ways. I've had a chance to more fully appreciate human relationships, let go of minor irritants (though I still had to ask friends about the Red Sox and Celtics this morning) and try my hand at new forms of journalism (blogging and radio).

I always said if I came through this fight, I'd be a changed man. Well, even though I didn't "come through this" as I hoped, I am still changed - for the better.
----------------
We love you dad.

Written by Janice and Ellen. Vetted by Mom, Judi and Allyson.

Another day, another prognosis

Given the prognosis and expectations, today was an unexpectedly good day. We have been waiting to write this blog in part because we don't want to jinx it.

Dad has had no signs of internal bleeding today: his blood pressure has stabilized, and all his vital signs are good. This despite the fact that his surgery did nothing to fix the cause of the bleeding tumor. Again, our understanding is that the tumor was bleeding because it has grown into adjoining blood vessels, and that this isn't a treatable or controllable condition.

We are all trying our best to take things moment by moment, or at least day by day. To keep in mind that the bleeding, which was life-threatening 3 days ago, could resume at any time. But also to permit ourselves a little bit of hope, even if it is only short-term hope for things like watching the Celtics game tomorrow night…perhaps even at home on our own tv.

Jay is lucid, though tired from the morphine he is taking to control the pain from Friday night's surgery. Dad spent the day with family - Mom's sister Judi came in from California, and his brother Neil arrived from Maine. He continued to eat a little more, and read his email messages when he was able.

We thank you all for your prayers and well-wishes, and ask you to keep sending them! We really do feel them here.

We are meeting with hospice care first thing in the morning to discuss our options for Dad's continued care, which could mean staying here on the 6th floor, moving to hospice, or even moving home. Dad tires easily, and we ask that visits still are limited to family and closest friends.

Author: Janice, with vetting by Mom and Dad

Long-awaited hug

Guess after the last post, there's almost nowhere to go but up.

Dad had a pretty good day, all things considered. He has had minimal pain from yesterday's surgery, the bleeding from the tumor for now has slowed (perhaps due to the lingering effects of drugs they gave him during his surgery), and he has taken full advantage of the morphine pump that has put him in a semi-dreamlike state. This state, however, has not prevented him from correcting our spelling, recalling important facts about his life and state government history, and generally being his wise-ass self.

He had some wonderful visits today. Most importantly, Ellen and Allyson made it home from Italy this evening, and have already spent many hours at his bedside talking and holding his hand.

He even had a very mini retirement celebration this afternoon, complete with a video featuring Governor Patterson taking shots at him. Doesn't get much better than that… except it does. He was able to eat: a piece of walnut bread, 1/2 a cookie, a lemon ice bar, orange jello AND several sips of the long-awaited Dos Equis beer!

Dad is loving your email messages, and we are reading them to him here. Our mother still likes old-fashioned letters and cards, so please send these to the house.

Dad will now be resting here on the 6th floor at St. Peter's - he left the ICU, and we now have a relatively quiet single room with a picture window looking out on the Corning Towers.. He is not getting any more blood transfusions or any other "life-saving measures." Our goal right now is his comfort and peace. There is no way of knowing how long he has - maybe hours, maybe weeks.

Scribes & Authors: Janice and Ellen, vetted by Dad, Mom and Allyson

Surgery Update

Jay came out of a "successful" surgery, the anesthesiologist told us.

Well… that's a creative understanding. The surgeon had a different take on it: The tumor, not the stomach/small intestine, is in fact causing the bleeding it turns out. This means there is nothing that can be done to stop the bleeding, and we hope he will transition to hospice care soon.

We are not sure how long he has, but we are told maybe a few days. My sister is doing her best to get home from a trip abroad quickly, and hopefully will arrive in time.

My mom and I are relieved that we tried this surgery. Dad has never been a "quitter," and making this final push assures us that we, and the doctors, have done everything possible to prolong dad's life.

We will update this blog when we know more. We will be reading Jay his email messages when he is awake. We will be limiting visitors to family and closest friends - please call or email before coming by.

- Janice

The Decision

For the first time life and death were laid at our door step today.

Since the bleeding problem was not curable, we were given the decision today to choose hospice care and let the inevitable happen, or to choose surgery which would try to fix the cause of the bleeding.

We chose surgery. Surgery seems to opt for the safer long-term chances of survival, but also brings with it a huge risk of complications. And with the possibility of much more pain, which I've gotten damn sick of over the last few weeks.

But the other option was to do nothing - and slip away, slowly and painlessly, in hospice care. We decided life is worth another shot.

Jay will most likely be going into surgery tonight - please keep him in your thoughts and prayers.

Scribes: Janice and Emily, waiting with Jay at St. Peter's Hospital before surgery.

Options galore in cancer fight

I haven't often heard hospitals compared to the old "ten blind men and an elephant" story, but after today in the hospital, I can see the similarity.
I can also see that medicine also resembles art more than science.
I haven't kept track of how many nurses and doctors we've talked to today, nor the number of different opinions they have expressed about my condition.
But they are considerable and all seemed well informed and persuasive when they are presenting them.
Maybe what I need is another operation to clean up what looks like one remaining bleeding ulcer, one doctor said. That doesn't sound so smart, intoned another who pointed to my history of major surgery and recent pancreatic cancer diagnosis .
Another suggestion was watching to see if the current treatment ( Tuesday's endoscopy, no water or food by mouth, and healing medication) pays off. The down side of that, however, is that I'm losing weight and strength so quickly that it's not clear how long that will be a viable option.
Finally, how about another non-surgical procedure to see what's happening with the internal bleeding? That seemed to have the most support, and probably what we are going to try tomorrow.
Things might always change, though.
(scribe: Emily)

Seen better days

At first it seemed as though Monday was the worst day, spending much of the night vomiting and feeling miserable. But that seemed to be topped yesterday, when I was subjected to a series of painful tests, one of which involved four burly guys restraining me so they could stick fingers down my mouth as the exam of my digestive track was going on.

But today took the cake, with lots of boredom interspersed with various agonizing tests also designed to check out what's going on with my stomach. The results today are that I have developed a couple of good-sized ulcers in my stomach. This seems to solve the mystery of where all the internal bleeding is coming from. So today was devoted to getting blood transfusions, influxes of water, and waiting around for the next test.

Grimmest news: if these delicate tissues tear again, it may be almost impossible repair without a massive abdominal operation - something I've already had done once and am not inclined to repeat.

So best case scenario: keep the acid in my stomach very low, and be extremely careful not to eat acidic food. Not much of a choice, but those seem to be the options right now.

Meanwhile, the immediate future seems to point to several days here, where they can watch me closely.

And that's the news from St. Peter's ICU.

Scribe's note: today's and yesterday's blog were dictated to daughter Janice. Jay is a super hero, but not totally super human.

The best laid schemes of mice and men…

Tomorrow night was supposed to be the night when we had quite a gala - a Gannett Albany celebration! We were going to mark my retirement, Joe Specter's elevation to Bureau Chief, Cara Matthews' outstanding contributions over the last six years, and the hiring of Nick Reisman.

Instead, I'm going to be spending the night in the St. Peter's Hospital ICU with nurses watching over me closely to make sure most of my current systems continue to perform adequately.

The cause of this pivot in plans: the rough night I had last night throwing up blood, despite the fact that numerous tests had discovered no problem in recent exams. That's cancer for you.

Doctors tend to take such things seriously, since rapid blood loos is a major cause of death. So this morning we called 911, had the neighborhood deluged with emergency trucks, and got transported to St. Peter's hospital.

Best news is that they found some minor tears in the region of the stomach and esophagus that could have been caused by the deep retching I did. And the very clever gastroenterologists do have a way to stop the bleeding and heal the tears. Of course, it could also be that the tumor is causing the bleeding, which presents a whole new set of problems.

Meanwhile, we are hoping for the simpler explanation and cure.

You might want to vote tomorrow

Most people don't know who is running in school-board elections tomorrow. In fact, probably many of us don't even know anyone who is VOTING in the elections, although arguably they are the most important local balloting held all year.

According to an analysis done by the state School Boards Association, only about 10 percent of eligible voters (district residents who are 18 and U.S. citizens) will cast ballots tomorrow, when voters will decide whether to approve school spending plans as well as elect new members to school boards.

And yet this is the time when voters get to decide directly how big their school property-tax bills will be as well as who will set educational policy.

Part of the reason is undoubtedly that since the posts don't pay anything in most instances, they don't attract a lot of candidates to what seems like a totally thankless job.

Maybe it will be different this year when there is an unusually high level of voter anger at school property taxes. The trouble with that, of course, is that the property taxes for all intents and purposes are set when the school board signs a contract with its unions, not at the budget vote. The process of ratifying new contracts by long tradition is kept secret in most districts until the teacher union OKs the deal.

But tomorrow is the best shots voters have - and if they ever elected board members in large numbers who insist on letting taxpayers know what they're getting into before a contract is signed, the first tremors of a long-anticipated taxpayer revolt might be heard.

Scratch off another possible retirement job

Those of you who remember a post from a couple of months ago about how I would be a disaster as a "facilities manager'' (watching over house maintenance) may not be surprised to learn that I have never been a stellar yard-upkeep person either.

I remember driving around suburban streets before we ever bought our first house and watching people mow their laws, trim their driveways and spread fertilizer. I decided I never wanted to spend my weekends that way.

My conviction wavers the most at this time of year, though. Walking through our neighborhood as I often do now I am struck by the fact that there appears to be two kinds of lawns: those with dandelions and those without.

This was also the case a couple of weeks ago, but it didn't bother me then when our lawn (in the latter category, of course) was adorned with pretty yellow flowers that took no maintenance.

But now those flowers are gone, replaced by ugly stems and the remnants of millions of seeds that will assure us of another crop of the flowers next year.

I wish those stems were gone from our lawn - not enough to actually mow it or even call the boy who cuts our grass now - but still, I feel a little bad about it.

I guess I can scratch "lawn boy'' from the list of possible retirement occupations.

Hometown boy at heart

I had a nice visit with an old college roommate (are there any other kind now?) and his wife today, who have a daughter about to graduate from Skidmore.

Finally, somebody somebody to talk to who really cares about the injuries to Mike Cameron and Jacoby Ellsbury and remembers Don Buddin (Red Sox) marvels at the magic of Rajon Rondo (Celtics) and is worried sick that the Bruins might blow their 3-0 lead in the Stanley Cup playoffs (hockey).

He is the same guy I was golfing with a couple of years ago with my long-time best friend from here and realized that between them they had known me for most of my life. They could stitch together a pretty complete biography of me all of these years later (even back to the girls we thought were cute in junior high school) if anybody cared enough. Emily, of course, is a Boston-area girl, as anyone who has ever heard her say "scissors'' will attest.

I remember getting a shock when our kids were small and after a trip back to Boston they made fun of the accents of their cousins. Now Ellen is living there and Janice would like to.

Although we ended up not settling down in my home town or even in the Boston area (as my friend did, after a short stint in New York City) I am a homebody at heart, which I' sure explains in part why I've ended up living here for 26 years. Albany is more home to me now than any other place has been.

When we packed up to leave Massachusetts 36 years ago for Rochester to start work at my third paper in five years, little did I realize that I would live upstate for (probably) the rest of my life and for the same company even. That's not supposed to happen.

I'm glad it did. I'm also glad I still have connections to where I grew up.

Go away, Mengele

It was certainly unfair of me to think about notorious Nazi Dr. Joseph Mengele today when I was undergoing some cancer tests, but I have to admit he popped into my mind. He is the doc who performed all kinds of hideous experiments on concentration-camp inmates during World
War II.

I was lying under an x-ray machine that, on command, would descend to my abdomen and push really hard into it in an attempt to find out what is causing me pain there.

The tech and PA were of course as nice as could be and explained why the whole thing (all part of an upper-GI series of x-rays) was necessary, and certainly in the long run could help me heal.

All well and good, but when the thing started to dig into me and I looked at the pristine, modern surroundings, the same bad guy hopped back into my mind. Actually no the bad guy himself, but whoever played him in a '70s-era movie.

Anyway, the preliminary results were I guess inconclusive. Things are flowing through my digestive tract fine and there was no sign of any blockages or cancer spread That is a very good thing.

On the other hand, there was also no indication of what is causing my pain and loss of appetite. As the tech said, sometimes you have to do these things just to rule some causes out.

I'll just try to bring better mental pictures with me next time.

Got a headache yet?

New York, or at least the Capitol, is consumed with the furlough talk, and this isn't about a break from Army duty.

This is about about half of the state work force, or 100,000 people, taking a forced day off a week starting next week without pay - effectively a 20 percent pay cut. The Legislature approved the idea earlier this week.

To hear union leaders talk about it, it will be the final blow that forces thousands of people out of their homes and prevents them from buying life-saving prescription drugs. They have gone to court to try to block the idea, which Gov. David Paterson says will save about $30 million a week.

Not often mentioned in the debate is taxpayers, who will have to come up with the $30 million somewhere else if this idea doesn't fly - taxpayers who often getting less in salaries and benefits than their public-sector bretheren. The unions say that much could be socked away by cutting down on temporary employees, but Paterson says they're needed for specific tasks the government needs to get done (plus the state doesn't pay them benefits).

So let's see. Opponents of the gov's budget plan don't want any increase in taxes, like on soda or cigarettes and certainly don't want to reduce aid to local schools or health care. And please, hands off the state work force. Yet the current outlook is for the state to spend $9.2 billion more than it will take in in revenues.

Got a headache yet? No wonder lawmakers duck out of town every chance they get and Paterson doesn't seem to be around much either.

New cancer strategy

Back to the cancer grind today. Doc recommended, and I agreed, to get a series of x-rays this week to see what my stomach problem is. The most likely outcome is we will find tumor lying on the intestine, which causes pain after I eat and no appetite most of the time.

Potential solution would be to put in a stent to keep the intestine open enough to make digestion easier and help me get my appetite back

We're going to do this Thursday. Meanwhile we're going to push the resumption of chemo back another week, which will allow me maybe to enjoy the weekend (two in a row!) and also have a pretty good chance of feeling good for my retirement party next week.

Doc also told me that it's not a good idea to try to scrimp on the pain medication, with the idea being to try to wean myself off it. He said staying ahead of the pain is more important, since once it gains a foothold it tends to be hard to dislodge.

Amazing all of the stuff that the digestive system does sort of automatically, with most of us never giving it a second thought. I won't do that any more.

Aftgerglow lives on

The eyebrows are gone, but the memories linger.

A show always looks the best, I think, in the days immediately after. Gaffes tend to be forgotten, laughs from jokes inflated and the tunefulness of our songs emphasized. People who liked the show tend to make a point of telling the participants right away how good they were, while critics, I suspect, don't see the point of letting their views known.

The age of instant videos and U-Tube have diminished this phenomenon somewhat, but it still carries on. Still, in my case, it is a bit stunning to reconcile how I thought I looked and sounded and what the technology actually recorded. I guess there really is a reason I had a day job for all of those years.

The instant videos, I think, also diminish the quality of the responders - the government officials and politicians who get up when we are done and try to even the score a little bit with their remarks. Not too many years ago, what they said would be laughed at and commented on that night, but then pretty much forgotten after that.

I recall that all changed when Hillary Clinton was running for the Senate and spoke at the show, in the year 2000, an event that was recorded by dozens of cameras. Now whatever is said lives on indefinitely.

One thing we know for sure: there will be plenty of fodder to feed our writers next year.

Another Miracle

The yearly miracle happened again.

What seemed like just a few days before as a disparate, disjointed series of songs attempted by people who mostly didn't know their lines turned into a show that came together well enough this weekend so that both the Friday night and Saturday night crowds seemed to enjoy themselves. I also managed not to make any big screw ups.

I even got a laugh from a line that reads like Greek to me. "I make Carl Krueger look like Dr. Oz." I guess Carl Krueger, a senator from Brooklyn, must be a hard-living sort.

We even sold enough tickets on Saturday night that there's a good chance we even made some money on the deal, for a change.

Best part was having Emily, Ellen and Janice all attend Saturday night for the first time. I managed to scarf up a couple of free tickets that were floating around.

Anyway, here is a picture and two videos from the show.

Emily, Ellen, me & Janice at Saturday night's LCA Show.

Above I'm singing my hit "Borrow", to the tune of Ed Ames' "Follow." The best lyrics were: You are so hapless, I wish I heard crap less, about how you can't make reductions. How about ending the medicaid spending for trannies who want liposuction?



The entire LCA cast and many alums singing the traditional show closer, "Good Bye Boys" on Saturday night.

Hoping for a Friday Night Miracle

I like to have eyebrows, but don't get to do it very often.

I will for a couple of nights this weekend, when we hold our reporters' show. Tonight we add the band to the songs we have been practicing for a few weeks. Then tomorrow night we add costumes before starting our two-night run on Friday.

Maybe everything will come off smoothly, although at this time every year the show strikes me as a train wreck about to happen. When we get through it somehow the first night, we call it the Friday Night Miracle.

Eyebrows are among the hair follicles that I never had in abundance, and I have often noticed that bald guys who have them don't look as bald. I don't mean Groucho Marx-style eyebrows, but just normal ones.

At this stage the makeup usually consists for me of either some headware or powder for my head. But I always most regret washing off the eyebrows.

For a couple of nights we all have this overwhelming rouge and powder look - quite strange actually. I didn't realize how necessary it was until one of our thespian colleagues decided to go without one year, and looked totally washed out under the lights.

Hope that is the least of our problems this weekend.

Alex: Tim Murphy. Question: Who is Mass Lt. Gov?

I got a little scare last night when Ellen stumbled for a second over the question, who is the lieutenant governor of Massachusetts, where she lives?. This was after I pointed out in yesterday's posting that Cornell PhD government grad students didn't know who Richard Ravitch is. Then she came through with Tim Murphy, which would be a good guess for the name of anyone in the Bay State, and in this case the correct answer as well.

I got the classic comment about the office being worth about as much a a glass of warm spit, which actually might have been first used to did describe vice president. And someone pointed out that New Jersey seems to get along (not that well, let's face it) without one. It is handy to have someone waiting in the wings to take over when the sitting governor resigns because he admits he is having an affair with a boyfriend with his wife tearily at his side. But that's what then-N.J. Gov. James McGreevey did in 2006. The president of the senate had to take over.

There are also some who theorize that the worst thing Eliot Spitzer did to New York was make David Paterson his running-mate, even though he knew his limitations.

And maybe, who knows, Ravitch will turn out to be one of the best things Paterson did for New York, since he has devised a way out of the fiscal mess as well as getting the Court of Appeals to agree the appointment was legal.But I guess it's a good thing he's not running for election as governor, since he seems to have trouble attracting attention to himself, at least on the Cornell campus.

Who is that borrowing man?

I got a chance to meet several fellow government PhD students of Janice at Cornell this weekend. They were without exception interesting, competent and bright. Also, not a single one of about seven questioned, three or four of whom are from New York, could answer this 8th-grade civics question:: Who is Richard Ravitch?

I could of course have made it tougher and asked who the lieutenant governor is. Ravitch wasn't ever elected to his job though, and I thought there was more of a chance of getting a right answer by asking it the other way.

Hu-huh.

"I have this vague recollection of a heavy-set guy with glasses,'' one recent graduate opined, but she could go no further.

Another, a political theorist who is trying to figure out a way to get Plato into her students' consciousnesses, explained she didn't have time to try to keep up with current events with so such research to do.

I was going to ask her if she knew who Eliot Spitzer to get a sense of how interested she is in pop culture, but I didn't want to hog the conversation.

The exercise reminded me a little of the practice of hiring interns, when I would also ask questions about who their public officials are. Mostly they didn't know, below the level of governor, but the ones that did always excelled.


People often ask me, what is wrong with New York and how can it be fixed? I think this little story offers at least a clue to the first question.

Not totally in vain

A year ago, the day I turned 62, we were in North Carolina, visiting some Delmar expatriates (they have since moved back) and enjoying the full flush of a mid-Atlantic spring.

62 sounded kind of old to me then - old enough to get Social Security if I wanted, old enough so that the occasional movie discounts started to turn into a flood of money-saving offers.

I'm glad I didn't realize at the time that I was less than 6 weeks from my cancer diagnosis, although I suppose that means we could have started fighting it earlier. But it sure would have screwed up even more last spring.

63 now sounds terribly youthful for someone with this affliction, and sounds like someone who should have a long slow glide into old age. We'll see.

Meanwhile, I already got the best birthday card anyone should ever get. It shows a little girl bending down on a sidewalk. She is saying that she used to think that having good luck was finding a dime on the sidewalk or a four-leaf clover.

Then you open the card and she says, "Now I realize it was having you as a Dad.''

All of these years haven't been totally in vain.

For outsider zero chance of drawing a line in the sand

I was smart enough not to pledge that yesterday would be the final extra-word post, in part because the entries just keeping better. I WILL semi-pledge this is the last one, unless I get some really good ones.

New entries:

-- 0 percent chance of rain, or snow or sun. Zero is zero.

-- 12 noon or 12 midnight. It will not be 11 p.m. midnight or 3 a.m. noon. Midnight is plenty.

-- "Globally based'' business. As opposed to what, a snide friend asks, celestially based?

-- Outsider. Every politician wants to be one. Even Andrew Cuomo can claim that, since he was away in Washington for a while. Reporters, of course, all want to be "insiders,'' as do the sources they seem to quote most often, even if they don't tell us who they actually are.

-- Agent of change. Ditto. Even if you just wear a bow tie, you'll change something.

-- Draw a line in the sand. It's only good until the next time the wind comes up.

If you can beat these, let me know. Of course we may be reduced to actual conversations with people, which brings with it a whole other set of problems.

More language-cleansings

There are a few other words and phrases that should beat least temporarily retired from everyday usage, according to responders to yesterday's posting.

Among them:

-- "Perfect storm.'' The movie is now a decade old and it seems like it's used to describe almost any coincidence.

-- "Back on track.'' Aren't railroads and streetcars mostly dead? Besides, it's confusing since you often hear sportscasters say some team or player is getting "untracked,'' which is also a good thing. We need a new auto metaphor before they're gone too.

-- "I gave 110 percent.'' Something any self-respecting athlete does, except, of course, it is physically impossible. I read once somewhere that most people optimum performance is about 85 percent. More than that is a struggle and with less boredom tends to set in. But I feel for sportswriters. Getting a spontaneous, interesting quote out of an athlete seems harder than blood from a stone, to coin an original comparison.

-- "Here on the ground.'' Reporters are saying this more and more. Those flying overhead are not saying "here in the air.'' I think we can assume reporters are filing from the ground unless they tell us otherwise.

-- "Wall St-Main St." This false dichotomy assumes everybody on Wall St. is a bad guy while those Main Streeters are virtuous. Too bad the world isn't that simple.

-- "At the end of the day.'' Makes the wrapup of something sound far more portentous than it is. At the end of the day, I go to bed.

A triump for bipartisanship reform

I don't know how many words the average English-speaking adult utters in a single day, but I have decided to try to limit mine.

Not the volume, just the ones I select.

Scheduled for the dust bin, because politicians and others have stripped them of all meaning:

-- Reform. It's anything a politician favors, from welfare reform to civil-service reform to ethics reform Even if its effect is the opposite.

-- Win-win. Sports fans know it's an impossibility, but it's a great phrase to try to hide some deal behind.

-- Transparent. If a politician said something is, it probably isn't.

-- My good friend. In a political context, it's someone you're about to knife in the back.

-- Bipartisanship. The partisan shiv is about to enter between the ribs.

This is just meant to be a sampler. But next time you're listening to a political speech, think how much time language reform would save you - a win-win for both parties, and a triumph of bipartisanship and transparency where everyone realizes what good friends they are.

Please help me add to the list.

Money still the issue

I was minding my own business today, having a turkey sandwich after the rigors of the radio show and a nap, when I made the mistake of turning on the television.

One little secret I never told my former employers is that when I get the all-inclusive cable package so I can watch the Red Sox, the state legislative channel comes with it.

For some reason the TV was on this channel when I turned on the TV today, and the first words I heard were "this is outrageous.''

Of course this isn't much help in figuring out what is going on around here these days, since so much of it is outrageous.

It took me a few minutes to realize it was the Assembly Republican ranking member on the Assembly Ways and Means Committee Jim Hayes of suburban Buffalo complaining about the Democrats not holding public meetings on the new state budget that is now almost a month overdue.

His counterpart, Denny Farrell of Harlem, said the Assembly Dems are trying to get the Senate to meet with them, so far without success.

"The issue is still basically money,'' Farrell said.

That was enough enlightenment for one day, I decided, as I clicked over to Sports Center on ESPN.

It's hard being a star

I give up. I can't imagine how actors learn pages and pages of dialogue.

Every year I am in the show that reporters put on spoofing, or rather skewering, politicians. I usually have a couple songs to learn plus a few lines of dialogue. In this year's show, which will take place a week from this Friday and Saturday on May 7th and 8th, I've cut back to merely one song and one character. I have spent some time this weekend trying to memorize the song and lines.

It's actually not that hard sitting in my living room, or even in a rehearsal, getting most of the lines more or less right. But it's a whole different deal when on show night the lights come up and the music starts, and something is supposed to come out of my mouth.

I did learn a long time ago that acing my numbers Friday night was not necessarily a predictor of what would happen Saturday. The key is staying focused, not relaxing, and alas, not drinking too much.

The worst experience I remember was in the early 1990s playing NY City Mayor Ed Koch. I was doing a duet version of Billy Joel's song "You may be right, I may be crazy." My partner and I decided to spice it up with some choreography, but when I came out of a spin and opened my mouth, I realized I had totally forgotten the second verse. So I just sang the first verse again.

Then there was the time, more than 20 years ago, that I was so enjoying a glass of wine or two, that I didn't make it to the stage for the finale. I mention this reluctantly, because this rare instance of excess is still a sore point in our family, even after all these years.

Just a few more notes along these lines: I was doing a duet with a certain former reporter who is now a high-ranking Capital Region news executive, when I realized he had totally forgotten his half of the song. I don't remember how we got through that, but he sounded so good even muttering his way through it that it didn't make much difference.

There have also been instances of reporters writing lyrics on their hands, a la Sarah Palin, and another who wrote them on the inside of his hat, before, in an unfortunate show of exuberance, he tossed the hat into the crowd, leaving him speechless.

We're hoping for no such hijinks this year. We figure there's enough bungling going on around here without us adding to it.

Happy anniversary to the blog

Back when I worked for the afternoon Rochester Times-Union we would often make people scratch their heads by running stories a little bit in advance of anniversaries, like four years and 11 months after Attica, nine years, 11 months and six days after that city's riots, etc.

The reason was since we were competing with the morning Democrat and Chronicle, we wanted to be first with our story. If we waited for the actual anniversary, we would more than likely get scooped - the worst sin in a competitive news environment.

Although you may have noticed that this blog doesn't have any competition (can't imagine why) old habits die hard.

That's why today I'm marking my 290th blog entry since we started last June and the soon-to-be (Sunday) the 10-month anniversary of my cancer surgery.

I don't mean "we'' in an editorial sense. The blog was Ellen's idea, and she and Janice wrote the first several entries when I was still in the hospital as by far the most efficient way to keep people up with how I was doing.

Then when I started to feel a little better, I dictated the entries to one of them, and finally took off the training wheels shortly after I got home in early July and began to write them myself. I remember on our cruise last January that dictating the blog to one of them was one of the highlights of the day.

Since June, the blog has become, besides family and friends, my most reliable tool for dealing with the ups and downs of the whole experience - letting me enjoy the good moments more and helping me over the rough stretches.

I hope to have many more real anniversaries of the blog to celebrate.

One lemon bar a la carte, s'il vous plait

It's back to a lemon bar for dinner.

That was the scrumptious menu for me tonight after an effort to have a hearty lunch of a steak sandwich and banana cream pudding after my 28th chemo infusion didn't work out so well.

So it's back to babying my digestive symptom, although I haven't yet descended to the Gerber's level. I'm hoping that a mango lassi, a delicious Indian smoothie-like drink, and a cup of rainbow sherbet is in my immediate future.

Despite the rather grim day, during which I napped much of the time, Janice's arrival immensely lifted my spirits this evening. She is on her way from Ithaca to Newport, RI to deliver a paper on international law and human rights in Latin America at a political science conference.

I would try to explain more, but it would just make my head hurt. She's also going to spend the night with us Saturday on the way home.

Meanwhile, this is my last chemo for three weeks. Next week, it's time for my regular break, and then the week after I'm taking an extra week off to diminish the chances that I'll fall asleep in the middle of my song at the LCA show, the annual roasting of Albany politicians by the press corps.

Wonder who and what we could possibly make fun of this year?

Another sign of approaching apocalypse

I have entered some kind of new sports-fan's netherworld, and I'm not sure whether it's good thing.

For example, I didn't have the stomach to watch the Celtics-Heat basketball game last night, since I find losses by my team so painful that it ruins the whole night.

So I recorded it, and saw in the paper that the good guys had won, rather handily. So I watched some of it today, confidently awaiting a 19-0 Celtics run that happened right just as the paper said it would.

And by the way, here's the newest sign of the approaching Apocalypse: The Gannett papers in New Jersey are letting the New Jersey Devils hockey team write stories about their games, and are then publishing them!

The rationale is the papers can't afford to cover the team any more, and the team needs the publicity and the readers want to know who won. But the whole idea of journalism, I was taught back in the last century, was to give readers an objective view of what happens. Certainly, reading a sports writer's dripping-with-sarcasm story about a team that isn't going well, or calling for all the bums to quit, is a source of deep pleasure to me.

Oh well. At least we don't have Republican and Democratic reporters covering politics. Yet.

CSI Albany gets another case

I know many of you out-of-staters take a perverse pride in the corruption and dysfunction of your state government, but certainly today New York has to claim its rightful place at the top of the heap of screwed-up operations.

Attorney General Andrew Cuomo, even more likely to be the next governor than the Yankees are of winning another World Series, charged today that the majority leader of the state Senate, Pedro Espada of the Bronx, has looted a health-care company he runs (mostly with taxpayer money) of $14 million for a severance package, fancy trips, hundreds of family meals from sushi restaurants and direct campaign expenses, among other personal costs.

Then this weekend, a book is due out that will detail chapter and verse how former Gov. Eliot Spitzer, once considered a crusading reformer, fell into becoming Client number 9 of a high priced prostitution ring and forced to resign in disgrace.

And of course there was the farce last summer of the aforementioned Espada with a colleague swinging back and forth between parties, being the key members of a coup that toppled the Democratic leadership temporarily.

I won't go on with the dozens of other cases of domestic abuse, bribery and corruption that have swept the Capitol for the past few years. But certainly Illinois and New Jersey, probably our two closest contenders for most corrupt governments, have to be taken up short.

Hey, one has to take his points of pride where he can find 'em. And certainly reporters, who are a quarrelsome bunch, have no complaints about things to write about.

In fact, in just a couple of weeks they will be presenting their annual dinner and show, this year entitled: "CSI: Albany - One Flew Over the Coup-Coup's Nest.''

The place is now nuttier than Randle Patrick Murphy, the Jack Nicholson character in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

No train wreck yet

I have never flown a plane solo, or any other way for that matter, but I got a little taste of what that might feel like today.

Rather than doing my typical gig as the "cohost'' of the radio show Capitol Pressroom, I had my hand on the controls, at least of the conversation.

For some reason, I agreed to do it for a couple of days while the veteran pilot, Susan Arbetter, took the week off.

My hands weren't actually on the controls, which is just as well, since my Luddite proclivities (see yesterday's post) would have precluded a smooth flight. The production assistant Patrick was there not only to hit the right buttons but also tell me when to stop and start talking.

The tensest time for the hour-long show occurred a few minutes before we went on the air when we learned our planned guest for the first 20 minutes or so, Mike Gormley of the AP, had been held up. Patrick, the production assistant told me and Blair Horner of NYPIRG, who slipped into my normal "cohost'' role that gave us all of that time to talk about anything we wanted to.

Great.

But it turned out to be no problem. I just asked Blair what it was like to be a good-government lobbyist in such a cynical town and how he avoided becoming jaded. Next thing I knew I looked up and 20 minutes had passed.

The next segment was easily filled by two noted veteran Albany spinmeisters Steve Greenberg and Bob Bellafiore, who had a new Siena poll to talk about.

Then the previously missing Mr. Gormley stuck his head in the door. I asked him how to fix Albany. He mentioned my book. The hour was over.

Go to http://Capitolpressroom.org for local times and stations, as they say, or listen to us on the web. Inside tip: there would very well be a train wreck tomorrow.

A Luddite's conversion

For all of a Luddite's reservations about technology, I have to admit that this blogging thing does serve an important purpose.

We went to our annual church dinner last night, and I'd say more than a dozen people commented on my latest post, and wondered if I'd had a good dinner (not bad - managed to force down a piece of chocolate cake after some soup of leg of lamb) since food was the subject of my Friday posting.

For someone in my position it beats having to repeat the same information over and over and even allow us to move along to something more interesting to talk about (what the hell IS wrong with the Red Sox?)

As Emily often says, when she goes somewhere it seems that the people she sees know almost as much as she does about how I'm doing.

Maybe I'll some day feel the same way about twitter, I-phones and all of the other things I can't yet fathom, although that's hard to imagine.

Eat, eat, eat!

Getting chemo is no picnic, and watching the cooking channel in the chemo room while getting the treatment doesn't make it any better.

I had never before watched the channel (but thoroughly enjoyed the movie "Julia and Julie") and hopefully never will again.

I suppose the experience was the same for me as it is for sports fans forced to watch ESPN: people I don't know doing something I don't care about and for some reason being excited about it.

I know we all eat, which is an important thing to have in common, but has not been near of the top of the things I like to do recently.

I mentioned my delicious lemon-bar dinner yesterday, which I supplemented with jell-o and then some sherbet. Hit the spot. But I bounced back today by devouring one of those overstuffed turkey-salad sandwiches that the Delmar Marketplace is justifiably famous for, at least in this house.

The task for tonight: polish off a (frozen) three-ounce lobster tail and some macaroni and cheese (good protein.)

170 pounds, here I come!!

Look what's for dinner

The doc had mostly good news today when we discussed with him my latest round of tests.

Most importantly, lat week's CT Scan showed no growth in the size of the tumor, and the suspicious growth on my liver remains the same size.

I also put on two pounds this week, quite an accomplishment for someone who has more and more trouble even looking at food. Apparently what I always suspected is true: milk shakes make you fat. It's not enough to have had my track coach yell at me back in the day, but it's still moving in the right direction. I've also felt a little better for the past few days after a couple of downer weeks.

The source of that is still something of a mystery, although a new drug regime I'm on seems to be helping.

A possible concern is there may be a new tumor in the intestine, although the CT Scan showed no evidence of it.

The new chemo cocktail that I had today has been altered in recent weeks over the weeks made me pretty nauseous, although that may have been from trying to have lunch at the same time. Looks like a lemon bar for dinner tonight.

Doesn't sound bad.

Time travel, Albany style

I know many of you, especially who live outside New York, move onto other things when you expect a blog entry to be about state government. But give this one a shot. It involves time travel.

Today Gov. Paterson was asked by reporters, as he frequently is, about progress, or lack thereof, in reaching an agreement with the Legislature on a new state budget.

"We're going to have to exert a greater effort to get the budget done on time,'' he responded.

This temporarily nonplussed the gathered press corps, who of course were aware that the budget was due on April 1 - two weeks ago, for those keeping score.

But Paterson continued on, oblivious, talking as he usually does about the need for more budget cuts, the state's critical cash-flow situation and maybe even pension buyouts for state workers, as well as the Legislature's chronic inability to make tough choices.

"This is an issue of courage,'' said Paterson, who will be watching this year's elections from the safety is the sidelines, since he said he's not running for another term.

But even someone with no interest in state government can see that it's hard to put together a spending plan when you don't seem to even know when the deadline is.

How do we get away with this?

"Don't shoot on the subway, Bernie,
Don't blow out the mugger's brains.
Don't shoot on the subway Bernie,
The time's not ripe for the Charlie Bronson bit,
Now get along, don't make a mess on the trains.''

With these immortal words sung in 1985 (to the tune of Petula Clark's "Don't Sleep on the Subway'') about Manhattan subway shooter Bernhard Goetz, I launched one aspect of my life I would never have expected: 26 straight years singing, talking and dancing in a show that people actually pay to see. I have dressed up like Mario Cuomo as Batman, George Pataki as a Mexican peasant and Chuck Schumer as a nerd with taped-up glasses and a belt worn just under my armpits. Only once, when playing Ed Koch, did I come out of a tricky dance spin and draw a blank on my lyrics.

Tonight was the first rehearsal for the 2010 version of the show, and I found that I still can carry a tune and sing loudly - my two principal show-biz skills (those of you who have heard me do this know I am not being falsely modest.)

The 110th edition of the nation's longest running political satirical show is scheduled to be performed here the second weekend in May. Then we give the pols chance to give it back to us.

I am always struck by the same three observations as we start rehearsals. The first is we have many clever reporters and pr people who really know how to rhetorically stick in the knife, and slowly twist twist it. And of course, most reporters tend to be over-the-top hams. No surprise there.

The third is what a great country we have that the people who control the police and the army don't have us all rounded up and, if not shot, at least severely beaten upside the head and thrown in the cooler for a while. Far from it. In fact, the ritual has evolved to to point where the biggest fear of most pols is not to be mentioned in the show.

It looks like I'm going to get the chance to be in at least one more show. I'm grateful for that.

Can Tiger still score if he doesn't win?

After close to a lifetime of research and the last four days in front of the television set, I have reached an important conclusion: could I have picked a sport to have played professionally, it would have been golf.

The Master's tournament this weekend clinched it for me because you can do it for most of your life. There was Tom Watson, a mere two years younger than me, in contention for the title until today. There was Fred Couples, 50, who came within a few strokes of winning.

Even that rascal, Tiger Woods, who would be at 34 considered past his prime in most sports, probably has his best golf years in front of him, although his peak libido time has probably passed (just as well). He finished fourth today.

Athletes in the major spectator sports, especially football, are generally battered and retired by the time they're Tiger's age, often too beaten up physically to go out on the town (just we well.) The baseball player still in the Big Leagues after age 35 is exceptional. Basketball and tennis players, whose exertions makes my knees wince just to look at them, usually have a sharp dropoff in skills not long after 30 and often can barely limp home to their spouses (just as well).

I know the mental pressures of golf are brutal, not so much for those on the leader board of the Master's as those struggling to qualify in big-money events. Still, from the perspective of a hacker and fan, it sounds better than making cold calls trying to sell vinyl siding, which also lacks the sex appeal of being a big-time athlete. (just as well, or we'd all be getting our houses resided semi-annually, I suspect.)

Another day, another CT scan

Another day, another CT scan.

Similar to and yet unlike yesterday's delicious vanilla milkshake (which helped me add two pounds to my now-slender build) , I had to drink the 32 ounces of some chalk-like substance this morning that enhances the quality of the CT scan photos taken today. It was my fifth such procedure since last June.

I think you can buy 32 ounces of a soft drink at some fast-food restaurants, but after my experience with this stuff ("chalk-like'' overstates the mixture's gastronomic appeal) the thought of that much of anything to drink almost makes me gag.

But any of you who have had a procedure like this knows that its huge advantages are it's quick (five minutes or so) and not claustrophobia-inducing (the circlular machine you're slid into feels spacious).

Also it gave me a handy place to hand over my credit card for the x-number of times so I can pay my $40 co-pay for the procedure. Seems like I can't get out of the house much these days without coming up with a co-pay.

We're to meet with our doc here next Thursday to find out what they learned, if anything, from the procedure.

Someone asked me today if I wasn't unhappy about having to wait so long for the results. The answer is no. Isn't there some saying about the devil you know as opposed to the devil you don't? My attitude is the reverse of that this time. I'll find out soon enough.

At least I got to have a milk shake

Not exactly a lot of jumping for joy today when we got some test results from our doc. The cancer blood marker had a relatively small uptick from a month ago, (from 87 to 106), and I have lost 10 pounds in the past month.

So even though I had a CT-scan only five weeks ago that showed no growth of the tumor and no expansion to other parts of the body, I'm having another one tomorrow, after having chemo today.

On the plus side, the doc endorsed my plan to stop for a milk shake on the way home, and generally eat anything I want, no matter how unhealthy in the long term, to try to stop or reverse the sudden weight loss.

I am now down to almost my college running weight. I remember in those days eating it seemed almost constantly to offset the calories I was burning by running 10 miles a day. This is different.

We'll know more next week after the doc tells us the results of the latest scan. Maybe the Sox will be in first place by then.

See ya, Michael Kay

People who know me well will tell you I do not part easily with a buck, so I'm having this annual tug-of-war with myself.

In order to have every Red Sox game available to me on TV, I have to pay the cable company Time Warner an extra $160 over four months. I think I already pay them far too much.

That's actually only about a dollar a game if I watched every game, but I am not doing that - or worse, will feel pressure to watch because I've paid the money. Plus it might as well be a test pattern to Emily, so why not save the dough this year as well as passing on the heartache?

In addition, if I learned anything last season, it is that the world, after tilting off its axis for four years (resulting in Sox championships in 2004 and 2007) has returned to normal. The hated, cocky, overpaid, obnoxious Yankees won their 27th championship, much to the delight of their smug, cocky, obnoxious fans, and the Sox blew it at the end. That's been the story of what has happened for most of my life and will probably happen again this year.

But events of this week have made it likely I will make the investment. I watched the first two games of the regular season matching up the Yanks and Sox on YES, the Yankees station, which is part of our cable package (no extra money, in other words.

Both games were exciting, with the Sox coming from behind to win the first game, and the Yanks doing the same in the second.

But watching it on the Yanks station, well, sucks. I think it's worth the money just to always watch Sox-Yanks games on NESN, the Sox station, which has properly biased announcers. (Those of you of a political bent might think of these two as the Fox and MSNBC of sports broadcasting.) That means I will never have to he hear Yanks announcer Michael Kay yell "see ya'' one one of the billionaires in the middle of their overstuffed lineup hits a home run.

Sounds more and more like a bargain at twice the price.

The good, the bad and the hungry

The good news out of Monday's procedure is that I do not have any blockage between my stomach and intestine, and they used some great drugs to prevent me from experiencing anything while they stuck a long hose-like device down my throat.

The bad news, unfortunately, is there isn't anything they can do right away about the pain in my gut. Apparently the tumor is lying in a way that constricts movement, which is why it hurts so much after meals. And they can't take the tumor out for the same reason they couldn't in June: it's encasing a key blood vessel.

I do have some more medications to use, including something with codeine that helps me forget most everything. But it is hard to imagine that as a long-term solution. Other medications help the digestive process "move along,'' which sounds like an improvement over "stalled.''

I should also eat smaller, but more, meals and blander food. Good thing I learned to like my mother's cooking.

Monday is the big day

Doc today confirmed what we were told yesterday - that I appear to have some kind of blockage between my stomach and intestine.

So the plan is to do a procedure Monday that will not only confirm that diagnosis, but put in a stent to widen the opening. This a relatively simple thing to do because it is done through my esophagus and not cutting from the outside. Plus I'm knocked out during the whole thing. Or maybe it is just an ulcer, which would be even better, since that can be treated with just drugs.

Meanwhile it's pudding, jello and other soft food for the most part - for example, burgers rather than steaks. There are worse things.

A setback

I have suffered a setback that could keep me out of action for a while.

It seems that the opening from my stomach to the intestine has shrunk or is blocked, either by scar tissue from my operation (most likely), an ulcer (possible, not likely) or a tumor (maybe, but probably not).

So whenever I eat, which used to be one of my favorite activities, the food has backed up, distending my stomach and making me feel like I'm wearing a belt three sizes too small. And I've been shedding weight almost like someone who has had biatric surgery and have had far less energy even than the reduced amount I was becoming accustomed to.

I'm supposed to find out tomorrow if this can be easily dealt with, which is the expectation for now. Meanwhile, it's good to have an explanation of why I have felt progressively worse for the last few weeks.

Expect more from the public? Not

Just hours before the new fiscal year was to begin, Gov. David Paterson today issued a plea on U-Tube for voters to contact their local legislators and tell them they support cuts in spending.

So far, there are no reports of lawmakers’ phones ringing off the hook urging that government did them less.

There is an emerging consensus (myself and one other reporter who mentioned it today - have to start somewhere) that the real problem we have both in the state and nationally is that voters don’t want their representatives to make hard decisions.

They want more entitlements and lower taxes as well as less borrowing. And when their reps don’t deliver, they tend to get axed.

Wish someone had mentioned that in one of the many political-science courses I stayed awake for in college.

Paterson was trying to make the point that state lawmakers fear they’ll be voted out of office if they support cuts to education or health care, for example, and that people won’t understand they really had no choice. He was saying people should tell the leaders that they will understand. He’s probably wrong about that.

Paterson’s medium of choice today was U-Tube. Imagine if we had, say, daily printed reports, supported mostly by advertising, that would detail just what government policies are and the choices that confront our elected representatives. It seems that most of the current ways of communicating, like Twitter and texting, just don’t provide enough information for citizens to be really informed.

Oh well. Probably not feasible. You can tall I’m a creature of the last century.

The Big Apple State

After some exhaustive research, which included Google and Wikipedia, I am here to shed some light on why New York is the "Empire State.''

But not too much, since the answer seems murky.

At some point in the 1780s, George Washington may have (nobody caught it on tape) made a reference to New York being the "seat of Empire.'' In those days, "empire'' apparently carried the connotation since lots of economic growth and progress, and not necessarily a system where one group dominates another. Back in those days (this was a long time ago) New York seemed to fit the bill.

It must have seemed apt back in the days when we were building the Erie Canal, taming Niagara Falls and becoming an economic powerhouse. All that, of course, is a while ago now.

More recently, the nickname has given critics of the state a chance to have some fun over the years. Herb London, who was interested in running for governor in 1994, referred to it as the "Vampire State'' because, as he saw it, the state was sucking the life blood out of its citizens in the form of taxes. And this was even before the MTA surcharge and the plan to tax soda!

Among suggestions from readers today included "Union State,'' since they seem to be piloting the ship of state these days, and "Umpire State,'' since then we would at least know to expect some bad calls, and we wouldn't be so stunned each time Albany screws up.

My vote would go with "Big Apple,'' since it is already the nickname of New York City (a sportswriter coined it, referring to big payoffs at tracks) and we're one of the leading apple producers in the country.

But nobody asked me.

Whence Empire State?

Why should we not be surprised that New York didn't win the "race to the top'' for additional federal education funds, whose winners were released today?

No, I won't get started. I've written too many versions of the same problem too many times. Still, that is $700 million we could have gotten. That would have funded almost three-quarters of the raises teachers are going to get this year around the state, but who's counting?

So let me pose it differently. What's wrong with the Empire State? And what does it mean to be the Empire State? Who named it the Empire State? Are we named after the building?

Why can't we be named after something simpler, like gardens (New Jersey), mountains (Vermont) rocks (New Hampshire), a tree (Maine) or the ocean (Rhode Island) or a part thereof, (the Bay State, Massachusetts)?

I can even get my brain around something like the Keystone State (Pennsylvania, which was in a key position between the North and the South in the 18th Century.) I assume Buckeye (Ohio) is some kind of agricultural product, like peach trees for Georgia.

I also understand why Michigan, say, would rather be known as the Great Lakes State rather than say, the heart of the rust belt.

But I don't get empire. Please forward to me some suggestions for a more apt name for our great state, or whatever you think of it.

Matzah ball soup yes, gefilte fish no

I went to my annual Seder celebration last night (I know it wasn't the right night exactly, but our hosts are flexible and tolerant.)

Maybe the biggest lesson I have learned is I love matzah ball soup, but to pass on the gefilte fish.

Every year I pick up a little more of the classic story, especially the parts that we read in English. Hebrew is still, shall we say, a stretch for me. One woman last night also did some of the reading in Yiddish, which was fun to listen to, albeit unintelligible.

In my current state I tend to not react well when I have to wait to long to eat, so I had to check out early. But our host sent me home with a piece of banana cream pie, which picked up my spirits and blood sugar.

As advertised, I have a short piece in this week's New York Times Week in Review section. (Link below.) The other six pieces on what is wrong with the state were interesting, although I have to question what Mitchell Moss has been smoking.

He blames the state's woes on decaying upstate communities that are draining the more prosperous downstate region dry. But ask almost anyone from upstate and they will tell you, get us out from under the taxes, labor laws and business regulations that New York City-based politicians impose on all of us, and you will see the region prosper again. (See "The Politics of Decline,'' Whitston Publishing Co., 2005.)

Here is the link: "Can New York Be Saved?"

The joys of being a volunteer

Another advantage of my volunteer government-watchdog status: as I sit here snug at home and smell dinner cooking (about 7 p.m. Friday) the state Assembly is in session, and will be passing a budget bill later.

Interesting, but I watched part of it on TV and know what is going to happen. So no real reason to be there. Ditto on meetings planned for this weekend. My hats off to my colleagues who are there to record every twist and turn. But I have to say been there, done that.
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One more facilities-manager story. My sister-in-law reminded me that about 20 years ago I put up a bar to the door leading from the kitchen to the basement. It consisted of a couple of heavy metal braces on either side of the door, through which I stuck a (previously painted) two-by-four piece of wood.

It came on the heels of reading a creepy novel called "Providence'' where the bad guys twice broke into someone's basement, came up the stairs through an unlocked door and committed mayhem.

I was determined it wouldn't happen to us and it never did, although I did have to explain over and over again to visitors why this ugly-looking piece of wood was across the door. Now with the new kitchen we have a sturdier door with a more conventional lock. What will they think of next?

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Got an extra $6 in your wallet? Buy a New York Times Sunday, go to the Week in Review section and read my 450 or so well chosen words on why the state budget is so screwed up. They have a good crossword in their mag as well.

Anybody looking for a facilities manager?

A few answers to the response I got to my non-facilities-manager posting:

Actually I have not always been totally asleep at the switch. A few years ago after taking a shower I went to my favorite chair in front of the TV in the family room and was soon deeply involved in a game. NOT so deeply involved, however, that I didn't notice water cascading from the ceiling - right under where I had just taken a shower. I yelled for Emily, and together we made the decision to get the shower fixed.

The toilet has also been backing up lately, I noticed, and so I agreed we should get that fixed - I even initiated the idea.

I am also a bit of a furniture maker. About 20 years ago when we needed a book case for the family room. I put one together and screwed it into the wall. Some of the shelves were straight and many of the screws were hidden. Then last year when we were having the room redone, the contractor wanted to tear it out and couldn't believe we wanted to keep it. It has sentimental value, I told him, while privately seething. Some art has imperfections.

So maybe I would have some entries on a resume for facilities manager. But I think I'd rather be lieutenant governor or a minority legislator or something else that doesn't require any heavy lifting...

In the anniversary department, I was operated on nine months ago today in Boston. I celebrated by having my 21st bout of chemotherapy. That gives me a week off before facing number 22 on April 8.

Crappy doors no more

I have a friend who recently retired and is married to a woman who is still working, so he has taken over much of the responsibilities for running their household. He calls himself the "facilities manager.''

We are in the same position vocationally in our house, but no one has nominated me to be facilities manager. Just as well.

We have had a guy working at the house this week replacing most of our interior doors. I would not have picked out crappy doors as one of the problems we had to address if I had been asked to list 100. The doors opened and closed. What else are they supposed to do?

But most of the new ones are in now, and I have to admit, they look much better and give the place a spiffy look, which is a good thing.

It reminds me of last summer, when we had our kitchen torn out. I saw nothing wring with the cabinets (Emily: they're shabby and cracked), the counter tops (Emily: they're outdated) or the floor (Emily: it always looks dirty; we have to have a wooden floor).

My birthday present to her last year was to sign off on all such changes, as well as some others I liked (new bay window, deeper sinks) so we had them done, and now I like them (some people would die for our bamboo floor).

I can almost visualize my bachelor pad, as we used to call them, had I not married: pizza boxes piled high, dishes stacked in the sink, lint an inch thick on the rugs and probably some lava lamps left over from the '70s.

I'd probably need to go out and hire a facilities manager.

The Hall of Chutzpah

One of the joys of having lived in New York so long is to learn interesting words like “chutpah’’ and watch it in action.

For example…

Yesterday the Republican State Committee launched a new feature on its website, www.NYGOP.org, called the "Hall of Shame," which it said is “intended to educate New Yorkers about the disturbing pattern of corruption and bad behavior among the state's top Democrats.’’

OK, they have plenty of ammunition, named Eliot Spitzer, former Comptroller Alan Hevesi who was using state workers to squire his wife around town and, most recently, former Congressman Eric Massa of “tickle me Eric’’ fame.

But please, we all know corruption is a bipartisan enterprise in the Empire State. It was only in December that former Senate Majority Leader Joseph Bruno, a Republican, was convicted of using his public job to enrich himself.

And it was only a few years ago that former Sen. Guy Velella, R-Bronx, was found guilty of taking bribes.

For some reason the GOP’s “Hall’’ didn’t include those.

It also gave a pass to Gov. David Paterson, who has admitted to numerous extramarital affairs while a senator. Of course, maybe the Republicans just don’t want to go there…

Alert readers may have noticed I screwed up yesterday the web address of the Capitol Pressroom radio show. It is http://thecapitolpressroom.org. So you have no excuse to miss any more shows.