Shallow and meaningless.
So today I went into the Surfer magazine offices. If you have never been, they are located atop a hillock very near Palomar airport some three or four miles from the beach and two or three miles from a PF Chang’s pan-Chinese restaurant outlet famous for orange peel chicken, soy dipped lettuce wraps and girl’s night out.
The Surfer offices are mixed in with other titles owned by The Enthusiast Network in a maze-like space that is very difficult to navigate. I got lost and was forced to walk back and forth near a wall and a break room that smelled like microwave popcorn until being saved by a good friend who took me the right way.
We passed Grant Ellis’ (the magazine’s famed photo editor. Look at his gorgeous work here!) work space and he happened to be there, working, so I stuck my head in and thanked him for saving my life. Last I had seen him, he had a large stitched cut on his forehead. “Cancer” he told me and described the symptoms which I shared on my chest.
Now, the large stitched cut is a perfect scar that blends in with his forehead wrinkle. “I had mine done by an ex-military plastic surgeon…” he said making me jealous.
“Well, you saved my life…” I responded. “I’m getting my cancer cut out tomorrow. It’s one of those basal cell ones.”
“Hmmm.” He hummed. “Mine was a squamous cell. The basal cell is sort of on the surface, squamous cell is deeper and a little more serious and then there’s a melanoma which is more serious still.”
I suddenly felt very sheepish. Of course I have the shallowest cancer. Of course Grant Ellis’ is deeper and more serious.
Yes, he judged my cancer and it was found wanting. Tomorrow it shall be gone. We’re born, we die. C’est la vie.