The Big "C"

Greetings, Fellow Carbon-Based Life Forms.

I hate to get all "Debbie Downer" on y'all, but The Big "C" has been on my mind recently.  And by recently, I mean all of my life, but increasingly so in the past week.

This past Friday Adam Yauch (a.k.a. M.C.A.), founding member of the hip-hop group The Beastie Boys, died.  He was only forty-seven years old.

I remember seeing the video for "(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party)" from Licensed to Ill back in 1986 but it didn't inspire me to pick up the album.  At the time I thought The Beastie Boys  were just a novelty act, plus I was heavily into THE METAL at the time.  Even though rap music was barely on my radar, I could still appreciate the rebellious nature of this fresh, fly, pimp jam.    

Then, when I was in university, I heard the album Paul's Boutique for the first time and I was instantly blown away.  I purchased every B-Boys album that followed and their music really sustained me during the mid-to-late 90's when music sucked Herculean amounts of ass.

In 2009 Adam was diagnosed with cancer of the salivary glands, a condition that he optimistically characterized as "very treatable".  He underwent surgery and radiation therapy prior to the release of the band's amazing eighth studio album Hot Sauce Committee Part Two.  Unfortunately Adam was too ill to appear in any music videos or tour in support of the new album.  He also couldn't make it when the Beastie Boys were inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame in December of 2011.

He passed away on May 4, 2012.


In my own circle, the Big C constantly seems to be rearing its ugly head.  Most of the time I feel like one of the more lily-livered characters in Harry Potter, with their inability to utter the name "Voldemort".  I feel that by saying "CANCER" out loud I'm empowering it somehow or courting its cruel regard.

My closest friend lost his Dad last year.  The disease claimed both parents of another close friend.  At least five of my wife's relatives have fought against it.  Personally speaking, I've lost two Grandparents and an Aunt.

Some people try and tell me that we've just come to a stage in our lives when we should expect to hear news like constantly.  Some people say that just as many people died of cancer back in pre-Victorian times as they do now; they just weren't diagnosed.

To that I unequivocally say: horseshit.

You mean to tell me that we can put people on the friggin' moon and arm everyone with palm-held personal computers, but for some reason, we can't even lower cancer rates?

I think there's been no progress on the elimination of cancer for the very same reason that there's been no elimination of modern warfare.  It's just too big of a business.

Worst still, I'm becoming increasingly convinced that there's a deliberate campaign to put carcinogenic additives in our environment, perhaps to fuel this grim industry.  Why else would the government allow such clearly harmful things to happen on their watch?

There's bad shit happening to our food:



Our air:



Our water:





Hells, even our friggin' containers ain't kosher :

(in an odd but fortuitous bit of synchronicity make sure to listen for "Sabotage" by the Beastie Boys at the 31 second mark in the trailer below for Tapped)



Of course, I'm writing this with a bottle of Dasani sitting on my desk.  F#@ksticks.  

And then I'm hearing more and more stories about possible cancer cures that aren't getting developed simply because no company has a patent on it and, subsequently, there's no profit to be made.



And then there's this fascinating local story:



Who knew that the scariest Big "C" out there really stood for "corporatism"?

Although I can't confirm the validity of these cures, I can tell you one thing for sure.  There seems to be a helluva lot of money tied up in something that's making absolutely no discernible progress.

For me, cancer continues to hit increasingly close to home.  It's also denied the world any new Beastie Boys albums and tours. 


F#@k cancer.  F#@k it up its stupid ass.   


EPIC   No more inspired genius.  Like this...    




Or this...





Or this...



Or this...




Or this:




FAIL  Follow the money.