The big step

I am now a cancer survivor. 

Can I say that yet? Am I entitled? Is the battle ever completely won? 

The malignancy has been removed from my body, and it's a new day and a new battle - with much improved odds for my success. 

Throughout this ordeal I've struggled with sharing the journey. Our culture wallows in death worship; and cancer seems to cast someone as walking on the edge of otherworldly shadows. Cancer victims are the closest thing to a zombie anyone will ever meet. I wished to avoid that maudlin, too serious scene, and I preferred to present myself as a renewed and wiser man. I'm not a victim; I am a survivor.  

Having done all the research and made all the treatment decisions, the waiting game began. I allowed myself time for a bit of distraction - and even some denial. I played on a Mexican beach, I went to concerts, I made passionate love. I ate,drank and made merry. I endured moods swings of irritability and depression and anger. The distant surgery date allowed me time to eventually settle into a fighting mode.

I kept the news of my condition to a minimum few, an inner circle on whom I could count for positive support. I wanted to tell others, but I found myself questioning my motives. Quite often I'd find myself in conversations about other people's medical issues (including cancer), and I'd want to scream "What about me?!" I recognized the underlying intent was selfish and insecure. That's when I knew my decision to keep quiet was a sound one. 

During this time I did take advantage of opportunities to talk with some survivors of prostate cancer. The living example of their humor and perspective and patience meant the world to me. (Best advice: "No matter what you think the catheter is NOT coming out!") 

I also talked with friends who had been hospitalized and asked for advice on what to bring to the hospital. (Best advice: Pillows!) 

Of course, being a rocker, I had a soundtrack in my head during this waiting period. 

A no brainer was Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers' "The Waiting" - it kept playing in my head. Whether waiting for a lover or surgery, the required patience is a challenge. 

            The waiting is the hardest part

            Every day you see one more card
            You take it on faith, you take it to the 
            heart
            The waiting is the hardest part 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMyCa35_mOg

Inexplicably, one tune that resonated over and over again 
was Paul McCartney's "My Brave Face". The lyrics have 
nothing to do with my life situation, but there was something
about the exhortation to keep up the "brave face" that I found 
both encouraging and comforting. 

            Where I Can't Find My Brave Face,
            Where I Can't Find My Brave Face,
            My Brave, My Brave, My Brave Face.
            My Brave Face.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Ty8NTNj6JI 

Eventually a sense of resignation came over me, and Nick Lowe's "So it Goes"  
came to mind. Again only the refrain made any sense to my circumstances. 

           And so it goes and so it goes
           And so it goes and so it goes
           But where it's goin' no one knows

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCaf8woXAeM

Meanwhile the surgery date kept coming closer. 

The week before surgery I turned over my job and packed for an extended stay in the hospital to be followed by recovery at my mom's house. Anna drove me to my mom's house in Houston. I brought my dog Clint too. 

On a Monday, Anna and I met the hospital staff - including the surgeon. My surgeon is mild-mannered, bookish fellow. He carries his humility like an Amish farmer. He looks like he might get spooked by a loud noise, but I like his style and his intellect and his empathy. Anna was able to connect with his Christian sensibilities. 

It it very important to always have someone by your side in medical encounters to ask questions, to take notes, to validate what was heard. (I can not sufficiently express my appreciation for Anna's support in this whole process. She has guided my attitude consistently in a positive direction, tolerated my mood swings, and presented a vision of a sexy & exciting future together. She deserves a blog post dedicated to the vital role of a loving partner.)   

On Tuesday evening hours before surgery, we enjoyed a hearty pot roast dinner (which I almost missed due to an episode of acid reflux - that's next on the list of maladies to address). Afterward, we gathered around an altar my mom had built that had items representing my past, my present and my future. Everyone read a passage, reflected on it and said a prayer. I think the tangibles (such as finding the right doctor, hospital, recovery space) are important in the healing process, but I also have come to believe the intangibles (such as a caring support network, faith, love, etc) are just as vital. 

Before going to bed, I had to inject a liquid antibiotic into my rectum. After trying a dozen different positions and squeezing all I could out of the bottle, I considered it done. (I only realized days later it was never supposed to an enema, only an injection.)   

On Wednesday morning we awoke before dawn to arrive for my morning surgery. I donned my MD Anderson Cancer Center uniform (a black long sleeved T-shirt with the center's logo and a pair of black running shorts). We arrived on time, checked in, and found prime seats in the waiting area. Eventually a nurse arrived and told us to proceed to the pre-op staging areas -- along with my mom and Anna. There I changed into a gown and cap, and we took some funny pictures. Then a succession of nurses entered the room for different needs (taking vitals, inserting IVs, etc) . For the umpteenth time I was asked if I had fallen or been outside the country during the past two weeks. Finally  Anna and my mom were asked to leave. I was given an anesthesia via my IV. I started counting silently to myself as a test. 
I don't remember anything after the count of 20 while still being carted off down a hallway to the OR. 

Here's one little known fact: Prostate surgery is performed with patient in an upside down position (known as steep Trendelenburg position) and the stomach is pumped up with CO2 gas. It looks something like this: 

Of course I have no memory of the surgery. My next memory was in the recovery area as I was being lifted from the surgical table to the recovery table. Once I was conscious. I remained awake. I think I laid there for about three hours. I did not feel woozy or intoxicated. There was no pain; however there was a sense of intense pressure in my bladder. I compared it to being stuck in the backseat of a long road trip & needing to desperately pee - while no one is pulling over.  The pressure was from the gas in my belly, and the urge to pee was likely from the newly installed catheter. My mom and Anna came in to see me; everyone was relieved to have the surgery behind us. 

I only heard about this episode afterwards: When the surgery was completed, my surgeon visited my Mom, Anna, and family friends in the waiting area. Rather than the normally subdued man I'd come to know, they witnessed an exuberant and excited fellow; he exhibited a pride as if he'd just scored a game -winning touchdown! He shared how well the surgery had gone and his confidence in sparing nerve trucks. That's the kind of surgeon I wanted!     

I stayed in the hospital for two nights. Intellectually one does not want to stay in a hospital too long, but I viscerally desired an exit. There is no rest. At least every hour and often more frequently a nurse demands your attention - mostly for taking vitals and administering drugs. I vomited once, I ran a fever the first night, and I had no appetite. Rather than tolerating the inane TV programming,  I opted for a "relaxation" channel that played soft, relaxing music with landscape vistas during the day and a STAR TREK star field at night. Anna suffered by my side the whole time. Again her help and support were immeasurable - especially in keeping track of medications given and promises made.

Most of my discomfort centered on bladder spasms caused by the catheter. I was given drugs for this side effect; and eventually the spasms stopped. 

A funny story: Everyone was very interested when my bowels would start working again. Opioid constipation is a big deal. So I'd sit on the commode for a long time with no activity. Finally as Anna was helping me sit down on the commode, a low and long fart escaped, we hooped and hollered and celebrated. Every fart thereafter was an occasion for a high five. 

Being granted an exit from the hospital was a trying exercise in bureaucracy and patience. I was ready to go at 6am; we did not leave until 1pm. I used the time to get some walking exercise done. At the end of the hallway, every time I'd twirl Anna twice and give her a kiss.    

I've been recuperating at my mom's place in Houston. I'm in better shape than anticipated, but like the disease itself the wounds that need to heal are mostly hidden. I'm taking pain medicine every 3 hours; it makes me a little light-headed. I gauge my progress and my activity level on pain and energy. My appetite has slowly returned. I'm pooping normally at least once a day. I've experienced scrotal swelling & tenderness - which basically means I only sit on the edge of padded chairs with my legs spread open.  

Best advice while recuperating: wear lose fitting clothing such as running shorts or knit shorts with an elastic (not button) waist bands to accommodate the catheter and collection bag. There may be some urine leakage from your penis (especially whenever you laugh), so shorts with built-in underwear liners are helpful. Also, using a cane was very useful in the first week of walking around and getting in & out of bed. 

My experience with the catheter has been mixed. I am not experiencing any pain, only a constant irritation at the end of my penis - like a slight pinch. My penis itself has gone into "turtle hiding" mode; it's not a happy camper. Carrying the collection bag around is a pain the ass; I have never become accustomed to it, and it acts like an anchor while sleeping - or while I'm attempting to sleep.  I can say I have not gotten a single night of good sleep since this started. I blame the catheter collection bag more than any other factor. Another troublesome factor has been the  "stat-lock,"  - a plastic clip which is glued to your inner thigh to hold the catheter. This glue wore off, and now I must tape the device to my inner thigh, and the tape must be removed and replaced daily. Pulling tape along with the hairs from my inner thighs has been the single most painful aspect of this entire ordeal.

On a side note; I think there an unintended lesson from the catheter and its bag: I now have an acute appreciation for the volume of urine I produce and the frequency required to urinate. I think this insight will be useful after the catheter is removed and I must consciously control my urine flow.   

The catheter will be removed 10 days after surgery. Then I will continue my recovery at home in Austin. 

My work situation is unclear. My company seems paralyzed about what to do. I finally had a manager confess they had no policy for this situation.  (This is in stark contrast to the latitude I had at IBM when I had a project member battling cancer.) I've been pushing them since January to create a transition plan. Finally a week before I left I was instructed to dump all of my transition files onto my lead developer. I may be forced to go on medical leave - which means I'll only receive half pay. (Luckily I have planned for this contingency.) I may be the only IT resource who has never been "on the bench". Needless to say, their confusion is causing me unnecessary anxiety. 

I will have a medical check up in 6 weeks to check for any lingering signs of cancer via a PSA blood test. My next challenges are to battle incontinence and impotence. Once the catheter is out, I can resume my Kegel exercises and start experimenting with incontinence underwear. Regarding impotence, patience will be required - and maybe a few sex toys. 

I've been reading a lot about illness and cancer. I've especially enjoyed INTOXICATED BY MY ILLNESS (AND OTHER WRITINGS ON LIFE AND DEATH) by Anatole Broyrard, a flamboyant writer who succumbed to prostate cancer. While addressing prostate cancer and sexuality he wrote: 

My libido is lodged not only in my prostate, but in my imagination, my memory, my conception of myself, my appreciation of women and of life itself. It belongs as much to my identity and my aesthetics as it does to physiology. When the cancer threatened my sexuality, my mind became immediately erect." 

With regards to the bigger picture, I kept reminding myself that I had committed myself to "living large": committing to love, selling my home, leaving my project - AND battling cancer - these were my burdens to bear in order to build a new future.  

I am a planner by nature. I make daily lists - even on vacation. I've had strategic goals and tactical steps planned far in advance. I've ended up a very comfortable and very predicable place in my life. For the first time I can remember, I have no definite plans in the months ahead.I certainly have ideas and intentions, but I find myself operating with a new found optimism and faith that the right solutions will appear. I'm not sure where I'll be living, what I'll be doing for work, whether I'll be pissing on myself or not, etc. I'm pretty sure I'll be happy. I have finally achieved a state of 'experimental living"  . 

I'm the happy warrior with the brave face. 

The decision

19 Feb 2017

Much has occurred since my last message, and I apologize for not updating you sooner. in the rush of normal events, the consequential and the inconsequential can be mixed into the current of mundane life events. I finally find myself with a quiet, rainy Sunday morning to reflect and to share.

When I tell a story, I always struggle with context, but I think context is vitally important. Context is what makes my request for your attention worthwhile. But I’ve learned context can often  overtake the telling of the story itself, so I will try to be brief and concise.

In my last note, I talked about the “illness narrative”, and I find the thought process about the “quest” aspects of my disease to be the driving factors in my experience. I find it very odd, but I get energized as I consider the challenges ahead. I realize there are countless unknowns and chronic frustrations and little humiliations on the horizon, but this is my path, and I embrace it fully.

Do not misunderstand me. I am no saint. I still go through the emotional cycles of denial, irritability, anxiety, and depression. But I don’t fight it; I allow those emotions to flow and express themselves. I try to be open and explain these feelings to myself,  my family, my friends, my lover. This is part of the process, be patient, be gentle, and maybe leave me alone for awhile.

I have accepted the new role of “cancer survivor” to my resume. As a statistically young person to have prostate cancer (the average age is 66), an important part of my “quest” is to share this experience and this knowledge with a wider community. Therefore, I’m now  capturing my thoughts in this blog, expanding my list of friends who know, and seeking to contribute to a community.

Ok, that’s all the context stuff.

Here’s the bottom line:

Having talked with & interviewed five doctors, I have settled on a treatment course of action: I will have surgery for prostate removal at MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas in late May.

Now if you want to know my ramblings, learnings, and feelings about the whole thing, then read on.  

The path to a treatment decision has not been an easy one, but I consider myself lucky to have options to consider.  I’ve been walking the hallways of hospitals and sitting in the lounges of doctor’s offices, and I am left with the overwhelming impression of witnessing widespread quiet resignation. I think most people do not have options or are unaware of their options or simply do as their doctor says without question. If I had done that. I’d have been irradiated, impotent and incontinent over 5 years  ago.

While I was researching my treatment options, I found there are several significant factors which led to choosing surgery as my optimum choice:

• Extent of cancer

Since I have been monitoring this cancer for 5 years, I caught this cancer at the first moment when more robust treatment became necessary.  The cancer is completely contained within the prostate, and surgical removal solves the problem. With radiation my “PSA anxiety” would continue indefinitely.  

• Age

As stated before, I am a relatively young cancer patient. Undergoing and recovering from surgery will be relatively routine. By forgoing radiation treatment now, I will be able to keep radiation as a treatment option for any future occurrences of cancer.   

• Life expectancy

Along with age, I hope to have a few decades of life ahead of me. Again, I want to keep exposure to radiation a minimum.

• Specialty bias

Working thru the maze of doctors’ specialty biases was the most daunting aspect of selecting treatment options; I compared the process to haggling with a series of used car salesmen. Doctors will sell you on their speciality: robotic surgery, open/tactile surgery, radiation, proton therapy, etc.  My final selection was based on having a conversation with a doctor who thoroughly answered my questions, respected my knowledge, explored all the risks,  and satisfied my concerns. I basically “bought into” his speciality bias.

• Insurance coverage

I have insurance coverage through my employer that will cover most of my expenses. Years ago I started to consistently select PPO coverage so I would not have any limits to available physicians - which allowed me to explore all available treatment options. (Also, while verifying my coverage, I became intimately familiar with the patient protection regulations under the ACA law. The wording of my insurance coverage practically matches the wording of the law. I am convinced without these regulations, I would be looking at either financial ruin and/or being uninsurable in the future.)

• Risk tolerance for side effects

While comparing the side effects of treatment options, I found myself preferring the relatively short term physical side effects of surgery over radiation. Once I understood that ANY treatment option basically kills the prostate – i.e. there is no such thing as localized treatment - I was more prone to choosing surgery. Generally speaking I have a visceral aversion to (and low confidence in) radiation.

• Expense/Geography

I was able to afford the travel in order to visit many clinics. Also, my job gives me the flexibility to work remotely and not take time off during these visits. I eventually settled on treatment & recovery away from my hometown - in Houston where my mother fortunately lives.

Also, I must confess that my thinking about treatment options became very biased after walking into the facilities at MD Anderson Cancer Center. This cancer research facility is completely different than any other place in terms of physical environment and overall approach to treatment. In Nashville, my doctor was ready to cut me open in a few weeks after a single conversation and a pelvic CAT Scan. In contrast, at MD Anderson, I have experinced the following:

• a full skeleton scan (cancer spreading to the bones is a high risk)
• extensive blood work up
• meeting the head of the urology department
• an extensive discussion with my surgeon and his staff
• a consultation with a dietician and physical therapist
• DNA analysis
• fertility services
• an extensive library of reference books and cancer studies (including a humor section!)
• a detailed MRI of my prostate (involving an hour in a coffin-like apparatus with a probe in my butt) that revealed a more detailed picture of the cancer and potential complications with surrounding nerves

MD Anderson is on the cutting edge of electronic medical records, providing a personalized portal with all of my test results, appointments, payments, etc. Furthermore the staff will provide an advanced pathology report after the surgery, and all post-op risks and issues can be addressed by the staff.

If you are interested, here are links to some animated videos of the robotic surgical procedure:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2XKnkB7p_l8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_atrOIj_MjU

I find it is rare to find a Western doctor who cultivates a sense of teamwork, and I have found these types of doctors are common at MD Anderson. We have agreed that my recovery and probability of a successful recovery would improve with better physical conditioning. So I am spending the next few months getting ready physically for surgery.

While building my symphony of support, I met with my old Oriental medical doctor. (I’m still convinced I could have managed this disease as a stage 1 cancer if I had stuck with my herbal & dietary regimen.) But there was no second-guessing or wallowing in hindsight during our discussion; we focused on the future: preparing my organs for surgery, outlining a course of exercise, diet and herbs, and maintaining a non-toxic lifestyle.  I find myself rededicated to meditation and prayer and inspirational readings.  

I feel like I have dome my homework, maximized my options, and made informed & optimal choices. I acknowledge there are limits to being prepared for the  reality of the procedure and experiencing the side effects - on both myself and my loved ones. There are unknowns about body image, sexual & physical dysfunction, potential complications, insurance market uncertainties, etc, but I can not control those concerns and will simply have to deal with these issues as they come/if they come.  

At the time of this writing I have three months to go until surgery. While preparing my body, I have plans for enjoying a beach trip to Mexico, some great shows at the Ryman in Nashville, Fiesta celebrations in San Antonio, and the final opera of Wagner’s Ring Cycle at the Houston Grand Opera. I expect to be much less active for remainder of the summer.

I would expect my next update would be close to my surgery in late May.

Thanks for your thoughts and prayers.

Best,

-Burton

The quest

22 Dec 2016

I thought I’d provide an update. It’s a positive message.

I now have told a dozen people “the news” – including family. I find communicating about cancer verbally to be extremely awkward and difficult. There may be no “good” way of telling your loved ones that you have cancer. But I’ve found once the conversation is done, there is a sense of relief in no longer carrying the burden of a secret, a sense of gritty reality & acceptance by talking about it, and a sense of strength from the growing team of support. Having said that, I still prefer to keep those “in the know” to a minimum.

Since my last note, here’s an update:

• After reluctantly telling my mom and stepdad in Houston, they have been a tremendous help. By a referral from a business associate who had undergone this same illness, I have been accepted for treatment into the world-renowned MD Anderson Cancer Center. There was no guarantee: I had to apply, and that effort has been so incredibly worthwhile. The quality level of service is incomparable to the other medical doctors I have seen. All the specialists and treatment options are available under a single roof. They set up a series of interviews so that all your available options are presented to you. I have a patient concierge who’s a proactive, single point of contact for all my needs and questions. There is a secure, personalized web portal that has all of my medical records, scheduled events, checklists, resources, etc. Additionally, I will undergo a complete series of lab tests before the first consultation even takes place. This series of tests starts the first week of January.  
• I spoke with my old urologist in Houston. He reassured me that my course of action has been correct. I have only now entered the threshold of needing to take aggressive action. Also, while he was recommending a special form of radiation treatment, I realized that all treatment options basically kill the prostate – there is no such thing as localized treatment. Obviously, surgery effects the whole prostate, but the end result of even a focused radiation beam is the eventual destruction of the entire prostate gland. (I am now leaning toward surgery.)
• I’ve been reading about physical therapy and recovery.  The strength of the Kegel muscles is a big factor in recovering from impotence and incontinence. Suffice it to say, I will have the strongest Kegel muscles of my life before treatment starts.
• While my prospects of a family life are uncertain, I will explore sperm bank options before treatment starts. Kudos to the Livestrong Foundation for having the best resources about fertility and support groups.
• Due to Austin traffic, I missed an appointment with my old Oriental medicine practitioner. I have rescheduled an appointment with him in mid-January to understand the holistic impact of losing the prostate and on-going practices of restoring bodily harmony balance and cancer prevention.

When I’m talking about cancer, I’ve also been fascinated by the emotional dynamics. I think the afflicted person sets the tone; I call it “emotional leadership”. We create narratives to understand our illness. Arthur W. Frank is a sociologist who first developed the concept of the illness narrative in his influential book THE WOUNDED STORYTELLER (1997). Using his own cancer and recovery as inspiration, he describes life as a journey and serious illness as a “loss of the destination and map that had previously guided the ill person’s life.” He emphasizes that “Ill people learn by hearing themselves tell their stories, absorbing others’ reactions and experiencing their stories being shared.” Frank defined three types of narratives: restitution (interruption, happy ending), chaos (never improving, hopeless), or the quest (acceptance, learning). You may guess that I have opted for the quest. On this “quest”, I actually see this experience will encourage growth in relationships, self-knowledge and intimacy. Frank describes the quest in this way:

“For all you lose, you have an opportunity to gain: closer relationships, more poignant appreciations, clarified values. You are entitled to mourn what you can no longer be, but do not let this mourning obscure your sense of what you can become. You are embarking on a dangerous opportunity. Do not curse your fate; count your possibilities.”

That’s about it for now. Bottom line: I’m on track to see the best people in the medical field; my symphony of support is strong; my attitude is positive.  I still expect to decide on a treatment course by mid to late January. I expect that news will be my next update.

Be well, enjoy your holidays.

-Burton

The news

Nov 23, 2016

I have cancer.

Specifically, I have prostate cancer.

One in six men will get prostate cancer in their lives. And I’m one of ‘em. At age 52, I am considered a “young man” to have this disease. I have no family history of this type of cancer.  

I’ve kept this a close secret, but I’ve been tracking prostate issues for the past decade. (I did not want to be identified as a “victim, and I thought I’d limit the concern & drama.) My PSA has been elevated since 2006, and after persistently above normal readings, I had a biopsy performed in 2012 which revealed a small amount of cancer (Stage 1). I beat it with alternative medicine (acupuncture, herbs, etc). (Now you know you why I am such a strong advocate of Chinese medicine.) However, I think I congratulated myself too soon, quit following the prescribed diet and herbs, and got lazy on my watchful waiting.

After moving to Nashville, I found a new primary care doctor in Nashville. From the physical results, my PSA was elevated – to a level higher than ever before. There were no other symptoms of cancer (e.g. no evidence from a rectal exam), but given my history I agreed to have a biopsy.

The biopsy samples were positive; the cancer is on both sides of my prostate, and it is more advanced than before (Stage 2). I had a CAT scan recently and determined the cancer has not metastasized or moved beyond my prostrate. That’s the good news.

It’s a frustrating disease. I feel healthy; there are no other symptoms; it’s simply a number from a blood test and biopsy results that seem to be from another person. However, I have come to the end of my watchful waiting approach, and I need to pursue a more aggressive and permanent solution. I think it would be foolish to think alternative methods would cure this advanced stage of cancer, but I will return to those wellness practices more diligently for a lifetime of prevention. Since the treatment and its consequences will impact my life in more profound ways, I’ve decided to be more open this time. However, I would ask that you not share this news with anyone. I am telling you in confidence as a close-knit support group. I see you as a source of wisdom & strength.

When it comes to prostate cancer and deciding on treatments and their side effects, men have a common dilemma:

• When a cure is possible, is it necessary?
• When a cure is necessary, is it possible?

Luckily, I have a cancer that has a cure that is both necessary and possible.    

I basically have two choices:

1. Surgery: radical removal of prostate and lymph nodes.
2. Radiation: external radiation of the prostate (many different methods, such as HIFU, proton therapy, etc.)

Both options have high rates of success. Radiation is “one shot” choice. If the cancer were to return, then I could not use radiation again. However, radiation also has more limited side effects (believe it or not). Surgery is the most aggressive option; the cancer would simply be gone, and I could live without that worry I have been carrying for years, but I’d lose my prostrate organ and its functions. With both options, I am looking at impotence and incontinence (either permanently or temporarily) and sterility (forever). That’s the bad news.

Nothing will happen until January. Meanwhile, I will be seeking a second opinion from my old urologist (as well as my old Oriental medicine practitioner) in Texas, and I’ll be thinking about my next steps (what, how, where and when I want this to happen). Living in both Nashville and Austin represents both options and challenges.

This won’t kill me, but it’ll be humbling for sure.  

Also, I’d welcome your prayers.

Thanks.

Digital Vampires Can be Saved

http://www.bbc.co.uk/6music/

I watched Doctor Pete Townshend's recent lecture entitled "Can John Peelism survive the Internet?". The premise of the lecture was that John Peel had been a radical disc jockey against the monolithic power of the BBC by introducing new artists and that now with the rise of the Internet a bridge between new artists and the audience was missing. I found watching the lecture to be much more instructive than the media reporting, the blog comments, and even reading the transcript itself.

Having grown up in Nashville with the children of country music stars and seeing firsthand the triumphs and tragedies of entering the music business, having working in a rock radio station and seeing the diminished role of the individual DJ and the incorporation of most stations by Wall Street conglomerates, and living in Austin and seeing how artists struggle to live and thrive in a hostile environment, I found Pete's lecture to be intriguing and challenging.

I often ask people where they discover new art - including new music. My own experience has evolved from trusted sources, radio programs, record stores, the monolithic power MTV once had to where I now mostly see new art first hand in clubs, music festivals, avant-garde movie theatres, museums and play houses. If my city did not have a vibrant art scene or I did not have the means to explore, I think my life would be devoid of new art - which for me would mean the end of all inspiration and innovative thinking.

Pete's lecture was widely covered in the mainstream media for his statement that iTunes - as a surrogate for Internet file sharing - was a "digital vampire" for not cultivating artists and for arbitrarily taking a commission. I think his reference to iTunes was a clever way to earn publicity for his lecture (as well as being opportunistic as Apple management reassesses its operations), but I think his message became obscured in the process. In the lecture he argues for the innovation of software systems to help promote and nurture artists, but in the end he recognizes the responsibility of the man in the machine to listen and to take risks and to do the necessary work to find and promote new art.

I was pleasantly surprised by the sophistication of Pete's analysis. Like examining a business case in graduate school, he broke down the essential functions of the music industry and provided specific, practical, and affordable (and potentially profitable) steps for an Internet file sharing entity - like iTunes - to undertake in order to support the arts and their creative content. (I think it should be remembered that making money as a musician is a relatively new concept derived from the star machine created in the 20th century. Musicians are on the front lines of the digital revolution, but actors can be replaced with CGI programs, and computers may soon create (or already are creating) new images on their own. In the end it is a question of social justice the value our society places upon the arts (both high brow and low brow material).

One distraction in reporting was a comment Pete made about "not caring about money". The comment was taken out of context. He was speaking in the persona of an artist and making the point that a struggling artist cares more about having the means to create, to be heard or seen, to be judged, and, yes, ultimately to be paid. In fact, I'd say the main point of Pete's lecture was the current breakdown and the ways to revive the mechanisms to ensure artists get paid.

I have learned that accounting is not strategy but it dictates priorities of both business owners and our culture. As Pete highlights, in the continuing digitization of our lives, the only metrics that count are those that can be measured and quantified in value produced by the hour. I maintain there are some values that cannot quantified on the ledger's bottom line - including customer loyalty, support of local entities, as well as artistic endeavours.

I also liked how Pete highlighted how the definition and connotations of the word "share" have not caught up with the very real activity of theft under the guise of technologically "sharing" material for which the perpetrator has purchased no rights.

Overall, I say "Bravo!" to Dr. Townshend. He offered some concrete proposals for action rather than continued hand wringing and despair. I challenge any critics to offer an alternative.

 

 

Farewell, Facebook!

I like to think I live leaning forward, peering into the
patterns and the shadows of this worldly existence to find some truth, some
passion, or some insight into this thing called life. Facebook has been a tremendous communications tool,and I've regained contacts with long lost friends and deepened current acquaintances.However I no longer see the benefits of Facebook outweighing its subtle costs. We are not the customer here, we are the product, we are the meat on the plate. I don't want my life to be the product anymore, but I think I can use Facebook as a link to my blog as a way to turn my writing into a product.

What changed my mind about Facebook? There were many factors which mostly highlight how Facebook seems to have aligned itself in direct opposition to some central values I gained from some of my favorite books. From a simple time management perspective, I found myself being mesmerized by this media channel. Having read DISTRACTED: THE EROSION OF ATTENTION AND THE COMING DARK AGE by Maggie Jackson, I recognize that attention is a rare skill and commodity. I've started deliberately weaning myself away from the distractions of television and radio and even music, and I'm consciously focusing on whatever task or activity was at hand. By examining the focus of my attention, I have found the constant flow of new content on Facebook (about my favorite subject: YOU!) to be my top distraction, thus I feel compelled to change and better manage my experience here. Additionally, I found the cultural trends revealed in Christopher Lasch's THE CULTURE OF NARCISSISM: AMERICAN LIFE IN AN AGE OF DIMINISHING EXPECTATIONS to be on full display (along with my active encouragement and participation) among the flow of postings on Facebook. I think I identified an unhealthy amount of pleasure in gazing incessantly into that multidimensional mirror of both you and me. Furthermore, if you know me at all, then you know that I am very cognizant of the encroachment of the nanny state upon our freedoms. I never would have predicted how Big Brother (as portrayed in George Orwell's NINETEEN EIGHTY-FOUR) would be something the populace would gladly and willingly adopt, tell him our every desire, show him pictures of our every act, and check in with our every movement. Lastly, I am redefining my roles (as taught in Stephen Covey's THE SEVEN HABITS OF HIGHLY EFFECTIVE PEOPLE) as well my long held intention to turn life itself into an art form (as taught in Julia Cameron's THE ARTIST'S WAY). For over 20 years, I've had this notion that I would lead a slightly unconventional path, share that journey in a public way ("pounding stages like a clown"), and educate anyone who would listen. This is no longer my mission, my job, or my role . Any legacy I may create will rest on the reflections on my experiences, not on the experiences themselves. It's subtle shift in my thinking, but I think the result will be profound in my sense of personal mission and the pursuit of my personal art.

The shift in my approach to Facebook reflects not only some changes happening within my own approach to the media and my own digital life but also my belief that Facebook's evolution to be disingenuous and disturbing. At its start, Facebook - as a tool - offered solutions to the common problems of our modern life: we are increasingly separated from family and friends by physical distance, with less time spent together, and by the demands of our multifaceted jobs and the busy pace of our personal lives. However, like many technological solutions, I think the appearance of seeming convenience actually masks subtle costs by introducing shallow and standardized norms of communication. Although Facebook has avoided and resolved some of the failing mistakes of MySpace (such as maintaining standardized profile templates), in the end, Facebook promotes the values in which quantity becomes a quality in itself. Numerous studies have shown that there is a limit to the number of meaningful network connections any one individual can successfully maintain. I've tried to limit and pare down my number of
interactions, but I find it's a hopeless task. This new approach represents my attempt to redefine the dynamics of my relationship with my network.

Another value of Facebook which I find offensive is its corrosive effects on relationships. Much has been written about the facade of online "friends", the accumulation of Facebook friends, and the drama of "unfriending" someone. For me, the apt analogy is what Facebook has done to friendships is what fast food restaurants have done to the traditional family dinner. This "fast food" form of friendship has taken away much of what friends traditionally do: listen, catch up, offer nonverbal support, commit time and space and attention, etc. I used to disdain those on the other side of the digital divide amongst my friends. I would lecture them that Facebook is "the new email" or even redefining the Internet itself; without it, you'd be making yourself irrelevant and out of touch. However, through time, I've found I highly value the time spent with friendships of those on the other side of the digital divide. It simply feels more "real". By leaving Facebook, I now accept the responsibility to stay in touch, to nurture and focus on my friendships.

Lastly, on Facebook I've failed to recreate the elusive sense of an active community that I have experienced in other online forums. I crave communities where there's an emphasis on critical thinking and the free exchange of ideas and opinions. I increasingly find that Facebook is not so much a conversation as it is a bulletin board of messages. The level of dialogue is meager, ethereal, and usually self-referential. Generally speaking I've found that people do not want to engage in think critically; instead they want to get through their day, safely and soundly, and comfortably enjoy whatever status quo they can maintain. I'm too restless for that type of conversation. I am in pursuit of a truth who is an elusive bitch. She will not just come sit in your lap, reveal herself in mundane observations, or expose herself via the mainstream media (whose talents for mimicry are only rivaled by circus clowns and trained parrots). I hope this new approach to my digital life will allow me to focus on that pursuit and predictably spark some critical thought.

So, what is the essence of my new approach? Blogging is my intended response: Clean Living Under Difficult Circumstances (located here http://burtonanderson.blogspot.com) I can't say what frequency I will blog, but I hope a value will be placed on quality rather than quantity. I'll still be here and watching - albeit less often - but I hope you find extra value in my blogs rather than through this forum.

Enjoy!