(This post is a bit of a goof, more about music than cancer. Don’t take me too seriously.)
A few days ago I ran across a cartoon on Facebook—which I immediately shared on my Curmudgeon page—featuring several wild-haired characters stretching under a banner that said “Race for The Cure”. The one “normal” looking person says something like, “so this race isn’t to fight cancer?” The joke of the cartoon refers to the doom and gloom, post-punk, goth band The Cure, whose lead vocalist, Robert Smith, had the recognizable wild hair imitated in the cartoon. I found the cartoon hilarious because when I first got cancer and phrases about racing, biking, whatnot for “the cure” infiltrated my life, I had to actively remind myself “the cure” was about cancer, not The Cure—the band I sooooo loved in my goth-teen phase. (And yes, I still listen to those great albums.)
As litigious as Komen has proven itself, I’m a little amazed they have not gone after a band calling itself The Cure. Never mind the fact The Cure put out their first record in the late 70s, well before Komen existed, would that matter? Komen seems to think they own the words, and indeed have trademarked the phrase. Ugh, I hope I’m not giving them any ideas. Let this be a warning Komen, if you ever go after The Cure I will not rest until I see your utter annihilation. Yes, I love that old band that much.
My biggest form of therapy in this post-treatment life has been music, as I’ve mentioned in several posts. I’m lucky that deep in the heart of Pinktober, The Rock And Roll Hall of Fame announces their nominees for the following year’s induction ceremony. It gives me a much needed distraction when even my beloved Halloween pumpkins have been painted dreadful pink (see this old post). Yes, it’s silly an old alterna-girl should care if a band that was not “popular” back in the day should get into an institution; I mean punk/indie music was about rebelling against institutionalized rock. I wrote about this a couple of years ago in the post I’m In Love With That Song.
So this is my plea to those who vote or have a hand in the nominees for The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame for this October. (Questlove? Maybe you can do this for me?) Please nominate The Cure again. As a breast Cancer Curmudgeon, I am so sick of the rah-rah, the pink madness of the month and everything associated with Komen’s greedy possession of the phrase The Cure. That is not to say I don’t want a cure for cancer—don’t be absurd, of course I do. I’m just still stuck in this place I’ve been all summer where practically ANY word or phrase in the world of cancer drives me nuts (empowered, powerful, journey, fight, battle, just…ALL OF IT). Please let me have The Cure, the band, back. I want to talk about The Cure again and mean music, not overused phrases.
Robert Smith and the gang may not be the cure I need if I get a recurrence, but they are a Cure for the nonsense I can barely tolerate in CancerLand these days.