I recently found out that a friend of mine, whom I've known since pre-school, was recently diagnosed with stage 3 pancreatic cancer. The worse news is that the tumor was wrapped around an artery. He came to visit me last night, and we worked on his bucket list. The good news is that we're both fairly well off, so affording all these things doesn't appear to be a problem, but the bad news was that putting a list together of awesome things to do was VERY depressing. When we got to the end of the list, he reminded me that the cancer had spread, and that the doctors updated his diagnosis to stage 4, but he still needs a specialized biopsy to confirm the type. At that point, we both lost it. I broke out one of my prized possessions (crates of vintage wine from the Chernobyl area), and we started guzzling them. All rolled, we emptied 14 bottles of wine dating from 1899 to 1981. Luckily we did the 1899 first, because I don't much recall the later ones. Today, I have an epic hangover.... Like nothing I've ever felt. When I woke up, there was a copy of the bucket list with one additional item added and crossed off: drink centuries of wine with my best friend... Fuck cancer.