It's fairly obvious that I'm unemployed, no? Who else has time to watch Good Morning America and then write about the featured canine poo poo backpacks? I do watch my fair share of television. As you may have also gleaned from these posts, I don't have cable, so I have about nine channels to choose from--which actually yields a surprising amount of watchable TV.
One of my very favorite shows is America's Test Kitchen on PBS. Totally devoid of celebrities and ballyhooed restaurants/cookbooks and/or "lifestyles," ATK is a refreshingly simple show that finds the best ingredients, recipes, and equipment, with explanations about the science of cooking. They value great taste with a minimum of expense and time. Not to be confused with the completely unwatchable Rachel Ray, whose bubbly presence makes me want to push her head into a water bath. And though I have increased compassion for Martha Stewart since the start of her live show, an always cringe-worthy experience showcasing her awkwardness and absence of humor which unfortunately her daughter Alexis seems to have inherited, she is quite frankly, out of her gourd. On her Easter themed show yesterday she had on Lisa Rinna, the overly lip-plumped woman married to Harry Hamlin who was on Dancing with the Stars, to make chocolate eggs. In typical Martha fashion, there were no fewer than five million steps spread over the course of three days including use of a jewelry drill to open a small hole to drain the egg, and tempering chocolate to avoid the unsightly white bloom of untempered chocolate. The finished product looked great and I'm sure tasted great. If you have a long weekend looming ahead and can't think of a single other thing to do, have at it.
The folks on ATK would never suggest such a ridiculous undertaking. More likely, they would conduct a blind taste test of the top five selling chocolate eggs then tell us the results from their panel, but in the end we would go out and buy the disgusting but irresistible Cadbury egg anyway.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Fast Food Craving, Interrupted
If you're like me, you're constantly searching for new ways to spend more money on your pet. Well, you're in luck today. I just caught the tail end (sorry) of Good Morning America where they showcased must-have gadgets for your animal friends. I love them all, and find them all totally necessary but a few stand out. The Poopsadaisy is a dog backpack in which your furry friend can hump his own crap in style. The Fish School entices fish to play soccer and do the limbo to stave off boredom in their tanks. It has been years since I have had fish as a pet but they always seemed content to swim in circles and eat each other's poo. I don't know. Perhaps if I had been paying closer attention I would have heard their clamoring for Uno and Dean Koontz paperbacks.
Augh! In case Super Size Me didn't scare you off fast food, this story might just do it. For a school project, a girl in Florida tested ice from a few different fast food restaurants and discovered 70% of the ice samples were dirtier than toilet water. Ick.
But that being said, I will just say right out that I have not stopped eating fast food. Occasionally I do crave a break from bowls of Kashi sticks-n-twigs and that usually means the hormone laced delights from McDonalds. My favorite is the plain cheeseburger: flat as a pancake, a not-quite-natural shade of gray and smothered in "melted" cheese-food. Is there anything more yummy? The burger has to be completed with a soda, lots of ice. I'll try not to think about the colonies of e. coli making themselves at home.
Augh! In case Super Size Me didn't scare you off fast food, this story might just do it. For a school project, a girl in Florida tested ice from a few different fast food restaurants and discovered 70% of the ice samples were dirtier than toilet water. Ick.
But that being said, I will just say right out that I have not stopped eating fast food. Occasionally I do crave a break from bowls of Kashi sticks-n-twigs and that usually means the hormone laced delights from McDonalds. My favorite is the plain cheeseburger: flat as a pancake, a not-quite-natural shade of gray and smothered in "melted" cheese-food. Is there anything more yummy? The burger has to be completed with a soda, lots of ice. I'll try not to think about the colonies of e. coli making themselves at home.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Will the Public Reap the Benefits of Scientific Research or Just Die Instead?
Check out this article in the NY Times today about a promising new combination of drugs that appears to prevent HIV infection in monkeys by prohibiting the virus from reproducing in the body. This is very exciting news and should further testing show the same results, an amazing discovery to slow the galloping pace of the pandemic. But my excitement faded as the specter of the New Yorker article loomed. It's the March 13 issue, about the Bush administration's refusal to allow scientific discoveries that could positively impact public health make a dent in their policymaking.
In case you didn't run out to the library to read this, the article opens with a seemingly much less controversial issue: the human papillomavirus or HPV. There are many strains of HPV, but most people are familiar with the strains that cause genital warts, a very common STD. In fact, statistics indicate that 3 out of 4 Americans between the ages of 15 and 49 will have been infected in their lifetime. That's 75% of adults in this country.
What you may not know is that two of the strains of HPV are the primary cause of cervical cancer, which is why the search for a vaccine has been so urgent and the creation of a vaccine by Merck so monumental. In order for the vaccine to be effective, however, girls would need to be vaccinated before becoming sexually active. Here's where we run into problems: this vaccination would force us to face that teens have sex before they are married and sometimes when they are really quite young.
In a typical head-in-the-sand move the Administration refuses to put their stamp on anything that appears to "condone" premarital sex and instead focus all their energies on abstinence-only education (works great! right up there with leeches and bleeding). Since conservatives consider HPV infection a marker of "promiscuity," anything that buffers the consequences ofwhorish behavior worthy of death premarital sex, they have spoken out against making this vaccine a requirement for school enrollment, as are vaccinations for measles, mumps and rubella.
I'm going to take a wild leap and say that if the Administration is unwilling to protect schoolgirls from future cancers, they will probably also be unwilling to advocate for drugs that can save sodomites from the consequences of their behavior. Sigh. I'm going to stay tuned. The Professional Critic likes to be right, but also loves a surprise.
In case you didn't run out to the library to read this, the article opens with a seemingly much less controversial issue: the human papillomavirus or HPV. There are many strains of HPV, but most people are familiar with the strains that cause genital warts, a very common STD. In fact, statistics indicate that 3 out of 4 Americans between the ages of 15 and 49 will have been infected in their lifetime. That's 75% of adults in this country.
What you may not know is that two of the strains of HPV are the primary cause of cervical cancer, which is why the search for a vaccine has been so urgent and the creation of a vaccine by Merck so monumental. In order for the vaccine to be effective, however, girls would need to be vaccinated before becoming sexually active. Here's where we run into problems: this vaccination would force us to face that teens have sex before they are married and sometimes when they are really quite young.
In a typical head-in-the-sand move the Administration refuses to put their stamp on anything that appears to "condone" premarital sex and instead focus all their energies on abstinence-only education (works great! right up there with leeches and bleeding). Since conservatives consider HPV infection a marker of "promiscuity," anything that buffers the consequences of
I'm going to take a wild leap and say that if the Administration is unwilling to protect schoolgirls from future cancers, they will probably also be unwilling to advocate for drugs that can save sodomites from the consequences of their behavior. Sigh. I'm going to stay tuned. The Professional Critic likes to be right, but also loves a surprise.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
Antiquated Technology Hinders My Complaining
Well, I had wanted to write a blistering retort to the news that Ritalin caused psychosis in children. Just what the parents of an overactive kid really want! To find their child huddled under the diningroom table, gouging the insects and worms out of their downy skins. Anyone who has spent five minutes with a speed freak is well acquainted with the scarily obsessive picking and digging to ferret out imaginary critters making the epidermis home. But who really wants to think of their appropriately medicated child as a speed freak? The comparisons can't be avoided, though. And the kids also have the the occasional cardiac deaths to prove it, too. One article I read likened Ritalin as stronger than caffeine, not as strong as methamphetamine. In other words, ripe for recreational use. I'm intrigued.
But I have to face the facts: my dial-up connection simply does not allow for speedy research. In fact I am still waiting for the before and after kitchen pictures from my friend Jenn's blog to load. Alas.
Anyway, you've probably heard enough ranting about over-prescribing drugs and all of that. Well, I am planning a road trip with my camping buddy to Utah. And there are so many darn nice looking places to go in Utah that I need some help. And although I think only about 5 people read this blog, I am putting the word out for some feedback and recommendations. Zion? Bryce? Arches? We don't want to be overrun by RVs or by crazed extreme sports nuts that will refer to us as "dude" and ask us if we have a "flame" to light their campfire ... or anything else they might be lighting. Swimming would be great, hot springs even better. Dirt cheap is the best.
Anyone, anyone? Bueller?
But I have to face the facts: my dial-up connection simply does not allow for speedy research. In fact I am still waiting for the before and after kitchen pictures from my friend Jenn's blog to load. Alas.
Anyway, you've probably heard enough ranting about over-prescribing drugs and all of that. Well, I am planning a road trip with my camping buddy to Utah. And there are so many darn nice looking places to go in Utah that I need some help. And although I think only about 5 people read this blog, I am putting the word out for some feedback and recommendations. Zion? Bryce? Arches? We don't want to be overrun by RVs or by crazed extreme sports nuts that will refer to us as "dude" and ask us if we have a "flame" to light their campfire ... or anything else they might be lighting. Swimming would be great, hot springs even better. Dirt cheap is the best.
Anyone, anyone? Bueller?
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
I Felt That
Sometimes too much information about something you are powerless to change only succeeds in causing total paralysis. Take for instance, the Terror Alerts--the nursery-school color coded system of threat. I love it when Homeland Security tell us they've heard "chatter" and the threat level is red but unfortunately they don't know where or when the incident will happen. But make no mistake, it will happen. Please go about your business though. And don't forget to shop! If we don't shop, the terrorists have won. It's no wonder the entire country needs Ambien to sleep and Xanax to make it through the day.
Remember back during the World Wars, everyone was supposed to conserve during wartime? Folks grew Victory Gardens and stuff like gas and sugar was rationed. There was a commonly accepted idea that if the country was spending boatloads of money to fund a war then spending in other areas should be curtailed. This idea strikes us now as sweetly antiquated, like rotary phones and milk delivery. Now it's just spend spend spend and let future generations deal with the fallout. Who cares, we'll be dead by then! (Though not soon enough for some of us. Ahem.) If wartime rationing was in place today, I'd bet my life that public support for the war would have evaporated the very first time a Hummer owner realized his weekly gas coupon only permitted six blocks of travel. Instead, public support for W is at a head-scratchingly high 30 something percent. Check out Hendrik Hertzberg's weekly column in The New Yorker. He's a big fan of this current administration, though also quite willing to take the Democrats to task as needed.
What I really wanted to share is that I felt my very first earthquake in the Bay Area yesterday! The neighborhood I have lived in for most of the time is on a big slab of bedrock, which absorbs the shaking. This is safer than the Marina district which is formed on landfill. So basically during the next big quake the land under these very expensive houses is going to liquefy and fall down into the water. I actually felt the shaking while I was writing this blog yesterday and so I checked the US Geological Survey website to see if that's what it was. It was! There was a 3.7 magnitude quake 4 miles southeast of Moraga, which is very close to where I live. Moraga is the home of St Mary's College, which some of you may remember was where Diane Whipple, the woman that was killed by two 120 pound Presa Canario dogs in the hallway of her SF apartment building, worked as a lacrosse coach. By the way while I was doing a quick search for the correct spelling of Presa Canario I got a link to God Hates Fags, which reminded us that Diane has "been in Hell for 1881 days" for being a "filthy dyke who died for her sins." Ah, family values. So loving and accepting ... just like Jesus.
Anyhoo, what was so crazy and nervewracking about the USGS site was seeing just how darn many earthquakes happen everyday. There were 13 more earthquakes near Moraga in addition to the one I felt. And not just in California--there were quakes in New Jersey yesterday, too. I kid you not, look it up if you don't believe me look it up. Luckily I do have some earthquake supplies ready: water, canned food, cat food and medicine. But what worries me ... and I try not to think about it too much is ... what if there is an earthquake while I'm on the bridge? The 1989 Loma Prieta quake, 7.1 magnitude, caused 67 deaths, some on the collapsed portions of the Bay Bridge. The Bay Bridge is definitely seismically unsound, so much so that it is being rebuilt instead of being repaired. But it won't be ready until like 2067 so I guess until then we're just keeping our fingers crossed and tossing back the Xanax.
Remember back during the World Wars, everyone was supposed to conserve during wartime? Folks grew Victory Gardens and stuff like gas and sugar was rationed. There was a commonly accepted idea that if the country was spending boatloads of money to fund a war then spending in other areas should be curtailed. This idea strikes us now as sweetly antiquated, like rotary phones and milk delivery. Now it's just spend spend spend and let future generations deal with the fallout. Who cares, we'll be dead by then! (Though not soon enough for some of us. Ahem.) If wartime rationing was in place today, I'd bet my life that public support for the war would have evaporated the very first time a Hummer owner realized his weekly gas coupon only permitted six blocks of travel. Instead, public support for W is at a head-scratchingly high 30 something percent. Check out Hendrik Hertzberg's weekly column in The New Yorker. He's a big fan of this current administration, though also quite willing to take the Democrats to task as needed.
What I really wanted to share is that I felt my very first earthquake in the Bay Area yesterday! The neighborhood I have lived in for most of the time is on a big slab of bedrock, which absorbs the shaking. This is safer than the Marina district which is formed on landfill. So basically during the next big quake the land under these very expensive houses is going to liquefy and fall down into the water. I actually felt the shaking while I was writing this blog yesterday and so I checked the US Geological Survey website to see if that's what it was. It was! There was a 3.7 magnitude quake 4 miles southeast of Moraga, which is very close to where I live. Moraga is the home of St Mary's College, which some of you may remember was where Diane Whipple, the woman that was killed by two 120 pound Presa Canario dogs in the hallway of her SF apartment building, worked as a lacrosse coach. By the way while I was doing a quick search for the correct spelling of Presa Canario I got a link to God Hates Fags, which reminded us that Diane has "been in Hell for 1881 days" for being a "filthy dyke who died for her sins." Ah, family values. So loving and accepting ... just like Jesus.
Anyhoo, what was so crazy and nervewracking about the USGS site was seeing just how darn many earthquakes happen everyday. There were 13 more earthquakes near Moraga in addition to the one I felt. And not just in California--there were quakes in New Jersey yesterday, too. I kid you not, look it up if you don't believe me look it up. Luckily I do have some earthquake supplies ready: water, canned food, cat food and medicine. But what worries me ... and I try not to think about it too much is ... what if there is an earthquake while I'm on the bridge? The 1989 Loma Prieta quake, 7.1 magnitude, caused 67 deaths, some on the collapsed portions of the Bay Bridge. The Bay Bridge is definitely seismically unsound, so much so that it is being rebuilt instead of being repaired. But it won't be ready until like 2067 so I guess until then we're just keeping our fingers crossed and tossing back the Xanax.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
At Last! A Post with Some Substance
Sorry I've been flooding you with trifling concerns such as pharmaceutical greed, global women's health and nutjob cults posing as legitimate religions. I was just warming up for the real story, which is the mysterious transformation of the Goldenberg Peanut Chew.
I was trolling the candy aisle at the Rainbow Grocery Outlet, which is my favorite grocery store. Honey once called me from the Outlet to say there was a container of mahi mahi ceviche in the fresh section that had expired the prior day and should she buy it? Of course she was kidding. Her stomach is notoriously sensitive; she might as well drink directly from a river downstream from a goose farm. No less than two weeks later I saw the same ceviche with the same expiration date, now in the frozen aisle. Now that's something even I wouldn't buy. But there are some amazing and non-lethal bargains to be had there, and I love a bargain especially since I have no job.
Back to the story: I was looking for Kashi Go Lean bars, which are all full of protein and fiber and taste pretty good, which I had found the prior week for 33 cents! What a bargain, right? Anyway, I found them but they were now 79 cents. That's life at the Outlet, though. You gotta go with the flow. I put three in my basket. Then I see a red packaged candy bar, called "Peanut Chews" but it looks all wrong. The package seems too big and the font is an obnoxious "we're hip to the kids" faux graffiti. It also says "original" on the rapper. Incensed, I turn it over and by God if it doesn't say "continuing in the Goldenberg tradition" on the back. Someone bought Goldenbergs? My stomach sinks ...
Last year I read a great book called Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America by Steve Almond, which starts off about one man's obsession with candy but sort of turns into this interesting documentary style narrative about how all these local family owned candy makers are being bought out by the giant candy companies like M&M Mars. Hell, they're probably all owned by Philip Morris, or I'm sorry The Altria Group, this ridiculous company Philip Morris created to divert us from the fact that a tobacco company owns like 9/10ths of the products available in mainstream grocery stores. In case you wanted to know this includes Kraft, Nabisco, Oreo, Maxwell House, Miller Brewing, Oscar Mayer ... please don't make me go on.
I had to find out whether my beloved candy has fallen into the clutches of a tobacco company, so I log on to their website. Odd. The new owners, Just Born, Inc., seem to be trying to make this candy, which I associate solely with old Jewish men like my Dad and candy freak vegans (No dairy in the dark chocolate version. The new milk choc version probably does, but who would want to eat that? Vile) like my friend Sarah, young and hip. The website features jarring music, loud graphics and a skateboarding kid. We are also informed that the Peanut Chew is the official candy of the Dew Action Sports Tour. I have no idea how they pulled this off; there is absolutely nothing hip or cool about Peanut Chews--they are total grandpa candy.
What else does Just Born, Inc. make? While no candy heavy hitters, they're also no slouches: Mike & Ike and Hot Tamales: two very respectable and upstanding candies. Peeps: revolting but traditional. Zours and Teanee Beanees. No idea what a Zour is and Teany Beanee sounds like a Jelly Belly rip-off. The Goldenberg will be a proud addition to their stable, unless they mess with the formula. But I am happy to report it tastes exactly the same.
I dig a bit more and I am shocked to discover that the Goldenberg family sold to Just Born in 2003. Where the hell have I been? Who knows? I only just learned how to bold words in this blog using html tags, which is something they now teach in nursery school.
I was trolling the candy aisle at the Rainbow Grocery Outlet, which is my favorite grocery store. Honey once called me from the Outlet to say there was a container of mahi mahi ceviche in the fresh section that had expired the prior day and should she buy it? Of course she was kidding. Her stomach is notoriously sensitive; she might as well drink directly from a river downstream from a goose farm. No less than two weeks later I saw the same ceviche with the same expiration date, now in the frozen aisle. Now that's something even I wouldn't buy. But there are some amazing and non-lethal bargains to be had there, and I love a bargain especially since I have no job.
Back to the story: I was looking for Kashi Go Lean bars, which are all full of protein and fiber and taste pretty good, which I had found the prior week for 33 cents! What a bargain, right? Anyway, I found them but they were now 79 cents. That's life at the Outlet, though. You gotta go with the flow. I put three in my basket. Then I see a red packaged candy bar, called "Peanut Chews" but it looks all wrong. The package seems too big and the font is an obnoxious "we're hip to the kids" faux graffiti. It also says "original" on the rapper. Incensed, I turn it over and by God if it doesn't say "continuing in the Goldenberg tradition" on the back. Someone bought Goldenbergs? My stomach sinks ...
Last year I read a great book called Candyfreak: A Journey Through the Chocolate Underbelly of America by Steve Almond, which starts off about one man's obsession with candy but sort of turns into this interesting documentary style narrative about how all these local family owned candy makers are being bought out by the giant candy companies like M&M Mars. Hell, they're probably all owned by Philip Morris, or I'm sorry The Altria Group, this ridiculous company Philip Morris created to divert us from the fact that a tobacco company owns like 9/10ths of the products available in mainstream grocery stores. In case you wanted to know this includes Kraft, Nabisco, Oreo, Maxwell House, Miller Brewing, Oscar Mayer ... please don't make me go on.
I had to find out whether my beloved candy has fallen into the clutches of a tobacco company, so I log on to their website. Odd. The new owners, Just Born, Inc., seem to be trying to make this candy, which I associate solely with old Jewish men like my Dad and candy freak vegans (No dairy in the dark chocolate version. The new milk choc version probably does, but who would want to eat that? Vile) like my friend Sarah, young and hip. The website features jarring music, loud graphics and a skateboarding kid. We are also informed that the Peanut Chew is the official candy of the Dew Action Sports Tour. I have no idea how they pulled this off; there is absolutely nothing hip or cool about Peanut Chews--they are total grandpa candy.
What else does Just Born, Inc. make? While no candy heavy hitters, they're also no slouches: Mike & Ike and Hot Tamales: two very respectable and upstanding candies. Peeps: revolting but traditional. Zours and Teanee Beanees. No idea what a Zour is and Teany Beanee sounds like a Jelly Belly rip-off. The Goldenberg will be a proud addition to their stable, unless they mess with the formula. But I am happy to report it tastes exactly the same.
I dig a bit more and I am shocked to discover that the Goldenberg family sold to Just Born in 2003. Where the hell have I been? Who knows? I only just learned how to bold words in this blog using html tags, which is something they now teach in nursery school.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Follow Up and Annoying Disclaimer
Here's the citation from the New Yorker article I mentioned about President Bush and his ambivalence toward the scientific process: "Political Science: The Bush Administration's war on the laboratory," March 13, 2006, pps 58-69. This article does not seem to be availabe online however so you'll have to haul yourself to the library to read it, but it is well worth it. And timely, too. A few nights ago on 60 minutes they featured a NASA honcho whose name naturally I don't remember, but he has been studying global climate change for 30+ years, is the top authority in his field etc etc and as of late finds himself on a very short leash. Press releases concerning climate change are now required to pass through the White House; they come back all edited up to reflect the Administration's stance on global warming and greenhouse gases (like Santa Claus, apparently just a figment of our overactive imaginations). The best part is when 60 Minutes asked for a statement from the White House, they were told the person who would be able to comment on this would "never be available." Is this for real? Afraid so.
The other thing I hate to have to say is that Honey suggested that I put a disclaimer in this blog to let people know that although I rant and rave about medical issues, I am not a doctor. I don't play one on TV. I don't even own a thermometer. So if you have questions or concerns about your own health issues, do your own damn research and don't even think about suing me cause I don't have any money. Hmph.
The other thing I hate to have to say is that Honey suggested that I put a disclaimer in this blog to let people know that although I rant and rave about medical issues, I am not a doctor. I don't play one on TV. I don't even own a thermometer. So if you have questions or concerns about your own health issues, do your own damn research and don't even think about suing me cause I don't have any money. Hmph.
Finally, I Understand Scientology
You've probably heard about the latest controversy surrounding South Park. In a recent episode, creators Trey Parker and Matt Stone aimed their sights at Scientology and Tom Cruise, intimating that Scientology is a giant closet that harbors Cruise and John Travolta. Cruise is allegedly refusing to do publicity for Mission Impossible III unless the episode is pulled. MI III is a Paramount film and Paramount is owned by Viacom which also owns ... Comedy Central. These stinkin' media conglomerates! But that's for another day.
Earlier in the week, Isaac Hayes, voice of the fabulous Chef and a Scientologist, left the show, issuing this statement: "There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry towards religious beliefs of others begins," Hayes said. "Religious beliefs are sacred to people, and at all times should be respected and honoured. As a civil rights activist of the past 40 years, I cannot support a show that disrespects those beliefs and practices."
Earth to Isaac Hayes: where've you've been for the past nine years?You've been employed by a show whose characters include a singing piece of crap, plotlines of the faithful flocking to a statue of the Virgin Mary bleeding out of her ass, and a movie titled after a giant uncircumcised shlong featuring Winona Ryder shooting ping pong balls out of her cooter. Your character Chef, no doubt also a civil rights activist, has had frank sexual conversations with schoolchildren, eagerly bedded hundreds of women and sang lustily about your chocolate salty balls.
Can I really be blamed if the impression I have formed about Scientologists is as a group of folks with heads entrenched firmly up their own asses? What do I have to draw on? The hypocrisy of Isaac Hayes? Tom Cruise, stomping on Oprah's furniture or wowing millions of women with his impressive knowledge of psychiatry and post partum depression?
Tired of being misled once again by the liberal Jewish controlled media I go right to the source, the official Scientology website and start reading the celebrity testimonials that appear on every page of the site.
I'm a smart girl, capable of understanding relatively complex concepts but I am not sure what the hell Kelly Preston means when she trills,
"The Purification Rundown heightened my senses greatly. Colors became brighter, my hearing more acute, everything tasted better ..."
Lacking any official explanation of the Purification Rundown, I can only conclude that it is some type of hallucinogen.
Undeterred, I read on. Here's Juliette Lewis:
"I am no longer stuck in the bottomless pit of despair and apathy. Having achieved a state of Clear is the single most important thing I've done for myself."
What is this state of Clear, exactly? Is this what results from a purification Rundown? Perhaps the state of Clear refers to the clear complexion that comes from adult acne medication, a Scientology version of Proactiv. Adult acne can definitely cause both despair and apathy, so I think this might be right. Too bad the site doesn't tell me, but I can buy a Scientology handbook for $100; perhaps the answers are there.
I read on, my interested piqued by a section titled "Practical Solutions for a Dangerous Environment." What can this be about? Child proofing your home? Preparing for a terrorist attack? A Scientology based defensive driving class?
There are seven solutions but it's #2 that catches my eye:
Don't Read the Newspaper
This is very simple. Tell the person, Don't read the newspapers for two weeks and see if you don't feel better."
If he doesn't read the newspapers for two weeks, of course he will feel better. Then tell him, Now read the newspaper for a week, and at the end of that week you will find you feel worse. Then make up your mind whether or not you ought to pay any attention to the newspapers.
This could be proposed to the person as a simple experiment. It isn't even an expensive experiment. As a matter of fact, it is cheaper not to buy newspapers than to buy them.
This is a simple action, but a very effective one which can markedly change a person's outlook on life.
Wow. All of a sudden I experience my own sense of Clear and just like Juliette predicted, it is a relief! The media has been wrong about a lot of things (the need to be emaciated, the need for breast implants, the need for an SUV), but about this they reported correctly: Scientologists do have their heads up their asses. In the dark confines of ones ass, one can avoid the upset that accompanies knowledge of world events. In the ass, one can remain Purified, the sense of Clear intact.
So many things make sense to me now! From now on when I read about Silent Birth (no noise of any kind during birth, not talking to your newborn for the first 7 days of life to prevent the formation of "engrams," impressions formed in the brain by traumatic experiences) I won't feel bad for future mom Scientologists, because when you already have your head up your ass, giving birth isn't nearly so bad.
Earlier in the week, Isaac Hayes, voice of the fabulous Chef and a Scientologist, left the show, issuing this statement: "There is a place in this world for satire, but there is a time when satire ends and intolerance and bigotry towards religious beliefs of others begins," Hayes said. "Religious beliefs are sacred to people, and at all times should be respected and honoured. As a civil rights activist of the past 40 years, I cannot support a show that disrespects those beliefs and practices."
Earth to Isaac Hayes: where've you've been for the past nine years?You've been employed by a show whose characters include a singing piece of crap, plotlines of the faithful flocking to a statue of the Virgin Mary bleeding out of her ass, and a movie titled after a giant uncircumcised shlong featuring Winona Ryder shooting ping pong balls out of her cooter. Your character Chef, no doubt also a civil rights activist, has had frank sexual conversations with schoolchildren, eagerly bedded hundreds of women and sang lustily about your chocolate salty balls.
Can I really be blamed if the impression I have formed about Scientologists is as a group of folks with heads entrenched firmly up their own asses? What do I have to draw on? The hypocrisy of Isaac Hayes? Tom Cruise, stomping on Oprah's furniture or wowing millions of women with his impressive knowledge of psychiatry and post partum depression?
Tired of being misled once again by the liberal Jewish controlled media I go right to the source, the official Scientology website and start reading the celebrity testimonials that appear on every page of the site.
I'm a smart girl, capable of understanding relatively complex concepts but I am not sure what the hell Kelly Preston means when she trills,
"The Purification Rundown heightened my senses greatly. Colors became brighter, my hearing more acute, everything tasted better ..."
Lacking any official explanation of the Purification Rundown, I can only conclude that it is some type of hallucinogen.
Undeterred, I read on. Here's Juliette Lewis:
"I am no longer stuck in the bottomless pit of despair and apathy. Having achieved a state of Clear is the single most important thing I've done for myself."
What is this state of Clear, exactly? Is this what results from a purification Rundown? Perhaps the state of Clear refers to the clear complexion that comes from adult acne medication, a Scientology version of Proactiv. Adult acne can definitely cause both despair and apathy, so I think this might be right. Too bad the site doesn't tell me, but I can buy a Scientology handbook for $100; perhaps the answers are there.
I read on, my interested piqued by a section titled "Practical Solutions for a Dangerous Environment." What can this be about? Child proofing your home? Preparing for a terrorist attack? A Scientology based defensive driving class?
There are seven solutions but it's #2 that catches my eye:
Don't Read the Newspaper
This is very simple. Tell the person, Don't read the newspapers for two weeks and see if you don't feel better."
If he doesn't read the newspapers for two weeks, of course he will feel better. Then tell him, Now read the newspaper for a week, and at the end of that week you will find you feel worse. Then make up your mind whether or not you ought to pay any attention to the newspapers.
This could be proposed to the person as a simple experiment. It isn't even an expensive experiment. As a matter of fact, it is cheaper not to buy newspapers than to buy them.
This is a simple action, but a very effective one which can markedly change a person's outlook on life.
Wow. All of a sudden I experience my own sense of Clear and just like Juliette predicted, it is a relief! The media has been wrong about a lot of things (the need to be emaciated, the need for breast implants, the need for an SUV), but about this they reported correctly: Scientologists do have their heads up their asses. In the dark confines of ones ass, one can avoid the upset that accompanies knowledge of world events. In the ass, one can remain Purified, the sense of Clear intact.
So many things make sense to me now! From now on when I read about Silent Birth (no noise of any kind during birth, not talking to your newborn for the first 7 days of life to prevent the formation of "engrams," impressions formed in the brain by traumatic experiences) I won't feel bad for future mom Scientologists, because when you already have your head up your ass, giving birth isn't nearly so bad.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Women's Health Matters
There's a story in the NY Times today about two new deaths associated with RU 486, inelegantly referred to as "the abortion pill."
These have not been the first deaths associated with RU 486; two of the prior deaths were determined to be caused by Clostridium sordellii, a gnarly bacteria. The cause of the newest deaths has not yet been determined.
RU 486 is actually a combination of two drugs taken in succession, Mifeprex with misoprostol. Although they are not sure this is the cause, Planned Parenthood has made a change in how they administer the misoprostal from vaginal to oral.
Any woman who has given birth via induction or accompanied a woman giving birth this way may recognize this name, misoprostol (brand name Cytotec) or by the shortened version used in hospitals, "miso," not to be confused with the salty broth you get at Japanese restaurants with chunks of tofu and seaweed floating in it. Miso is used to soften the cervix and to induce uterine contractions. It can be used alone or in conjunction with Pitocin. Yet it has also caused uterine rupture resulting in maternal death, particularly when used with women who have had a prior c-section. It has also caused amniotic fluid embolism (AFE) which can cause serious injury or death to mother and/or child.
Here's the other thing you may not have known about miso: misoprostol is not actually FDA approved for use in labor and delivery. Misoprostol is FDA approved as a gastric ulcer medication.This is the FDA's alert about the use of miso in labor and delivery.
Yet off label prescribing is not so uncommon. After all, isn't that how they discovered Viagra? A heart medication gave their study participants wicked wood and voila, or rather cha-ching! a revolution was born. But, unlike in the case of Viagra, Searle (maker of Cytotec, a company of Pfizer) has not applied for any patent changes for misoprostol, is under no obligation to do so and has made it clear they have no intention of doing so.
In fact, in August of 2000 Searle issued a letter to medical providers stating their awareness of the off label use of their drug and a reminder of the associated dangers with labor and delivery usage. I assume they feel just fine about reaping whatever profit this drug makes with this off label use, however. By the way, everything that I read about miso as an ulcer drug is that it sucks. It sure would be interesting to know what percentage of their sales from Cytotec are from labor and delivery usage but I'll leave the investigative sleuthing to Erin Brockovich.
What I don't need Erin to tell me is that women being induced with miso are not being informed about the off label usage and the very serious problems that can result. This has prompted a California legislator to urge for informed consent. Here's the article from the SF Chronicle following a Bay Area woman's death as a result of AFE after Cytotec.
Here is an example of one of the many lawsuits filed as a result of mother and/or child injury or death associated with use of Cytotec:
If you have ever been trying to birth an overdue baby or have accompanied a woman trying to do so, you know perfectly well that is not going to be the time for your medical provider to have a discussion about the risks involved with off label use of cytotec. More than likely you or your loved one, having carried this bowling ball around for nine months, slept a total of five minutes in the past month, suffer from indigestion, hemorrhoids and compressed internal organs. More than likely if your ob/gyn handed you a palmful of mealie worms and told you this was the fastest way to start your labor, you'd chow down. Clearly any chat about risks would need happen before you were at that point, i.e. not at the hospital.
Before we throw out the miso with the bathwater, it's helpful to remember that not only is it safe, cheap and effective for many women in the U.S., the World Health Organization has listed misoprostol as an "Essential Drug" in reducing the shockingly high maternal death rates in Africa.
Misoprostol is a prostaglandin, stimulating uterine contraction, and this is what is needed in instances of incomplete miscarriage, intrauterine death and postpartum hemorrhage. As in the U.S., it is also used to induce abortion. Check out this article for details on the importance of misoprostal in international women's health.
Misoprostol leaves us in a dilemma. When it's good, it's really good and when it's bad it doesn't get any worse. Clearly it's a drug in need of further testing, but that's not going to happen. It's manufactured by a drug company that is aware of the problem but has taken steps to insulate itself from liability, restricting their involvement to profit. Lawsuits are primarily being aimed at doctors and hospitals, because they have prescribed the drug off label. This may result in hospitals pulling this drug entirely. The FDA maintains they are powerless to do anything other than issue alerts because the use is off label.
Women are not dying because of diseases we cannot treat. They are dying because societies have yet to make the decision that their lives are worth saving.
Prof. Mahmoud Fathalla,MD, PhD, 1997
Former President of the International Federation of Gynaecology and ObstetricsProfessor of Obstetrics and Gynaecology, Assiut University, Egypt.
Sorry to end this on such a downer but jeez. I think it's true.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Vergious Abuse in Blackjack, MO
Today Honey brought to my attention a short but disturbing story in my favorite news source, People magazine, about the town of Black Jack, Missouri. The story focuses on the Shelltrack/Loving family, composed of an enagaged heterosexual couple and their three children. The family is fighting a municipal ordinance that allows no more than three unrelated individuals to share a single residence, an ordinance that has resulted in at least three other cohabitiating couples with children moving out of town.
Weird, right? I go to the city website to see what they have to say about it and oddly (or not) enough, they have nothing to say about it, not in the section on occupancy permits, not under code enforcement division and not under "Before buying a home."
Hm. So I follow the link to "municipal codes" and get directed to a nifty site called Municode.com and find it in Divsion 1, Section 6-76, Definitions:
"Family: an individual or two (2) or more persons related by blood, marriage or adoption, or a group of not more than three (3) perons who need not be related by blood, marriage or adoption, living together as a single non-profit housekeeping unit in a dwelling unit."
Huh. In addition to barring straight people living in sin, this ordinance would also rule out any gay couple and their roommate, more than three roommates of any variety, housing coops, group homes for developmentally disabled or runaway children, halfway houses for parolees, alcohol/drug rehabs, artist's communities ... in fact just about everything that makes the Bay Area a good place to live and what makes towns like Black Jack places I never want to even visit.
Delving further into the city website, I check on the Mayor's page. Mayor McCourt is a kindly appearing grandpa type. He describes Black Jack as a bedroom community of St.Louis of about 6800 people with a "small but vergious business community."
Being the Jeopardy-watching geek that I am, my interest was piqued by this word, vergious. I figured it might mean thriving or something of the sort so I switched over to Merriam-Webster, who did not know what vergious meant either. Nor Dictionary.com who suggested that perhaps I meant "regious?" Could Mayor McCourt have meant a regal or royal business community? Probably not. Vagous? A wandering, unsettled business community?
I resort to a Google search and discover that Mayor McCourt must have been delving into medieval cookery. Vergious is a sour fruit juice, usually grape, but sometimes crabapple, that is stored in a barrel.
This website features recipes from The Good Huswifes Handmaide for the Kitchin. Here's one that features vergious:
To boyle Mutton with Endiue, Borage, or Lettice, or any kinde of hearbes that may serue thereunto.
WHen your Mutton is well boyled, take the best of the broth, and put it in a pipkin: and put thereto an handfull of Endiue, borage, or what hearbs you list, and cast therto a few corrans, and let them boyle well, and put thereto a peece of vpper crust of white breade, season it with pepper grose beaten, and a little vergious, and a little Suger, and so powre it vppon your meat.
Or, with the alternate spelling:
To make balles of Mutton.
TAke your Mutton and mince it very fine with suet. Then season it with sugar Sinamon, Ginger, Cloues and Mace, Salt and raw egges, make it in round balles. Let your broth seeth ere you put them in. Make your broth with Corrance, Dates quartered, whole Mace and salt. Thicke it with yolkes of Egges, and Uergious, and serue it vppon soppes.
I am feeling truly concerned for Mayor McCourt. Not only is he working under the influence of vergious, but he has the very bad luck to be living in a town that has effectively banned inpatient drug treatment facilities. It gets worse--since I don't believe vergious is commercially available, he must be making it himself. That's manufacture. And if he's supplying anyone else in Black Jack with vergious ...that's distribution. If vergious passes over state lines, it's trafficking--he could be facing some serious time in a federal prison if he doesn't get some help and soon. It's never easy watching anyone fall prey to the ravages of drug addiction, but such a public figure .... we just feel so ... helpless.
But! The City Council meets March 21st to decide if the Shelltrack/Loving family can stay in Black Jack or if they will be forced to leave. Let the Council know that while you are in favor of forcing people to get married, you are most concerned that the Mayor get the help he needs and urge them to remove this bizarrely mean-spririted piece of legislation from the municipal code.
Black Jack City Hall * 12500 Old Jamestown Road * Black Jack, MO 63033 Phone: (314) 355-0400 * Fax: (314) 355-4196
The city of Black Jack cable news station: news20@cityofblackjack.com
NEWS 20 / MEDIA DIRECTOR - Randy Gardner
CITY CLERK- Karen Robinson
COURT CLERK- Karen Jones
HOUSING DIRECTOR- Debbie Irvin
I would tell the Shelltrack/Loving family to move here, but I don't think they'll be able to find a five-bedroom, 2,300 square foot home for $180,000 like they have in Black Jack. Anyway, due to the weight of all the sin happening here the entire Bay Area is probably going to break off and drift away into the Pacific Ocean. Maybe we can throw out a rope while we're floating past Hawaii. I've heard really nice things about Kauai.
Weird, right? I go to the city website to see what they have to say about it and oddly (or not) enough, they have nothing to say about it, not in the section on occupancy permits, not under code enforcement division and not under "Before buying a home."
Hm. So I follow the link to "municipal codes" and get directed to a nifty site called Municode.com and find it in Divsion 1, Section 6-76, Definitions:
"Family: an individual or two (2) or more persons related by blood, marriage or adoption, or a group of not more than three (3) perons who need not be related by blood, marriage or adoption, living together as a single non-profit housekeeping unit in a dwelling unit."
Huh. In addition to barring straight people living in sin, this ordinance would also rule out any gay couple and their roommate, more than three roommates of any variety, housing coops, group homes for developmentally disabled or runaway children, halfway houses for parolees, alcohol/drug rehabs, artist's communities ... in fact just about everything that makes the Bay Area a good place to live and what makes towns like Black Jack places I never want to even visit.
Delving further into the city website, I check on the Mayor's page. Mayor McCourt is a kindly appearing grandpa type. He describes Black Jack as a bedroom community of St.Louis of about 6800 people with a "small but vergious business community."
Being the Jeopardy-watching geek that I am, my interest was piqued by this word, vergious. I figured it might mean thriving or something of the sort so I switched over to Merriam-Webster, who did not know what vergious meant either. Nor Dictionary.com who suggested that perhaps I meant "regious?" Could Mayor McCourt have meant a regal or royal business community? Probably not. Vagous? A wandering, unsettled business community?
I resort to a Google search and discover that Mayor McCourt must have been delving into medieval cookery. Vergious is a sour fruit juice, usually grape, but sometimes crabapple, that is stored in a barrel.
This website features recipes from The Good Huswifes Handmaide for the Kitchin. Here's one that features vergious:
To boyle Mutton with Endiue, Borage, or Lettice, or any kinde of hearbes that may serue thereunto.
WHen your Mutton is well boyled, take the best of the broth, and put it in a pipkin: and put thereto an handfull of Endiue, borage, or what hearbs you list, and cast therto a few corrans, and let them boyle well, and put thereto a peece of vpper crust of white breade, season it with pepper grose beaten, and a little vergious, and a little Suger, and so powre it vppon your meat.
Or, with the alternate spelling:
To make balles of Mutton.
TAke your Mutton and mince it very fine with suet. Then season it with sugar Sinamon, Ginger, Cloues and Mace, Salt and raw egges, make it in round balles. Let your broth seeth ere you put them in. Make your broth with Corrance, Dates quartered, whole Mace and salt. Thicke it with yolkes of Egges, and Uergious, and serue it vppon soppes.
I am feeling truly concerned for Mayor McCourt. Not only is he working under the influence of vergious, but he has the very bad luck to be living in a town that has effectively banned inpatient drug treatment facilities. It gets worse--since I don't believe vergious is commercially available, he must be making it himself. That's manufacture. And if he's supplying anyone else in Black Jack with vergious ...that's distribution. If vergious passes over state lines, it's trafficking--he could be facing some serious time in a federal prison if he doesn't get some help and soon. It's never easy watching anyone fall prey to the ravages of drug addiction, but such a public figure .... we just feel so ... helpless.
But! The City Council meets March 21st to decide if the Shelltrack/Loving family can stay in Black Jack or if they will be forced to leave. Let the Council know that while you are in favor of forcing people to get married, you are most concerned that the Mayor get the help he needs and urge them to remove this bizarrely mean-spririted piece of legislation from the municipal code.
Black Jack City Hall * 12500 Old Jamestown Road * Black Jack, MO 63033 Phone: (314) 355-0400 * Fax: (314) 355-4196
The city of Black Jack cable news station: news20@cityofblackjack.com
NEWS 20 / MEDIA DIRECTOR - Randy Gardner
CITY CLERK- Karen Robinson
COURT CLERK- Karen Jones
HOUSING DIRECTOR- Debbie Irvin
I would tell the Shelltrack/Loving family to move here, but I don't think they'll be able to find a five-bedroom, 2,300 square foot home for $180,000 like they have in Black Jack. Anyway, due to the weight of all the sin happening here the entire Bay Area is probably going to break off and drift away into the Pacific Ocean. Maybe we can throw out a rope while we're floating past Hawaii. I've heard really nice things about Kauai.
Friday, March 17, 2006
It's the Money, Honey
Today the New York Times published an article citing a study of the Alzheimer's drug Aricept, which found an unusual number of cardiac related deaths.
Ever since FDA approval for mild or early stage Alzheimer's in 1996, Aricept, manufactured by Pfizer (the Viagra people) and the Eisai Company, has remained on the hot seat, primarily for being very expensive without being very effective. In 2004, a study conducted by Britain's National Health Service and reported in the medical journal The Lancet concluded that Aricept had "disappointingly little overall benefit" and was not cost-effective. A quick glance at drugstore.com today showed Aricept to be around $5 per daily dose.
In response to this British study, the Alzheimer's Association issued a statement--perhaps non-statement would be a better way to characterize it--carefully distancing itself from any opinion and urging for increased research funding. Yet in their treatment fact sheet available on the website they state plainly that only half of the people who take cholinesterase inhibitors (Aricept and friends) experience a modest improvement in cognitive symptoms.
What a pickle for the Association to find itself in. According to the NYT, they receive about 5% of their donations from the drug industry. In addition, members of the Alzheimer's Association Research Roundtable include Eisai Europe, Ltd, Elan Corporation, plc, Eli Lilly and Company, Forest Laboratories, Inc., Pfizer Inc, and Wyeth. Tricky. At the time of the Lancet study, it was the only study to have been conducted independent of the drug industry and as far as I can tell still the only one. Very tricky indeed.
I empathize with the plight of the Association folks who need to respond to these studies with drug industry dollars hanging over their heads and I want to help. I offer these lines, which they should feel free to crib:
In response to the Aricept study citing an unusually high rate of cardiac related death we say emphatically that we are against death in circumstances where death may possibly have been avoided, although it may have been unavoidable and not at all related to Aricept. We urge increased funding for and continued research on all causes of death, not simply deaths that may or may not be related to Aricept. Although we take a firm stand against death, we also feel this study should merely stimulate policy debate and not dictate individual treatment decisions*
*The last part of that sentence I actually cribbed from their statement in response to the Lancet article.
I'm not picking on the Alzheimer's Association. I'm sure their position is far from unique amongst disease advocacy and research groups. But where is the American study, independent of drug industry interests and unafraid to plainly interpret the data before them? Nothing can truly be bias free but surely we can do better than a study funded by a company that stands to make lots of money with one outcome and lose lots of money with another. We're so accustomed to seeing Philip Morris commercials that want to help us stop smoking that we think it's normal, but it isn't. It's just crazy.
I'll have to look back to get the citation but if you really want to bite your nails to the quick, there's a great article in The New Yorker from maybe a month back about President Bush and his "who needs science when I've got the Lord" attitude, which brings us back to what I'm really talking about here, and that's money--government funding for scientific research unencumbered by partisan influence. Scary stuff.
Love the FDA website by the way. While perusing the press releases to see if they had issued a statement about this latest Aricept study (not yet) I discovered that they recently approved a generic version of Flonase nasal spray. At last, I can afford to be allergic to my cat. Now if only they would fast track generic Norvasc (v. expensive blood pressure medication for my cat--catching a theme here?), then I wouldn't have to continue giving my business to those money grubbing Canadians.
Ever since FDA approval for mild or early stage Alzheimer's in 1996, Aricept, manufactured by Pfizer (the Viagra people) and the Eisai Company, has remained on the hot seat, primarily for being very expensive without being very effective. In 2004, a study conducted by Britain's National Health Service and reported in the medical journal The Lancet concluded that Aricept had "disappointingly little overall benefit" and was not cost-effective. A quick glance at drugstore.com today showed Aricept to be around $5 per daily dose.
In response to this British study, the Alzheimer's Association issued a statement--perhaps non-statement would be a better way to characterize it--carefully distancing itself from any opinion and urging for increased research funding. Yet in their treatment fact sheet available on the website they state plainly that only half of the people who take cholinesterase inhibitors (Aricept and friends) experience a modest improvement in cognitive symptoms.
What a pickle for the Association to find itself in. According to the NYT, they receive about 5% of their donations from the drug industry. In addition, members of the Alzheimer's Association Research Roundtable include Eisai Europe, Ltd, Elan Corporation, plc, Eli Lilly and Company, Forest Laboratories, Inc., Pfizer Inc, and Wyeth. Tricky. At the time of the Lancet study, it was the only study to have been conducted independent of the drug industry and as far as I can tell still the only one. Very tricky indeed.
I empathize with the plight of the Association folks who need to respond to these studies with drug industry dollars hanging over their heads and I want to help. I offer these lines, which they should feel free to crib:
In response to the Aricept study citing an unusually high rate of cardiac related death we say emphatically that we are against death in circumstances where death may possibly have been avoided, although it may have been unavoidable and not at all related to Aricept. We urge increased funding for and continued research on all causes of death, not simply deaths that may or may not be related to Aricept. Although we take a firm stand against death, we also feel this study should merely stimulate policy debate and not dictate individual treatment decisions*
*The last part of that sentence I actually cribbed from their statement in response to the Lancet article.
I'm not picking on the Alzheimer's Association. I'm sure their position is far from unique amongst disease advocacy and research groups. But where is the American study, independent of drug industry interests and unafraid to plainly interpret the data before them? Nothing can truly be bias free but surely we can do better than a study funded by a company that stands to make lots of money with one outcome and lose lots of money with another. We're so accustomed to seeing Philip Morris commercials that want to help us stop smoking that we think it's normal, but it isn't. It's just crazy.
I'll have to look back to get the citation but if you really want to bite your nails to the quick, there's a great article in The New Yorker from maybe a month back about President Bush and his "who needs science when I've got the Lord" attitude, which brings us back to what I'm really talking about here, and that's money--government funding for scientific research unencumbered by partisan influence. Scary stuff.
Love the FDA website by the way. While perusing the press releases to see if they had issued a statement about this latest Aricept study (not yet) I discovered that they recently approved a generic version of Flonase nasal spray. At last, I can afford to be allergic to my cat. Now if only they would fast track generic Norvasc (v. expensive blood pressure medication for my cat--catching a theme here?), then I wouldn't have to continue giving my business to those money grubbing Canadians.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
You'll Want to Put that Sandwich Down
Despite frequent bouts of nausea and light-headedness, I just read "Body Brokers: Inside America's Underground Trade in Human Remains," by Annie Cheney from cover to cover. What a fantastically morbid tale. Cheney blows the lid off the incredibly secret and sordid underbelly of the death business--not the most savory business to begin with. In a nutshell, there is a hugely lucrative trade in bodies and body parts that the less scrupulous members of medical and funeral communities have been unable to resist. Bodies, worth more in parts than whole, are carved up and sent all over the country for surgeons to practice new surgical techniques at weekend seminars and to tissue banks to meet the growing demand for reconstructive surgery. It gets better: having a surplus of cadavers through willed-body programs, medical schools sell them off to body brokers to generate income for their departments. These bodies can end up becoming crash test dummies for the automobile industry or used by the Army in land mine testing. Probably not what people have in mind when they will their body to their alma mater to further science.
The story comes out thanks to some whistleblowers, some honest people in the industry, and by accident. In 1986, UPS workers in Kentucky intercepted a leaking box to discover five human heads packed inside. Investigators tracked the source to an elderly ear, nose, and throat doctor in Philadelphia that had been trafficking in human body parts for the prior fifteen years. Apparently his secretaries worked upstairs from the waiting room, packing arms, heads and ears into shipping boxes.
As a teenager I worked in a health food store. One day, the owner of the store, who I can most generously describe as "eccentric," ordered me to use price tags to cover the past-due expiration dates on containers of hummus. I thought she had some nerve, considering she owned the only health food store around and had a steady stream of wealthy suburbanites clamoring for insanely marked-up wheatgrass juice and seitan. How greedy can you be? In protest, I quit on the spot. She replaced me immediately with a friend of mine. Jerk. There have also been times I have complied with what I felt were somewhat shady requests in the name of keeping a job, such as when I worked for a large utility company and was required to send fruit baskets to the secretaries of certain regulatory officials whose asses apparently needed kissing. But bubble wrapping heads? I think I would have to take a stand.
The idea that I, or someone I love could be carved up into pieces, chucked into a styrofoam cooler in the back of a rented Chevy Malibu and rolled out in front of a group of orthopedic surgeons in Miami to practice arthroscopic techniques in between rounds of golf is mightily disturbing. Yet I do expect that should I need knee surgery as a living person, that the surgeon I see will be well-trained in the newest, safest and least invasive techniques. Is this hypocrisy? Or just American customs, like it's fine to eat cows but not dogs? Hamburgers but not eyeballs? Most disturbing about this book is the deception, the blinding greed, and the complete lack of understanding about what it means to check the "donor" box. Like many others, I imagine that I am giving The Gift of Life to children with congenital heart defects or mothers of five on dialysis--not that I will end up sprayed over some godforsaken Army test site in the Mojave.
A scandal was recently uncovered in funeral homes across New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Florida in which employees removed bones of the deceased to be tissue-banked and replaced them with PVC pipe. You won't be surprised to hear that their loved ones had not consented to this procedure.
The rock of the death business has been flipped over. Stay tuned and see what crawls out.
The story comes out thanks to some whistleblowers, some honest people in the industry, and by accident. In 1986, UPS workers in Kentucky intercepted a leaking box to discover five human heads packed inside. Investigators tracked the source to an elderly ear, nose, and throat doctor in Philadelphia that had been trafficking in human body parts for the prior fifteen years. Apparently his secretaries worked upstairs from the waiting room, packing arms, heads and ears into shipping boxes.
As a teenager I worked in a health food store. One day, the owner of the store, who I can most generously describe as "eccentric," ordered me to use price tags to cover the past-due expiration dates on containers of hummus. I thought she had some nerve, considering she owned the only health food store around and had a steady stream of wealthy suburbanites clamoring for insanely marked-up wheatgrass juice and seitan. How greedy can you be? In protest, I quit on the spot. She replaced me immediately with a friend of mine. Jerk. There have also been times I have complied with what I felt were somewhat shady requests in the name of keeping a job, such as when I worked for a large utility company and was required to send fruit baskets to the secretaries of certain regulatory officials whose asses apparently needed kissing. But bubble wrapping heads? I think I would have to take a stand.
The idea that I, or someone I love could be carved up into pieces, chucked into a styrofoam cooler in the back of a rented Chevy Malibu and rolled out in front of a group of orthopedic surgeons in Miami to practice arthroscopic techniques in between rounds of golf is mightily disturbing. Yet I do expect that should I need knee surgery as a living person, that the surgeon I see will be well-trained in the newest, safest and least invasive techniques. Is this hypocrisy? Or just American customs, like it's fine to eat cows but not dogs? Hamburgers but not eyeballs? Most disturbing about this book is the deception, the blinding greed, and the complete lack of understanding about what it means to check the "donor" box. Like many others, I imagine that I am giving The Gift of Life to children with congenital heart defects or mothers of five on dialysis--not that I will end up sprayed over some godforsaken Army test site in the Mojave.
A scandal was recently uncovered in funeral homes across New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and Florida in which employees removed bones of the deceased to be tissue-banked and replaced them with PVC pipe. You won't be surprised to hear that their loved ones had not consented to this procedure.
The rock of the death business has been flipped over. Stay tuned and see what crawls out.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
State Of Emergency
You may have heard that Oakland is on the verge of declaring a state of emergency due to the soaring murder rate, triple what it was this time last year. Hopefully my mother won't hear about this. Once I was talking to her as I walked around the lake and we had to pause as an ambulance sped by, sirens wailing. "What in the world is going on over there?!" she asked me suspiciously, as if no one in the suburbs ever called 911. I can just imagine that if she hears this news she will be unable to block the image from her head of her youngest daughter, clad in a Kevlar vest issued by the city along with the recycling bins, walking to her car in a hailstorm of bullets.
The area where I live is okay--on the border of much nicer areas but also on the border of much sketchier areas. So it seems to be with most cities, a couple of blocks in either direction and wow, you're not in Kansas anymore. Luckily, since most local network news is so incredibly provincial she is more likely to hear about the local Kiwanis Club pancake breakfast than that the residents of Oakland are killing each other in record numbers.
I'm going to have to let the politicians deal with this issue, because I have my own state of emergency right here inside my apartment. My toilet is hopelessly clogged. Unfortunately I have to leave for a job interview soon and I really would like to pee since I have had a lot of coffee and what if there is traffic on the bridge? Who knows when the next available bathroom will be?
I knew I should have bit the bullet and splurged for the black plunger with the extra grippy bottom that allows you to make a good seal and yank out whatever is causing your troubles. Like a five dollar umbrella in the wind, when I try to make a good seal with this piece of junk, the darn thing just turns inside out and splashes the floor and my feet with disgusting toilet water. Luckily, although they are no doubt the cause of this problem, the unmentionables are nowhere in sight, sparing me utter embarassment should I need to call the property manager who hopefully did not cheap out when it came time to pony up for the good plunger.
The area where I live is okay--on the border of much nicer areas but also on the border of much sketchier areas. So it seems to be with most cities, a couple of blocks in either direction and wow, you're not in Kansas anymore. Luckily, since most local network news is so incredibly provincial she is more likely to hear about the local Kiwanis Club pancake breakfast than that the residents of Oakland are killing each other in record numbers.
I'm going to have to let the politicians deal with this issue, because I have my own state of emergency right here inside my apartment. My toilet is hopelessly clogged. Unfortunately I have to leave for a job interview soon and I really would like to pee since I have had a lot of coffee and what if there is traffic on the bridge? Who knows when the next available bathroom will be?
I knew I should have bit the bullet and splurged for the black plunger with the extra grippy bottom that allows you to make a good seal and yank out whatever is causing your troubles. Like a five dollar umbrella in the wind, when I try to make a good seal with this piece of junk, the darn thing just turns inside out and splashes the floor and my feet with disgusting toilet water. Luckily, although they are no doubt the cause of this problem, the unmentionables are nowhere in sight, sparing me utter embarassment should I need to call the property manager who hopefully did not cheap out when it came time to pony up for the good plunger.
Monday, March 13, 2006
I'd Like to Be the Academy
Today Honey and I watched Walk the Line, which I was excited about. Love Reese Witherspoon. Not only is she adorable, but she was fantastic in Election and Legally Blonde. And Joaquin--don't get me started. He managed to make the sadistic incestuous son of a bitch Commodus in Gladiator appealing. Quills--the scene where he tries not to have sex with Kate Winslet. Hot. That lip! Joaquin is a great example of "sexy flawed." You may know the more familiar term, "sexy ugly," but I don't like it. It's mean. The flaw makes the person human and vulnerable and makes us want to like them. For example, Catherine Keener and her gappy teeth. The crazy nose of Owen Wilson. And I don't think it's my imagination--Kate Moss is totally cross-eyed.
There are some troubling examples of the flaw not eliciting the expected response. For example, Madonna has a sizable gap in her front teeth, but this flaw that should endear her to us is somehow negated by her fake British accent, grotesquely ropy arms and overly Farrah-ed coiff. She was easier to like back in the day when she was a little chunky and a bit of a slob.
Anyway, WTL was entertaining. But Oscar worthy, I really didn't think so. If there was an Oscar for Cutest Chin, or Jawlines That Can Cut Glass, Reese would have my vote. Granted, I have seen none of the other movies in the best actress category, so who am I to say but this is the point of this blog. Actually, I'm fairly certain that I should be a member of the Academy. Can someone please see to it? Thanks.
Back to The Man in Black. Tortured by the childhood death of his brother (who apparently fell on a table saw--not totally clear how that happened, but gross and awful all the same), blamed by his drunk bastard of a dad, left high and dry by numbed out mom, haunted by guilt, channels self toward music, seeks solace in the substances and meaningless sex, hits bottom, finds redemption in the love of June Carter.
Sort of reminded me of Ordinary People, "the wrong sibling died" guilt story. Donald Sutherland as slightly clueless Dad trying his darndest to keep his disintegrating family together, Mary Tyler Moore as a block of frozen maternal grief about to shatter in a million pieces and Judd Hirsch playing the eccentric therapist. You know, slightly unkempt with a cardigan. But great job--the job Robin Williams wished he could have done in that turd of movie Good Will Hunting.
A side rant here on comedians attempting pathos and ending up with patronizingly insincere grimacing. Robin is so guilty of this. Tom Hanks, too. I theorize this is a problem with direction. Comedians, used to being the big funny, seem to struggle with dialing it back the requisite amount for drama. There is no shame in staying in your genre. I know the Academy devalues comedy. Once I'm a member I'll agitate for change.
There are some troubling examples of the flaw not eliciting the expected response. For example, Madonna has a sizable gap in her front teeth, but this flaw that should endear her to us is somehow negated by her fake British accent, grotesquely ropy arms and overly Farrah-ed coiff. She was easier to like back in the day when she was a little chunky and a bit of a slob.
Anyway, WTL was entertaining. But Oscar worthy, I really didn't think so. If there was an Oscar for Cutest Chin, or Jawlines That Can Cut Glass, Reese would have my vote. Granted, I have seen none of the other movies in the best actress category, so who am I to say but this is the point of this blog. Actually, I'm fairly certain that I should be a member of the Academy. Can someone please see to it? Thanks.
Back to The Man in Black. Tortured by the childhood death of his brother (who apparently fell on a table saw--not totally clear how that happened, but gross and awful all the same), blamed by his drunk bastard of a dad, left high and dry by numbed out mom, haunted by guilt, channels self toward music, seeks solace in the substances and meaningless sex, hits bottom, finds redemption in the love of June Carter.
Sort of reminded me of Ordinary People, "the wrong sibling died" guilt story. Donald Sutherland as slightly clueless Dad trying his darndest to keep his disintegrating family together, Mary Tyler Moore as a block of frozen maternal grief about to shatter in a million pieces and Judd Hirsch playing the eccentric therapist. You know, slightly unkempt with a cardigan. But great job--the job Robin Williams wished he could have done in that turd of movie Good Will Hunting.
A side rant here on comedians attempting pathos and ending up with patronizingly insincere grimacing. Robin is so guilty of this. Tom Hanks, too. I theorize this is a problem with direction. Comedians, used to being the big funny, seem to struggle with dialing it back the requisite amount for drama. There is no shame in staying in your genre. I know the Academy devalues comedy. Once I'm a member I'll agitate for change.
Back to OP: Tim Hutton and Judd Hirsch ran against each other for a supporting actor role, but Tim Hutton won. This would never happen today, i.e. Brokeback Mountain. Jack and Heath were clearly both leads but Jake got relegated to supporting. I think I heard that the studios decide which acting category but the Academy website indicates that the Academy decides, or more specifically "the members of the branch." Apparently each general Oscar category is a branch with voting members and chairperson. The chair of the Actor's branch 2004-2005 is Kathy Bates. Love her. She was great on Six Feet Under,which is a great show. I know I should say "was a great show" but since I refuse to pay for television I rely on DVDs which puts me one season behind. Yes, I know that Nate dies.
Anyway, OP swept in 1980, taking Best Picture, Supporting Actor Tim Hutton, director Robert Redford, and screenplay. I don't know for sure, but I am going to take a guess and say this was a controversial year --Raging Bull, Coal Miner's Daughter, Tess, and Elephant Man. I have only seen Raging Bull, which I know is supposed to be Big Whoop, but what can I say? Not such a DeNiro fan. He won Best Actor that year though.
Check out the Academy website. It's pretty nifty. Through their searchable database,I discovered that 1980 was also the year of Fame and 9 to 5. Great stuff. Of course I watched endless episodes of Fame, the series. Who didn't want to sweat for Debbie Allen as she thwacked her stick on the floor of the dance studio? Or feel slightly disturbed at the sight of Lori Singer clutching the cello between her legs?
Hm. Academy database also reveals that Robin Williams won Supporting as smarmy therapist in Good Will Hunting. Further evidence of my need to become an Academy member.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
This Should Probably Be Harder to Do
Blogging is the last--and I mean the last--thing I ever expected to do. I'll come clean about it right now--bloggers have been a target of my seemingly bottomless wellspring of kvetching. But in true Professional Critic fashion, I need to take a moment to re-examine, to uncover the good. (Note: In some cases good cannot be found for example Kevin Federline. Marzipan. Ice Dancing. Decaf. Dickies (Not the work pants of hipster kids but the fake turtleneck thingies my mother used to make me wear). Plain Chapstick. Tissues with lotion in them. Paper cuts. The word 'panties.' Seal-strangling six-pack holders. Halliburton snagging every no-bid contract for rebuilding American messes. Soy cheese.)
Well! I guess you can see why a blog is a good idea. I can rant and rave to my heart's content without fear of irritating, alienating, and/or boring those that are obligated to tolerate me. This is brilliant! I know I am way behind the technology curve here and blogs have been around for like, ever, but I just got a cell phone, so give me a break.
The first thing I am going to officially critique is this font, Trebuchet. I am extremely fond of the bold way it maintains its supple roundness without devolving into clownishness. In fact, I used it for the five gajillion resumes I have sent out, but lately I am coming to the conclusion that Trebuchet may be a touch casual for job searching and perhaps best left for signs urging coworkers to clean up after themselves in the staff lounge. I really ought to go back and re-do it in Garamond or some other quietly dignified font. Definitely not Times, the most undeservingly overused and ugly font in the world.
Since I can, I will mention that my love of fonts began when my older sister began attending art school. Hanging by her drafting table was a large chart with millions of fonts, which I would study to determine which took themselves over seriously, those that were too fusty, too plain, too weird. Also, drawing with the toxically stinky markers whose name escapes me now. They came in many different colors and nib styles--pointed, narrow chisel, wide chisel. They also bled like crazy and I never understood how you could control such an unpredictable flow of ink but I figured they were teaching her that. I wasn't supposed to play with these markers because they were expensive, but I did.
Well! I guess you can see why a blog is a good idea. I can rant and rave to my heart's content without fear of irritating, alienating, and/or boring those that are obligated to tolerate me. This is brilliant! I know I am way behind the technology curve here and blogs have been around for like, ever, but I just got a cell phone, so give me a break.
The first thing I am going to officially critique is this font, Trebuchet. I am extremely fond of the bold way it maintains its supple roundness without devolving into clownishness. In fact, I used it for the five gajillion resumes I have sent out, but lately I am coming to the conclusion that Trebuchet may be a touch casual for job searching and perhaps best left for signs urging coworkers to clean up after themselves in the staff lounge. I really ought to go back and re-do it in Garamond or some other quietly dignified font. Definitely not Times, the most undeservingly overused and ugly font in the world.
Since I can, I will mention that my love of fonts began when my older sister began attending art school. Hanging by her drafting table was a large chart with millions of fonts, which I would study to determine which took themselves over seriously, those that were too fusty, too plain, too weird. Also, drawing with the toxically stinky markers whose name escapes me now. They came in many different colors and nib styles--pointed, narrow chisel, wide chisel. They also bled like crazy and I never understood how you could control such an unpredictable flow of ink but I figured they were teaching her that. I wasn't supposed to play with these markers because they were expensive, but I did.
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