Tuesday, October 7, 2008

Critical Mass or Freshman Comp

A close relative of mine is an English professor at a university that I've never been able to locate on a map. This semester he has been stuck with some Freshman Comp courses, designed to instill good writing and research skills, as well as a measure of critical thinking.

Last week he assigned a critical and rhetorical analysis of some famous protest songs and first drafts are beginning to trickle in. He began the initial evaluation of these gestational pieces today.

It is a bad sign that I should receive an email about their content so soon.

My dear brother writes:

I'm spending the morning looking at first drafts of the song project; things aren't looking too good. I give them minimal guidance for the first drafts, hoping to see just how they've interpreted the assignment. Apparently, the idea of a thesis merging literary and rhetorical analysis escapes most of my writers. (Although I must admit, it is an odd notion indeed, smacking of a grad school assignment adapted for freshmen.)

So they tell me in very broad terms about the singer ("Marley was a Jamican who sometimes visited the island of Hadee"--No, I'm not kidding) or about the hippies roaming free during the 60s or about how Donovan wouldn't dare sing "Universal Soldier" to an audience of American patriots because as "[t]he movie 'The Punisher' said it best: 'if you want peace, prepare for war.'"

War indeed. Where do I begin?

Monday, October 6, 2008

Creepy

What is worse? That I post pictures of my limbs afflicted with CRPS / RSD or that people download those pictures?

Barack Obama and William Ayers = John McCain and Charles H. Keating, Jr.


I am sorely disappointed.

Sigh.

The appropriate -- but discouraging in its very appropriateness -- response?

Barack Obama and William Ayers = John McCain and Charles H. Keating, Jr.

The significant difference? McCain, at the time a United States Senator, was determined by the Ethics Committee of exercising "poor judgment" -- poor judgment that contributed to the Savings and Loan debacle of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Barack Obama points out that Bill Ayers is “somebody who engaged in detestable acts 40 years ago, when I was 8.”

Is it noteworthy to point out that McCain's indiscretion occured when he was at the comparative ripe old age of 51 (depending on what date one chooses: I chose 1987 because it marks McCain's maverick-y response to being called a "wimp" -- that is, it marks his participation in the infamous April 1987 meetings with FHLBB members.)

Oh, did I forget to point out that once McCain discovered Keating was under criminal investigation, he ended his involvement? Selon Wikipedia:

On April 2, 1987, a meeting with chairman Gray of the FHLBB was held in DeConcini's Capitol office, with Senators Cranston, Glenn, and McCain also in attendance.[8] The senators requested that no staff be present.[13] DeConcini started the meeting with a mention of "our friend at Lincoln."[8] Gray told the assembled senators that he did not know the particular details of the status of Lincoln Savings and Loan, and that the senators would have to go to the bank regulators in San Francisco that had oversight jurisdiction for the bank. Gray did offer to set up a meeting between those regulators and the senators.[8]

On April 9, 1987, a two-hour meeting[5] with three members of the FHLBB San Francisco branch was held, again in DeConcini's office, to discuss the government's investigation of Lincoln.[12][8] Present were Cranston, DeConcini, Glenn, McCain, and additionally Riegle.[8] The regulators felt that the meeting was very unusual and that they were being pressured by a united front, as the senators presented their reasons for having the meeting.[8] DeConcini began the meeting by saying, "We wanted to meet with you because we have determined that potential actions of yours could injure a constituent."[14] McCain said, "One of our jobs as elected officials is to help constituents in a proper fashion. ACC [American Continental Corporation] is a big employer and important to the local economy. I wouldn't want any special favors for them.... I don't want any part of our conversation to be improper." Glenn said, "To be blunt, you should charge them or get off their backs," while DeConcini said, "What's wrong with this if they're willing to clean up their act? ... It's very unusual for us to have a company that could be put out of business by its regulators."[8] The regulators then revealed that Lincoln was under criminal investigation on a variety of serious charges, at which point McCain severed all relations with Keating.[8]

I am very attracted to people, politicians, especially, who are able to adjust their attitudes and actions when new information comes to light. Nothing proved more disheartening to me than W's constant noise about not changing horses in midstream, not abandoning a stance, even a clearly inappropriate and losing stance.

More than just a sign of intransigeance, his rigidity heralded his cruel stupidity.

Mais je divague... So I admire, to an extent, McCain's retrieval of his good sense from the edge of criminal intent and activity -- back then. What an honest guy. What a maverick. WhooHoo.

Likewise, I am very put off by people, politicians, especially, who figure, and appeal to, some sort of lowest common denominator.

In June, the Washington Wire blog at WSJ.com published this interesting take on current applications of Swift Boat style political attacks:

June 30, 2008, 6:55 pm
McCain Supporter Defends Swift Boat Attacks
Laura Meckler reports on the presidential race from Harrisburg, Pa.

A group of John McCain’s supporters came together today to defend McCain against charges that he was overstating the importance of his military service. Many remember how Democrat John Kerry was wounded by attacks in 2004 on his military record, and the McCain campaign does not want to let any charge go unanswered. More important, the spat gives the McCain campaign a reason to talk about his military service, a topic that serves him well.

The conference call with reporters took an odd turn when the supporters were asked if the anti-McCain comments, including one issued Sunday by retired Gen. Wesley Clark, were analogous to charges issued by Swift Boat Veterans for Truth, the group that attacked Kerry in 2004. The group was condemned in many quarters, and today its very name — swift boat — is used as a synonym for a slimy political attack. Even McCain condemned the Swift Boat group in 2004.

But one McCain supporter, retired Col. Bud Day, who was held prisoner with McCain in Vietnam, said the attacks on McCain were nothing like the swift boat attacks. He helped produce those attacks against Kerry, which were true, he said. The attacks against McCain are not, he added.


Put all of this in the context of Sarah Palin's most recent idiocy -- and we are back to old-school backroom nonsense, made almost intolerable by this bright and shiny, now inane, now astute, new mouthpiece. She is paving the way for another detour from today's problems in order to reintroduce Jeremiah Wright, and -- undoubtedly -- Tony Rezko. God forbid she should address the economy in lieu of "associations" that have been explained and vetted ad nauseum.

Douglass K. Daniel goes beyond pointing out the blatant dishonesty of Palin's lowest-common-denominator approach and notes a frightening racial "subtext" in her golly-gosh-gee remarks:

Palin's words avoid repulsing voters with overt racism. But is there another subtext for creating the false image of a black presidential nominee "palling around" with terrorists while assuring a predominantly white audience that he doesn't see their America?

In a post-Sept. 11 America, terrorists are envisioned as dark-skinned radical Muslims, not the homegrown anarchists of Ayers' day 40 years ago. With Obama a relative unknown when he began his campaign, the Internet hummed with false e-mails about ties to radical Islam of a foreign-born candidate.

Whether intended or not by the McCain campaign, portraying Obama as "not like us" is another potential appeal to racism. It suggests that the Hawaiian-born Christian is, at heart, un-American.

The fact is that when racism creeps into the discussion, it serves a purpose for McCain. As the fallout from Wright's sermons showed earlier this year, forcing Obama to abandon issues to talk about race leads to unresolved arguments about America's promise to treat all people equally.

John McCain occasionally says he looks back on decisions with regret. He has apologized for opposing a holiday to honor Martin Luther King Jr. He has apologized for refusing to call for the removal of a Confederate flag from South Carolina's Capitol.

When the 2008 campaign is over will McCain say he regrets appeals such as Palin's?


I am sorely, sorely disappointed. This was supposed to be the election of all elections, wherein dialogue was to be on point, on policy, and all about respecting the intelligence of the American electorate. Instead we are left with inflammatory analogies that kill the intellectual rigor most had been hungrily anticipating for the presidential elections of 2008.

Barack Obama and William Ayers = John McCain and Charles H. Keating, Jr.

Wednesday, October 1, 2008

Keep the Faith



Every time I encounter a good blog entry about CRPS/RSD, I try to link to it -- and offer a huge "thank you" to the author, because such things are few and far between. This morning, my Medworm subscription hit upon the following:







over at Suture for a Living. The intro to this blog sketches the broad lines of this blogger's interests:




I am a plastic surgeon in Little Rock, AR. I may "suture for a living", but I "live to sew". When I can, I sew. These days most of my sewing is piecing quilts. I love the patterns and interplay of the fabric color. I would like to explore writing about medical/surgical topics as well as sewing/quilting topics. I will do my best to make sure both are represented accurately as I share with both colleagues and the general public.




Such a desire, such an approach, is appealing to me, especially, as most of my professional "specialty" deals/dealt with the interplay between the plastic and the written arts, and my interest peaks whenever I encounter a unifying vision of plural modes of representation.




Lord, how easy it is to lapse into Ivory Tower Speak (yet another of my foreign languages).




So, this morning I am grateful to the incredible technology that scans the world of electronic communications for things that are of interest to me, and possibly to me, alone. I am grateful for the chance to connect, however artificially, with someone of a completely different ilk who nonetheless has transected the thread of my thoughts... I don't get excited anymore about the likelihood of effecting any real progress in the diagnosis and treatment of CRPS/RSD through internet "publicity" -- I am too jaded, too much in pain, too depressed, too disabled.




I hate that word -- disabled.




Yesterday, after coming home from the weekly Infectious Disease appointment (the PICC line comes out next week! Hooray!), I was in bad shape. Riding in the car is difficult, and my pain level was hovering around 8 (grrrr -- what a useless thing, the pain scale). However, I had made noises the evening before about my firm conviction to clean the house a bit, and so, after finishing the first two infusions of the day, I gathered my weapons of war and began vacuuming.




Okay... I am used to Wheelchair Vacuuming, an Olympic endeavor, an Olympic sport. But now it is complicated by a useless right arm and a *&^%#@ hurting left shoulder. The nurse in the ID office had set off a flare of pain in my left hand because she had been unable to get any blood through the PICC line and had been forced to stick me several times in that hand. Not her fault, just an unfortunate thing when there are needle sticks in an area already involved with CRPS.




Given the circumstances, I chose to use the Power Chair Push-me-Pull-you technique -- basically accomplishing the task by combining the thrusts of the vacuum with the thrusts of my ruby-red chariot.




And somewhere between sucking up the huge pile of carpet cleaner that I had placed over Sammy's last deposit (please see: Potpourri -- Olla Podrida) and the gymnastics of getting into the nooks and crannies of the dining room, I went mental.




Poor Fred. When I go mental, I strive to share the warm and fuzzy experience with my beloved. Poor Fred.




Suddenly I was rolling myself in circles around the living room, sounding off about the state of the puked-upon carpet, about the total invasion of the cat creatures. (Of course, this problem only exists in one tiny part of Marlinspike Hall in the Tête de Hergé -- the rest of this opulent manor is spotless and petless, crucial since we house several museum quality painting and sculpture exhibits, as well as an extensive decorative art collection of baroque furniture -- mostly cabinets, commodes, and French stools.) Fred stretched out on the nearest chaise longue, steeling himself against volley upon volley of invective.




Let's just say this: Promises were made; Christmas gifts were agreed upon. And yes, the removal of carpet and the refinishing of the medieval stone and early 20th century wood floors were part of the negotiations. So it goes when I get mental.




I worked on for several hours, and ended up needing help getting into bed -- always a depressing thing, not to be able to do even that. Plus, I left some of the cleaning undone.


Anyway, my hope was that a bit of rest would conquer the pain and difficulty moving, so that I could redeem myself by being a fun partner for the remainder of the day. Instead, Fred ended up having to nuke a frozen dinner for me (losing points), cut up the pale but purportedly "blackened" slab of purported chicken (winning back what he had lost), and take on the feline's evening meal, as well. Poor Fred. Yes, it is a refrain, and one you may as well learn.




When my acronyms are under control -- from the SLE to the AVN, passing by the AI, and back to the CRPS/RSD -- I defy the meaning and intent of the label disabled. Doing anything without assistance and in my own time is wondrous. That life has been unavailable to me since late last year. Everytime I try to pretend this is not so? I pay, and everyone who loves me pays.




So sometimes the best I can do is celebrate the stray blog that -- in the best of all possible worlds -- might make a difference. Thank goodness for this quilting, sewing, needle-wielding plastic surgeon who decided to disseminate some information about one of the more obscure neurological disorders in existence! Somewhere there is a woman who will be able to joyously and painlessly vacuum her living room, who will pirouette as she cleans the toilet, who will dash from one satisfying professional experience to another, from one colloquium in the Rainbow-Ribboned Multicultural Center to the next in Stuffy Whosits Library.




I just gotta keep the faith.




Ar!