Les 23 heures de la BD

Fred, Bianca, and I are great fans of Comic sTRIPs (bandes dessinées / BD). One of the bloggers I enjoy, Wayne: Bière, BD et Maladies Mentales , is participating in the contest "23 hours of Comic sTRIPs." You can track his progress here. At the time of this posting, he is about half way through, but he has issued a seriously disturbing assessment of his work:

"Je commence à sérieusement sentir le caca..." (He's really starting to smell the... the caca... or, more elegantly: This shit is starting to get to me.)

Here are this year's guidelines:
Thème : Personnalités multiples (Multiple personalities)

Cet événement consiste à fournir 22 planches de bd, sur un thème imposé par Foolstrip, avec une couverture et un dos de couverture (donc 24 planches pour ceux qui suivent). Ce challenge aura lieu entre le samedi 28 mars et le dimanche 29 mars, de 13 heures à 13 heures.
Et là certains diront « Ah ouais mais c'est comme les 24 heures de la bd à Angoulême, eh ! Bande de copieurs ! Plagistes ! » Oui mais non, les plus malins auront remarqué que cet événement se déroule pendant le changement d'heure ! Il faut donc faire les 24 planches de bd en 23 heures ! Parce que quand même, 24 heures pour faire 24 planches, c'est un peu pour les fillettes quand même, nous on rigole pas nous !

62 fous ont relevé le défi l'année dernière, ce qui a donné 1161 pages de bd en 23 heures. Cette journée mémorable a réuni 24000 visiteurs uniques, dont plus de 6500 en deux jours, avec pas moins de 71000 pages vues, dont 35000 pendant le marathon !

Les productions de l'année dernière sont encore accessibles et téléchargeables en pdf sur les23hdelabandedessinee.20six.fr (see last year's BDs).

Fingernails on the Chalkboard

It boggles my blogging mind!

In an effort to find out how Laura Beckett was doing -- the woman who was "trapped" in Germany after contracting pneumonia and systemic MRSA infections on the second day of a week-long ketamine coma designed to treat her CRPS -- I started looking around various CRPS/pain forums. It's always disruptive to me to read the commentary of ordinary people. It scares me to death.

In an intellectually challenging discussion of the ketamine coma trials and protocols, Dylsierra writes, using a great big font and with a cute bunny and an adorable bear:

"HI Michelle,
I agree with you and Jojo!
I think that Jojo is soo right when she says that [the ketamine coma treatment] is not approved here for a reason. What the reason is, well, i don't know but it is something!!!"***

The response to Dylsierra's on-the-road-to-Damascus insight? Read on, McDuff:

"Very True!! Very good point!"

Oh, God, take me now.

These groups are everywhere and are as promiscuous in The Willies they inspire. I used to believe that GroupThink was something to fear. And then I found its opposite, and The Truth set me free.

***The reason? The FDA does not recognize coma treatments that go beyond 3 days, and the ketamine coma requires 5-7 days for effective dosing. The agency HAS approved "awake" (subanesthetic) ketamine infusions but these have proven much less successful than the full course of coma therapy, followed by "boosters." Whether or not Mrs. Beckett's complications have caused a change in the work in Saarbrucken, I don't know. I tend to hope not, since complications from MRSA are not necessarily an indication of poor standards or more risk than one would have in any ICU the world over. Some apparently unbalanced people have written that Beckett died subsequent to her return to New Jersey -- I can find no proof of it, and these folk seemed to have an agenda that included shutting down this promising avenue of research, as well as denigrating Dr. Schwartzman and Dr. Kirkpatrick, personally and professionally.

I also cannot find any more information about the tragic death of Andrea Lynn Gianopoulos, who was to undergo her *second* ketamine coma, this time in Monterrey, Mexico.

My neurologist, a great fellow, almost begged me to not participate in online CRPS "support groups." That is like telling a toddler not to put a bean up his nose -- but it proved to be excellent advice.

Bianca left this note on the kitchen laptop...Haddock is at Bongi's!

Mes copains -- mais où est-ce que vous êtes, donc?! Hmmm, quand je vous ai quittés ce matin, vous étiez en train de laver les beaux murs en marbre de l'aile nord-ouest du manoir... Mais on n'a pas le temps maintenant d'aller vous chercher!

J'ai travaillé très dur aujourd'hui, mais personne n'apprécie mes pénibles efforts. Vous souvenez-vous de toutes les éclaboussures de peinture sur les oeuvres de Jackson Pollock -- dans la Salle de l'Art Moderne? Le capitaine et moi, nous avons fait un pique-nique romantique là-bas un samedi soir -- pendant un orage terrible. Oh, son épaisse barbe virile! Je lui ai enlevé cet abominable chapeau de marin... Nous avons bu quelques verres de whisky... Oui, j'aime l'art moderne. Je l'aime beaucoup... Je m'en souviens bien... Je portais une jolie robe rouge vif avec une ceinture de cuir verni noir.

Il commence à faire très chaud dans cette cuisine -- vous trouvez?

Mais, je divague un peu... J'ai facilement nettoyé tous ces gobs de peinture à l'huile en utilisant le Windex! Il reste encore une peinture à subir mon traitement original -- demain, ou le surlendemain (beaucoup mieux). Peut-être. Ce petit changement subtil a complètement transformé cette galerie d'art -- qui savait que Pollock préfère le calme dans un espace presque vide?

Ah! Je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir!

Mais imaginez ce que je viens de découvrir!

Je sais, sans aucun doute, que Le Capitaine Hadrock, er... StopWatch... Attendez! Il me faut une petite bouffée d'air...

Eh bien. Voilà! Ne vous inquiétez pas du tout -- je me porte infiniment mieux maintenant. Comme vous savez, j'ai un toux chronique -- en tant qu'artiste, il me faut faire attention à la santé -- Ma voix est mon instrument, comme on dit!

Mais je divague un peu...

J'ai trouvé notre beau et gracieux propriétaire!

Le Capitaine, et Notre Grand Ami, Archibald Haddock -- il rend visite en ce moment exacte à un chirurgien`sud-africain assez connu -- Bongi!

Alors, nous n'avons pas du tout besoin de nous TUER dans cet effort de nettoyer ce manoir, tenu si longtemps dans sa famille tellement sacrée! On peut prendre une pause... pendant une ou trois semaines?

Regardez la preuve de ma connaissance: une jolie photo du capitaine chez cet excellent Bongi -- qui est, je commence à comprendre, quelqu'un qui apprécie les bonnes petites choses de la vie.

Et, apparemment, il aime jurer pendant qu'il fait ses opérations, afin de faire dissiper le stress...

Il doit beaucoup apprécier, donc, ce qu'on appelle "le doux babil" de notre capitaine! C'est assez rare de rencontrer des gens qui comprennent la différence entre les insultes, les injures, et les jurons!

Parce que nous sommes maintenant, et pour les trois ou quatre semaines à venir, en vacances, je vais en ville afin de m'amuser et comme récompense de tout mon travail pénible. Ne m'attendez pas ce soir! Leave the drawbridge down!

La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore

********************************************************************************************************
Retired Educator, here --

I'm too tired to translate this, myself, so I have plugged it into one of those online translater programs. Hysterically inaccurate, but the gist comes through. Too bad the Pollock "gobs" don't have the same characteristic...

Here goes:

My friends - but where do you then?! Hmmm, when I've left this morning, you were in the process of washing the beautiful marble walls of the north-west wing of the mansion ... But we have no time now to pick you up!

I worked very hard today, but does my hard efforts. Do you remember all the splashes of paint on the works of Jackson Pollock - in the Hall of Modern Art? The captain and me, we made a romantic picnic there on a Saturday evening - during a terrible storm. Oh, his thick manly beard! I have removed this abominable sailor hat ... We drank a few glasses of whiskey ... Yes, I like modern art. I like it very much ... I remember it well ... I wore a pretty red dress with a belt of black patent leather.

He began to be very hot in this kitchen - you find?

But I ramble a bit ... I easily cleaned all these gobs oil painting using the Windex! There is still one painting to undergo my treatment original - tomorrow, or two (much better). Maybe. This small subtle change has completely transformed this gallery of art - who knew Pollock preferred the calm of a nearly empty space?

Ah! Je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir...

But imagine what I just discovered!

I know, undoubtedly, that Captain Hadrock, er ... StopWatch ... Wait! I need a small breath of air ...

Well. Voilà! Do not worry at all - I'm doing much better now. As you know, I have a chronic cough - as an artist, I need to pay attention to health - My voice is my instrument, as they say!

But I ramble a bit ...

I found this great and gracious owner!

Captain, and our great friend, Archibald Haddock - he visits at this time to exact a surgeon `South African enough known Bongi!

So we do not need to kill us in this effort to clean this house held so long in his family so sacred! You can take a break ... for one or three weeks?

Look at the evidence of my knowledge: a nice photo of the master in this excellent Bongi - which is, I begin to understand, someone who appreciates the good things of life.

And, apparently, he likes to swear that he made during its operations, to eliminate the stress ...

It owes much to appreciate, therefore, the so-called "soft babbling" of our master! It's quite rare to meet people who understand the difference between verbal abuse, insults and swear words!

Because we are now, and for three or four weeks, on vacation, I go to town to have fun and as a reward for all my hard work. Was not expecting this evening! Leave the drawbridge down!

The Good, The Beautiful Bianca Castafiore

There Are Worse Things

Ah, the acrid pineapple-y smell of cat pee emanating from my favorite quilt. The pineapple-y-ness of it is peculiar to Sam-I-Am, the eldest cat of The Feline Triumvirate.

Yep, that's him in the photo on the left. He was trying to stare the camera down that day.

He's had a rough week and I hope this most recent attack on my quilt is a territory issue and not the return of his kidney disease. He is nestled next to me now -- but he does not look quite right.

His nose is wet. Not too wet. Just the right amount of wet. He's not dehydrated.

He lets my hands gently probe his body, though he is giving me warning glances, and one love bite. The next bite may not be so kind.

We worry, as we spring clean The Manor, that perhaps he got into some of the chemicals necessary to the endeavor. Degreasers. Sealants. Various forms of detergent, waxes, paint, lacquers.

But he's a very smart cat and I don't think he will ingest anything he doesn't recognize, although in a period of intoxication, who knows? And I admit to dosing all three cats with the new kick-ass Cosmic Catnip that Fred picked up at the Tête de Hergé Pet-O-Rama. He had a 10% off coupon but doesn't use it to buy cat FOOD, no! The Fredster gets kitty marijuana.

Anyway -- background, you need background. Little Boy, who is Marmy's brother, showed up on the drawbridge as I was doing its annual weather- and water- proofing. He looked horrible -- an absolutely filthy long-hair with some bare patches and a wound on his left rear leg. Little Boy was walking gingerly. Like the rest of his relatives, he's a talkative guy and we had a nice chat.

He has the biggest balls I've ever seen. On a cat.

Really prominent.

Fred befriended Marmy and Little Boy two years ago, back when Sammy ruled the roost. It was a very cold Spring and the two of them were miserable and homeless. Sammy, of course, has been neutered and the prospect of bringing in an non-neutered male to live with this already neurotic feline was not appealing. Besides, Marmy's belly almost touched the ground, and she was sway-backed and frustrated to no end -- so very pregnant. So we brought her into Marlinspike Hall to live and have her litter, but remained committed to feeding Little Boy and generally looking out for him and his big balls.

Marmy proved to be essentially, fundamentally psychotic. The psychodynamics of The Manor were complex.

Sam-I-Am was so afraid of her that we had to *carry* him past her to the gilt litter box. And back again -- he refused to come out of our suite. As the weeks went by, her reign became more and more imperious and, possibly -- though it pains me to admit it -- Socialist.

After an interminable wait, she had five kittens: Pretty Girl, Pretty Boy, Mascara, Speckle-Belly-White-Foot, and The Runt (who became Dobby, Our Little Idiot).

Actually, she had four. Fred delivered The Runt, Dobby -- she had completely lost interest in pushing out the last one. The whole affair seemed to bore her to tears.

Outside of my own human biological mother, I have never encountered a creature with less maternal instinct. Of course, Marmy was only eight months old, herself. Babies having babies... the scourge of our society.

She would do things like stand up and walk away while the five kittens were latched on to her, busily nursing. As she walked, they would drop off of her, one by one -- their eyes weren't even open. We found poor mewling babies everywhere, with no Marmy in sight.

She would hiss at them (this was before she perfected her *ack*-*ack*-*ack* technique).

Anyway -- about that time, Little Boy up and disappeared. I wasn't worried but Fred had major guilt at having taken in his sister and leaving the big balled guy to fend for himself. From then on, we only had sporadic visits.

So, Monday, he is back and looks awful. We have fed and watered him every day, and I believe he is recovering somewhat. It is clear that he values a relationship with Fred that goes beyond food -- they sit and talk to each other late into the night. We have some antibiotics that were prescribed for his sibling at some point, but are holding off giving them. I am not sure he would take kindly to being given a pill.

Then, Sammy began his Dark Days of the Soul. He howls at the windows -- yes, cats can howl. Hyena-esque. Also growl -- which is what he did all night last night. The scent of Little Boy is driving him nuts, poor thing.

He is pissing inappropriately. On. My. Stuff. Apparently, he owns me.

There are worse things.

This evening, Sammy failed to do his Dinner Routine, and this is a cat that places a high degree of currency on things like "Liver and Bacon" and "Ocean Whitefish." He campaigns for his dinner starting at 5 pm, usually, and we relent at about 6:30. Tonight, he didn't budge from the warmth of MY pillow. Most nights, he picks out the can he wants -- it's hilarious! Tonight, he walked away from me, who had food in hand. His gait was stiff and he just didn't look right.

But he downed all the food (Marmy and Dobby eat in the kitchen) and I stopped worrying. Until I saw the tell-tale Assumption of the Position -- known by cat-worshipers as The Assumpsiation.

That makes two days in a row that he has relieved himself on that wonderful quilt. The whole while, he fixes me in a frightening stare. I feel like crying out: I get it, I get it! There is another boy here and he's scaring you and you don't see me doing a blessed thing to help you out! I get it and I promise to do better, my old friend!

Now, though, I am so worried about him that there was no fussing. Instead, I've wrapped him in a soft throw, stroked his beautiful grey head, and he has drifted off. I cannot explain what is wrong -- I "just know" that we are in for a scare. He gets pretty ill with this kidney crystal thing about every two years. We have nursed him back to good health at least a half dozen times (under the guidance of our dear vet).

Only now, his physical discomfort has psychic dimensions, psychic symptoms, and he doesn't understand what's going on. His eyes tell me that if I would just ban Little Boy from The Grounds, he would be fine again.

I'm gonna go start the washing machine -- so he'll have something clean to desecrate later.

He is My Good Buddy. He is Fred's Poopy-Head. He is a crazy kitten when with Dobby, and he and Marmy have developed a deep respect for one another.

When I am feeling poorly, he stays by me. He tends to listen when no one else will. He craves love and I love to love him. I don't care about his few episodes of confusion about his sexual orientation.

I don't care if I am a Cat Lady. Again, there are worse things.

*******************************************************************************************

Update: Sam-I-Am seems to be back to his perky self today. Absolutely fine. Laughing and winking at me, even.

Cat 1, Cat Lady 0.

v.i.l.l.a.n.o.v.a.

I'll get the lights.

I am not sure what exactly Duke intended tonight. After the first five breezy points, I thought they'd settle down, and their defense appeared to be stepping up... They just forgot their offense.

And not to knock Coach K, but I'd have called a few more timeouts early on. And if the three-pointers aren't flowing organically, and they weren't, don't force 'em! Get physical, get inside.

Sigh. This is the sixth year in a row that they've gone down to a lower-seeded team.

Villanova looked great, moved well, very nice. Wonderfully mobile. One of Duke's stranger abilities of late is that of disrupting the rhythm of the game. They got caught in their own trap tonight, while Villanova was absolutely syncopated...

My bracket being torn to shreds, then, I commit to a final four with Louisville, UConn, Villanova, and UNC-CH. My professorial Brother-Unit informs me that my support for Villanova is mandated from this point on...

My Brother-Unit the Bookie? Haven't heard a peep from him. This is a busy time in gambling circles.

G'night, Cameron Crazies, wherever you may be.

WARNING: Irrational, But Necessary, Vent

There is no way around it.

Yesterday, Wednesday, I sat, absolutely transfixed, and watched an encore presentation of the Duke/Texas game from last Saturday.

Only I did not recognize it as something I had already (and pretty intently, too) watched -- until that flagrant foul at about the 5 minute mark in the second half repeated itself.

"Odd," thought I. "Strange. This same foul happened at about this same time... Oh!"

Yes, this is The Retired Educator's version of light bulb moments. Other people have sudden revelations about God, Science, Right, Wrong, Fashion, Politics, Morality, and, above all, Good Eats. Me? It's more along the lines of Pitiable Déjà Vu.

Correctional light bulb moments. Orthopedic light bulb moments.

About four days after we had to stop the Daptomycin due to increased pain and sky high CPK, my fevers settled back into their daily routine. Afternoon misery, evening exhaustion, limited 2-hour spurts of sleep, sweats.

Pain. The right shoulder is doing well, I think. There is a little squish and kerplunking these past few days, that's all. The left, which still has the spacer, hurts a lot. As in "a lot." Also, both knees, the left hip. Funny that of all my operated joints, the first one done remains intact and painless -- the right hip replacement.

I saw The Boutiqueur last Thursday, had the bloodwork done that Infectious Disease Man wanted. The results scream infection. Again.

I haven't breathed one word about the knees and left hip, and only just realized why a few hours ago -- on the ride home from Dr. PainDude's office.

This is embarrassing.

I have become very trusting of the orthopedic surgeon who has pulled me through the last four surgeries -- I honestly believe the man (and his team) has saved my life several times now. He specializes in shoulders.

As in: He does not do knees. He does not do hips. He does shoulders. Only. Sure, I bet he could successfully operate on any bone/joint but this is how the orthopedic game of super-specialization is played.

And I've become such an emotional and mental weakling that I cannot see starting this difficult process over again with one of his partners.

It seems to me that this would be a good time to repeat the scans that we did last summer -- the bone scan and the gallium scan. Because maybe I am wrong about the knees and hip. Of course, I haven't been wrong yet -- there where the pain is very bad, there has been, well, beaucoup pus. (Sorry) And *something* is infected (in a form that cannot be reached by i.v. antibiotics!).

The kicker in this complicated situtation? Infectious Disease Guy and OrthoMan both have ordered, between them, four different joint aspirations into what we later found were very infected joints. WHATEVER PATHOGEN IS INVOLVED HAS NOT GROWN IN THE LAB. In each of the four most recent surgeries, extensive sampling was done. Admittedly, in the first surgery, at the tail end of August, SumDood kind of bungled the microbiology -- the samples were left overnight in the Operating Theatre. But since then, there have been biopsies and cultures galore... and WHATEVER PATHOGEN IS INVOLVED HAS NOT GROWN IN THE LAB. I have had to be in isolation with each hospitalization due to testing positive for MRSA in My Sweet Nares and one Beloved Armpit, and have taken to bathing in caustic hot pink Hibiclens and snorting antibiotic ointment. I know! Very sexy!

I have had 3 six-week courses of i.v. vancomycin, plus 2 six-week i.v. courses with sumpthin' I cannot remember, and this latest effort with i.v. daptomycin -- which only lasted about 10 days.

When I confessed to Extreme Fatigue chez Le Boutiqueur, he said the infection is just sapping me, and the daily fevers are keeping me dehydrated and defunkified (he thinks that is behind the sudden hypotension when I stand up... and pass out). Some of my electrolytes came back skewed -- who knows? I only know that if I have to be such a limp noodle, I ought to be gifted with some good sleep to go with.

So, class, let's summarize.

Two hours sleep per night. (Not entirely true. I am having some good nights, interspersed.)
Temp of 100.9.
WBC around 14,000 with funky shifts involving the neutrophils and stuff... (absolute neutrophils are at 11425)
C-RP 3.9 -- which apparently sucks rocks.
Alkaline Phosphatase 145 (My understanding is that this is indicative of nothing in particular...)
GREAT NEWS -- CPK is now normal. Par-Tay!
Fatigue and pain out the WhaZoo (alt. spelling)
Blood glucose out of control -- well, over 200, and that was fasting. Boutiqueur says it may well be the infection causing that.

We have yanked out both shoulder prostheses -- the left had been replaced in 2002, the right in 2005. The left never had much of a chance for success. The right was a great job from the get-go. That old get-go! When OrthoMan opened up the right side (he had done the replacement in 2005), there were four huge abscesses, and I didn't do particularly well -- so he stopped at mid-point and put me in ICU on a vent for 4 days, then went back in and finished. A Twofer. Then last month, he removed the spacer and put in a total shoulder prosthesis.

When he operated on the left side, initially he thought it looked great. Before closing, he decided to bore a little into the humerus underneath the prosthesis post, and, in his words, "it exploded." So, at that point, I graduated from yer olde ordinary prosthetic joints infections to "osteomyelitis."

I go back to OrthoMan next week, April 1, and we are to discuss what to do next.

I don't think I can bear bringing up these new problems. Him, I trust. And his colleague who reconstructed my elbow in 2007, I trust him, too. The quality of their work as surgeons is wonderful, and the quality of their "doctoring" is also. They have to keep a look out for problems with adrenal failure, lupus flares, CRPS/RSD -- and I have to say, they have been great about *trying* to prevent CRPS spread. It has spread but I do believe their efforts have kept it from being much worse.

Oh, hell. If I vent and kvetch and bitch and moan and get it all out before I see him, maybe my brain function and ability to trust will have returned.

Fred just told me to depend on him, that he will make sure that I am ensconced in the big bed with him and My Buddy, La Bonne et Belle Bianca -- with popcorn and various Belgian patisseries, and some bonbons on Manager's Special -- at precisely 3:12 AM -- that's when T.V. Tête de Hergé will carry Duke's trouncing of Villanova.

Live, at Marlinspike Hall!

So good luck to Duke and to Carolina, too. Villanova and Gonzaga will make sure these are closely contested matches. A lot of good it'll do them, Harumph!

Albany Reaches Deal to Repeal ’70s-Era Drug Laws

This is good news. Rational news. News of compassion, logic, and, one hopes, a sufficient measure of thriftiness.

Perhaps this will encourage other states to at least revisit, if not repeal, mandatory sentencing for "first time non-violent" drug offenders. By automatically imprisoning these men and women for predetermined and unconscionably long sentences, their lives are lost and wasted -- with all the attendant ripples of the pool, the collateral damage of families torn apart.

Non-violent going in; God knows how violent and schooled-in-criminality coming out.

The weight and type of drug should not determine judicial outcome.

I remember listening to an old white man explain that there is no difference between powder cocaine and crack. Justice is not just blind. Her scales are broken.

I don't know how I feel about the many other parameters that come into play, particularly weapons and crimes committed in order to be able to afford the drugs. You are probably shocked to learn that I believe these decisions are best made by judges, not me: case-by-case, individual story upon addiction epic. Always remember, and never forget: You can't legislate Stupid.

The "kingpins," according to Families Against Mandatory Minimums (FAMM), have tended to escape the stringent mandatory sentences -- due, in part, to their ability to make valuable deals with the prosecution by trading information. Also, I'd wager (again, if only I knew a good bookie), due to their ability to afford high-end lawyering.

The disproportionate use of mandatory sentencing of people of color makes this good liberal knee-jerker very attentive and nervous. FAMM provides these disturbing statistics based on numbers from six years ago -- after I get another cup of coffee and wake up a bit, I'll try to update the figures:

People of color serve more mandatory sentences. African Americans account for 13 percent of the general population, yet in 2003 they comprised 27.2 percent of those receiving federal mandatory drug sentences. Hispanics constituted 12.5 percent of the general population but received 43 percent of the drug mandatory sentences. (U.S. Sentencing Commission Sourcebook, 2003; U.S. Census Bureau)

Those of you who believe that these drug laws help deter... it just is not so. Things turn out to be pretty simple: In 23 of 26 states with data available, the connection between drug commitment rates to prison and the percent of those using drugs is associated - states with higher rates of drug incarceration have higher rates of drug use. (Poor Prescription: The Costs of Imprisoning Drug Offenders in the United States, Justice Policy Institute, 2000)

Want a better argument? I like this one! I hope you like it, too!

Some 76 percent of the offenders in the sample of a recent study and 89 percent of the most violent offenders were not aware of either the possibility of apprehension or the probable punishments for their crimes. ("The Deterrence Hypothesis and Picking Pockets at the Pickpocket's Hanging," by David A. Anderson, American Law and Economics Review, Fall 2002)

In other words: Ignorance of the law is not only "no excuse," it is also "no deterrent"! Hey, I am thinking of doing a needlepoint pillow. In my living room colors.

Over the years, I have heard divergent numbers about the cost effectiveness of X versus Y, and, frankly, my head is ready to burst over the bazillion bazoodles necessary for bailouts, and the tramidgeons of dollars of the national debt. In other words, I've no idea whether the figures FAMM and others cite are based in reality. I'm rapidly becoming a Luddite; If I cannot count the figure on my fingers, it just doesn't add up.

The other argument commonly elaborated? Public support. As in: Public support for mandatory drug laws has waned. Only 38 percent support mandatory sentencing laws, down from 55 percent in 1995. (Peter D. Hart Research, 2002) Puh-leeze. Stick with the arguments that matter and make sense. My trust in norteamericanos waxes and wanes according to my own political expediencies. I'm just sayin'. (I am at least consistent. I react the same way to arguments of "public support" concerning the application of the death penalty. Flights of human fancy have no place in the debate. Why not murder sanctioned by Gallup Poll? The death penalty legal and supported one inch over the Minnesotan border into Illinois -- How can such a thing be right? Incredibly, the Supreme Court proffers this argument -- at least once every 10 years or so.)

So... here's the deal about what is happening in New York:


ALBANY — Gov. David A. Paterson and New York legislative leaders have reached an agreement to dismantle much of what remains of the state’s strict 1970s-era drug laws, once among the toughest in the nation.

The deal would repeal many of the mandatory minimum prison sentences now in place for lower-level drug felons, giving judges the authority to send first-time nonviolent offenders to treatment instead of prison.

The plan would also expand drug treatment programs and widen the reach of drug courts at a cost of at least $50 million.

New York’s drug sentencing laws, imposed during a heroin epidemic that was devastating urban areas nearly four decades ago, helped spur a nationwide trend toward mandatory sentences in drug crimes. But as many other states moved to roll back the mandatory minimum sentences in recent years, New York kept its laws on the books, leaving prosecutors with the sole discretion of whether offenders could be sent to treatment.

“We’re putting judges in the position to determine sentences based on the facts of a case, and not on mandatory minimum sentences,” said Jeffrion L. Aubry, an assemblyman from Queens who has led the effort for repeal.

“To me, that is the restoration of justice.”

The agreement, which requires approval in the Assembly and the Senate, would allow some drug offenders who are currently in prison to apply to have their sentences commuted. It was not clear on Wednesday how many current prisoners would be eligible to apply. Mr. Paterson has pushed to have fewer prisoners than legislative leaders would prefer.

While a few points, like a resentencing provision and the amount the state is willing to spend on the plan, were still being negotiated late Wednesday, lawmakers said they were on track to wipe out the central elements of laws that have been criticized for decades as overly punitive and disproportionately harmful to minorities.

The laws, passed in 1973, are commonly known as the Rockefeller drug laws because they were championed by Gov. Nelson A. Rockefeller in what was considered a bold response to the sharp rise in heroin use and property crimes among young people.

A spokeswoman for Mr. Paterson, Marissa Shorenstein, said reaching the deal, which she stressed was still being forged, was a personal victory for the governor, who has made drug law reform a priority of his administration. When he was a state senator, Mr. Paterson was arrested in 2002 at a demonstration outside Gov. George E. Pataki’s Midtown Manhattan office protesting the drug laws.

The reforms, Ms. Shorenstein said, “reflect the governor’s core principle to focus on treatment rather than punishment to end the cycle of addiction.”

Under the plan, judges would have the authority to send first-time nonviolent offenders in all but the most serious drug offenses — known as A-level drug felonies — to treatment. As a condition of being sent to treatment, offenders would have to plead guilty. If they did not successfully complete treatment, their case would go back before a judge, who would again have the option of imposing a prison sentence.

Currently, judges are bound by a sentencing structure that requires minimum sentences of one year for possessing small amounts of cocaine or heroin, for example. Under the agreement reached by the governor and lawmakers, a judge could order treatment for those offenders.

Judges would also have the option of sending some repeat drug offenders to treatment. Repeat offenders accused of more serious drug crimes, however, could only go to treatment if they were found to be drug-dependent in an evaluation.

District attorneys have resisted an overhaul of the state’s drug sentencing laws, arguing that the system in place has led to lower drug crime rates and allowed more drug criminals to enter treatment.

“The prison population is going down and public safety has improved, and I’d hate to do anything that would upset either of those trends,” said Michael C. Green, the district attorney of Monroe County, which includes Rochester. “No one knows for sure, but logic seems to dictate that is certainly one of the possibilities.”

In 2004, the state eliminated the life sentences some drug crimes carried as a maximum punishment and reduced the length of other drug sentences. But advocates said those changes did not go nearly far enough because they left judges bound to mandatory sentencing.

Since then, the Assembly, which is dominated by Democrats, has routinely passed legislation that repealed mandatory minimum sentences for many drug crimes. But the bills always failed to get past the Senate, which was controlled by Republicans until January.

Passing drug law revisions would give Senate Democrats a significant legislative victory at a time when Republicans are hammering them, saying they are disorganized and ineffective.

Senator Eric T. Schneiderman, a Manhattan Democrat who has led the effort in the Senate to overhaul the drug statutes, said he was confident he had support in the Senate to pass the plan.

“It’s no secret the Senate’s old majority was the primary barrier to reforming our drug laws,” he said. “But this is one of the reasons we fought so hard to take the majority. This is what our supporters have expected us to do.”

The deal comes as the state is facing a $16 billion budget deficit for the coming fiscal year. And finding the money needed to pay for drug addiction programs, which could reach near $80 million, will prove difficult, those involved in the negotiations said.

But in the long run, the changes are expected to save money because sending offenders to treatment is less expensive than spending $45,000 a year to keep them confined.

New York already has one of the most extensive drug-treatment networks in the country. Drug policy experts said that with the proposed changes in the law, the state could have the sentencing policy it needs to fully utilize those treatment programs.

“New York could actually become a national leader,” said Gabriel Sayegh of the Drug Policy Alliance, a national group that urges relaxation of certain drug sentencing laws. “We’re going in a public health direction here. We’re making that turn, and that’s what’s significant.”

Revisiting Dr. Reuben's Wild Ride

I had a few free moments in between waterproofing the drawbridge and tucking in some rock-loving plants around the moat edge (This year? Mersea Yellow, Creeping Penstemon and three different varieties of Creeping Phlox), and so I idly checked in on the state of the Scott Reuben, MD -- that's DOCTOR to you -- Affair.

So how did this simply marvelous traditional Belgian cocktail get into my hands?

[Ever solicitous of My Dear Reader, should you wish an orgasm of your own, screaming or otherwise, use equal parts Baileys, Kahlua, and Amaretto -- then double up on the Cointreau -- shake with crushed ice. Some add a few cubes of ice to the glass -- moi? No. To each one's own Screaming Orgasm.]

Ah, well, it is here, so I'll drink it.

Scott. Reuben. He is actually being *defended* in the comment sections of some blogs and news articles. His apologists are sad creatures.

Keep in mind he isn't a person off the street he's a DOCTOR and has many years of service and experience...

There's no need to unpack that ringing endorsement, is there? It's a Teflon Profession, although change is in the air.

It is tragic the lengths medical professionals will go to to continue receiving funding from big pharmaceutical companies. This story demonstrates the corruption in the medical community which stems from pharmaceutical companies having too much influence and political power. Of course it was the unethical practice of Dr. Reuben that is featured in this story, but he is just a symptom of a much larger problem - not that I am excusing his behavior in any way.

The number one cause of Exploding Hemorrhoids? Straddling fences and crotch-flossing. Way too many people -- the majority of them "professionals," some even DOCTORS -- are quick to pull out the Big Pharma Stick and shakeshakeshake it all around. This stick, according to my numerous studies, emits powerful pixie dust that addles the brains of non-DOCTORS, causing them to forget the Natural Laws of Agency -- you know, like: The Man lied to his wife. Who lied to the Little Woman? Not The Man, no, not really. It was The Boss of the Man-who-lied-to-his-wife who encouraged, and funded, with the United States' preferred currencies of dollars and renown, an atmosphere of near-complete moral relativity. The Man really did NOT lie to his wife -- see?

I can just hear Captain Haddock now: Miserable blundering barbequed blisters! Scoffing braggarts! Squawking popinjays!

There is a blog -- Fibromyalgia Haven -- that caught my attention in the long line of Scott Reuben by-products. She makes an insightful comparison between Fibromyalgia Schtuff and Dr. Kellog''s doings, as fictionalized (hardly by much, I'd wager... if only I knew a good bookie) by T.C. Boyle's The Road to Wellville.

In The Road to Wellville, T.C. Boyle shines a bright and comical light on commercialism in the healthcare industry. It is a fact, and it is nothing new. Every time I see a commercial for the new Fibromyalgia wonder drug, Lyrica, I wince. Not because of the drug itself, but because now that Fibromyalgia is becoming an accepted and recognized disorder, it will also become a profitable disorder. More and more drug companies will be coming out with prescription drugs to TREAT Fibromyalgia, but not to CURE Fibromyalgia. Why would they want to find a cure, when the alternative is so much more lucrative?

Where is my Screaming Orgasm? Oh, ah. Okay. I am fed up with people not understanding the basics of the disease process with which they are dealing. {sip, sip, gulp} Surely it is not that difficult to understand the difficulties of treating s.y.n.d.r.o.m.e.s? How hard is it to get that talking about silver bullet cures in such instances is a clear sign of idiocy -- or early onset dementia, if you need a DOCTOR'S note. {slurp}

I wince at those commercials, too. Particularly because there is an apparent need for them to begin with some apparently well-off, late-middle-aged, thin, white woman saying: "My fibromyalgia pain is real." That is just... weird.

Anyway, Fibrohaven, the blog owner, apparently has it in for Big Pharma. Big Pharma is keeping her down on the farm, barefoot, in pain, and pregnant. No, wait. That ain't right. Well, you get my drift.

I believe fibromyalgia, as a collection of symptoms, exists. I do not believe it is a disease, per se.
The syndrome causes such frustration for apparently well-off, late-middle-aged, thin, white women who are kept down on the farm, barefoot, in pain, and pregnant, that The Bogey Man seems to be crouched down in every corner. It's the Baptism by Fire of every Disease du Jour, and will remain that way until science catches up with experience, and the Fucked-Up Ones decide to move on to another poorly treated disorder, leaving behind the true sufferers, who, we will discover, can be found in almost any demographic. God bless them for hanging in.

Fibrohaven is spot on, though, about Money As Prime Mover, as that which drives research. Which, thankfully, brings me back to Scott Reuben.

Dear SparklesLori-the-Deluded. She was one of his patients at the Pain Center at Baystate Medical Center, and she is determined to worship her DOCTORS, because her DOCTORS love and care for her, and they do it gently. Bless her ignorant and needy self.

I do know that new drugs are not passed by FDA without a certain amount of research on so many people. I do know him and he was my Dr. for many years. Those people that know him and had him as Dr. can all say the same thing, you can't find a more gentle, caring, concerned Dr. as Scott Reuben. If all he did was altar names on charts then that's not so bad. Keep in mind the HIPA law.

I cannot remember (thank you, Screaming Orgasm!) who said it -- maybe it was SparklesLori, though I think not -- but someone said that perhaps Reuben's error was not so much the pure invention of research, research protocols, research subjects and clinical trial results -- no way! Rather, he did what he did because he possessed the knowledge of what was right and true, and simply took the shortest route to share His Rectitude with the World of Drugs and Doctoring.

It boggles the mind. Well, that and the Screaming Orgasm.

I haven't had a new thought on the Scott Reuben Affair beyond this: Why is he not under arrest? The comparison with Bernie Madoff -- frequently being made -- is quite appropriate, at least judging by the amount of acid in my stomach. I could not fathom why Mr. Madoff was walking around free. I also cannot fathom why no one even suggests that Dr. Reuben has committed criminal offenses. I keep running into this comment: "They should take his license away!"

That would be a start.