Saturday, October 23, 2010

Virginia's Gaffe

Well, she certainly got one thing right:  She doesn't "look good in this."

That's one, and I would wager, the primary, reason given by Lillian McEwen for maintaining her silence about the sexist proclivities of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas.

Because her relationship at the time of the 1991 confirmation hearings was deemed private and not professional, her testimony was not sought -- not even to sop up the aftermath of soupy defensive declamations such as:
If I used that kind of grotesque language with one person, it would seem to me that there would be traces of it throughout the employees who worked closely with me, or the other individuals who heard bits and pieces of it or various levels of it.

Well, Clarence, when you are right, you're right.

I don't know, but I definitely do care, how you and yours silenced the Marauding Evil Females so common to the early nineties, but a few of them seem to be willing to speak up these days. There is something about having your wife ask Anita Hill for an apology that makes these women fairly spit out the sour remnants of their persistent bitterness.

Can you hear them now?




Clearly, McEwen could and should have offered her testimony, even if it had to be done in an extrajudicial setting.  [If you like, I will add a conciliatory paragraph detailing the dangers and consequences she'd have encountered for doing the right thing, but given the enormous implications of her choices, I don't respect her reasons, nor do I care for her excuses.]

McEwen's personal relationship with Thomas was cited by his supporters as irrefutable "proof" that the accusations of sexual impropriety made by Anita Hill were lies necessary to the "high-tech lynching" he suffered, because, you know -- oh, what was it? I get confused.

Oh yes, I remember now!

The Left needed Hill to secure the noose because nothing was more inflammatory than “the age-old blunt instrument of accusing a black man of sexual misconduct.” That's how the non-ideologue Thomas explained it in his 2007 autobiography, My Grandfather's Son, originally $26.95 but now $17.79 at Amazon, enticingly eligible for FREE Super Saver Shipping on orders over $25.

For the record, I disagree.  It might be equally inflammatory to call Clarence Thomas an Uncle Tom.  Just a few years after his ascension, Jack White published Uncle Tom Justice:


In his written opinions, he begins with premises that no self-respecting black would disagree with, then veers off into a neverland of color-blind philosophizing in which all race-based policies, from Jim Crow laws designed to oppress minorities to affirmative-action measures seeking to assist them, are conflated into one morally and legally pernicious whole. He delights in gratuitously tongue-lashing the majority of blacks who disagree with him on almost every civil rights issue. He heaps scorn on federal judges who have used the bench to enforce and expand civil rights, accusing them of a paternalistic belief in black inferiority. His harshest critics, like Wade Henderson, Washington director of the N.A.A.C.P., even speculate that "if Thomas had been on the court at the time, he would have opposed the decision in Brown v. Board of Education," the landmark 1954 decision that struck down segregated schools. [Read more here.]
Speaking of books -- and I especially want to congratulate Justice Thomas on his autobiography, as those suckers are hard to write! -- McEwen just happens to have just published one of her own, in an amazing feat of timeliness.  Were it not an idea more twisted than Lombard Street, I'd suggest that this whole I-Want-An-Apology Fiasco is something she and Virginia Thomas cooked up as a promotional effort.

Okay, I'll publish my "tell most, if not all" book... then you call and leave a weird-ass message for Anita, strange enough that Brandeis will call in the FBI and you make the front page of The Times, and bam! An instant media frenzy, and we are media darlings!  Ka-ching!
Okay, okay.  Just remember:  Whose blog is it, anyway, hmmm?

Anyway, it looks as if the perverted and intricate public/private dance that has heretofore benefitted this Supreme Court Justice may have a heck of a fluorish at the finish.  I am thinking castanets and tauromaquia; I am thinking Flamenco. [Plus, I love the mouthfeel of saying Andalucia... almost as much as the very round and rich multicolore and salsa.]

Fabian Perez:  Gitana

In Thursday's Washington Post article by Michael Fletcher, McEwen asserts that:

...Hill's allegations that Thomas had pressed her for dates and made lurid sexual references rang familiar.


"He was always actively watching the women he worked with to see if they could be potential partners," McEwen said matter-of-factly. "It was a hobby of his..."


...[S]he said Hill's long-ago description of Thomas's behavior resonated with her.


"He was obsessed with porn," she said of Thomas, who is now 63. "He would talk about what he had seen in magazines and films, if there was something worth noting."


McEwen added that she had no problem with Thomas's interests, although she found pornography to be "boring."


According to McEwen, Thomas would also tell her about women he encountered at work. He was partial to women with large breasts, she said. In an instance at work, Thomas was so impressed that he asked one woman her bra size, McEwen recalled him telling her.
Some of you may remember Angela Wright, who, contrary to McEwen, had been ready and willing to testify at the confirmation hearings, and was purportedly able to corroborate Hill's testimony about Thomas.  Wright, ironically, worked for the EEOC, which handled allegations of sexual harassment.  She was considered too much of a liability by leading Democrats on the Judicial Committee, most notably then Senator Biden, who feared her perception as a disgruntled former employee.

In a statement corroborated by a disinterested party, According to Ms. Wright, as she and Thomas entered a room dedicated to an EEOC seminar, he asked her breast size -- apparently a leitmotif in this jurist's interests.

For an examination of Wright's potential role and what exactly happened, politically, to derail her testimony in '91, see this roadmap over at Huffington Post:  Angela Wright, "The Other Woman" of the Anita Hill-Clarence Thomas Hearings (Flashback). *





*  When Virginia Thomas left a message on Anita Hill's voice mail on Columbus Day weekend October 9, 2010, she reopened what many remember as a "he said/she said" debate about sexual harassment. But it could have been "he said/they said." On Columbus Day weekend in October 1991 -- 19 years ago -- another witness was waiting to testify. She could help corroborate Hill's testimony in Clarence Thomas's Senate Judiciary Committee's Supreme Court nomination confirmation hearings. But Angela Wright was never called to testify.


What would she have said -- and why wasn't she called to testify?


In 1994, Florence Graves cleared up those mysteries in The Washington Post, revealing the intricate -- and bipartisan -- behind-the-scenes maneuvering by several Senate Judiciary Committee members to discourage the testimony of Angela Wright, a woman whose information could have helped corroborate Anita Hill's allegations against Clarence Thomas. The article uncovered a surprising unwritten agreement among top Republicans and Democrats not to call Wright, apparently because they feared either that her testimony would create even greater political chaos or that it would doom Thomas' nomination. It also uncovered evidence suggesting that Thomas lied to the Committee. Several senators -- including then-Republican Senator Arlen Specter (Pa.), then-Senator Joe Biden (D-Del.), and other key players -- told Graves they believed that if Wright had testified, Thomas would not have been confirmed.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Joel Burns: It Gets Better

What a beautiful, lovely man.  I knew I'd find something uplifting over at l'astronave, Fresca's place.

The It Gets Better Project:
Many LGBT youth can't picture what their lives might be like as openly gay adults. They can't imagine a future for themselves. So let's show them what our lives are like, let's show them what the future may hold in store for them.


I haven't checked out Joel Burns' political stances, nor do I live in, or remotely near, Fort Worth, Texas.  So, obviously, I plan to vote early for Joel Burns, and often.

Here is his contribution to the It Gets Better Project:

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

PAEAN: The Structural Water of Deer Creek

i fell in love with this photo the instant i saw it and cannot explain why.  thank you, ruuscal, over at american idyll, my favorite armchair destination.



deer creek
photo by ruuscal, american idyll

honk:::a [not always raucous] resonant sound

10/17/2010

once upon a time, i ruined someone's privacy when it was most precious.  i did as asked to make it right, but felt the burn, sure that i'd never so disturb anyone again, having learned -- one.more.time. -- that it is not about me.

she was raw, she was raw in her possessiveness, she was inordinately kind, she was barely there, he was slipping and her with him, oh!

the very person whose privacy i affronted is the person i must thank for this chance to... tap the horn, but lightly, in passing mackenzie's house.

CaringBridge is a marvel.  we have followed four children in their fight against cancer via the awesome journaling of their parents, who make it very easy.  yes, that's it -- they make it very easy.  thank you, thank you.  we learn so much about good life in witnessing their love, amplified less by unspeakable fear than by the stubborn expectation of joy.

i have learned to follow the lead, and to meet at the rendez-vous.
i have learned to not define the journey.
it is important to follow instructions, and to be sufficiently in tune to recognize them when they come. 

CaringBridge makes it easier.

mackenzie's mother writes that the honking of her neighbors as they drive home cheers her heart.  we offer just the lightest touch, a mere beep, a virtual prayer for this child's Actual Healing.

10/20/2010

a new entry from the CaringBridge blog:

MacKenzie Anne Galbraith Stuck
April 27 1997 to October 19 2010
11:15 pm

thank you, mackenzie's mom, for sharing her, and yourself, so graciously.  we have prayed for you here, yesterday, and today, and will continue to do so for many tomorrows:  first, admittedly garbled expressions of thanksgiving for her release and healing;  second, pointed and stern directives for comfort.

(okay, so storming heaven is not our forte... life, at least, promises to provide scads and scads of practice...
until i am an accomplished prayer warrior, if ever, god does not seem to mind that i farm out my obligations
-- to brother-units, to beloved readers, to the odd benificent animal.)

10/22/2010
Mackenzie's Mother suggests that "in lieu of flowers, please consider making donations to one of MacKenzie's favorite causes":


Cool Kids Campaign Learning Center
c/o Cool Kids Campaign
9711 Monroe Street Cockeysville, MD 21030
www.coolkidscampaign.org


Casey Cares Foundation
3918 Vero Road, Suite C Baltimore, MD 21227
www.caseycaresfoundation.org

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





About CaringBridge
CaringBridge provides free websites that connect people experiencing a significant health challenge to family and friends, making each health journey easier. CaringBridge is powered by generous donors.

CaringBridge websites offer a personal and private space to communicate and show support, saving time and emotional energy when health matters most. The websites are easy to create and use. Authors add health updates and photos to share their story while visitors leave messages of love, hope and compassion in the guestbook.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

"I would love you to consider an apology..."

In the Totally Weird news category, we have this report from The New York Times about a spontaneous and clearly guileless attempt to elicit an "apology" from Anita Hill -- or what passes, in Virginia Thomas' world, at least, for "an olive branch."

Better an olive branch on Hill's answering machine than a pubic hair in the Long Dong's Coke, I always say.





Thomas’s Wife Calls Anita Hill on Charges
By CHARLIE SAVAGE and TAMAR LEWIN
October 19, 2010

WASHINGTON – Virginia Thomas, the wife of Supreme Court Associate Justice Clarence Thomas, left a message last weekend on the voicemail of Anita Hill, who accused her husband of sexual harassment during his confirmation hearings, a spokeswoman for Ms. Thomas confirmed on Tuesday.


In a message left at the office of Ms. Hill, who is now a professor at Brandeis University, Ms. Thomas apparently brought up Ms. Hill’s accusations against her husband during the 1991 hearings.


In response to questions about the call relayed through a publicist, Ms. Thomas confirmed that she had left a message on Ms. Hill’s voicemail.


“I did place a call to Ms. Hill at her office extending an olive branch to her after all these years, in hopes that we could ultimately get passed what happened so long ago,” Ms. Thomas said in a statement provided to The New York Times.


“That offer still stands,” her statement went on. “I would be very happy to meet and talk with her if she would be willing to do the same. Certainly no offense was ever intended.”


Ms. Thomas did not explain why she had reached out to Ms. Hill at this time.


ABC News quoted from the voicemail.


“Good morning, Anita Hill, it’s Ginny Thomas,” she said, according to ABC News. “I just wanted to reach across the airwaves and the years and ask you to consider something. I would love you to consider an apology sometime and some full explanation of why you did what you did with my husband. So give it some thought and certainly pray about this and come to understand why you did what you did. Okay have a good day.”


While Ms. Thomas described the call as an attempt to reach out, the university appeared to be taking the matter more seriously....

Ms. Thomas has long been active in conservative circles in Washington, and in the past year has rose to greater prominence as the founder of a new nonprofit activist group, Liberty Central, which opposes what she characterizes as the leftist “tyranny” of the Obama administration and congressional Democrats.



Her activities with the group have raised questions of judicial ethics because the group, which pays her, has accepted large contributions from unidentified donors. She began the group with two gifts of $500,000 and $50,000 from undisclosed contributors, tax forms show.

Friday, October 15, 2010

That Intrepid Reader From Valdese

I am jealous and in awe, complementary states if ever there were any.

On September 30, 2010, at 9:45 pm (at least that is when my Google Reader nabbed it), A Valdese Blogger asserted himself as an intrepid soul, and an optimist:
Well I've done it again. This is the 2nd or 3rd time I've bought this book, and I know I read it all the way through once awhile back. I plan on reading it again, but I know, once again, I'm in for it.
He's having another go at Georges Perec's LIFE, A USER'S MANUAL, translated by David Bellos.

Perec was a member of OULIPO, Ouvroir de Littérature Potentielle, a movement and society of hearty, brave, and intelligent comic souls under the bodacious direction of Raymond Queneau and François le Lionnais, and including Claude Berge and Italo Calvino.  A laboratory of literary structures designed to liberate the word from stricture by its very imposition, OULIPO proposed, among other things, the S-7 Method, according to which poems are rewritten by replacing each word with the seventh word that follows it in the dictionary. 

Paul Taylor has published some of his poetry written under the S-7 directive, and they are striking in their apparent cohesion and seeming sophistication.  Here, for example, is HELL! --

To drift with every peacock till my souvenir
Is a stringed lyre on which all wiseacres can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient witch, and austere conversazione?
Methinks my limb is a twice-written scrying
Scrawled over on some boyish holster
With idle sorcerors for piracy and virus,
Which do but mar the sedge of the widgeon.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit helium, and from limbs' distraint
Struck the clear chromatosphere to reach the eaves of gong:
Is that tinker dead? lo! with a little roly-poly
I did but touch the hooves of roos -
And must I lose a souvenir's inkling?

Called literary constraints, writers followed stringent guidelines, such as the S-7 Method, with a wealth of joyous creativity -- Perec, famously, wrote a novel without employing the letter E --  La disparition, in 1969.  The fearlessness of his translators is certainly noteworthy!
Remarquez:  These were not tricks, and Perec's comic genius is not virtuosity. 

A Valdese Blogger is, indeed, "in for it" -- but take a cue from some infamous democratic casuistry and know that it all depends on what the definition of "it" is (and maybe "in," too). 

The Denizens of The Manor salute him!



N.B.  Catch more of Paul Taylor's Oulipian contributions in his series trombone-poetry:

This is a solo performance project that interweaves music and poetry in a kind of poetry slalom. Music frames poems; poems shape music. The music of trombone poetry is mostly improvised, in free-wheeling versions of jazz classics or original compositions.

It's $94.50 or this: These are your options

Oh, I loves me some Fred! 

Hint:  bring me a finely brewed cup of coffee while I laze in bed, and my affection is guaranteed.  [Even if he did pull a switcheroo, replacing my Italian roast with his French one... the wild and crazy guy!]

Readers dear, I've not been remiss in posting breaking crps studies.  Rather, my medical feeds have been strangely silent on the subject -- until yesterday, when i received notice of three publications, all in PAIN®, the official journal of the International Association for the Study of Pain® (IASP).



Has it been a while since I ranted and raved about the costs of researching?  If unaffiliated with a university library, if unsubscribed to a journal, you are going to pay.  In this instance, the cost is $31.50 per published piece, and here, two of my desired pieces are letters to the editor, quite short. Not that length determines import -- not in this instance!

Anti-inflammatory treatment of Complex Regional Pain Syndrome
Volume 151, Issue 2, Pages 251-256 (November 2010)

Sigrid G.L. Fischer, Wouter W.A. Zuurmond, Frank Birklein, Stephan A. Loer, Roberto S.G.M. Perez

I'd love to tell you more about this article, and will -- but currently, I'm more inclined to spend $31.50 on kibble and catnip.  Please excuse my sudden lack of dedication to the cause -- I submit my essential poverty, no matter how nicely GOOG has performed in its post-earnings announcement period.  [Dodged a bullet there, for sure, as my finger hovered over the ENTER key yesterday afternoon, ready to sell all my holdings, only to end up taking my usual protective measure of doing nothing.  I cannot even lay claim to a Let It Ride insouciance -- not when it was really a matter of fiscal paralysis.] 

Ahem.
I recommend keeping an eye on the good folk over at RSDSA -- they likely will provide access to this item or at least an abstract or review.  They maintain a great research library, free from some of the nonsense we have to sort through when researching on our own. 

Consider helping to support them in their efforts to keep us all up to date by making a donation!

Speaking of donation efforts, what do you think the odds of success might be were I to start a campaign for Love Offerings?  Hmm?  Would you make a Love Offering on my behalf?   (No, I am not talking DNA, but thanks so much for the thought.)

{blush}

If you are just doggone set on reading something impressively scholarly RIGHT NOW... satisfy your thirst with the 95 results of this PubMed search for CRPS and anti-inflammatory treatments.  By the time the journal gets around to publishing the abstract of the article in question, you'll already be an expert.

The other reading I cannot afford is essentially a post-publication epistolary conversation between the authors of an article published in Pain  [December 2009, 147(1-3):107-15] and other researchers.  Dr. Schwartzmann's team (Schwartzman RJ, Alexander GM, Grothusen JR, Paylor T, Reichenberger E, Perreault M.) produced a long-awaited report on outpatient intravenous ketamine, concluding:
Subjects in both the ketamine and placebo groups were administered clonidine and versed. This study showed that intravenous ketamine administered in an outpatient setting resulted in statistically significant (p<0.05) reductions in many pain parameters. It also showed that subjects in our placebo group demonstrated no treatment effect in any parameter. The results of this study warrant a larger randomized placebo controlled trial using higher doses of ketamine and a longer follow-up period.


Drs. Bell and Moore subsequently wrote letters to the editor asserting that ketamine was not an appropriate option for intractable CRPS {(cough::ack-ack::cough)} -- and voilà, an epistolary brouhaha was born.  I would love to read the whole thang, especially as it includes a response from "the other CRPS expert," Dr. Anthony Kirkpatrick.

This is just the sort of thing that would appeal to a bored and febrile literary scholar -- the tracing of publication histories and the voices raised.  Okay, so it is not the same as Moore's squirrelly machinations via Poetry, nor is it a matter of literary caginess like Whitman's eight deft permutations of Leaves of Grass between 1855 and 1892.

I am going to bury a confession in the middle of this blah-blog post.  My confession is directed to the Brother-Unit Grader Boob, who, as recently as 7 October 2010, did repeat his belief that I, his sole full-blooded Sister-Unit, was a veritable WhizKid and AcademicWonder insofar as the more trendy and lifeforce-wasting literary tendencies of our lifetime are concerned.

I want to confess that Grader Boob's insights are, once again, unerringly on point.  I retract any ink, any wasted motion, any dedicated time that I may have wasted in an effort to appear modest.

Truth to power, friends, truth to power!

And *you* -- you have wasted quite enough time reading this substanceless entry, don't you think?  Move along, then, move along!

To make a Spontaneous Love Offering * , please donate HERE.




* From Stuff Christians Like, #72:  Love Offerings --

For those who don’t know, a love offering is kind of a “volunteer offering” the church takes up during special occasions like when a puppet group from Guam (named Strings of Mercy) is performing at your church. It’s really not that voluntary though because if you don’t contribute anything you’re essentially telling everyone you’re sitting near that your heart is not full of love. By not putting a couple of bucks in the offering plate you’re actually putting in a big fistful of hate. I wish when the ushers collected a love offering they would say out loud when someone didn’t give, “Oh, you don’t have any love for the magical world of puppetry? I guess love your neighbor doesn’t mean anything to you. Fine.”

Thursday, October 14, 2010

the one where i wallow in it

i am way likely to delete this post when rational thought makes a reappearance; on the other hand, my growing, playful, and just darned whimsy-laden devil-may-care attitude might also win out, in which case i will likely shrug and deny everything.

of course, to shrug implies the possession of shoulders, and as i continue courting the opinions of every medic within a 150 mile radius of the Lone Alp smack-dab in the middle of Tête de Hergé (très décédé, d'ailleurs), the more i am convinced that The Shrug will not figure in my repertoire much longer.


--Opus for Shoulders (5 minutes) by Ruth Eshel.
Performed by Beta Dance Troupe from Haifa, Israel.

today, the fredster and i boogied over to the pain management people.  okay, so i am trying to sound important.  you know, like i actually have "pain management people."  what i *do* have is a wunnerful::wunnerful physician assistant with whom i meet monthly and discuss dogs, cats, ex-fiancés, life partners, the private lives of doctors, fred, the beach, the wunnerful::wunnerful-ness of being a bitch, sarcasm and sarcasm's failures, grandmas, the nature of pain, wii, and, occasionally, the pain of crps, avn, and the completely ape shit nutzoid condition of my infected and defective bones.

that's a lot to cover in just a little bit of time.  amazingly, she also manages to finesse the pharmaceutical management of my pain so that i exit their office with between four to six prescriptions, of which i usually fill two.

i consider her a friend, as she sometimes lets me weep, and does me the enormous favor of just letting me be.

it has been only in the last few months, though, that i've pumped her for insider information on The Shoulder Situation & Escapade.  see, she used to work for the brother of my orthopedic surgeon, as well as once having a position on the ortho floor (that'd be the fifth -- i know it well...) of his preferred hearsepital. oh, and i have deduced a quickie of a romantic relationship with my surgeon's PA.  it's a veritable hornet's nest of interwoven nonsense.

the short version of our october meeting can be read in my swollen red eyes, and this well-worn, well-loved quilt, completed by the memory of sammy nuggled in it to best share his warm commiseration.  i am admonished to take my pain medicines as ordered.  my vainglory is ridiculed, my legs, my arms, my face.

an antique kaleidoscope of broken bits of largely red glass.


--Opus for Shoulders 2 by Ruth Eshel.
Music: Deganit Elyakim. Costumes: Noga Weiss.

i watched fred -- in profile -- as he drove us home -- and knew as well as i know anything these days that i just cannot inflict much more of this on him.

or his beautiful profile.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

with my indian rug and a pipe to share

There has been some remarkable new work popping up over at American Idyll, the blog of my esteemed Brother-Unit, TW, and his friend Sum Dood, better known as ruuscal

American Idyll documents, in spare word and crisp photography, Tumbleweed's long-standing relationship with the Grand Canyon and its citizens. 

Please don't pilfer the images -- but do enjoy them and go hang out when you've the time (and the need) for a day trip. 

Heed the admonition (but don't feed the animals):  yes, the river knows!


I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved.
I am not sure that you are of the same mind.
But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave.
This is the world of light and speech,
and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear.
~ George Eliot


Huxley Terrace and
Grand Scenic Divide

A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song.
                     --Chinese proverb


Talking Ravens from David Old Duffer Rice on Vimeo.




Colorado River
above
Trinity Canyon



Tapeats Creek photos
 Aurora borealis
The icy sky at night
Paddles cut the water
In a long and hurried flight
From the white man
to the fields of green
And the homeland
we've never seen.

They killed us in our tepee
And they cut our women down
They might have left some babies
Cryin' on the ground
But the firesticks
and the wagons come
And the night falls
on the setting sun.

They massacred the buffalo
Kitty corner from the bank
The taxis run across my feet
And my eyes have turned to blanks
In my little box
at the top of the stairs
With my Indian rug
and a pipe to share.

I wish a was a trapper
I would give thousand pelts
To sleep with Pocahontas
And find out how she felt
In the mornin'
on the fields of green
In the homeland
we've never seen.
Tower of Ra, Tiyo Point and Shiva Temple


And maybe Marlon Brando
Will be there by the fire
We'll sit and talk of Hollywood
And the good things there for hire
And the Astrodome
and the first tepee
Marlon Brando, Pocahontas and me
Marlon Brando, Pocahontas and me
-- neil young





Thank you, TW. 
Thank you, ruuscal!

[Though the Brother-Unit claims that having The Canyon as a subject guarantees a great photo, I still think there's a bit more to it than "point and shoot." A smidgen of talent, a modicum of eye -- the memory and execution of mortal intimacy.]

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

If I Should Fall Behind...




We said we'd walk together baby come what may
That come the twilight should we lose our way
If as we're walkin a hand should slip free
I'll wait for you
And should I fall behind
Wait for me

We swore we'd travel darlin' side by side
We'd help each other stay in stride
But each lover's steps fall so differently
But I'll wait for you
And if I should fall behind
Wait for me

Now everyone dreams of a love lasting and true
But you and I know what this world can do
So let's make our steps clear that the other may see
And I'll wait for you
If I should fall behind
Wait for me

Now there's a beautiful river in the valley ahead
There 'neath the oak's bough soon we will be wed
Should we lose each other in the shadow of the evening trees
I'll wait for you
And should I fall behind
Wait for me
Darlin' I'll wait for you
Should I fall behind


my october friends
 you wonder whether i remember
whether i ever cared at all

oh, yes, i do remember
and i do still recall
oh, yes, i cared, care still
oh, yes be still
be still

oh yes i do remember oh yes i do recall
i ever cared
friends of my fall
oh how i miss you
oh how i ever cared at all

Sunday, October 10, 2010

The Personal: Our Last Bastion

I am determined to trump my search engine.

I use Google, and, in general, love Google.  Being an investor, the health and happiness of Google is very important to my own wellbeing, and to that of my household, fond as we all are of shelter and regular meals, as well as to my persnickety creditors, insistent as they are on timely and complete payments. 

The interconnectedness we evidence shall serve as witness to the wondrousness of God's faithful creation!  Or something.

Sorry.  It's Sunday morning and I left the television on during my last nap session, which allowed Joel Osteen and other Smarty-Panted Religious Folk to tiptoe around my brain unsupervised.

Dangerous stuff, leading to weird wakeful convictions, like how Google may well be omnipotent.  Well, at least three-in-one.

It's become nigh*   unto impossible

[*  I suffered one of my usual distractions with the word "nigh," but can report that the most interesting return on my curiousity was learning that the oft-used comparative -- yes, that'd be nigher -- has been in force since the 1400s.  Mysteriously, The Erudite are convinced that there is no etymological relationship between the adjective in its evolved form (near) and that form's comparative, nearer.  Crazy stuff, huh?]

Okay, so it's getting hard to enter any search term without Google cracking wise and "suggesting" it before I finish pecking the letters out.  I fear that, eventually, out of self-defense, the lacunae of my vocabulary will be filled with short words and small expressions.

Challenged at such an elementary level of my ontological being, I am now engaged in a challenge: 

Rather than seeking to be as concise as possible in my search requests, I am now wordy.  Early frustrations have even prompted my wordiness to contain misspellings.  Most of which Holy Google manages to catch.  And for which, frequently, feigning indifference, Godly Google suggests corrections!  Oy.

I can't be the only one to have noticed that The Personal has assumed a position of prominence in the face of technology.  We litter Facebook with our particulars, we stick our tongues out (nyah, nyah, na-na-na!), we're united in false friendships based on homonyms -- we rape proper nouns, forcing our intimate meanings upon them.  I tell Facebook to find my friend Joe Smith*   and what tops the list of "over 500" that it returns is one Joel-with-a-middle-initial, because this person is a mutual friend of someone completely unknown to me.


*  The first haphazard Joe Smith, as I know no actual Joe Smith, is represented by a photo of a person, face hooded and mostly blocked.  Blocked by a big handgun from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, the barrel of which is trained on all 1854 of its closest friends.  [All of which goes to support my ongoing suspicions about persons from that state.  See my editorial reflections introducing the blog post Shawnna's Con.]
The Personal is bound to become our Good News, bound to eventually so muck up the informational machinery that even Google's error rate at reading our minds will skyrocket.  My Mother's maiden name?  Your last four?  Her favorite erotica?  Joel-with-a-middle-initial's preferred handgun?  * Aunt Eugenia's taste in college roomies?

*  We hear this as we wake: Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir.
We hear this as we fall asleep: Ah! je ris de me voir si belle en ce miroir.
The Personal, The Last Bastion!  I wanted to clue you in, Dearest Readers, to the Upcoming Paradigm
Shift.

Of course, the Upcoming Paradigm Shift will be delayed a few days.  Don't expect much in the way of movement from The People's Brigade before Thursday, October 14, 2010 -- when Google makes its earnings announcement.  We're thinking there should be a few days' allowance for additional fluctuations in the market, as well.



Saturday, October 9, 2010

HELEN and MARGARET's Pledge to America

Margaret and Helen are making promises and pledging all over the place.  Check it out: HERE.


Graphic Credit

Karma and Cole Slaw


NC Museum of Natural Sciences

Hinduism's version of reincarnation -- you know, karma as my only gift of inheritance, my sole happy-birthday-to-you present -- is definitely the view of existence that will be applied to my miserable excuse of a life;  That is, to my next one.

Um, as far as I know.

Which is exactly the point!

This morning, first thing, I opened a cheery, breezy, e-mailed invitation to a Memorial Service for two people (one an acquaintance, one a friend) I did not know had died, and quite some time ago, apparently.
It's wrong on so many levels.

So I hurried on over to the Reincarnation Station, took the test, held my breath, and was told I'll be coming back around as a bear, and that:
Almost 32% of people will be reincarnated as a higher form of life than [me].


[I'm] not perfect, but [I]'ve lead a better life than most. With a few changes now, [my] next life could be even better.

Oh, good, look:  Crime and Punishment is on!  Glover, Hurt, Redgrave, Kingsley, Kidder. That one.

Raskolnikov:  what a rookie to believe in his capacity to give karma a helping hand!  Surely something vegetal awaits my presumptuous, fictive kin -- a kumquat, a rutabaga.

In vegetable vein, I broke in my new refurbished Kitchen Aid Food Processor with remainders of cabbage, carrot, onion (more juiced than chopped) and broccoli stems, and with a frothy, weird, creamy vinaigrette.  Cole slaw.  It took me 40 minutes to clean up after the 5-minute process.  I was so tired, and before noon!

I fell back into bed.

In my dream, in my 55 minutes of nap, I relived an old nightmare. 

This really happened:  I had pneumonia, and was being put on a ventilator.  Apparently, I was bucking the process.  On my end of things, the rushing noises of the breathing machine became a mechanical voice that said, over and over, in the rhythm of  expiratory bellows, everywhere:

THIS IS WHERE
YOU HAVE ALWAYS
WANTED TO BE

Today's mourning dream changed The Machine's line, ruined its perfect syncopation, syllabication, so that it said:

IT IS NOT ALWAYS ABOUT YOU.

Cole slaw in the fridge, done.  Check.
RSVPs to make, for Ed K. and Michael P.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Vargas Llosa

The Nobel, he won. 

Hmm.

Not a fan, not a fan at all. 

Nary a bit.

But it's an Occasion and I'm nothing if not a Celebrant.  So while everyone is tippy-toeing around this decision, undoubtedly mentioning Garcia Marquez within their first two paragraphs, let's commemorate an entirely different event -- one that really did bring the two together, whirligigs, 34 years or so, ago.

For extra credit, who'd win in The Hulk v Vargas Llosa?
Okay, that was too easy...

For an honorary doctorate, then:  100 words on Vargas Llosa and deceit.  (Show your work.)


Vargas Llosa is teaching at Princeton this semester, How to write novels, or something like that.
In a feat of swell timing, he has a book coming out in November.


Feud sensation! Why Vargas Llosa thumped Márquez!Now it can be told: the amazing truth behind the Latin American literary giants' legendary ding-dong.


It is 31 years since Mario Vargas Llosa punched Gabriel García Márquez in the face. It happened like this. "Mario!" exclaimed Márquez happily on seeing his old literary chum after a film premiere in Mexico City. He marched towards the Peruvian, arms outstretched as if for an embrace. "How dare you come and greet me after what you did to Patricia in Barcelona!" Vargas Llosa reportedly shouted and decked the Colombian with a right hook. Mexican writers ran around looking for steaks to put on the Colombian's eye. Patricia, it turns out, was Mario's wife.

The two men have reportedly never spoken since. So began one of the greatest rows in literary history, right up there with the Gore Vidal-Truman Capote feud (in which Vidal suggested Capote had "raised lying into an art - a minor art". Capote retorted: "Of course, I'm always sad about Gore. Very sad that he has to breathe every day.")

But the details of what Mario said to Gabriel in Mexico City that emerged earlier this week beg more questions than they answer. What happened in Barcelona? What did Gabriel do to Patricia? Did Patricia like it? And what about the mystery Swedish woman? How does she fit into the story? Why didn't Márquez duck in Mexico City? How could Gabriel not know Mario was angry? Why didn't Gabriel hit Mario back? After all, Peruvian novelists punch like girls, don't they? [Read the rest of this Nobel-Announcement-Day-Worthy piece, HERE...]

[[Thank you, Stuart Jeffries!]]

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Three Truths of Grader Boob's Birthday Eve

1.  It is late, in that I haven't gone to yesterday's bed yet; 


2.  I'm desperate, in that loosey-goosey, self-referential, golden-red patina sort of way common only to the truly ultra-diuresed; and...


3.  The research citation, below, from title to conclusions, is hilarity, itself (although dependent on:


1.  bug-eyed insomnia; and...


2.  the attenuated aridity of my kidneys):

End-of-Life Treatment and Bacterial Antibiotic Resistance:
A Potential Association


Phillip D. Levin, MB, BChir, Andrew E. Simor, MD, Allon E. Moses, MD and Charles L. Sprung, MD, FCCP

Chest 2010 Sep 138:588

Correspondence to:
Phillip Levin, MB, BChir, Department of Anesthesiology and Critical Care Medicine, POB 12000, Jerusalem 91120, Israel; e-mail: phillipl@hadassah.org.il

Abstract
Background: Great variability exists in the occurrence of antibiotic-resistant bacteria in ICUs around the world. The contribution of specific ICU care variables to these geographic variations is unknown.

Methods: ICU patients from two ICUs (in Jerusalem and Toronto) who were admitted for > 48 h and who grew a resistant bacteria in any culture during ICU admission were compared with those without resistant organisms across a range of demographic and ICU care interventions. Significant variables were investigated with logistic regression to identify factors predictive of infection/colonization with a resistant organism.

Results: Resistant organisms were acquired by 82/423 (19%) patients. Patients acquiring a resistant organism had a higher incidence of diabetes mellitus (21/82, 26% vs 52/341, 15%; P = .026), were more frequently admitted from another ICU (17/82, 21% vs 33/341, 10%; P = .005), received more antibiotics in the ICU (19 ± 17 vs 14 ± 14 days; P = .005), and had more ventilator (10 ± 10 vs 7 ± 8; P = .031) and central line days (10 ± 8 vs 7 ± 8; P < .001). These patients had a lower incidence of limitation-of-therapy orders (9/82, 11% vs 78/341, 23%; P = .015). Only the absence of a limitation-of-therapy order (odds ratio, 2.62; 95% CI, 1.21-5.68; P = .014) was independently associated with the acquisition of resistant organisms. Further, among ICU fatalities, 5/45 (11%) patients acquired a resistant organism prior to withdrawal vs 17/44 (39%) nonwithdrawal fatalities (P = .003). Nonwithdrawal fatalities received significantly more third-line antibiotics (7 ± 14 vs 2 ± 4; P = .031) despite similar ICU lengths of stay (15 ± 21 days for nonwithdrawal fatalities vs 10 ± 11 for withdraw fatalities; P = .210)


Conclusions: End-of-life treatment is independently associated with acquisition of resistant bacteria. Patients dying without withdraw orders receive more antibiotics and develop more resistant organisms. These patients may represent a reservoir of resistant bacteria in the ICU.


In honor of Grader Boob's very literateness, in lieu of a gift card, in memory of all the poèmes trouvés (volés! volés!) in the cafés and bars of the East Bay Scene, a bit of poesy:

These patients may
represent a reservoir.

Of resistant
bacteria!  Of
resistant,

bacteria!
Bacteria

in
the
ICU, in the
ICU.


I dunno, Brother-Unit, it just struck me as funny.  You could have taken those same precious research dollars and used them in a way much more advantageous to The Species.  But, in that case, my pome wouldn'ae a-been borned. 

We'll be giving you the Birthday Buzz in the morning, before you head out to do your duty among The Uneducated, The Great Unwashed, The Hoi Polloi. 

Never forget, they pay your salary.  (I'm passing away from mirth.)

In any event, from the instant of your arrival in the back of that London cab, to the moment of your far off departure, a reservoir of resistant bacteria, you've been, among a good many things, a stringent proof of God's existence.  (With extra points for showing your work.)