L'ongle d'un juif

Notable Arabs From left to right: Philippus Arabus, John of Damascus, al-Kindi, al-Khansa, King Faisal I, Gamal Abdel Nasser, Asmahan, and May Ziade.

I will never understand thoughtless support or mindless condemnation of Israel, just as I will never understand kneejerk malevolence or baseless aggression directed toward Arab populations.

Yes, and vice the versa.

« Un million de vies Arabes ne valent pas l'ongle d'un juif. » ~ Golda Meir

That was the tagline at the bottom of a post by someone I thought I knew.

Cat Ambush

The cats own me this morning. This, and every morning.
I found the training video in the DVD player.

On Earthquakes and Catholic News

Darling Reader,

You know how I lose my train (choo! choo!) of thought with regular frequency? I am fascinated more by the journey from A-to-B than by the endpoints.

I set out to learn more about the medieval city of L'Aquila, epicenter of the recent earthquake in the Abruzzo region of Italy.

In the process (there where I am truly at my best), I ran into some interesting blogs and news articles having nothing, of course, to do with the tragedy. A decision had to be made.

So... here is the link to the Italian arm of the International Red Cross, which is all that really matters right now -- that is, that aid be rendered. Perhaps you feel more comfortable dealing with the American Red Cross International Response Fund.

It feels unsavory to concentrate on the ancient rubble and not the people of L'Aquila, at least 150 of whom perished in the quake.

I will study the city at some later time. I am attracted to any place that can speak honestly of its "ramparts." My decision to become a dix-huitièmiste came at the expense of a strong interest in things medieval -- not in the least a "dark" age.

It's enough, for now, to read:

Some of its most revered buildings were badly affected by the 6.3 magnitude earthquake.

Among them was Government House, a pale pink building turned into a pile of concrete and dust. At least four Romanesque and Renaissance churches were badly damaged by the tremor.

The 13th century Basilica of Santa Maria di Collemaggio lost a wall, while a section of the nave collapsed.

The church, with a pink-and-white facade combining Romanesque and Gothic architecture, played host to the crowning of Pope Celestine V in 1294 and still attracts thousands of pilgrims every year.

Slightly further north, the belltower of the largest Renaissance church in Abruzzo - Basilica of San Bernardino - was destroyed, while the 16th century castle housing the region's national museum was damaged.

Yesterday's devastation was a brutal reminder of how vulnerable the city is to the power of earthquakes - just over 300 years since it was virtually flattened in a similar tremor.

Earlier quakes in 1349, 1461 and 1646 had repeatedly shattered the centre of what was once a powerful medieval city.

L'Aquila was founded in the mid 13th century by the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II and construction continued during the reign of his son Conrad IV.

Such was its importance, it went on to become the second city of the Kingdom of Naples.

Its position close to Rome - just 60 miles north east - placed it in the front line of rivalry between monarchic and papal interests.

The city was destroyed and even temporarily abandoned at one point during the mid 13th century before it was rebuilt with new fortifications.

It flourished through the trade in wool and silk and was home to one of Europe's earliest printing presses.

L'Aquila's importance waned as a result of economic strangulation during rebellion against Spanish rule in the 16th century and later because of its resistance to French occupation in the 18th century.

But the centre flourished again during the 19th century moves toward the unification of Italy which left it as regional capital.

Now... some of those interesting news and opinion pieces encountered on the road to L'Aquila!

Clergy attended a meeting last month to hear about the work of The
International Commission of English in the Liturgy, which is producing a new
English translation of the Latin mass which will be used in churches next year.

Priests at the meeting... were told to question whether it was appropriate to say "good morning" once the priest was on the altar and had made the sign of the cross...

A spokesman for the diocese said: "The review of the liturgy is looking at whether there are elements of the service that have become a bit too distracting.

"People might argue that if you go in to a house, you say 'hi', but the priest is not going in to a house. He is going in to a sacred service. We need to emphasise that the priest is president of the community and is presiding at the service.

"It is a debate that has been going on in the Church for a long time – are we doing a cabaret or are we actually celebrating the Eucharist?

"The fear is that if some guidance is not given and general decisions are not put down, the interpretation of the liturgy leads to unsuitable things, like strobe lights and girls in hotpants. The aim of the new translation is to bring more dignity to the service."

Strobe lights and girls in hotpants? We've really been missing out on the fun, apparently.

One day, I will take the time to tell you about The War Between Father Anthony and La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore, a war ended by the simple ministrations of Brother William. What can I say? She used to vacation at the local monastery!

Let's just say that Father Anthony is in dire need of a lap dance.

Why! He's in luck! The Church, in its wisdom, has taken care of every eventuality:

ROME, April 4 (UPI) -- An Italian lap dancer-turned-nun will perform in front of a group of Roman Catholic cardinals and bishops.

Anna Nobili, 38, who gave up years of exotic dancing in Milan after a 2002 visit to the shrine of St. Francis in Assisi, joined an order of nuns called the Sister Workers of the Holy House of Nazareth.

Sister Nobili, as she is now known, said she practices a form of "mystical" choreography she calls "Holy Dance," The Daily Telegraph reported Saturday.

And I will sign off with the following bit of news -- and let me say this: I am proud that the Catholic Church continues to fight the Right Fight on behalf of science.

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops has issued guidelines calling Reiki therapy "unscientific and inappropriate for Catholic institutions."

As a result of the ruling, at least two Catholic medical centers in South Jersey -- Lourdes Wellness Center in Collingswood and the Lourdes Cancer Center in Westampton -- will stop offering Reiki to patients, spokeswoman Wendy Marano said Wednesday.

The centers are part of the Lourdes Health System, sponsored by the Franciscan Sisters of Alleghany, N.Y.

Reiki is a mind-body healing method developed in Japan during the late 1800s. Used to complement traditional medicine, the technique has gained popularity in recent years.

According to Reiki teaching, illness and stress are caused by a disruption or imbalance in a person's life energy; Reiki works to correct the imbalance.

Announced March 26, the new guidelines used strong language to denounce Reiki, stating: "Superstition corrupts one's worship of God by turning one's religious feeling and practice in a false direction. While sometimes people fall into superstition through ignorance, it is the responsibility of all who teach in the name of the Church to eliminate such ignorance as much as possible."

For real! Forget that Galileo nonsense, and look toward the Guiding Light of the Jesuits. Ignore that stuffy old Catholic Encyclopedia itself: "When a clearly defined dogma contradicts a scientific assertion, the latter has to be revised."

Ah, but we *are* talking about Reiki, eh? You know,channelling energy through the practitioner to the patient? Recipe-like revelations such as: "If you treat a patient with one hand, he will receive half the energy he will receive if treated with both hands. The quality will not be altered. The quantity will be halved."
The heresy of invoking "the Ancients" 'n all. Well, major props to the Priestie Boys for pulling the knickers down on these hoaxers. It is this same intellectual rigor that strengthens and steels and girds Catholics against the evils of witchcraft and abortion.

So that was my whirlwind exposure to what passes for news today.

May they keep finding survivors in L'Aquila.

*photo of Santa Maria di Collemaggio in L'Aquila, of which one whole wall and part of the nave have fallen due to the earthquake

UNC-CH v. Michigan State

Go Carolina!

THE TAR HEEL STATE
The origin of this nickname is mysterious, though most historians agree that the name derives from North Carolina's long history as a producer of naval stores--tar, pitch, rosin and turpentine--all of which were culled from the State's extensive pine forests. The historians Hugh Lefler and Albert Newsome, in their book North Carolina: the History of a Southern State (3rd edition, 1973, p. 97) state categorically that "[i]n fact, North Carolina led the world in the production of naval stores from about 1720 to 1870, and it was this industry which gave to North Carolina its nickname, 'Tar Heel State'."

Various stories and legends have sprung up to explain where the name came from. Perhaps the most popular is found in Histories of the Several Regiments and Battalions from North Carolina in the Great War 1861-1865 (edited by Walter Clark):

Thus after one of the fiercest battles, in which their supporting column was driven from the field and they successfully fought it out alone, in the exchange of compliments of the occasion the North Carolinians were greeted with the question from the passing derelict regiment: "Any more tar down in the Old North State, boys?" Quick as thought came the answer: "No, not a bit; old Jeff's bought it all up." "Is that so; what is he going to do with it?" was asked. "he is going to put it on you'ns heels to make you stick better in the next fight." (Vol. 3, p. 376)

The following paragraph appears in R.B. Creecy's Grandfather Tales of North Carolina History (1901):

During the late unhappy war between the States it [North Carolina] was sometimes called the "Tar-heel State," because tar was made in the State, and because in battle the soldiers of North Carolina stuck to their bloody work as if they had tar on their heels, and when General Lee said, "God bless the Tar-heel boys," they took the name. (p. 6)

While there may be no direct proof that Robert E. Lee ever spoke in such a fashion, there is at least some indirect evidence. In a letter dating from 1864 (currently housed in the State Archives and part of their "Tar Heel Collection") from Colonel Joseph Engelhard describing the Battle of Ream's Station in Virginia, he writes: "It was a ' Tar Heel ' fight, and ... we got Gen'l Lee to thanking God, which you know means something brilliant."

P R U R I E N T ::: I N T E R E S T

I did not lie.

But my interest was prurient.

If I were to want a rhyme, The Oxford Dictionary of Rhymes provides me guidance:

prurient • abeyant , mayn't • ambient , circumambient • gradient , irradiant, radiant • expedient...recreant • variant • miscreant •Orient • nutrient • esurient , luxuriant, parturient, prurient • nescient , prescient •omniscient •

The meaning of "prurient interest" brings out the big guns, too, less interested in rhyming. From The Oxford Companion to the Supreme Court of the United States (2005):

Miller v. California, 413 U.S. 15 (1973), argued 18–19 Jan. and 7 Nov. 1972; PARIS ADULT THEATRE v. SLATON, 413 U.S. 49 (1973), argued 19 Oct. 1972, both decided 21 June 1973 by vote of 5 to 4; Burger for the Court, Douglas, Brennan, Stewart, and Marshall in dissent. Miller v. California articulates the test for obscenity that resolved the dilemma of First Amendment protection for allegedly obscene materials first identified in Roth v. United States (1957). Chief Justice Warren Burger's majority opinion stated that material could be obscene only if “(a) the average person, applying contemporary community standards, would find that the work, taken as a whole, appeals to the prurient interest; [and] (b) the work depicts or describes, in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct specifically defined by the applicable state law; and (c) the work, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value” (p. 25).

I did not lie. I did not tell the truth. My interest was prurient. And I don't want to make a poem with "prurient" as my major rhyming scheme.

Okay, I will tell *you* the truth.

On March 16, I sent the following email:

hello,

you don't know me -- i just saw the message you left on andrea's myspace page. i have crps, too, and had just discovered her fighting4us site when she died down in mexico. you surely don't have to answer this, and perhaps you don't even know yourself -- but what happened? i have been looking into the ketamine coma treatment -- but now that someone has died in connection with it, i don't know anymore.
can you shed any light on whether or not it was the treatment that harmed her or was this just CRPS/RSD doing its dirty work?

sincerely,
the retired educator

How dare I intrude on the death of this lovely girl? Why can't I leave it -- her -- alone, in peace? In part, it is because of the evident lack.

There is nothing but silence around this death, hardly anything beyond the barest of acknowledgements.

Or the most private of them. The nearest and the dearest. And to them, I apologize -- no, rather I beg pardon, for this prurient interest -- not in Andrea, but in what happened *to* Andrea.

The ketamine coma trials... that is what we are made to say, you know -- "the trials."

How many other legitimate "trials" cost well over $50-60,000? How many other legitimate trials cost ANYTHING?

How many other legitimate "trials" suffer a death and allow it to pass into silence, unexplained?
There has also been a high incidence of infection, particularly respiratory -- aspiration pneumonias.

Oh, and how many "trials" make way for someone to repeat the treatment, the benefits of the first time around apparently not having lasted? How was that expressed in the data collection of the second coma? Was the first treatment before the days of the "trials"? You know, back when a person basically only had to produce the money, and be sufficiently young and healthy (beyond having CRPS)? Wait... am I getting it all confused? Because it sure seems like today's requirements are eerily... no, *exactly* the same -- young, otherwise healthy, cash in hand.

My prurient interest has its roots in anger and envy -- as well as in a more legitimate need for information that was not forthcoming from those running the programs. Andrea was getting a second shot at curing or, at least, pushing into remission, her CRPS -- and at a point in time where there is a 2-year waiting list.

Anyway.

I read everything that Andrea ever published on the internet concerning CRPS. She was dedicated but had bought into the demonization of the disease -- it was an actual evil entity to her. This happens in people with CRPS -- because of deleterious effects to the limbic system of the brain? Because of simple human frustration? What can you trust when your own body systems do nothing but lie to you? She cared, and was ferocious in her caring. And she was naive. Childlike.

Her friend wrote me back just this morning.

hi, sorry it took me some time to get back to u ,, i dont check this email offten,.. ok what happend with her was,, from birth she had a bad heart, when she was younger she had surgery to fix it, but with any heart problem eovn if u fix the prob u still have to watch it,, this was her second time getting the ketamine comma treatment done... the first time was great, no probs or issues,,, this last time though, after menay years of fighting, she was 12 when she got the rsd, and died at the age of 24/25 , and all those years of fighgting and medications and the rsd itself, her heart jsut couldnt handle any more and gave out on her... so it wasnt exsactly the ketamine that killed her, it was a combo of evry thing and honestly we all belive evon if she hadnt done the ketamine, she would have died shortly ,,, most people dont realize 1, cause its sugar coated and not spoke about much, 2 doc really dont have any clue when it comes to rsd, unless u haev one that specializes in it, 3 alot of people dont want to belive it and rather live in denighel... rsd can and for the most part the longer u have had it for the more likely it is to happen... effect your internal organs. ive had my rsd for about 3 years now.,.. and its effecting my heart. ive seen the same doc she was seeing.. and he jsut said i haev very agressive and advanced rsd.. and that most likely the ketamine coma wouldnt work for me, but dosnt mean i shouldnt at lest try it.. i have 2 other friends who have done the ketamine infussions. 1 it did nothing for the other it did help almost 90% at getting ride of the pain.. but about 9 months later shes back to as if she never had the infussion... pls dont let the idea of death scare u away form any ketamine treatment...
jsut like the meds we take evryday to help treat our rsd. theres no garentee ur not gonna die form it.. jsut like rsd itself,. in the end it attacts ur own immune system form it and at that point well, its up to u and god... so pls dont let a death scare u/.. rsd isnt easy its scary and not fair and evry miss understood.. the ketamine treatments should not be taken lightly, but nore ignored becuse there have been a problem here or there. rember there were other outside sercomstance that played a role in her dying...
what i tell people who are wanting to do the ketamine treatments but are scared is
u have to stop and ask urself. r u to the point of death as far as taking ur own life in your hands, becuse u have tried evrything ealse possible and nothing has worked, and the ketamine treatments r the last thing, u have left to try.. and if ur answer is yes.. well then u have to make peace with the idea that, this may help it may not, its not 100% safe, but yet u could get hit by a car infornt of ur house in the moring.. also.. if ur about to take ur life becuse the pain is that bad and nothing has worked, really what other option do u have.. than trying ketamine treatments and hopeing for the best, knowing theres a possible risk, or jsut saying nope im giveign up not doing anything more, go into a big depression and kill ur self

2, if u have answerd no to the question., dont do the ketamine treatments, 1 there not coverd by insurance, cost a lot of money, its like a last resuslt thing. evon though it has had the best results, its still a last result. do each and evry other treatment recomende for rsd first evon more than once before trying the ketamine,, sometheing less shocking to the system is always best.. when u have done all the treatments and nothings worked, then that is when u go for the ketamine treatments,,,
i hope this has been helpfull, i dont know how long u have had ur rsd, were it is and how old u are,,, along with what u have tryed and havent for treatments, ive in a way become like a master at knowing rsd and what it dose and and wht can be fdone for it, seeing as my rsd in only almost 3 years is now infected over 50% of my body.. ( liek doc says i have very agressive rsd, apprently its more rare thann rsd, i dont know i jsut know its bad and suckslol) maybe i may beable to help u, with advice things to try, or simply just some one to talk too


this last time though, after menay years of fighting, she was 12 when she got the rsd, and died at the age of 24/25 , and all those years of fighgting and medications and the rsd itself, her heart jsut couldnt handle any more and gave out on her... so it wasnt exsactly the ketamine that killed her

Mercy. Oh, mercy me.

I wrote and thanked her, my prurient interest gone absolutely cold dead.

Failure to Educate: Chiswick's Corollary of Classroom Co-Deficiencies

This post crosses the line into the unethical.

I don't bear the burden of HIPAA -- the only license I have is a License to Teach; The only legal threat to a teacher in these parts is that of being sued for "Failure to Educate." (I am not kidding. It has happened several times in the urban blight of a system where I last worked.)

Hmmm. Another ethical dilemma -- probably of little interest to most. The public school system teachers with whom I labored there at the end of my illustrious career talked about the "Failure to Educate" laws as if they were personal affronts. In part, I understand -- our system had fielded its share of trivial lawsuits brought by guilt-ridden parents. What is always hard to understand is why there are so many settlements. Sometimes it seems like we, as in "all of us," are too world-weary to see the truth to its end, to its real expression. We would rather just settle.

It could be that you don't know what I mean.

On the other hand, the laws' hand, Failure to Educate charges have also been used for a greater good, as in the case filed by the NAACP in Florida. Individual cases can also have a wide range of impact, as in this ruling for compensatory education for a Georgia student:

On March 20, 2007, the District Court of Georgia ordered the Atlanta Independent School System to pay Jarron Draper's tuition at a private special education school for four years, or until he graduated with a diploma from high school, as prospective compensatory education for their persistent failure to educate him.

Most viable lawsuits cite the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) under which disabled students are promised a free and appropriate public education. It is frequently invoked at graduation age by parents of students who have, for example, not learned to read, despite 12 years of Special Education designed to deal with their dyslexia, ADD, or other disability. Often the IEP process is under fire -- whether and how it was done, whether and how it was implemented. Amplified, Failure to Educate cases raise larger questions of access to education and fairness.

Lest anyone think this phenomenon is peculiar to the Deep South of the United States (and, yes, I admit to thinking that), please note that it also is/was a frequent occurrence in England and Wales. Even New Jersey!

"Incorrect" usage usually involves allegations about instructional competency. It rarely goes to trial, but just as any allegation of professional incompetence does, it wrecks good teachers' careers. I know that there are bad, very bad, even incredibly awful, teachers -- somehow, they don't seem to get ferreted out. Oddly enough, they tend to be the 20-30 year veterans who have little training in their subject matter, but loads of experience getting by, and many connections "downtown." Following some rule that I'm sure has been comically designated (Thelma's Third Law of Diminished Talent, Chiswick's Corollary of Classroom Co-Deficiencies), these veterans often end their careers as Principals or Administrators.

Dodge-artists, shifty sorts, they are responsible for the calibre of College Freshmen who end up in my Brother-Unit's university classroom, hopelessly remedial.

Well. I have done it again. The intended subject of this post has been successfully obstructed. Yet, it must be done, ethical challenge or not. Later. It has to do with the ketamine coma... again.

The Island of Hadee

You will recall that one of my Brother-Units, Grader Boob, is an English prof at a large public university.

One of his writing assignments for his Freshman comp students involved song analysis. Sorry to say, Grader Boob notes that, "apparently, the idea of a thesis merging literary and rhetorical analysis escapes most of my writers."

He offered the following quote from a student paper as clarification:

"Marley was a Jamican who sometimes visited the island of Hadee."

Doctors and Medicare

Medical bloggers have been sounding the alarm for a good while, for years
-- and today's New York Times' article, "Finding a Doctor Who Accepts Medicare Isn't Easy," reiterates their warnings.

Poor reimbursement rates and mounds of paperwork are not much of an incentive to stick with this mammoth -- and, of course, the extended fear these days is that the paucity and inefficiency of the Medicare paradigm will form the structural basis for the new [Socialist] Health Plan for All.

A shortage overall of internists/primary care physicians already makes finding basic health care difficult. Add to that the fact that, increasingly, these doctors are opting out of the Medicare system, and the future does not look promising for Medicare patients seeking a primary physician. A significant number promise to keep the Medicare patients they have, but decline to accept new ones.

Some are doing what my internist decided recently to do: open a concierge practice. He told a group of his patients at an informational meeting last Fall that he feared losing his passion for practicing medicine -- losing it to the steady drain of paperwork and insurance interference.

I did not comfortably have the financial resources to stick with him in this new paradigm -- but I did it anyway, and at a time where I had just lost about 55% of my financial resources. In what proved to be a series of embarrassing moments, he tried to offer me a "scholarship," saying that the overarching company (MDVIP) allowed for a certain number each year. This was an affront to my pride, so I declined. That proved to be the right decision, for I have ended up seeing him roughly every 4-6 weeks, with telephone and email communication at least weekly. In other words: I am getting my money's worth!

This is something of an odd duck, this article. It's tucked away in the Retirement section, a subset of Business. There are no ideological arguments. It is short and to the point, clear -- so much so that I'd wager (if only I had a good bookie) it aimed for about an 8th-grade reading comprehension level.

Exactly what I need on a bleary-eyed Saturday morning.

Margaret and Helen, I love you

It is not just because their posts have titles like "my god, bush was an idiot." No, that's just the initial attraction, the cheap come-hither and bright pink boa pulling me into their dark boozy doorway.

I don't leave comments at Margaret and Helen's place. If I did, it would always be "ditto." What he said, what she said. There is one comment that -- so far, at least -- sums up my feelings precisely: "When I grow up, I wanna be just like you."

"little by little, a disturbance into words"

The cover of the NYTimes' Sunday Book Review this week? The Letters of Samuel Beckett -- and oh, oh, oh -- I am so happy! Three more volumes will follow this one. This settles that burning question, "What do you want for Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa/Your Birthday/Our Anniversary/This Weekend/Next Weekend/Friday, etc.?"

Joseph O'Neill writes:

Submerged for years in a murk of international literary diplomacy and scrupulous academic exertion, “The Letters of Samuel Beckett” has finally surfaced; and an elating cultural moment is upon us. It is also a slightly surprising moment. Beckett, in his published output and authorial persona, was rigorously spare and self-effacing. Who knew that in his private writing he would be so humanly forthcoming? We always knew he was brilliant — but this brilliant? Just as the otherworldliness of tennis pros is most starkly revealed in their casual warm-up drills, so these letters, in which intellectual and linguistic winners are struck at will, offer a humbling, thrilling revelation of the difference between Beckett’s game and the one played by the rest of us. (Beckett played tennis, incidentally.)

I loves my Beckett.


THE LETTERS OF SAMUEL BECKETT
Volume I: 1929-1940
Edited by Martha Dow Fehsenfeld and Lois More Overbeck
Illustrated. 782 pp. Cambridge University Press. $50

Here is the Cambridge Catalogue page.

61 things on my cat / Sam Hart

La Bonne et Belle Bianca Castafiore would give five stars, if she had them, for Sam Hart and his music. (She also loves Toby.) Check Sam and his tunes out on YouTube (blinktwice4y). Catch him live tomorrow night in Davis, California:

Event: Pilipino Time '09
When: Sat April 4 show starts at 7pm
Where: Richard Brunelle Performing Arts Theater at Davis High School (Davis, CA)
315 W. 14th Street, Davis, CA

This is a song that [Sam] wrote for [his] cats called "Kitty Song," along with video of 61 things being stacked on top of [his] cat Toby while he slept.

No Tobies were harmed in the making of this video. Please don't yell at [Sam], and please don't be mean to your cats.

--Sam Hart, blinktwice4y

Lyrics:

Little kitten feeling lonely
come and sit upon my lap
and I'll pet you run my fingers
through your fur as you cat nap

I'll feed you bits of tuna
and we'll stare at my tv.
I'll sing for you this song about
how much you mean to me.
It goes

[chorus]
Kitty come kitty play
Kitty love kitty stay
Kitty jump to me
Kitty land on your feet

When I get a little angry
or I'm feeling like a jerk
I can scratch you on the chin
and feel the rhythm of your purr

There's nothing that can phase me
when we're playing with a string
so I wrote for you this melody
though you hate it when I sing
it goes

[chorus]

Affectionate Light Bulbs, Toilets, and Surgery

The toilet overflowed.

I was on my way to see the orthopedic surgeon, was running late. Of course, the toilet chose that moment to do its thing. Yes, I *do* believe my toilet has free will.

That reminds me. Richard Brautigan wrote a poem about the lightbulb in his refrigerator, and how he believed that the lightbulb was fond of him. Fred was walking around the other day with a lightbulb in his hand, exclaiming over and over about how he thought it would never go out. I thought the household was going to have to go into mourning.

Here is the Brautigan poem, titled "Affectionate Light Bulb." So it turns out the bulb was in the toilet instead of the fridge. Looks like TOILET is the theme for the day.

I have a 75 watt, glare free, long life
Harmony House light bulb in my toilet.
I have been living in the same apartment
for over two years now
and that bulb just keeps burning away.
I believe that it is fond of me.

I remember the day that The Great American Writer and I went on a pilgrimage to Brautigan's place -- why, I don't know. I have a beautiful shell that I picked up there, on that dreary day. I remember that the sand wasn't so much sand, as mud. Muddy sand. It wasn't long after he had committed suicide -- the Fall of 1984.

That was a strange and wonderful time full of writerly things, trips and readings, periods of fecundity. Oppen's widow. Palmer. The time of Après-Foucault. Before the era of The Great American Writer Does Waitresses.

Sometimes the plumbing at Marlinspike Hall resembles more a mysterious labyrinth than anything that could be reasonably plotted on graph paper. Most of the "conveniences" were put in before plumbing hit its heyday in the 19th century...

I cried in the car on the way home. Poor Fred didn't know what to make of me, sobbing. Apparently, it just needed to happen.

Surgery is scheduled for Monday, April 27. It was going to be sooner, but I begged for time. I mean, I just had the last *major* surgery on February 16. This will be the fifth *major* surgery in 8 months.

And sometime between now and then, I have to go see another orthopod about the possibility of the osteomyelitis being in my knees. Yahoo. ShoulderMan said he is sending me to "the guru of knees."

I don't know how I ended up with Dr. ShoulderMan -- I mean, of course, I do know... What I mean is that he is great and I really lucked out.

Anything even remotely good that has happened since -- oh... -- 2000? I am in awe, I am grateful, I know what a gift is. That I have this superb surgeon who is also a superb doctor and person? A big "Thank You" emanates from my heart to the heart of the universe.

Jokingly, I showed him the two infected fingers -- it's a fungal infection and apparently not unusual if you're immunosuppressed. I said, "Thank goodness that *this* is not growing in my bones!" and got ready to guffaw with him...

So, of course, he said: "Hmmm. It just might be growing in the bone... but I think you'd be much much sicker. Of course, we're talking about *you*, so who knows..."

Good Golly, Miss Molly!

I find that as my trust in him grows, I accept his opinions as innately superior -- when I told him that the I.D. doctor had stopped the i.v. antibiotics after 10 days because of the muscle pain and sky-high CPK, and then stated we were "out of antibiotics to try," ShoulderMan said he would have let me "rest" for a week or so and then put me right back on it.

I hope I.D. and Ortho will work and play well together. When I asked the I.D. doc what we should do after the next surgery -- what antibiotics, etc. -- he said, "I've no idea." He thinks even vancomycin is now useless.

I can't worry about it. My bloodwork sucks, I am tired and depressed, in pain, constantly fighting a fever, sweating, exhausted. I never seem to be done cleaning or doing laundry. We had to stop at the pharmacy to get a new blood glucose testing meter -- while we were waiting, I had a terrible episode of chest pain. I couldn't really even communicate with Fred -- he didn't seem to hear me everytime I tried to tell him that I thought I was croaking. It lasted at least 20 minutes. But you know what feels GREAT? When a pain like that *stops*!

As soon as we got home, the roofer showed up to fix a small leak, and Fred showed off by fixing the toilet. (Hey, I never had the benefit of Boy's School.)

So... that leaves the clean-up chores for me, courtesy of Girl's School, I suppose.

I am so tired of these surgeries -- but there is no choice. He has to get the spacer out because the antibiotics embedded in it have all leeched out, leaving what he believes is a "bacteria magnet."

Well... there is a mop calling my name.

Have You Had Your Placebo Today?

The United Kingdom's Daily Mail Online, certainly my top source for up-to-the-minute health news, recently published an article titled "Which pills should you take to beat your pain?"

Their painkiller guide is actually quite good, with an emphasis on non-narcotic NSAIDs. I know that most of them are very effective, especially for bone-on-bone pain; I also know that they're very rough on the stomach. The last time I really felt like my bone pain was being contained was with the medication Diclofenac. And then came a smidge of internal bleeding and some bloodwork anomalies. "Drat!" I recall exclaiming in a fit of profound pique. "Doggone and shucks!"

The best part of the article comes at the end. After 25 entries for prescription drugs, the 26th reads as follows:

26. PLACEBO: Research based on more than 10,000 people show that 18 per cent of those given the sham treatment get a 50 per cent plus improvement in pain levels.

I've always found the idea of relief via the placebo effect fascinating and I know that it is sometimes very effective for me. It is odd, but I am able to consciously apply it -- that is, when my pain is out of control, I will take my allotted amount of breakthrough medication and then tell myself that in 30-40 minutes, I *will* have relief. I make a point of checking the time and then I write down the time by which I expect to have this relief.

It rarely fails.

Le Pen

Le Pen is at it again.
Non: Le Pen has never stopped.
Le Pen is consistent.
Never let it be said that I was not fair to Le Pen.



I copy below a snippet of the conversation about this YouTube vid that is contemporary with this posting. Why? Because I am struggling with United-States-of-Americans and what feels like a sucking vacuum of vapid, fetid breath born of GroupThink.

Not to be overly dramatic about it.

Please note the civility of the back-and-forth, the lack of a need to cite authority when one is both reasonable and reasonablyeducated. I copied daswerck91's little tale because it made me smile. I pasted Reinhard2152's remark because it made cold shivers ran up my spine (but I wondered if I wasn't over-reacting. Of course, one cannot control un frisson. What do you think?).

[oh! you will need to read the thread from the bottom up.]

Reinhard2152 (1 hour ago) si j'etais un putain de polak je fermerais ma gueule lol surtout vu comme on vous l'a mis en 39 ahahah

daswerck91 (6 hours ago) Hier, j'ai mangé une pomme.
Après j'ai eu mal au ventre, mais sa c'est un détail. :)

worldharrypotter (9 hours ago) ça ne change rien parce qu'il est le seul à le dire... Mais si tout le monde disait ça, là l'histoire changerait...
Certe il a le droit de s'exprimer si ce qu'il dit n'est pas nuisible or ça l'est pour les familles qui ont été détruite par ces chambres à gaz. : "ma liberté s'arrête où commence celle des autres"...
De plus, le négationnisme est puni par la loi, d'où l'amende de 200 000 euros... (ce qui n'est pas énorme pour cet homme)

amecharitable (23 hours ago) Franchement 200 000 euros d'amende pour ça... Déjà j'ai du mal à concevoir qu'on puisse être condamné à quoi que ce soit rien que pour avoir parler.

Marre de voir et d'entendre les gens s'indigner juste sur des mots. En vrai, que Le Pen dise ça ou pas qu'est-ce que ça change à l'histoire?
A-t-on encore le droit d'exprimer des opinions un peu à contre-courant ou faut seulement se taire et penser dans un seul sens???

worldharrypotter (1 day ago) Penseriez-vous la même chose si on vous enlevait les membres de votre famille, quon leur faisait vivre un enfer, quon leur coupait leurs cheveux pour en faire des perruques ? Mais pensez aussi, que ce soit vos petits frères ou sœurs, vos enfants, parce que oui, il ny avait pas tellement de pitié.

worldharrypotter (1 day ago) Est-ce un détail de vouloir tuer tout un peuple ? Est-ce un détail de faire de la mort une industrie ? De dépouiller les gens pour senrichir ? De vendre même jusquà leur cheveux ?
Dernières questions pour vous qui penser que tuer, torturer, dépouiller est un détail : avez-vous un cœur, êtes-vous humain ?

worldharrypotter (1 day ago) Comment peut-on dire que faire de la mort une industrie est un détail ? Parce que vous qui parlez, avez-vous déjà visité un camps ? Les nazis les organisaient telles des usines, qui fonctionnaient jour et nuit jusquen 1944.

worldharrypotter (1 day ago) Parler des chambres à gaz comme un détail est faux. Rappelez vous que les chiffres, 5 ou 6 millions de juifs morts ne sont seulement quune approximation, certains pensent quil y en a bien plus. Rappelez vous également que les juifs ne sont pas les seuls à être morts dans les chambres à gaz, que faites-vous des Tsiganes (environ 250 000 personnes), des Slaves considérés par les nazis comme « sous-hommes », des résistants, des communistes ?

worldharrypotter (1 day ago) Regardez la définition de détail, puis de génocide dans un dictionnaire. Vous verrez quun génocide ne peut pas être un détail.
Demandez-vous ensuite ce qui vous vient à l'esprit lorsqu'on vous parle de cette Seconde Guerre Mondiale et répondez (sans vous mentir). Ce mot génocide a été inventer suite à cette guerre, croyez-vous qu'il est alors secondaire ?

meetbee (1 day ago) Justement c'est pas la mort de ton proche qui est un détail mais la manière dont il a été assassiné faut arriver à comprendre à la fin...

JPNAT78 (1 day ago) la question n'est pas de savoir à partir de combien de millions de mort ça arrete d'être un détail !
Tous les morts sont importants.Le jour où tu perdras un de tes proches en mêmes temps qu'il y aura 10 000 autres morts, est-ce qe tu apprécieras que je te dise : "ton père (ou ta mère), c'est un détail"

Rope

Shhh. Don't tell Fred, but I am having a very good morning. I promise to tell him later -- *after* he has brought me another wonderfully brewed cup of coffee, in bed! To me, this is the height of luxury -- to have slept five hours without interruption and to wake without my first thought being that of pain medication, and then to have this sweet man offer me caffeine.

I need a better adjective than "sweet."

It's hard to accept gestures from him.

There is so much in my head and heart right now that I once again wish for Dumbledore's pensieve:

The Pensieve has multiple functions.

At times, when one's head is so full of thoughts that one cannot hear oneself think, it is useful to be able to take some of those thoughts and literally set them aside. The practiced Wizard can extract a thought from his head and store it in a phial or in the
Pensieve for another time. If it is in the Pensieve, it is possible to stir the thoughts stored there together and look for patterns. It appears that the wizard has the choice of extracting an entire memory, leaving no trace of it in his head... It is also apparently possible to edit these extracted memories, though it is a difficult task and one which is often not done well.

If one places one's head within the Pensieve, one becomes immersed in a memory that is stored in the Pensieve, and is able to relive it as if one was living that time over again...

A thought or memory stored in the Pensieve can, with proper stimulus, appear to nearby viewers as if standing on the surface of the basin.

It is also possible to take another person's memories, place them in the Pensieve, and then enter them to relive them as if one were the person whose memories you have just added to the Pensieve...

Most interestingly, the memories viewed by the person watching in the Pensieve are more complete than the person's own observations.

Ah, the coffee? I just dumped a few good gulps down my shirt. It's lovely what the tics and spasms of CRPS can do. I remember making an ambitious meal one evening -- cooking from a wheelchair in a kitchen that isn't handicap-friendly can be a challenge -- and as I was carefully lifting some filet with my spatula -- ticticticspazspazspaz -- and the fish went flying through the air backward over my head, landing with a satisfying *SPLAT* next to the catfood bowl, which of course determined its destiny.

At least the italian roast provides me the incentive to get out of bed, wash up, dress, and put the pensieve back in the closet. Throw in a load of wash --

Ah, the laundry? I have it on the brain. I was up at 3 am doing laundry because Sam-I-Am decided to piss on my dirty clothes again. This threat that he feels from Little Boy is getting serious -- as in: I cannot deal with any more cat piss. There are worse odors in the world but none that can line the sinuses quite the way that acrid, oily smell does. Bleck. Little Boy is the big-balled stray who is Marmy's brother, Dobby's uncle, and who is continually lurking around the exterior of The Manor. He has been injured recently -- it looks, Fred says, like it might be a bite on one of his rear legs -- but he is walking and feeding/drinking well, so I think he will be as "all right" as a stray cat can be in this cold-hearted world.

Marlinspike Hall has a few chinks loose here and there, especially in those wings dating from Medieval Times -- and Little Boy finds every little hole and access and marks, marks, marks with joyful abandon.

Following impeccable feline logic -- it only makes sense that Sammy, threatened by this virile male, would then do the expected: seek out my dirty clothes and piss all over them. No, I don't leave dirty laundry strewn about -- not when Captain Haddock might pop in at any time (for I do NOT believe he's still with that Swearing Bongi, photographic evidence be damned). I keep a clean Manor, thank you very much. But I will be keeping my laundry in some new, highly classified, secret spot.

A FEW HOURS LATER: I was planning to blog a bit about John McCain's performance on Meet the Press. Dick Gregory is doing a great job of making the show his own -- he is comfortable in his own skin, up on the topics -- Tim Russert must be smiling. McCain seems to be somewhat returned to his old self -- the man obviously does not fluorish when under the thumb of those political advisors and bobbly-headed pundits that the presidential campaign forced upon him. Forced upon him? Whatever. So now he thrives as part of the "Loyal Opposition." He is right to be angry about President Obama's failure to pick the pork out of his legislation, for not going with a line-by-line veto, as he promised. It is a bit of a pain, though, to listen to things like how McCain is anxiously waiting for guidance on Obama's plans to revamp immigration policy; Yes, it needs to happen, but can we decide once and for all whether he is doing too much too fast, the wrong things too soon, the right things too slow, or -- O, hilarity! -- whether he is doing everything just right, the Socialist Mad Man? The funniest moment of the show, was Gregory asking McCain if he planned to support Sarah Palin for President in
2012. It was hilarious. I haven't seen lips flap that fast in months. Why, surprise, surprise, it appears that there are many fascinating and qualified potential Republican candidates emerging!

He put the mark of approval on the new administration's foreign policy decisions and gave a smarmy yellow-toothed grin at being reminded that the fundamentals of our economy "are sound."

He plays the statesman well when he is not called upon to lead -- and just as I will never forget to remember that he was a brave man and that he served his country, and now suffers for it, physically, daily, I will also not fail to recall the seamier, steamier details of the man's life. I need to dig out that Rolling Stones' article from last Fall... it was an eye-opener.

Found it. Make-Believe Maverick: A closer look at the life and career of John McCain reveals a disturbing record of recklessness and dishonesty
By TIM DICKINSON, posted October 16, 2008

Yeah, so I was going to say a word about McCain!

Fred has gone to church and is staying afterward to give some sort of guidance about the lighting changes the congregation wants to make. Yes, I still have trouble with meanspirited jealousy. I long for the days when I woke up (Odd. I see myself as *single*, too.) early on Sunday morning, threw on some jeans and walked the grounds for a bit before hopping in the car and going and doing whatever the hell I wanted. But I am doing better in that I know my feelings have nothing to do with The Fredster's doings, nothing to do with him at all.

He helped me out the other day. Hmm. This won't make much sense to you, or seem at all important, but it was A Moment for me, somehow. We were flying down the highway to a doctor's appointment, it was pouring rain, I had not slept, my legs were enjoying some wild myoclonic jerks, and the allotted doses of pain medication had all been taken to little effect. The night before I had made noises about wanting to get my hair cut after the appointment -- since the route we had to take brought us near the hair place that knows how to tame my tangles and love my locks.

After seeing the PA (God forbid PainDude should pop his head in), while we were loading me back into Ruby the Dutiful Honda C-RV, Fred asked if I still wanted to get my hair done -- it was fine with him, said he.

And in that little moment, my world caved in. It just did. The fatigue of -- the shit of -- the large and total crap of it all. I kept hearing the voice in my head repeating ad nauseum -- Why does everything have to be so hard? It's an unfortunate mantra of late. I am trying to keep it unuttered. You know, think before I speak, edit what comes out of the mouth -- that sort of self-improvement [?] project.

I ducked my head and was searching for the ability to just do it (this would be others' mantra for me -- it bleeds out of their eyes, it is so obvious. Shut the fuck up and just do it. Anyway, strength of character can sometimes be found on the car floor mats.)

Ignoring me (or whatever), Fred said, still in that detached but kind monotone: "You just can't do it today. You hurt too much."

You know -- kind of like how you might say, "Well, skinless boneless chicken breasts are on my shopping list but I don't like the looks of these, so we'll just move on. I am more in the mood for a salmon salad, maybe with capers and some really finely minced scallion anyway."

It mattered that he didn't interrupt his movements to make an announcement; It mattered that... what? That he seemed confident that soon I would be able to do it, that soon I would not hurt too much.

He threw me a rope.

As today takes shape, it turns out to be a normally bad day -- which is, oddly enough, fine. The only things making me wince are these damned spasms and jerks (remember the coffee down the shirt?). And the thing fuelling my energy? A fever of 101.2. It really can give me the energy to get a lot done. I think Iwill surprise him with a lovely dinner.

I feel like cooking.

I hope I don't toss the food across the kitchen.

Oh! Do you remember The Turtles song -- no matter how they toss the dice/ it had to be/ the only one for me is you/ and you for me? Being just a wee lass, I "heard" that lyric as "no matter how they toss the tights..." Don't ask. I guess I kept an image in my head of everyone throwing leotards around.

This is a terrible post. Sorry. Maybe I'll come back to it. Likely not. Sufficient unto the day, and all that jazz. My goals remain modest -- a *deep* clean of the kitchen (as in, take off the grill from the bottom of the fridge and wash it; as in, pry the knobs off the stove and soak the suckers; as in, wash the trash cans!) and a lovely supper for the guy that throws me rope.