The Reconstructed Man

Sybirak and Cerberus

2009-12-20T13:41:00.000-08:00

The Polish term sybirak... is synonymous to the Russian counterpart sibiryak (a dweller of Siberia) and generally refers to all people resettled to Siberia... it is in most cases used to refer to Poles who have been imprisoned or exiled to Siberia.

After Mass today, I was speaking with a Polish-American acquaintance. She told me some family stories. One reminded me of Jonathan Safran Foer's novel Everything Is Illuminated, in which

A young American Jew, who shares a name with the author, journeys to Ukraine in search of Augustine, the woman who saved his grandfather's life during the Nazi liquidation of Trachimbrod, his family shtetl.

As for my acquaintance: it seems that the woman had a relative who, along with his family, was deported from Poland to Siberia during World War II. Every day, Russian soldiers would tramp through, tossing the dead from the train. The relative grew so sick, he was mistaken for dead and, so, was tossed out.

According to the relative, he was revived by a black dog licking his face. (The relative could not say for sure if this was a real dog or, frozen and feverish, something he merely imagined.) From there, the relative struck out across the tundra. He was eventually taken in and shielded by a Jewish family. After the War, he was reunited with the fragments of his family.

Of course, it was his good fortune to be removed from the train as he may well have perished in a Siberian prison camp. As for being mercifully awakened by a dog...? In many cultures, the black dog represents death (in some Scandinavian countries, it's a white dog). One thinks of Cerberus, the hellhound. Or of Cadejo: "a big black dog that haunts naughty young men who walk late at night on rural roads." In this case, ironically, the black dog brought life (unless the black dog was death and, inexplicably, spared the man).

This reminds me of traditions in which animals play a seminal role.

The founders of Rome: Romulus and Remus, suckled by the she-wolf
In Norse lore: Auoumbla the cow who, by licking the ice, uncovers Buri, the first man

Or the creation myth of the Iroquois:

In the Sky World, there was a Tree of Life that was very special to the people of the Sky World. They knew that it grew at the entrance to the world below and forbade anyone to tamper with the Tree. One woman who was soon to give birth was curious about the Tree and convinced her brother to uproot the Tree.

Beneath the Tree was a great hole. The woman peered from the edge into the hole and suddenly fell off the edge. As she was falling she grasped at the edge and clutched in her hand some of the earth from the Sky World. As she fell, the birds of the world below were disturbed and alerted to her distress. The birds responded and gathered a great many of their kind to break her fall and cradle her to the back of a great sea turtle. The creatures of the water believed that she needed land to live on, so they set about to collect some for her. They dove to the great depths of the world's oceans to gather earth to make her a place to live. Many of the animals tried to gather the earth from the ocean floor, only the muskrat was successful. With only a small bit of earth brought onto turtle's back from his small paws, Turtle Island began to grow.

Who knows what fate holds? When it is better to be expelled from a train than to stay aboard.

Who knows from where our saviors will emerge? A sickness. A stranger. A muskrat. A dog.

Evil, Thy Name Is Vundo

2009-12-14T13:20:00.000-08:00

No, Vundo's not an evil clown.

It's a Trojan horse. You know, one of those nasty computer viruses that sneak into your system, then wreak untold havoc.

Vundo, or the Vundo Trojan (also known as Virtumonde or Virtumondo and sometimes referred to as MS Juan) is a Trojan horse that is known to cause popups and advertising for rogue antispyware programs, and sporadically other misbehavior including performance degradation and denial of service with some websites including Google and Facebook.

A Vundo infection is typically caused either by opening an e-mail attachment carrying the trojan, or through a variety of browser exploits, including vulnerabilities in popular browser plug-ins, such as Java. Many of the popups advertise fraudulent programs including (but not limited to) Sysprotect, Storage Protector, AntiSpywareMaster, WinFixer, AntiVirus 2009, AntiVirus 360, Personal Guard 2009, and Virus Doctor (not to be confused with Spyware Doctor).

Yep, the oldest trick in the book: present yourself as a kind soul, a do-gooder. Charitable, concerned, altruistic. Only to ruthlessly fleece your mark once you're in the door. Pandora's box in an attractive package. The handshake, then the stab in the back.

How do you know whether "Vundo's in the house"? Here are just a few of the symptoms:

Vundo may attempt to prevent the user from removing it or otherwise impede its operation, such as by disabling the task manager, registry editor, and msconfig...
Some firewalls or antivirus software may also be disabled by the virus leaving the system even more vulnerable. Especially, it disables Norton AntiVirus and in turn uses it to spread the infection....
Popular anti-malware programs such as Spybot - Search & Destroy or Malwarebytes' Anti-Malware may be deleted or immediately closed upon loading...
Web access may also be negatively affected. Vundo may cause many websites to be inaccessible.
Google search links may be directed to rogue antispyware sites, which can be avoided by copy and pasting addresses
Vundo may cause webpages to fail to load after sessions of browsing and present a blank page in the browser instead of the webpage.

... which is what happened on my computer. Popular sites. Blank pages. What the...?

And it hides so well, you can't detect it with spyware and rout it out (your outsmarted program claiming there are no infected objects when, in fact, they are legion -- which makes you paranoid going forward, unsure if your system is ever virus free, reacting with panic to the slightest blip on your PC).

It manages to not only ingeniously mask but prodigiously replicate itself. A coup of deception and contagion. Rippling. Spreading. Like

Or

You're left to speculate how it snuck in:

Open the wrong email (even though it presumably came from a "friendly" -- a familiar source or someone you know)?
Click on a suspicious attachment (or one that seemed completely innocuous)?
Close an annoying pop-up or an ersatz ad (not realizing that closing, instead of closing out, activates infection)?

Mystified, you come face-to-face with the fact: on the Internet, you're basically connected to everything. Pray you have systems in place (though none are 100% guaranteed) to filter out the bad stuff. But never forget: same as a conventional pathogen, no matter what precautions you take, no matter how you try to prevent it, if you go out in public, you're bound to catch something.

The process may well leave you (like me) feeling helpless and haunted with questions:

What did I do wrong?
What protection is there from Vundo's restless and devastating tentacles? (Or from predatory computer repair shops that want to charge you hundreds of dollars for virus removal?)
What sick, unprincipled scum sucker would create, and propagate, an abomination like this?

Ponder. Ruminate. Reflect. Then, all else pales -- the injustice, the outrage, the anger -- as you realize. As you resign yourself to the stark, shattering truth. Only one thing matters.

Satan is real.

And living in your computer.

Dr. Strange, Master of the Mystic Arts

2009-12-08T19:21:00.000-08:00

In an earlier post, I shared my interest in Black Bolt, leader of the Inhumans. Another Marvel character I've always admired is Dr. Strange. As you may know, Dr. Strange (like Spider-Man) was created by Stan Lee and (the notoriously reclusive) Steve Ditko.

Dr. Strange first appeared in the aptly named Strange Tales #110 (July 1963).

Strange is... a world-renowned if selfish neurosurgeon, until a car accident damages his hands and prevents him from conducting surgery. Learning of a hermit called the Ancient One who might cure his condition, Strange finds the man in the Himalayas. After Strange selflessly tries to thwart a traitorous disciple (Baron Mordo), the Ancient One teaches Strange the mystic arts.

Trekking to a wise man in the Himalayas -- where have we heard that one before? In fact, Dr. Strange is like a catalog of '60s preoccupations: the occult, Eastern mysticism, mind-bending (though not drug-induced) dimensions.

Steve Ditko drew the feature through Strange Tales #146 (July 1966), and during this period he and Lee introduced many of Strange's allies, such as his eventual lover Clea; and his enemies Nightmare; Baron Mordo; and Dormammu. Ditko also visualized the cosmic entity Eternity, a sometime ally of Strange.
These stories revealed that Strange uses magical artifacts to augment his power, such as the Cloak of Levitation; Eye of Agamotto; Book of the Vishanti and the Orb of Agamotto. From the first story, Strange's residence, the Sanctum Sanctorum, was a part of the character's mythos. The trademark circular window divided by three sweeping lines on the front of the residence (actually the protective Seal of the Vishanti) appears in many Doctor Strange stories. Strange's personal servant, Wong, guards the residence in his absence.

(The Sanctum Sanctorum always reminded me of Rotwang's lab in Metropolis.)

After Ditko ended his spectacular run, the good doc suffered through a period of creative lethargy. He was resuscitated in 1968 when artist Gene Colan came aboard.

As you can see, not only the title but the character himself got a facelift. In his stint on the book, Colan also drew one of the more famous covers in comics:

Unfortunately, Dr. Strange was canceled with issue #183 (Nov. 1969). His next notable appearance came three years later:

The character was showcased in the title Marvel Premiere with one story marking the debut of another of Strange's recurring foes, the entity Shuma-Gorath. To stop Shuma-Gorath entering reality, Strange is forced to shut down the Ancient One's mind, which causes his physical death. The Ancient One, however, assures Strange this was a necessary sacrifice and his soul merges with the cosmic entity Eternity. Strange then assumes the title of Sorcerer Supreme.

Writer Steve Engelhart and artist Frank Brunner produced a string of stellar issues.

(Engelhart was responsible for some wildly purple prose including "His dirt-filled mouth will scream forever in hideous agony.")

Dr. Strange got his own animated movie a couple years ago; ergo, I was able to introduce the character to my daughter. What better to pass from generation to generation? Now if I could only bequeath the All-seeing Eye of Agamotto...

Dairyland Dogs

2009-12-08T18:12:00.001-08:00

No, we're not talking about a hot dog stand. We're talking about the endangered dogs of Dairyland Racetrack, discussed in an earlier post. I learned the following from a Nov. 21 blog post in the Chicago Reader:

If you're on Twitter or Facebook, you've probably already come across the message that Dairyland racetrack in Kenosha is closing and "900 Greyhounds need to be adopted or they will be euthanized." It's been shared and retweeted so many times by so many people that finding the original author is an exercise in futility.
But according to Ellen Paulus, president of the Wisconsin chapter of Greyhound Pets of America, the largest nonprofit group for greyhound adoption in the country, it's not true. "Wisconsin law mandates that no dogs can be put to sleep in our state just because their racing careers are completed," she e-mailed me. "Dogs have 3 options: transfer to another track to continue racing, go into adoption programs, or be signed back [to] their owners...."
In addition to Dairyland's adoption center, the Wisconsin Division of Gaming lists 51 adoption groups —including seven in Illinois—that have been approved to take the dogs. Paulus anticipates that "the majority of the dogs will be placed through the groups closest to the track: Dairyland's Adoption Center, GPA-Wisconsin, Greyhounds Only, Midwest Greyhound Adoption and Greyhound Alliance."

Fifty dogs are scheduled to be sent to adoption programs on the east and west coasts in early December.

Those fifty dogs were all over the news.

And from the Letters section of the Chicago Reader (Nov. 26):

"Operation Dairyland"—the closing of Dairyland Greyhound Park—can be followed at a Web site hosted by the Greyhound Alliance: www.greyhoundalliance.org. The site provides the most recent information/status of the closing. Dogs that are available to adoption groups are posted and regularly updated; most of the dogs will be moved to groups after 1/1/10. There is a link for individuals interested in adopting to find their local adoption organization. Upcoming hauls, fundraising events, and news will be posted. Individuals can donate to support the dogs and subsidize transportation, and 100% of donations will go to the dogs. Thus far, there has been (as we expected and very much appreciate), a fantastic outpouring of support from the public and the greyhound adoption network.

Wonderful news. Coincidentally, I recently heard a financial advisor refer to pets as a "money pit." As any dedicated pet person knows, Sparky and Miss Puddins are far from being a bad investment. In fact, studies show the myriad benefits of having a pet. This morning, in my optometrist's office, I was paging through the March 2008 issue of National Geographic Kids. I came across an article professing "Dogs Are Good Medicine":

One of the most recent discoveries about dogs is how good they are for people. People with dogs are healthier and have fewer colds, sore throats, and stomachaches. Petting a dog [or cat] helps reduce anxiety, and lowers heart rate and blood pressure.

In order to enjoy your pet, you have to take care of it. Some people are pretty cavalier in that department. Recently, a neighborhood cat was done in by a coyote. Some residents took offense at the owners letting the cat out, thereby putting it in danger. The owners responded in the local paper (the Beverly Review):

Our cats are and were in excellent health, properly groomed and clean... [critics'] insistence that the cat would roam if outside is entirely incorrect. Our cat always stayed on our property and was killed on our back patio.

This from petplace.com:

Today cats
live longer than ever. Just 20 years ago the life expectancy of a cat was four to six years; today they live 15 years or more. Life expectancy in cats depends on many things, but the most important factor is whether he is an indoor-only cat or an outdoor cat. Life expectancy varies significantly between the two.

Indoor cats generally live from 12-18 years of age. Many may live to be in their early 20s. The oldest reported cat was 28 years old at the time of death.

Outdoor cats generally live to be around four to five years of age. Their deaths are typically due to traumas such as being hit by a car or dog attacks. Outdoor cats are also more susceptible to several deadly viruses that are spread by fighting or prolonged intimate contact with an infected cat.

You're not doing your cat any favor by letting it outside (whether or not a coyote's on the loose... though coyotes did raise Pecos Bill).

Finally, in my last visit to Animal Krackers (the pet store where I buy my supplies) the clerk told me about the Savannah cat -- a hybrid between an American domestic and an African serval. Like their savanna-dwelling cousins, the Savannah can grow up to 30 lbs. (some servals top 50 lbs.). As you can see, these cats (like their savanna-dwelling cousins) are stunners. Just be ready to drop some serious change if you want one.

The Surgeon Skips Town

2009-12-08T17:08:00.000-08:00

The other day, I learned that my orthopedic surgeon, the guy who was gracious enough to reconstruct my ankle, is leaving town. Though his departure is shrouded in mystery (the letter I received referred to "unforeseen circumstances"), he apparently found a better gig downstate. Which meant I needed to gather and transfer my records to another "ankle man."

Fortunately, my daughter already goes to a podiatrist that we like (and who's willing to take me on as a patient). Most notably, the change allowed me to page through my records -- a small sheaf of documents -- and review my case. A walk down memory (or is that "surgery"?) lane. Here are some highlights:

12/29/08: This pleasant gentleman presents for evaluation of his right ankle. He twisted his ankle and fell on the ice several days ago.

Physical examination: Demonstrates tenderness both medially and laterally.

Radiographic findings: Radiographs demonstrate a displaced fracture of the right ankle. This includes a displaced fibular fracture and disruption of the ankle mortis.

Impression: Severe displaced fracture of the right ankle.

Plan: The patient will be scheduled for an ORIF of the right ankle. We discussed all possible complications and the patient wishes to proceed with surgery. The surgery will be performed on 12/31/08.

12/31/08: Open reduction and internal fixation of the right ankle.

Operative findings: The patient had a displaced fracture of the right ankle that involved the medial and lateral malleolus as well as complete disruption of the syndesmosis requiring the placement of syndesmotic screws.

Procedure: The patient was brought to the operating room and placed supine on the operating table. Once under anesthesia, the patient was prepped and draped in the usual sterile fashion about the right ankle and the right lower extremity. A tourniquet was inflated. A lateral incision was made. Dissection was carried down to the fibula...

1/30/09: Mr. Brien returns for evaluation of his right ankle ORIF. The staples were removed and the cast was removed. The incisions look great.

2/2/09: I had a long talk with the patient about the fact that we will need to remove those syndesmotic screws at some point. For now, I would like to keep him on nonweightbearing and simply work on range of motion.

2/27/09: [Mr. Brien] is doing well considering the severity of his injury.

Radiograph shows excellent position of the ankle internal fixation. Exam shows intact neurovascular status of the right ankle and foot.

The patient is going to begin 50% weightbearing on the right ankle. He is aware of the possibility of posttraumatic arthritis.

4/20/09: Mr. Brien returns for evaluation of his right ankle. I took the staples out of the right ankle at the site where we removed the syndesmotic screws two weeks ago. The patient is going to increase his ambulation with full weightbearing and physical therapy...

5/18/09: Mr. Brien returns for evaluation of his severe right ankle fracture. He is making steady progress.

Physical examination: Demonstrates good range of motion. There is only slight swelling of the ankle.

Plan: The patient will increase his ambulation...

8/10/09: Mr. Brien returns for follow-up of his severe right ankle fracture. Examination shows excellent range of motion of the ankle.

10/12/09: Mr. Brien returns for evaluation of his right ankle fracture. Examination shows mild swelling of the ankle.

Impression: Doing well following ORIF of a severe right ankle fracture.

Plan: Mr. Brien will return to see me in six months.

Krampus - Scourge of the Sinful

2009-12-08T14:25:00.000-08:00

Christmas. The season of carols, candy canes, and Krampus. Certainly you know who Krampus is! Wikipedia definitely does:

Krampus is a mythical creature who accompanies Saint Nicholas in various regions of the world during the Christmas season. The word Krampus originates from the Old High German word for claw (Krampen). In the Alpine regions, Krampus is represented by a demon-like creature accompanying Saint Nicholas. Krampus acts in conjunction with Saint Nicholas; the latter gives gifts to good children, while the Krampus gives warnings and punishments to the bad children. Traditionally, young men dress up as the Krampus in the first two weeks of December, particularly in the evening of December 5, and roam the streets frightening children and women with rusty chains and bells. In some rural areas the tradition also includes birching by Krampus, especially of young females.

Certainly you know what "birching" is!

Birching is a corporal punishment with a birch rod, typically applied to the recipient's bare buttocks, although occasionally to the back and/or shoulders.

This medieval woodcut illustrates:

Or how about these more modern renditions?

Nothing like a dose of Teutonic cheer. Ah, what fun (though not as much fun as St. Nick seems to be having, peering through that window).

Of course, in Dutch folklore, we have a similar, though less diabolical, character: Black Peter (or Zwarte Piet).

Although it is said that the origins of Zwarte Piet are unknown, it seems most plausible that Zwarte Piet is a continuation of the much longer held tradition of depicting Sinterklaas in the company of a dark skinned man, thought to be the Devil. He is also depicted as the slave of Sinterklaas. This was due to the pervasive belief amongst Europeans that the Devil would resemble a Moor....

According to myths dating to the beginning of the 19th century, Saint Nicholas (Sinterklaas) operated by himself or in the companionship of a devil. Having triumphed over evil, it was said that on Saint Nicholas Eve, the devil was shackled and made his slave. A devil as a helper of the Saint can also still be found in Austrian Saint Nicholas tradition....

Zwarte Piet is often portrayed as a mischievous but rarely a mean-spirited character. Parents used to tell their children that if they have been good, Zwarte Piet will bring them gifts and sweets, but if they have been bad, Piet will scoop them up, stuff them in his huge dufflebag and spirit them away to Spain as punishment. Though this is increasingly uncommon nowadays, he can still carry some type of whip or scourge (called a "roe"), especially a birch, which could be used for birching or in modern words, to chastise children who have been too naughty to deserve presents.

Okay, okay, enough with the birching. (Interesting side note: some claim that Santa wields a whip based on this tradition. Yes, and to drive his sleigh.)

Here in the States, we've made Christmas so joyful, so sanitary. Let's not lose sight of Krampus and all the things he represents (pain, punishment, retribution). This video should help get you into the true holiday spirit.

Remember: He's making a list and checking it twice. Gonna find out who's naughty or nice. Santa Claus -- and his sadistic, unforgiving compatriot Krampus -- are coming to town.

Yippee, the Recession's Over!

2009-12-03T18:26:00.000-08:00

This past week brought some presumably good news: the national unemployment rate dipped from 10.2 to 10 percent. Naturally, everyone (except for those annoying skeptics) hailed the end of the recession and the start of a long-sought recovery.

Here's what we can expect...

From a Dec. 7 story in USA Today:

[S]ome experts predict [that temporary workers] could constitute up to a quarter of the workforce in a few years.... Gary Mathiason, vice chairman of Littler, the No. 1 employment law firm, predicts half the jobs created in the recovery will be filled by contractors, consultants and other temps.

In other words, a massive segment of the workforce -- categorized as "employed" -- will be either underemployed or living precariously from one transient temp/consulting/contract job to the next (remember: when one of those jobs end, you can't collect unemployment benefits). In short, we're becoming a society of day laborers.

From a Dec. 1 AP story -- "New $100 Billion Safety Net for Jobless in Works":

Many economists say increasing or extending unemployment payments is among the most efficient ways to jump-start the economy. It's easy to do and the people getting the benefits typically spend the money quickly. With the economy in a fragile recovery, cutting off benefits could be harmful.
"It would significantly raise the risk of falling back into recession next year," said Mark Zandi, chief economist at Moody's Economy.com.
Not all economists agree, however, especially if the benefits are financed by adding to the nation's $12 trillion debt. There's also evidence that unemployment insurance actually raises the jobless rate slightly because some people don't look for work as diligently as they do when they're on it.
"There are two downsides to extending unemployment benefits. One is the higher budget deficits that you get. Two is that unemployment benefits create a disincentive for some people to go back to work," said Keith Hennessey, an economic adviser to former President George W. Bush.

What can you say about all those shiftless slugs out there, reveling in their "handouts," whiling away their days watching Oprah and eating bonbons? Guess there's no incentive in losing your house.

We're not out of the woods yet, as Robert Reich relates in "The Truth About Jobs that No One Wants to Tell You":

[T]en percent unemployment really means twenty percent underemployment or anxious employment. All of which translates directly into late payments on mortgages, credit cards, auto and student loans, and loss of health insurance. It also means sleeplessness for tens of millions of Americans.

Count me in (the recession's shunted my family into a limbo of uncertainty, insomnia, and impending disintegration).

That sourpuss Robert Reich (again) on the "The Economic Reality that No One Wants to Talk About":

The basic assumption that jobs will eventually return when the economy recovers is probably wrong. Some jobs will come back, of course. But the reality that no one wants to talk about is a structural change in the economy that's been going on for years but which the Great Recession has dramatically accelerated.
Under the pressure of this awful recession, many companies have found ways to cut their payrolls for good. They've discovered that new software and computer technologies have made workers in Asia and Latin America just about as productive as Americans, and that the Internet allows far more work to be efficiently outsourced abroad.
This means many Americans won't be rehired unless they're willing to settle for much lower wages and benefits. Today's official unemployment numbers hide the extent to which Americans are already on this path. Among those with jobs, a large and growing number have had to accept lower pay as a condition for keeping them. Or they've lost higher-paying jobs and are now in a new ones that pays less.
Yet reducing unemployment by cutting wages merely exchanges one problem for another. We'll get jobs back but have more people working for pay they consider inadequate, more working families at or near poverty, and widening inequality. The nation will also have a harder time restarting the economy because so many more Americans lack the money they need to buy all the goods and services the economy can produce.
So let's be clear: The goal isn't just more jobs. It's more jobs with good wages....
Without... productivity-enhancing investments, a steadily increasing number of Americans will be priced out of competition in world economy. More and more Americans will face a Hobson's choice of no job or a job with lousy wages.

Which means folks will fall into one of two camps: the miserably unemployed or the miserably employed. Among the latter, I know a number who are aching to be laid off. For them, a stint on the dole represents a godsend next to a gulag of 60-hour workweeks, eviscerated benefits, and endless threats.

Sure, they're "grateful to have a job." They're also deeply resentful -- tired of toiling under grueling, 19th-century conditions. They fantasize about having a heart-to-heart with the boss, where they can finally, triumphantly say: "Do me a favor. Get it over with. Can me."

Which ties back to findings presented in my Nov. 24 post -- by and large, the employed are way stressed out... cashing in sick days and courting professional assistance. Survey results from HR and benefits consultant Watson Wyatt show that:

Stressed-out workers are calling in sick more often and turning to employee assistance programs for help in greater numbers in the wake of layoffs at many firms.

Not surprisingly: "78 percent of employers cited 'excessive work hours' as a leading cause of worker stress." (How nice of companies to offer EAP services to lessen that stress... a little like a man who beats his wife but hands her a Band-Aid afterward).

No question: it's bad for the survivors (a.k.a. people who are still working). However, they, at least, can avail themselves of EAP services. Who do the unemployed turn to? How do they cope? It's hardly as though they have discretionary income to squander on counseling. ("Honey, do we pay the therapist or do we eat?")

For the last word, a sobering, non-sugar-coated assessment from Elizabeth Warren, weighing in on "America Without a Middle Class":

America today has plenty of rich and super-rich. But it has far more families who did all the right things, but who still have no real security. Going to college and finding a good job no longer guarantee economic safety. Paying for a child's education and setting aside enough for a decent retirement have become distant dreams. Tens of millions of once-secure middle class families now live paycheck to paycheck, watching as their debts pile up and worrying about whether a pink slip or a bad diagnosis will send them hurtling over an economic cliff.

This Recession Is a Killer

2009-11-24T11:35:00.001-08:00

Earlier today, I came across some jolting news -- "Early Data Suggest Suicides Are Rising":

[T]he number of suicides in the U.S. crept up during the worst recession in decades... The precise reasons for the rise in suicides aren't yet known. But suicide rates have historically risen during tough economic times, when unemployment is high, suicide experts say....

"We're hearing from people who might not have sought help before," said John Draper, project director [for the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline]. Some crisis centers note that financial problems outpace depression as reasons for the calls, he said. "There's a lot more anxiety and fear related to paying bills and finding a job. Certainly there's some hopelessness about the future...."

The number of suicides tends to rise with a state's unemployment rate, said Christopher J. Ruhm, an economist at the University of North Carolina, Greensboro, who has studied the health effects of recessions. His research suggests that for every one percentage point increase in a state's unemployment rate, the number of suicides increases 1.3%.

Good to know, living in a state with an 11% unemployment rate. And what about "suicide expert"? There's some job. (All jokes aside, those verses from the Moody Blues' "Question" keep playing in my head: "In the grey of the morning, my mind becomes confused, between the dead and the sleeping and the road that I must choose.")

I'm reminded of mass suicides in history -- where things get so awful, suicide becomes a preferable route. Consider (as Wikipedia does) Masada and Okinawa:

The rampart [assault ramp] was complete in the spring of 73, after approximately two to three months of siege, allowing the Romans to finally breach the wall of the fortress with a battering ram on April 16. When they entered the fortress, however, the Romans discovered that its 960 inhabitants had set all the buildings but the food storerooms ablaze and committed mass suicide rather than face certain capture, defeat, slavery or execution by their enemies.
With the impending victory of American troops, civilians often committed mass suicide, urged on by the Japanese soldiers who told locals that victorious American soldiers would go on a rampage of killing and raping. Ryukyu Shimpo, one of the two major Okinawan newspapers, wrote in 2007: "There are many Okinawans who have testified that the Japanese Army directed them to commit suicide. There are also people who have testified that they were handed grenades by Japanese soldiers (to blow themselves up)."Some of the civilians, having been induced by Japanese propaganda to believe that U.S. soldiers were barbarians who committed horrible atrocities, killed their families and themselves to avoid capture. Some of them threw themselves and their family members from the cliffs where the Peace Museum now resides.

With the recession as bad as it is, it's no wonder that Employee Assistance Programs (EAPs), like crisis centers, are getting more calls. Surveys conducted by EAP provider ComPsych found that

Some 92 percent of employees say financial worries are keeping them up at night... Only 8 percent of employees described themselves as “not worried.”
More than half of U.S. workers said their work atmosphere felt worried due to the economy... Of respondents, 16 percent described their workplace as "panicky....""Workers are shouldering more work due to layoffs, and finding it difficult not to be distracted by future uncertainties," said Dr. Richard A. Chaifetz, Chairman and CEO of ComPsych. "We have seen a record number of calls for on-site counselors due to layoffs as well as requests for ongoing stress management counseling."

If it's this lousy for folks who are working, you can imagine how stressful it is for people who aren't. You'd think, if a company had any heart, they'd at least extend EAP services to individuals who are let go. Consider this proposal from Perspectives, another EAP provider:

EAPs can help HR executives design a plan that meets the organization’s objectives while treating employees with compassion, consideration and respect. That plan may include transition tactics, having an EAP counselor on hand to help mitigate the downsizing effort and extending EAP benefits to the departing employees at no cost to them.

In fact, extending your EAP benefits for up to 18 months may be one of the most rewarding tactics you deploy – because it’s extremely cost effective (costing far less than other employee benefits) and helps to resolve potential conflicts before they escalate.

Offering an extended EAP and helping employees understand the value and benefit of it beyond their employment is an important measure that is often overlooked. Not only does the EAP help minimize the risk of employee retaliation by allowing them to “vent” natural emotions like shock, resentment and denial to a trained, qualified third-party source that respects their situation, but it helps them come to terms with the change. The EAP can also help former employees refocus on potential growth opportunities and next steps by guiding them through development of a personal transition plan and providing resources for job searches, retraining and education.

A wonderful idea, especially as this "recession problem" isn't going away soon (some experts predict that the unemployment rate will keep rising until summer 2010). Despite a few promising indicators, there doesn't seem to be any foreseeable relief on the job front. A Nov. 25 story in the Washington Post tells us that

The unemployment rate will remain elevated for years to come, according to a forecast released Tuesday by the Federal Reserve... Top Fed officials expect the unemployment rate to remain in the 6.8 to 7.5 percent range at the end of 2012 and said it could take "about five or six years" from now for economic activity to return to normal.

The math is simple: The U.S. economy is capable of growing at roughly 2.5 to 3 percent a year, thanks to population growth and technological improvement, and needs to grow faster than that to create large numbers of jobs and significantly improved standards of living.... the five current Fed governors and 12 presidents of regional Fed banks expect growth of 2.5 to 3.5 percent in 2010 -- which would be enough to bring the unemployment rate down only slightly.

"Business contacts reported that they would be cautious in their hiring and would continue to aggressively seek cost savings," said minutes of the Fed policymaking meeting earlier this month, which were released alongside the forecast. The officials "expected that businesses would be able to meet any increases in demand in the near term by raising their employees' hours and boosting productivity, thus delaying the need to add to their payrolls."

Which raises the critical question: "With such an anemic forecast, what do people have to feel hopeful about?" With dwindling assets and limited options, how long can unemployed folks hold out? Will a call to an EAP or a visit with a counselor save your marriage or your house? What can you realistically expect from employers, mortgage companies, and the government (the same entities that helped get us into this mess)?

Have no fear -- the White House is hosting a "jobs summit." As the Wall Street Journal reports: "Mr. Obama invited business and labor leaders, as well as academics and economists" (all of whom are, presumably, employed).

Democrats in Congress say they hope to pass a bill in coming months aimed at creating jobs. White House aides are being more circumspect. "Hiring often takes time to catch up to economic growth," said Valerie Jarrett, an adviser on business issues to President Barack Obama. "At the same time, there are limits to what government can and should do, even during such difficult times...." Ms. Jarret said the aim is to create "a climate that will spur short-term job creation." Other officials say Mr. Obama is seeking ways to work with the private sector but will offer no concrete proposals at the event.

If that doesn't instill confidence, I don't know what does ("limits to what the government can do" -- tell that to the poor sucker facing foreclosure).

So we return to that constant, dispiriting drumbeat: What can people do? Where can they turn?

In this season of thanksgiving, I say "Turn to the bird." Not just any bird -- a heritage turkey.

Heritage turkeys can be differentiated from other domestic turkeys in that they are... raised in a manner that more closely matches the natural behavior and life cycle of wild turkeys [as opposed to their unfortunate "industrial agriculture" cousins].

We learn from the Heritage Turkey Foundation that

Most breeds of heritage turkey were developed in the United States and Europe over hundreds of years, and were identified in the American Poultry Association's turkey Standard of Perfection of 1874. These breeds include the Standard Bronze, Bourbon Red, Narragansett, Jersey Buff, Slate, Black Spanish, and White Holland. Later added to the standard were the Royal Palm, White Midget and Beltsville Small White.
Large corporations have dominated turkey production and breeding since the 1960's, choosing the Broad Breasted Whites because of high breast meat production in a short period. But Heritage Breeds have been quietly gaining a renewed market and respect due to their flavor and superior biological diversity.

An article in the New York Times concurs:

Although these breeds make up far less than one percent of the 265 million turkeys produced in America... many chefs consider them the best thing to eat on Thanksgiving.

I understand: in the turkey world, this holiday is shorthand for slaughter. Like their human counterparts, millions of turkeys are "getting the axe." But if you're going to gorge yourself, why not choose a heritage bird, the "Standard of Perfection"? Go on. Treat yourself. (And don't forget that, albeit temporary, bonus of the post-meal tryptophan trance -- the welcome stupor, the blessed Lethe and Nepenthe where you're blissfully crashed out on the couch, oblivious to setback or sorrow.)

No matter our crushing concerns, Thanksgiving provides an opportunity to recognize, and appreciate, the simple things. Time with family and friends. A savory, bounteous meal. And, by Jove, it helps put things in perspective. If you think you have it bad, just remember: you're luckier than that big bird -- golden, glorious, dead, weighing down the table.

Perils and Possibilities

2009-11-23T17:55:00.000-08:00

This from Craigslist:

Tails Pet Media Group, Inc. is seeking a part-time editor to join our growing collection of award-winning pet magazines.... We are seeking a motivated, detail-oriented journalist who enjoys writing about animals and is capable of assisting in editorial-related tasks. Main duties include writing local pet news, maintaining and compiling local pet resources, and assisting in content management for website.... Candidates who are involved in the Chicago pet community or who have pet(s) are encouraged to apply.

I'm familiar with Tails (the magazine). I used to get my copy in the recreational center where my daughter had her tennis lessons. I particularly remember the August 2009 issue on pet loss: what happens to the dog, cat, or iguana who survive us? Who will look after them?

According to Chicago estate planning attorney Lindsey Markus (LindseyMarkus.com), 40 states and the District of Columbia currently have pet-trust laws enacted or statutes allowing for the creation of a pet trust....

It is imperative to establish a legally binding method of ensuring that your pet is cared for if you die or become disabled. In addition to making informal, temporary arrangements for the care of your pet, you must also make formal arrangements that specifically address the long-term care of your pet.

This is serious stuff -- I'm glad Tails brought it to my attention. Pet owners agonize over finding a reliable pet sitter for the weekend. What if your pooch or pussycat needs a permanent sitter... for years? That's the scenario if you're out of commission or you've "slipped this mortal coil." If you value your pet, you have to look at contingency planning.

Tails also has a delightful site. How can you resist celebrities and their pets, Tails' Reader Poll ("What do you think should be the maximum number of pets allowed per household?") or the Furry Forum ("Our experts answer your questions")?

When I saw that Tails had an opening, I thought "I know these folks. I like their work. Neat job." Until I reached the end of the ad. "This is an on-site position" (their office is located too far from my home in the hinterlands) and the "pay is $10-$12 an hour depending on experience" ("Depending on experience"? Sheesh. Unemployment compensation "pays" $12/hour.)

I didn't have long to bemoan the loss. Later that day, I received a chilling email:

The Dairyland Race Track in Kenosha, Wisconsin, will be closing on December 31, 2009. Some 900 Greyhounds need to be adopted or they will be euthanized. Only 6 weeks to get this task done.

As a pet owner, I was alarmed. As a greyhound admirer, I was appalled (greyhounds are the best argument for intelligent design). To think: used for sport, then tossed aside.

Thankfully, euthanasia isn't a given. There seems to be another, encouraging side to the story (if we can believe it) -- in a Nov. 19 press release, Dairyland Greyhound Park claims that

Wisconsin State law provides that the greyhounds are to be adopted to new homes, sent to another racetrack for racing purposes or returned to their owners. Our kennel compound will remain open until all greyhounds are properly placed.

We do not know at this current time how many greyhounds in total will become available for adoption until we finish racing on December 31st, 2009.

I'm no authority on Wisconsin State law. I just hope the race track honors its word. (For those interested, a Nov. 10 article in the Racine Journal Times discusses the track's closing and its impact, including the loss of 180 jobs.)

If you know of anyone who might want to adopt one of these magnificent creatures: "Contact Joanne Kehoe, Operations Director at 312.559.0887 or the Dairyland Race Track Adoption Center direct at (262) 612-825."

I'd consider adopting one of my own. Because I'm unemployed, I have ample time to walk a dog (and the exercise would do me good). However, we already have enough pets. And, as we know, greyhounds are sight dogs prized for their coursing (that astounding, innate ability to spot and chase game). Put him/her in a household of cats... The last thing I need is a 60-pound racing machine rocketing through the dining room. (Others contend that "It is a myth that no greyhound can live with cats. Many greyhounds and cats live happily together.")

While we debate whether the "greyhound can abide with the tabby," let's end with this uplifting video on greyhound adoption.

Ways Not to Earn a Living

2009-11-22T06:04:00.000-08:00

The (un)employment news grows increasingly dire, especially here on Chicago's South Side. On a statewide level:

The Illinois Department of Employment Security reported that the seasonally adjusted unemployment rose from 10.5 percent to 11 percent between September and October, bringing the rate to its highest mark since August 1983.... Maureen O'Donnell, the department's director, said the "slowing pace of job loss and other leading economic indicators bring with it cautious optimism." But, she said, "they are of little comfort to those seeking meaningful employment during this national recession."

As for the South Side:

According to a Chicago Reporter analysis of employment data collected in the [U.S. Census Bureau's] 2008 American Community Survey, the collective unemployment rate for South Side neighborhoods Auburn Gresham, Englewood, Washington Heights and West Englewood was 23.2 percent. Those four community areas are grouped together in what the Census Bureau defines as a public use microdata area -- or PUMA. With a rate of 28.5 percent, only the PUMA covering the northeast corner of Detroit had a higher level of unemployment in 2008, according to the Reporter's analysis.

Granted, I don't live in any of the four neighborhoods cited, but this is still sobering news. With so many people unemployed and so few jobs, folks are starving for work. Heck, their homes, their families, their very sanity are hanging in the balance. They'll do anything for cash. (Listen and you'll hear. That restless, irrepressible cacophony: "What can I offer? What can I sell?")

And the predators out there know -- jobless Joes and Janes are highly susceptible to scams. In its "12 Scams of Christmas," security company McAfee includes:

Job search related scams: With the [national] unemployment rate at 10.2 percent, there are plenty of job seekers looking for work. Beware of online offers for high paying jobs or at-home money making schemes. Some of these sites ask for money up front, which is a good way for criminals not only to steal your "set up fee" but misuse your credit card too. [McAfee's David] Marcus said that some "get rich quick" sites are all about money laundering, asking you to accept an inbound financial transfer and pay them.

Take the bait -- you end up even worse off than before.

It's not surprising that, with so much at stake, the unemployed resort to extreme measures... like donating organs. (I was recently reminded of this by the Illinois Secretary of State, who invited me to donate an organ or two should I have a disastrous car accident.) Consider this scenario from Park Chan-wook's Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (the first part of the Vengeance Trilogy, which includes Oldboy):

Ryu, a deaf-mute, works in a factory to support his ailing sister who is in desperate need of a kidney transplant. Ryu tries to donate one of his kidneys to his sister, but is told that as his blood type doesn't match that of his sister, he is not a suitable donor. After being laid off from his job by the factory boss, Ryu contacts a black market organ dealer who agrees to sell him a kidney suitable for his sister in exchange for 10,000,000 Korean won (approximately $10,000), plus one of Ryu's own kidneys. He takes the severance pay from his factory job and offers the money to the organ dealers, who take the money and one of his kidneys, but then disappear completely. Three weeks later, Ryu learns from his doctor that a kidney has been found for his sister and that the operation will cost 10,000,000 won, but since the organ dealers stole his money, he won't be able to pay for it.

One tough break, eh?

Pretty grim, but not as bad as the shenanigans taking place in Peru:

A gang in the remote Peruvian jungle has been killing people for their fat, police charged Thursday, draining it from their corpses and offering it on the black market for use in cosmetics. Medical experts expressed skepticism that a major market for fat might exist.... Yale University dermatology professor Dr. Lisa Donofrio speculated that a small market may exist for "human fat extracts" to keep skin supple, though scientifically such treatments are "pure baloney...."
[P]olice received a tip four months ago that human fat from the jungle was being sold in Lima. In August... police infiltrated the band and later obtained some of the amber fluid, which a police lab confirmed as human fat.
On Nov. 3, police arrested Serapio Marcos Veramendi and Enedina Estela in a Lima bus station with a quart (a liter) of human fat in a soda bottle. Their testimony led to the arrest of [suspect Elmer Segundo] Castillejos three days later at the same bus station.... Police named the band the "Pishtacos" after a Peruvian myth dating to pre-Columbian times of men who killed to extract human fat....
Medical authorities reached by The Associated Press said human fat is used in anti-wrinkle treatments -- but is always extracted from the patient being treated, usually from the stomach or buttocks.
"There would be a risk of immunological reaction that could lead to life-threatening consequences" if fat from someone else were used, said Dr. Neil Sadick, a professor of dermatology at Cornell Weill Medical College in New York.
Dr. Adam Katz, a professor of plastic surgery at the University of Virginia medical school, was incredulous when told about the Peruvian ring.
"I can't see why there would be a black market for fat," he said. "It doesn't make any sense at all because in most countries we can get fat so readily and in such amounts from people who are willing and ready to donate that I don't see why there would ever be a black market for fat, of all tissues."

Unspeakable acts. Obscene, unpardonable conduct. Heartless, savage behavior reminiscent of some tawdry drive-in feature (I Drain Your Fat). What's more: the killings were both gruesome and misguided. How very pointless -- to go through all that and there's no market for your product.

A lesson to us all: no matter how desperate you become, pause a moment and think. Retain your decency. Do your research. Determine what's truly profitable.

Last night I had a dream. I was in some dusty village bazaar. A man was selling tropical birds. An old woman brayed about her brightly colored blankets. And me? I was hawking a bottle of liquid fat... and there were no takers.

Immunity

2009-11-17T13:48:00.000-08:00

With H1N1 so prominent in the news, we're all wondering, "Am I safe from sickness?" Personally, I got my seasonal flu shot a couple weeks ago (but can't find a swine flu shot to save my life). Apparently, what I really need to worry about is getting an ordinary childhood illness.

I recently tried registering for a college class (at a college where I've been taking classes for years) and was told that I couldn't. The powers that be had placed a "hold" on my status because I didn't have a complete immunization record on file. In order to register, I had to prove that I'd been vaccinated for measles, rubella, mumps, and tetanus/diphtheria. I had to submit a Certificate of Immunity (cue ominous music).

I'd recently received my once-a-decade tetanus shot so that was covered. But the others? Like everyone else, I'd gotten the standard round of vaccinations when I was a tyke. Unfortunately, both the records (and the physician who administered the shots) were long gone (one of the liabilities of being an older student).

I asked the college's Immunization Officer, "What are my choices?" I could petition for a waiver or I could get tested to see whether my blood contained antibodies to the aforementioned diseases (contacting my childhood doctor via seance wasn't an option). So off I went to my (current) doctor. And learned they have a test for just this thing -- the titer test.

As MedlinePlus explains, the titer test (or antibody titer -- "titer" means "amount") is

a laboratory test that measures the presence and amount of antibodies in blood. The antibody level in the blood is a reflection of past exposure to an antigen or to something that the body does not recognize as belonging to itself. The body uses antibodies to attack and remove foreign substances.

To which I say -- thank you, body. Whether you have a strong or weak titer determines whether you need to be vaccinated/receive a booster shot.

Although we don't hear much about titer tests for humans (unless you need one to get a job or travel overseas), they're commonplace for pets. In the pet-loving community, there's a debate as to how often dogs should be tested and vaccinated. The blog Truth4Dogs notes that

Enlightened veterinarians and pet parents have become increasingly wary of the health risks, and lack of benefits, associated with repeatedly vaccinating dogs after their initial “puppy shots.” Is titer testing the solution to the over-vaccination problem?

Like many titer-challenged Americans, I can't answer that (I'm just glad they're not testing me for parvovirus, distemper, or rabies). To be honest, if I had a dog, it would be an area for concern. I have to admit, I was a little scared after viewing this Truth4Dogs video:

(I also have to admit -- Ms. Rasmusen's presentation in the video seemed to ring with the same type of fear-mongering and misinformation found in the autism arena among Jenny McCarthy and the anti-vaccine contingent. Don't believe me? Pay a visit to Jenny and Jim's www.generationrescue.org.)

I had my titer test last week and received my results today. I showed immunities (a positive reading) for two out of the three diseases (hallelujah) but, because I didn't pass all three with flying colors, I'll need an MMR (you guessed it -- Measles, Mumps, Rubella) vaccination (bummer).

I'll be returning to the doctor's on Thursday for my shot o' serum. Thursday night, I'll sleep easier knowing that I won't be contracting a laundry list of deadly (or, at least, discomforting) diseases. That I won't be endangering an unsuspecting public. That I won't be labeled "Typhoid Johnny." And that I can, once again, attend college classes.

How a Blog Is Like a Dog

2009-11-11T09:57:00.000-08:00

This past weekend we were visiting some acquaintances who have a dog. Bruno. Wonderful guy. German Shepherd mix. Getting on in age. But still engaged, active, affectionate.

The kind of dog who waits patiently (okay, maybe a whine or two) for table scraps, jumps up on the couch with you, writhes when you rub his belly. The kind of dog who barks when you leave... leading you to believe that you'll be missed. A lovable dog. The ideal dog.

Keep in mind: I don't have a dog (I was about to say "own" but that's equating pets with property). All my life, it's been cats. But I still consider myself a dog person. I like dogs. I tend to bond quickly with them (though I've had a few unnerving experiences with strays).

As I pondered what topic I should write about for today's entry, my mind drifted to Bruno. I began thinking how much a blog is like a dog:

You're responsible for it.
You'll be judged by its behavior (you don't want to be labeled a "bad dog").
You need to walk it (read "post") regularly.
It's easier to visit someone else's than to have one of your own.
You can learn from it.
You can confide in it.
It can provide you with years of comfort and enjoyment.

Admittedly, blogs may have a few advantages over their canine counterparts. A blog won't climb in bed with you. A blog can't get fleas. And a blog doesn't slobber.

News Roundup

2009-11-04T07:54:00.000-08:00

Just wanted to provide some updates to previous posts.

- "What Black Bolt Can Tell Us" - Failed to mention that Lockjaw, the Inhumans' dog, finally got his own title:

Lockjaw and the Pet Avengers is a four-issue comic book limited series published by Marvel Comics from July to October 2009.

(FYI - The Avengers is a popular, long-running superhero team comic. Members have included Captain America, Iron Man, Thor, Giant-Man, and the Wasp.) The Wikipedia entry goes on to note that this team of super-pets (see my post "Super-Pets to the Rescue" for a discussion of rival DC's inimitable team) includes:

the cat Hairball; the diminutive dragon Lockheed; the falcon Redwing; the frog Throg and the puppyMs. Lion (actually a character from the animated series Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends).

(BTW - Hairball looks a lot like my cat Ben, who's a super-pet in my book.) The good news: if you're looking for issues, don't worry -- Lockjaw and the Pet Avengers is now available as a trade paperback.

- "A Bad Break - Part 2" - Found a medical illustration video on the ORIF procedure performed on my ankle (warning: may not be suitable for the faint of heart). I wanted to include it in my post but, unfortunately, "Embedding disabled by request." You can view it on YouTube.

- "A Beef with Beef" - Last week, I saw animal science and autism expert Temple Grandin give a presentation at the Chicago High School for Agricultural Sciences. Made me think (even more) about the humane treatment of animals. My wife, for good reason, is eager to become a vegetarian (first step: eat organic foods/meat from humanely raised livestock). She passed along this Nov. 2 story from the New York Times:

Two people, one from New Hampshire and another from upstate New York, have died after eating ground beef that may be responsible for an E. coli outbreak linked to illness in more than two dozen people....

Infection with E. coli O157:H7 can have a wide range of effects, from mild intestinal discomfort to death. The New Hampshire resident who died of it contracted hemolytic uremic syndrome, a disease that attacks red blood cells and can cause kidney failure....

While thorough cooking can kill E. coli O157:H7, it is dangerous even in microscopic doses and can be spread from utensils or cooking surfaces to other foods....

At more than 270 tons of beef, Saturday’s recall was a large one. The Agriculture Department said the median beef recall last year was 7,733 pounds.

She also shared this newser story on slaughterhouse practices (certainly not for the faint of heart).

If you know your Bible, you know that Adam and Eve (and, by extension, mankind) were entrusted with being caretakers of God's creation:

"So God created human beings, making them to be like himself. He created them male and female, blessed them, and said, 'Have many children, so that your descendants will live all over the earth and bring it under their control. I am putting you in charge of the fish, the birds, and all the wild animals.'" - Genesis 1:27,28

It never hurts to remember: we have an obligation to our fellow creatures.

And I Thought I Had It Rough...

2009-11-02T11:27:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm unemployed. But I'm not looking at the kind of trouble Nicolas Cage is facing (hint: it's not just running from explosions and having your head turn into a flaming skull):

In a lawsuit filed Oct. 16 in Los Angeles, the National Treasure star, 45, claims that his longtime business manager, Samuel J. Levin, "lined his [own] pockets with several million dollars in business management fees while sending Cage down a path toward financial ruin."

How bad is it?

In April, Cage bid farewell to his Bavarian castle, selling it to his German advisor, lawyer Konrad Wilfurth. Now, he has placed other homes on the market in California, Las Vegas and New Orleans....

"He is now forced to sell major assets and investments at a significant loss and is faced with huge tax liabilities because of Levin's incompetence, misrepresentations and recklessness," the lawsuit alleges.(Interestingly, Cage sold off his rare comic-book collection for more than $1.6 million in 2002, a year after hiring Levin.)

I'm already one step ahead of the guy -- I don't need a business manager (and I don't have to worry about finding day help for that Bavarian castle).

To Cage's credit, he may be the hardest working man in show business. Since 1982, and his first role in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Cage has appeared in over 60 films -- he's averaging over two films a year. For the past 20 years, he seems to have been in contention for every leading man role (for heaven's sake, he was slated to be Superman; he was going to be "The Wrestler" before Mickey Rourke got the part).

Sure, he's related to somebody famous. As the story goes (the Wikipedia version):

In order to avoid the appearance of nepotism as the nephew of Francis Ford Coppola, he changed his name early in his career from Nicolas Coppola to Nicolas Cage, inspired in part by the Marvel Comics superhero Luke Cage.

(With Cage, it's inevitable -- another comic book connection.) But, again, you've got to give it to him -- he's busted his behind. He's earned his place in the industry... and a "best actor" nod from the Academy for Leaving Las Vegas (which answers that age-old question: "What does a guy have to do to get an Oscar? Die?").

What's more -- he's a brand. Nobody can do Nicolas Cage like Nicolas Cage. The arched eyebrow, the shameless mugging, the unhinged, wild-eyed, lunatic ranting. Who, honestly, has that glib style, those touching mannerisms?

So, if this guy's in demand, if he always has a movie in the theater, you'd think -- even at entry-level wages -- he'd be able to recoup his losses. Well, as long as he makes better career decisions than financial ones. As long as he stays out of howlers like The Wicker Man.

Notes from the Unemployed

2009-11-01T19:18:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season. The holidays are fast approaching. The birds have flown. The trees are bare. Soon the snow will start falling.

A new month beginning... another month gone. And still unemployed.

Every day, I wake with a gnawing dread. Plagued by a nagging sense that I'm not doing enough. Striving to not succumb to "There's nothing out there" syndrome. Girding for a trying, bitter winter. Telling myself to bear down, hold fast, maintain that stiff upper lip -- fortitude, resilience, and all that. If need be, to take it to a Churchillian level: "We shall not fail or falter, we shall not weaken or tire." (While still living by Churchill's dictum to "Never hold discussions with the monkey when the organ grinder is in the room.")

Today, I saw an article in the Wall Street Journal: "White House Tally Appears to Overstate Stimulus Jobs."(Cue "A Day in the Life" -- "I read the news today, oh boy.") Among the suspect numbers submitted to the government:

Some Head Start preschool programs reported that stimulus money saved the job of every staff member who received a cost-of-living pay raise, according to their filings. Some colleges and universities counted every part-time student work-study position as a full-time job, according to their reports, which are published online at recovery.gov....

A Kentucky shoe-store owner claimed to have created or saved nine jobs with an $889.60 contract to supply work boots to the Army Corps of Engineers. The owner said he supplied nine pairs of boots and that the mistake arose from confusion over the government form.

Last week, the claim that 650,000 jobs were created or saved sparked a firestorm of criticism, with many arguing that this figure could neither be competently measured nor effectively verified. In addition to disputing/dismissing the report, many contended that, based on the billions in stimulus funds "spent" on these jobs, they weren't worth the cost to salvage.

(I, too, was left scratching my head when the White House announced that 650,000 figure. It reminded me of the line by Chico Marx in Duck Soup: "Who you gonna believe, me or your own eyes?" Of the numerous people I know who are out of work, none have secured a permanent job in the last few months.)

I also checked out the latest (September) Employment Situation Summary from the Bureau of Labor Statistics (statistics for October are scheduled to be released on Friday, November 6). The "Situation" is worth quoting at length:

Since the start of the recession in December 2007, the number of unemployed
persons has increased by 7.6 million to 15.1 million, and the unemployment
rate has doubled to 9.8 percent....

Among the unemployed, the number of job losers and persons who completed
temporary jobs rose by 603,000 to 10.4 million in September. The number of
long-term unemployed (those jobless for 27 weeks and over) rose by 450,000
to 5.4 million. In September, 35.6 percent of unemployed persons were job-
less for 27 weeks or more....

In September, the number of persons working part time for economic reasons
(sometimes referred to as involuntary part-time workers) was little changed
at 9.2 million. The number of such workers rose sharply throughout most of
the fall and winter but has been little changed since March....

About 2.2 million persons were marginally attached to the labor force in
September, an increase of 615,000 from a year earlier. (The data are not sea-
sonally adjusted.) These individuals were not in the labor force, wanted and
were available for work, and had looked for a job sometime in the prior 12
months. They were not counted as unemployed because they had not searched for
work in the 4 weeks preceding the survey....

Among the marginally attached, there were 706,000 discouraged workers in
September, up by 239,000 from a year earlier. (The data are not seasonally
adjusted.) Discouraged workers are persons not currently looking for work
because they believe no jobs are available for them. The other 1.5 million
persons marginally attached to the labor force in September had not searched
for work in the 4 weeks preceding the survey for reasons such as school
attendance or family responsibilities.

Not to take issue with the terminology employed by the BLS, but "job losers"? (That "L" word really stings -- I can imagine someone yelling at me "Hey, job loser.") How about "involuntary part-time workers"? (Makes me think of the classification in compensation circles of "non-highly-compensated workers.") Or the "marginally attached"? (Doesn't Cosmopolitan have quizzes about them?) And I'm surprised they made a distinction for "discouraged workers." The rest of us are, what, "uncomfortable"? "Annoyed"?

On a more serious note, it's sobering to know that over a third of "unemployed persons" have been out of work for over six months (the long-term -- and possibly permanently -- unemployed). As alarming -- there are now six job seekers for every available job. With all the marketing-related layoffs and with newspapers shedding journalists left and right, it's likely that the ratio is even higher in the writing trades (my line of work).

Regardless of -- or possibly because of -- that chimerical 650,000 figure, we're bracing for the long haul. Coming to terms with reality... the new new normal. With millions of weary, hopeless Americans struggling to keep their heads above water. With families fraying from the strain -- losing their patience, their health insurance, their homes. Taking scant solace in a "jobless recovery."

Earlier today, I read the local paper, The Beverly Review (yeah, I did a lot of reading today). Glancing at the Police Blotter, I noticed this: "An unknown man stole meat from a business on the 3100 block of West 103rd Street." Is that what we've been reduced to? Is that what we've become? A society of meat stealers? Oh, the humanity.

The Golden Age of Rock'n'Roll

2009-10-30T13:58:00.000-07:00

"Now he's too old to rock'n'roll but he's too young to die." - Jethro Tull

I recently watched Anvil! The Story of Anvil (a must-see, by the way). Anvil! tells the story of aging metal-heads Steve "Lips" Kudlow and his long-time bandmate, drummer Robb Reiner. While "Lips" toils away at his day job, driving a delivery truck for Choice Children's Catering, he dreams of attaining the arena-scale fame denied him in the '80s.

The movie's downright motivational, riffing on vision, commitment, persistence, Just as important, it's a serious meditation on aging (and, ultimately, death). The movie got me thinking about another -- in this case, septuagenarian -- rocker: Ian Hunter, frontman for '70s glam group Mott the Hoople.

Just last month, Mott reunited for a series of concerts at the Hammersmith Apollo in London, winning over at least one reviewer:

The first hour was mostly devoted to the band’s pre-Bowie, high-voltage rock 'n’ roll material. Hunter, a busy solo artist for more than three decades, and the silver-topped lead guitarist, Mick Ralphs, riffed vigorously, in active defiance of Time’s subsequent intervention. The partisan crowd — at least eighty percent of whom, gloriously, unrepentantly, were old enough to remember it all from the turn of the Seventies — responded with commensurate enthusiasm.

The electricity crackled to a new intensity, however, when Hunter moved to a piano stage-left, and finally unleashed a dazzling run of glam classics — songs about little more than rock itself. Glam, originally, existed purely to overturn prog-rock’s tedious virtuosity, to revive the raw, sexy thrill of Fifties rock’s simple, thumping beats and clanging riffs.

Perhaps it was daft, witnessing a seventy-year old man with a blond afro singing, “I get my kicks from guitar licks”, but also fabulously empowering, given his heedless dedication to the cause.

I'll admit it: as the weeks and months of my job search drag on, I'm taking (occasional) solace in the joys of my youth (as you may have noticed from my nostalgic comic book posts). One of those joys was Mott the Hoople.

More than wistful, Mott's story is inspirational:

Hunter is one of the grand old men of rock'n'roll -- he was born in 1939 (to provide some context: McCartney was born in '42, Jagger in '43; the architects of glam -- Marc Bolan and David Bowie were both born in 1947). One of the band members has Alzheimer's and he still played at the reunion, for goodness sake.
Mott was basically a bar band with four unsuccessful albums, on the verge of breaking up, when David Bowie gave them their signature song -- "All the Young Dudes." (Bowie also offered them "Suffragette City" and "Drive-In Saturday," both of which Mott turned down. The story goes that, when Mott passed on the latter, a distraught Bowie shaved off his eyebrows. The moral here: Know Your Mott Lore.)
When Mott finally rocketed to the Top Ten, Hunter was well into his 30s, with a wife and two kids (he's been married to the same woman for 38 years).

When asked, "Why stage a reunion?" Hunter answered, "I'm doing it to see what it's like." (Cue Mallory's pithy response to "Why climb Mount Everest?")

More than "Dudes"

A recent article in the UK's Guardian refers to Mott as

a band who may have suffered wild ups and downs, but who post-humously acquired the status of a truly great British rock group: some distance from your Beatles and Stones, no doubt, but still responsible for an array of brilliant songs, an enduring influence, and their own fascinating myth.

Like Bowie (who had struggled to gain notoriety throughout the '60s, finally gaining a foothold at decade's end with Space Oddity), Mott had spent their "years in the wilderness." Unquestionably, Bowie's patronage (with an inestimable assist from sideman extraordinaire Mick Ronson) spelled a turning point.

But one shouldn't let "All the Young Dudes" overshadow or define Mott's legacy.

In that same Guardian article, Hunter concedes that

We weren't movers. David [Bowie] was a mover. He was brilliant at it. We weren't....Bowie was like something from a UFO, but we weren't like that at all: we were working-class lads.

From such humble beginnings... Even before Bowie, Mott was more than just a bunch of "unknowns." Mott had two capable songwriters: Hunter and guitarist Mick Ralphs, who went on to form Bad Company and pen their first hit "Can't Get Enough" (not to knock Ralphs, but among Bad Company songs, I prefer "Silver, Blue and Gold," a Paul Rodgers composition).

Mott - Meaning and Magic

All great bands have a colorful frontman. Mott was no exception. Whatever else you might say about Ian Hunter, he has character. His look (those ever-present shades, that distinctive mop of hair), his voice, his delivery.

The best of Mott's music has brio, verve, oomph (yeah, sounds like a shelfful of laundry detergents).

A product of the '50s, Hunter offered stirring rave-ups in the proud barrelhouse tradition of Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis. (I get the same rush listening to the opening chords of "Roll Away the Stone" as I do when CCR's "Up Around the Bend" or Springsteen's "Out in the Street" start blasting from the car speakers.) The music's propulsive, ebullient, euphoric.

It isn't just the affectionate nod to the '50s that makes Mott's oeuvre interesting. The music is glam at its best (well, after Marc Bolan and David Bowie, the John the Baptist and Jesus of the genre). For a generation exhausted by the "heavy," soul-searching issues of the '60s -- all the assassinations, clashes, and confrontations -- Mott and their ilk offered a simple, hedonistic message ("Don't wanna smash, want a smash sensation/Don't wanna wreck, just recreation").

Having lived through a tumultuous decade, people yearned for respite, a chance to recover. An attitude handily captured on "All the Young Dudes": "My brother's back at home with his Beatles and his Stones, we never got it off on that revolution stuff." The "television man is crazy" -- why do you need TV when you "got T. Rex"?

For good or ill, Mott heralds the "good times" of the '70s.

The Trilogy

Mott's reputation rests on three albums:

All the Young Dudes (1972) - Nineteen seventy-two was glam's banner year with the release of Bowie's Ziggy Stardust, Lou Reed's Transformer, and Mott's All the Young Dudes (as well as the first album by Roxy Music). The eponymous track has an indisputable place in the rock'n'roll firmament (to this day... it was referenced in that insufferable paean to teenage pregnancy Juno and, as far as I'm concerned, was the basis for Green Day's "21 Guns"). Dudes also includes a staple of FM radio -- "Ready for Love," a brilliant, moody Mick Ralphs song with an awkward and unnecessary Hunter bridge (wisely abandoned in Bad Company's version of the song).

Mott (1973) - Features "All the Way from Memphis" (which appears in both Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore and Breaking the Waves) and "Honaloochie Boogie." Notably, this is the last album that Mick Ralphs recorded with the band.

The Hoople (1974) - An incredible swan song with nuggets like "The Golden Age of Rock'n'Roll," "Roll Away the Stone," and that perennial "I'm not a number" sing-along "Marionettes." Don't just take my word for it. Check out these vintage videos and see for yourself.

Epilogue

Ian Hunter's post-Mott career saw a continuing collaboration with Mick Ronson (who sadly succumbed to cancer at the age of 46), a number of high points ("Once Bitten, Twice Shy," "Cleveland Rocks," "All of the Good Ones Are Taken") as well as low (All American Alien Boy, for one, where Hunter channels Bowie's Young Americans). But he never lost the passion, he never stopped playing.

In the Guardian article, Hunter says of his life in rock:

"It's cost me... But the minute rock'n'roll arrived, I thought, 'Oh – that's what I'm for.' And it's what I'll do till the day I pop off."

That's the spirit. And that's what we'll remember.

The mates in Mott may all be in their golden years but their music is timeless.

What Black Bolt Can Tell Us

2009-10-28T14:33:00.000-07:00

I grew up with superheroes (we were largely a Marvel household). For some reason, I took a liking to Black Bolt, leader of the Inhumans. The Inhumans are a race of super beings, the outcome of genetic experiments conducted by the alien Kree on Stone Age humans. (There's also a bunch of stuff about the mutating effects of the Terrigen Mists. Suffice it to say, "Terrigen Mist" isn't something you can pick up at the liquor store.)

Technically, "Inhumans" refers to the entire race; however, it is often used to denote the Inhuman Royal Family, which includes:

Black Bolt, the king
Medusa, she of the living hair
Karnak, the martial artist
Gorgon, he of the hoofed feet
Triton, the fish man
Crystal, one-time girlfriend of Johnny Storm/the Human Torch, younger sister of Medusa, able to manipulate the four elements (seen below with Lockjaw, the Inhumans' teleporting dog)

Each member has his/her unique power. However, Black Bolt's may be the most unsettling.

His bio on Marvel Universe notes that

Black Bolt has the ability to unleash great destructive power through the use of his voice, but even the slightest whisper will release his power. Therefore, for the most part, he remains silent. This "quasi-sonic" scream is powered by electron energy that he draws in from the environment. At maximum the force is equal to that caused by the detonation of a nuclear weapon.

You can be sure that Black Bolt's teachers never asked him to speak up in class.

A little background: the Inhumans first appeared in Fantastic Four #47 (February 1966).

During the '60s, the Fantastic Four served as a veritable Skunk Works for the super team of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby (the Lennon and McCartney of comics). In one year, in an amazing burst of creativity, Lee and Kirby introduced not only the Inhumans but the Silver Surfer (issue 48) and the Black Panther (issue 52). So not only did we get the first black superhero...

... and the first superhero as Christ figure...

... but we got, for all intents and purposes, the first mute superhero.

Black Bolt and his kind hail from Attilan (a.k.a. the Great Refuge), shown below in happier, prehistoric times.

Interestingly enough (as reported in Wikipedia)

the city of Attilan, was first mentioned years earlier, in a "Tuk the Caveboy" story written and drawn by Jack Kirby that appeared in Captain America #1, 1941. The city was described as the home of a race that was evolutionarily advanced when human beings were still in the caveman era.

(The moral here: never let a good idea about an evolutionarily advanced race go to waste.)

So what's the appeal? Black Bolt speaks to the morose adolescent in all of us (maybe more so than angst-ridden Peter Parker/Spider-Man). That glowering look. That grim veneer. More than merely "distanced" or "stoic." If he was growing up now, Black Bolt would definitely be goth.

One suspects that Black Bolt never cracks a smile (believe me, you don't want him to laugh) because, as many teens would attest, "nothing's funny." Not only does he bear the burden of royalty, the burden of ruling, but he shoulders that so-serious burden of silence (a monastic quality, a strength of self-control, that many a geek would consider exculpatory and honorable).

Vastly superior. Woefully misunderstood. Aloof, reserved, but with earth-shattering powers (so don't provoke him by telling him one... more... time to get out of the bathroom). Black Bolt is the embodiment of a self-conscious teen's self-image. And the Inhumans... that's any band of oddballs, freaks, outcasts (for many kids of my era, pariahs took comfort in a claque instead of a clique -- the basement rec room was their Great Refuge).

Plenty here for marginalized teens to gravitate toward, to relate to. But it's not all negative. Black Bolt is a king. Remarkable. Restrained. Resolute. He defeats evildoers. He behaves responsibly. He watches out for others. He's got that neat tuning fork on his forehead (a great conversation starter). And, in the hands of Jack "King" Kirby, he assumes some mighty awesome poses.

A Bad Break - Part 2

2009-10-26T13:36:00.000-07:00

I didn't fully grasp the damage to my ankle until I visited the orthopedic surgeon. From the X-ray I'd seen in the emergency room, I thought I'd simply done a number on my tibula (the major weight-bearing bone).

Yes, it turned out, I had fractured my tibula, including breaking off the bottom "scoop." But I'd also broken my fibula. Moreover, I'd torn the connective tissue -- the interosseous ligament -- between the two bones. As eOrthopod explains:

The interosseous ligament lies between the tibia and fibula. (Interosseous means between bones.) The interosseus ligament is a long sheet of connective tissue that connects the entire length of the tibia and fibula, from the knee to the ankle.

So I was going to need screws to put my tibia back together, a plate and screws to fix my fibula, and a couple longer screws to bridge/bind the ligament (when the ligament scarred shut, these screws would be removed; the rest of the hardware would stay). I would be getting surgical screws (implants) made of stainless steel or titanium (I'd requested adamantium -- like Wolverine's retractable claws -- to no effect).

When the surgeon was done with me, my ankle would look like this:

In medical lingo, I'd be receiving an ORIF -- Open Reduction Internal Fixation. Open Reduction refers to surgery (because they're literally opening you up) and Internal Fixation (though it sure sounds like a psychological condition) pertains to bone alignment/repair. Conquest Chronicles, a blog about the USC Trojans, states that

the goal of treating all ankle fractures is to re-position the bones to prevent the occurrence of arthritis. Some minor ankle fractures can be treated in a boot or a cast without surgery. The majority of ankle fractures, however, do require operative treatment. Surgery is performed with incision(s) on one or both sides of the ankle. Screws and/or a metal plate are inserted into the medial malleolus and the fibula in order to accurately restore or reduce the fracture alignment.

According to the American Academy of Orthopaedic Surgeons, "In 2003, nearly 1.2 million people visited emergency rooms because of ankle problems." An article appearing on the website of an accident and injury law firm notes that

High-impact ankle injuries are especially dangerous if the bone breaks through the skin and is exposed to the air. The open wound lets bacteria in to contaminate the broken bone, greatly increasing the risk of infection. In such a case, you will be prescribed a course of antibiotics to stave off any infection.

Thankfully, I'd been spared a compound fracture. However, I wasn't home free. As I noted in my earlier post about peripheral neuropathy, there can be a variety of complications associated with the break, the subsequent surgery, and the period of immobilization during recovery (among the most common -- nerve damage and muscle atrophy).

As I learned from netdoctor:

Another possible complication is the formation of clots in the deep veins (draining pipes for the blood) of your legs – deep vein thrombosis (DVT). This can happen in the initial days after the operation because you won’t be moving around much.

A piece of one of these clots can get detached and ‘travel’ all the way to the blood pipes of your lungs. There it can cause partial or complete obstruction of the blood vessels of the lungs, which can be lethal.

Fortunately, "You will be given injections of blood-thinners (heparin) after the operation to prevent a DVT."

The morning of the surgery arrived. My wife and daughter drove me to the hospital. I was given a hospital gown. The nurse started an intravenous drip. They got me on a gurney. They wheeled me into the (freezing) OR. They placed me on the operating table. I caught a glimpse of my surgeon.

And then... lights out.

When I woke up, I felt like I was in the anteroom to heaven. A wash of white light, the disembodied voice of a nurse. Asking me, "What's your pain like, on a scale of one to ten?" I was given a painkiller for anything over "one."

As we know, all good, morphine-induced experiences must pass. Soon enough, I was sitting in a wheelchair, reunited with my family. Being pushed though the halls. Out to the parking lot. Out into the cold, harsh world.

It Came from Japan

2009-10-26T12:26:00.000-07:00

I took my daughter to see Astro Boy on Friday; I watched the DVD of Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen yesterday. "Vacuous spectacle," some might say. "Formulaic pap." "Full of sound and fury..." (kindly fill in the rest). Quality aside, movies such as these raise a larger, equally vital question: How long can we keep mining Japanese pop culture?

From Godzilla to Speed Racer to Pokemon, we seem to have a bottomless appetite for anything Japanese, ranging from the icons of our youth to obscure anime (my daughter, for example, is a fan of the manga Mermaid Melody). Do the Japanese have a special touch with this sort of stuff? Or is it just that, as major trading partners for the past 60 years, we've imported an array of cultural gewgaws along with the autos, electronics, and Kobe beef?

Seems to me that Hollywood is going farther and farther afield to adapt "known" characters, bankable properties. (One can surmise that the studios won't be satisfied until they've made a big-budget version of every Saturday morning cartoon. Similarly, one can be assured that any redeeming qualities the original might have had, no matter how slight, will be pureed into mush after passing through the Tinseltown Cuisinart).

In the Hollywood formula, you combine one part name recognition with two parts built-in audience. Add a dash of minimal risk and you've turned a beloved novelty into a lurching, bellowing, booming "entertainment."

Take Astro Boy. Astro Boy was first published in 1952, then became a television program in 1963. (Is it just me or does the early Astro Boy bear a striking -- and disconcerting -- resemblance to Betty Boop?)

Yes, Astro Boy was popular... among the elementary school set... in his day. (How many moviegoers remember him from the '60s? And would rush out for an updated, CGI version?) And, granted, Astro Boy may have been a trail-blazer -- Wikipedia claims that "Astro Boy is the first Japanese television series that embodied the aesthetic that later became familiar worldwide as anime." And, yes,

In 2007 and 2008, Cartoon Network began broadcasting and webcasting NBC's syndicated edition of the original 1960s episodes as a part of its late night Adult Swim line-up.

So a younger audience may be familiar with him. All well and good. But, nearly 50 years after his debut, is Astro Boy worth the star treatment? What are today's filmmakers adding to it? Where's the distinctive imprint or spin?

And what about the Transformers? The millennia-spanning clash between Autobots and Decepticons. The primal, Manichaean struggle between good (Optimus Prime) and evil (Megatron).

Wikipedia again:

The Transformers began with the 1970s Japanese toy lines Microman and Diaclone. The former utilized varying humanoid-type figures while the latter presented robots able to transform into everyday vehicles, electronic items or weapons.

We know them best from the Transformers TV series in the '80s. But, again, you'd think this juvenile fare (don't forget: these are based on toys) would speak to folks born in the '70s... and now in their 30s.

Let's face it: kids and teens weren't even alive when these characters had their day in the sun. But, when you combine a massive marketing budget with the fact that kids' parents -- and grandparents -- remember these characters, you're going to fill seats in the cinema.

With Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen, you're also getting

State-of-the-art eye candy -- a non-stop blur of movement and color (and noise) that appeals to the two-year-old in each of us (what some may characterize as a "roller coaster ride in an abusement park")
Carnage on an epic scale (time to sink an aircraft carrier, time to demolish a pyramid)
Battling giants (that perverse playground thrill of watching the two biggest brutes in the class having a slug-fest... all hunky-dory as long as you're at a safe distance, removed from the melee)

"What's better than one rampaging monster? A dozen rampaging monsters." It's the same inviolable premise behind the 1968 classic Destroy All Monsters.

Or a personal favorite like War of the Gargantuas (1966) about

two giant, hairy humanoids called Gargantuas, which [were] spawned from the discarded cells of Frankenstein's monster from the previous film [Frankenstein vs. Baragon] and are described as brothers. The Green Gargantua is violent and savage, preying upon human beings; as he lives in sea water, he is given the name Gaira... corresponding to [the] Japanese characters for "sea". The Brown Gargantua had been raised in captivity, and is docile and gentle; because he resides in the Japan Alps, he is called Sanda (from san, "mountain"). The film follows the investigation and military engagements of these creatures until their climatic confrontation in Tokyo.

Huge, furry Frankensteins smashing Tokyo -- now that's a story. (Not to mention -- this is Russ Tamblyn's claim to fame after West Side Story and Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.)

Maybe it's not a burnished, awe-inspiring "event." But it's still a hoot (gotta love those psychedelic gorilla suits). Even without a billion-dollar budget, a three-hour running time, brain-numbing effects, and -- lest we forget -- Megan Fox.

Watch this trailer for War of the Gargantuas and tell me, honestly, if War of the G's -- in all it's loony, cheesy glory -- doesn't give Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen a run for its money.

Super-Pets to the Rescue

2009-10-21T14:55:00.000-07:00

What with all the talk of assaults, injuries, and fatalities, my last few posts have been too serious. (I was bummed out as I glanced back over them.) We need a break, right? What better way to dispel that gathering, funereal gloom than a discussion of super-pets!

After comics exhausted human sidekicks (Batman had Robin, Flash had Kid Flash, Aquaman had Aqualad, Green Arrow had Speedy), it was inevitable -- superheroes had to have their super-pets. In 1955, along came Krypto, Superboy's super pooch.

The same month brought us Ace the Bat-Hound (ah, to be alive in June 1955).

Three years later, the Legion of Super-Heroes debuted.

If teen sidekicks struck a note with the youthful readership, why not a bevy of them... a veritable legion? In the DC Universe -- a mighty silly place, especially in the '50s -- why not characters like Bouncing Boy and Triplicate Girl (who, sadly, became Duo Damsel when "one of her three bodies was killed battling Computo the Conqueror")?

Okay, you say, but what's the connection between the Legion and these super-pets? As Wikipedia explains:

Superboy was the featured series in Adventure Comics in the late 1950s. In Adventure Comics #247 (April 1958), he was met by three teenagers from the 30th century: Lightning Boy, Saturn Girl, and Cosmic Boy, who were members of a "super-hero club" called the Legion of Super-Heroes. Their club had been formed with Superboy as an inspiration, and they had time travelled to recruit Superboy as a member. After a series of tests, Superboy was awarded membership and returned to his own time.

Both the Legion and Krypto had Superboy in common. Krypto, as a super being, naturally needed to be part of a super group. Voila -- the Legion of Super-Pets.

With such indelible members as Comet the Super-Horse, Streaky the Super-Cat, and Beppo the Super- Monkey. Beppo the Super-Monkey?

(In the same way that Vincent Price was The Last Man on Earth until a bunch of other people showed up, Superman was the only survivor of Krypton... until his extended family and a Kryptonian petting zoo conveniently -- if not miraculously -- appeared.)

But all was not well. What could be worse than "The Revolt of the Super-Pets"?

The death of a super-pet.

But, fear not, the super-pets are alive and well (at least in cartoon syndication).

If you've read my "Ode to Ben," you know about my predilection for pets. Pets are irreplaceable companions. They center us, sustain us, save us. We each have our Krypto. Our Streaky. Our Beppo (well, at least Michael Jackson had his Beppo).

When everyone seems to fail us. When we're abject, lonely, in need. Who do we look to? Who do we turn to? Our super pets. Our super pets come to the rescue.

Remember the Fallen

2009-10-14T15:02:00.001-07:00

Although they may seem innocent enough, slip and fall incidents can actually cause devastating injuries to those people unfortunate enough to experience them. Although the vast majority of slip and fall injuries are no more than cuts and bruises, some incidents result in broken bones, concussions, back injuries and even permanent brain injuries.

So notes an article appearing, appropriately enough, on LawyersandSettlements.com. Pratfalls, the perennial stock-in-trade of comedy, has a serious side. When characters tumble and crash in movies, they always manage to pop back up like a jack-in-the-box. When people trip, slip, or flip in real life, they're more likely to garner an ambulance ride than a round of guffaws.

Some facts:

We hold tight to a false sense of security. Foolishly believing that, not only are we invulnerable, but that our homes are a bastion of safety. Home, in truth, is where the accident is. According to experts, most slip and fall accidents occur close to home or at home. (Both times I fell and broke a bone, it was within blocks of my house.)

In a presentation given by Howard Harris, MD, at the National Floor Safety Institute Symposium, we learn that fall-related injuries are the most common cause of nonfatal injuries (and the most common cause of hospital admissions for trauma), result in 8 million ER visits (and 425,000 hospital admissions) annually, and add up to $19 billion a year in direct medical costs. Falls are especially lethal for people over 65 -- every year, this group suffers a shocking 13,000 fatalities due to fall-related injuries.

As I learned, a simple slip can put you out of commission for months. It isn't just the injury -- the cumbersome cast, unwieldy crutches, monotonous PT exercises. It's the collateral damage -- muscle loss from lack of use, nerve damage from surgery. Not to mention the psychological toll: being housebound to the point where your bed is a raft, adrift in an endless, inhospitable ocean.

Where crossing a room leaves you sweating and winded, like you've run a marathon. Where every stairway is an intimidating Everest. Where you have to ask people to bring you... everything. More than feeling debilitated. Feeling powerless, stranded, a burden. Exhausted. Despondent. Wearily eying the arduous process of getting back on your feet. Overcoming the funk.

And realizing, "My schools, my parents, my coaches taught me a lot of things. But they never taught me how to fall." You'd think this would be a basic life skill. But now you make it one. Prime Objective: prevent a future fall (and the resultant massive hassle). For those who are interested, the National Ag Safety Database offers this advice on learning how to fall:

Tuck your chin in, turn your head, and throw an arm up. It is better to land on your arm than on your head.
While falling, twist or roll your body to the side. It is better to land on your buttocks and side than on your back.
Keep your wrists, elbows and knees bent. Do not try to break the fall with your hands or elbows. When falling, the objective is to have as many square inches of your body contact the surface as possible, thus spreading out the impact of the fall.

We take so much for granted. This past summer, with my ankle on the mend, I'd look at other people's ankles. Carefree, striding pedestrians with their healthy, sturdy, unmarred ankles. And I'd envy them. Yes, "ankle envy." The season of sun, shorts, and sandals. And I'd be fuming.

It wasn't pretty, but it passed. (Actually, it morphed into an appreciation -- I'm awed that ankles can withstand the constant pounding. Supporting hundreds of pounds. Taking thousands of steps. Every single day.) As I recovered, I was thankful to have my legs back. Happy to be able to walk. Delighted to be able to drive. Viewing all those on crutches, all those with casts with a newfound sensitivity, a heartfelt respect.

I say hats (and casts) off to all those who have fallen. You're a living testament to the body's ability to heal and regenerate. The spirit's ability to adapt and endure. Like the mythical salamander surviving the flames, you've come through. Intact and unbroken.

A Bad Break - Part 1

2009-10-14T13:45:00.001-07:00

I'll always remember that morning. The day after Christmas. Clear. Sunny. Bright. The world glistening. Coated in a layer of ice.

When I left for work, I scattered the rest of the rock salt at the base of the porch stairs. Headed for the train. Nobody else around but me. Quiet. Peaceful. Slippery. But I was confident. I was wearing my boots. Had enough time. Just had to be careful. Maintain my balance. Walk with measured steps.

Made it to the end of the block. Turned the corner. Step pause. Step pause. And I was on my back. Struggled to my feet. Wobbled. And I was down again. This time, I wasn't getting up. This time, I knew something was wrong.

I didn't hear a snap or feel any searing jolt of pain. Just knew. Something was wrong with my right ankle. Sitting in the snow, I eased out my cell phone, called my wife (thank the stars she was home).

"I think I broke something."

"Pack some snow in your knit cap. Wrap it around the ankle."

All so prosaic. So matter of fact. She was getting dressed. She was on her way.

Slowly, delicately, removing my boot. Applying the knit-cap compress. Waiting. Sitting in the snow. Hearing the distant, doleful dinging of the train departing from the station (cue "The Bells" by Edgar Allan P.) Told myself, "You should've known better. At the first sight of the ice, you should've turned around. Gone back home."

Watching the occasional car pass. Several went by. Drivers seeing me there, plain as day, side of the road, clutching my ankle. Left for dead.

Finally, a car stopped.

"You okay?"

"Yeah" I lied. "My wife's coming."

When she arrived, the big challenge was getting inside (didn't want to put any weight on that ankle). Crawling to the open door, finding that the slightest pressure made me wince.

With my daughter's help, I made it in. Sprawled across the back seat. Door thumps shut. Our car inching toward the hospital.

The lobby of the ER, crowded with people who've taken a spill. Cradling arms, cupping wrists. Hobbling. Telling myself, "Don't worry. It's only a sprain."

In the X-ray room. Before removing my sock, the technician says, "So far, so good -- nobody's come in with a broken bone." Looks at my ankle sans sock. Can see that it's odd, misshapen, deformed. "So far."

An examination room. The ER doctor enters. Shows me an X-ray. There's my tibia. Cracks running up vertically from the heel. Like veins. Or threads on a celery stalk.

"Did a real job on yourself. Gonna need some hardware."

As the nurse slaps on a temporary cast, realizing that if I'd placed any weight on it, the ankle would've crumbled. Lucky that I didn't step on it. Lucky that my wife and daughter were home. Lucky I had a weekend to rest up before seeing the orthopedic surgeon.

The day after Christmas. Driving home. On a different day, I would've been at work. Everything would've been fine. One step -- everything changed.

It had been a brutal winter.

A warm front moved in that evening. The following day, it was amazingly balmy. The snow receded. The epidermis of ice thinned, shriveled, vanished.

That day and the next, I didn't leave my bed. But I was on my way. The first, ponderous steps in a long, affirming journey.

The Most Dangerous Profession

2009-10-12T14:53:00.000-07:00

What's the most dangerous job? Being a police officer? A firefighter? A lineman with a utility company? How about "fishers and related fishing workers"? (BTW - 007 doesn't count.)

According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, fishermen (commercial, not recreational) top the list of most deadly occupations. Also on the list, at #10 -- cab driver. (A few other interesting stats from the list: "Refuse and recyclable material collectors" weigh in at # 6, "Roofers" are #7, and "Electrical power-line repairers and installers" -- see above under "lineman" -- are #8.)

A recent (Oct. 7) article in the Chicago Sun-Times reports that

A new survey from the University of Illinois at Chicago... found that one in five Chicago cabdrivers has been physically attacked on the job.... Cab and livery drivers are 60 times more likely to be murdered on the job than other workers, according to the National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health.

According to the special report "Years of Living Dangerously," cab drivers are

victim to more non-fatal assaults (184 per 1,000 cabbies) than any other occupation with the exception of police (306 per 1,000) and private security guards (218 per 1,000).

Why do patrons (and others) attack cabbies? "Is It Too Easy to Clobber a Cabbie?" (Oct. 15 issue of the Chicago Reader) provides some insights:

Cabbies do risky work: driving alone, late at night, carrying cash, they are prime targets. But according to reports from drivers and a study by the University of Illinois at Chicago's School of Labor and Employment Relations that was released October 7, the scariest people many drivers face aren't robbers with guns or lead pipes in "bad" neighborhoods but rather inebriated white-collar types partying in trendy areas.

Peter Enger, an organizer for the United Taxidrivers Community Council, says "we suffer the most violence in the most highly trafficked areas. It's the drunks and rowdies who perpetrate violence on the cabdrivers. Is it because [drivers] are immigrants, because of prejudice? We don't know. But what we do know is they do it because they can."

Another dangerous profession -- convenience store clerk. A piece from 2002 in the Christian Science Monitor found "an uptick in store-clerk murders in the past three years, jumping from 78 to 111 between 1999 and 2000 alone." The article informs us that

Other experimental safety measures [besides plate glass and drop safes] haven't always worked. Already, a mandate by many oil companies to put two people on the night shift at gas stations has backfired: more clerk killings, it turns out, happen when there are two people there. "They're killing the witnesses," says [Wilson] Beach [director of the Service Station Dealers of America and AlliedTrades].

"Cabbies and clerks?" you scoff. "Common knowledge says that cops and firefighters have the most dangerous jobs." Let me say: I have the utmost respect for police officers and firefighters. In fact, of my two favorite uncles, one was a police officer and the other was a fireman (back when there were firemen). But that doesn't change the facts.

We learn from the Officer Down Memorial Page that, for 2009, line-of-duty deaths for police officers have been largely attributable to automobile accidents (28) and to gunfire (36). (Note that "struck by vehicle," "vehicle pursuit," and "vehicular assault" -- which, combined, accounted for 15 deaths -- are separate categories from "automobile accident"). The breakdown is similar in prior years, with auto-related deaths equivalent to gunfire fatalities.

Or look at casualties compiled by the U.S. Fire Administration (USFA). One hundred fifteen firefighters died, on average, each year over the past 10 years. (On-duty injuries were much higher, in the tens of thousands every year.)

Make no mistake: every one of those deaths is an incredible loss. My point is that cabbies and clerks are often as much in harm's way as are police officers and firefighters. Unlike cabbies and clerks (who are dying in comparable numbers), police officers and firefighters are rigorously trained, appropriately garbed, and adequately armed. With extensive backup and state-of-the-art resources.

Cabbies and clerks -- lacking all that, vulnerable and alone -- could even be considered more heroic than their firefighting, law-enforcing counterparts. So why is it that, when one of them is killed, it rarely makes the news?

The Sound of One Goose Honking

2009-10-07T19:58:00.000-07:00

This morning, as I was watering the flower bed in front, I heard honking. Not from the street. From above.

I looked up, spotting a solitary goose winging southeast. Right direction. But why was he (irresponsibly assuming "it" was a "he") alone? Had he gotten separated from his flock? Was the poor fellow lost -- desperate, dejected, disoriented?

There were no other geese in sight. Just our buddy in the empty, cloud-strewn sky. Call without response. Driven. Undaunted. Following his internal compass. Emblem of the eternal migration.

Great, but what was wrong with this bird?

It's said that "Geese honk from behind to encourage those up front to keep up their speed." But there were no other birds ahead of this one. So who was he urging on?
It's common knowledge: geese fly in flocks (a wise thing to do when you're taking multi-thousand-mile trips). Why wasn't our friend comfortably aloft in a familiar, time-tested, bomber-squadron, V-shaped formation? Was he simply a slow-poke, lagging behind? Was he delirious? Damaged? In dire straits?
Migration is a learned process. Perhaps our pal was an unschooled fledgling.
Remember: geese mate for life. Where the blazes was this guy's partner? And should we assume the worst about him because he didn't have one?

It's tough enough being a bird (despite what they say, it's not all freedom and foraging). According to the American Wind Energy Association:

The National Academy of Sciences estimated in 2006 that wind energy is responsible for less than three out of every 100,000 bird deaths caused by human activities. House cats kill an estimated 1 billion birds annually in the U.S. alone; buildings 100 million to 1 billion; automobiles 60-80 million; power lines hundreds of thousands to as many as 175 million, according to the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service and other sources.

Many migrating birds never reach their destinations because

When they are flying near buildings [in metropolitan areas], the nighttime lights can confuse the birds. Sometimes they crash into the lit building; other times, decorative lights disorient the birds and cause them to circle around and around, finally settling exhausted in a street tree or bush at daybreak. From there, “birds can fly into glass windows as they fly toward a reflection or even a planter inside the building,” explains Rebekah Creshkoff of the New York City Audubon Society.

Chicago, to its credit, "was one of the first U.S. cities to address nighttime bird deaths. The [Lights Out] program encourages building managers to dim or turn off decorative lighting late at night and to minimize the use of bright interior lights during migration season." (Great news for our friend if he was passing through downtown Chicago at night.)

Search the Web and you'll find plenty of facts ("Swans and geese are the largest waterfowl") and lore (Mother Goose, golden eggs).

Federal Goose Control Inc. argues that "In recent years Canada geese have become an urban nuisance" that should be combated with trained Border Collies, remote-controlled watercraft, and nontoxic chemical deterrents.
BirdWatching-Bliss.com refutes the myth of "goose-riding": "[Migrating] Hummingbirds do not ride on the backs of geese." So we do know that the goose I saw wasn't, in taxi fashion, giving a hummingbird a lift.

But the answer to our question: Why was this bird flying alone...?

There's a book titled Solitary Goose. Maybe that has some insights.

Wikipedia assures us that "Most Canada geese have staging or resting areas where they join up with others." Perhaps, at the next rest stop -- some bucolic, secluded pond -- the flock is staging a pull-out-all-the-stops reunion shindig.

National Geographic says that geese "can cover 1,500 miles in just 24 hours with a favorable wind." Let's hope that, no matter his insecurities, limitations, and struggles, our friend, boosted by unflagging stamina and a stiff wind, will shortly and joyfully reunite with his befeathered brethren.

A Beef with Beef

2009-10-07T12:52:00.000-07:00

Delicious. Delectable. Deadly. For more reasons than you may think.

A recent New York Times article tells the devastating story of a young woman who was left paralyzed by

a severe form of food-borne illness caused by E. coli, which Minnesota officials traced to the hamburger that [the woman's] mother had grilled for their Sunday dinner in early fall 2007.

The article informs us that

Ground beef is usually not simply a chunk of meat run through a grinder. Instead... a single portion of hamburger meat is often an amalgam of various grades of meat from different parts of cows and even from different slaughterhouses. These cuts of meat are particularly vulnerable to E. coli contamination... Despite this, there is no federal requirement for grinders to test their ingredients for the pathogen.

I've heard the arguments for eating less (or no) red meat. I've read Fast Food Nation. I've seen Super Size Me (and know that Food Inc. should be in my Netflix queue). So why don't I cut back on -- or simply cut out -- the red meat?

I could say that I'm a creature of habit. Or that I'm a dyed-in-the-wool carnivore. Or that it's genetic (I hail from Wisconsin, the Land of Milk and Pork). I could aver that I limit my meat intake. Vouch that, in preparing meat or meat products, I practice safe handling procedures, cook the patty/loin/shank thoroughly, and diligently, scrupulously, impeccably clean all meat-tainted surfaces.

But common sense (and my wife) say, "Hooey. What will it take for you to lay off the beef?" I read the horror stories. I hear my doctor's warnings. I see the studies that decry a meat-rich diet, studies like this one on the Mediterranean dietary pattern (MDP) that

found depression was more than 30% less likely to develop in people who followed a diet high in vegetables, fruit and cereals, and low in red meat. [According to Professor Miguel Martinez-Gonzalez of the University of Navarra] "We know how important the Mediterranean diet is in reducing cardiovascular risk factors and the same inflammatory proteins are also raised in patients with depression."

Yes, I'd be healthier -- and happier -- without that burger (and the world may well be better off without all those factory farms). Nevertheless, no matter how distressing the consequences, no matter how punishing or destructive the outcome, there's always that temptation, like a vampire's intractable thirst. The lure of meat. A gnawing hunger. An insatiable need. That lolling, lowing, demonic cow on my back.

Juice in Advertising

2009-09-29T11:28:00.000-07:00

My daughter doesn't like carbonated drinks. I always viewed this as a plus. When we're out at a restaurant, she'll have milk, lemonade, or water. With your average can of soda containing 10 teaspoons of sugar, any alternative has to be better.

Not so, says the Center for Science in the Public Interest. In its report Liquid Candy: How Soft Drinks Are Harming Americans' Health, the Center claims that "fruit drinks... are basically noncarbonated soft drinks." And we know how bad soft drinks are. The Center provides a long list of ills:

The empty calories of soft drinks are likely contributing to health problems, particularly overweight and obesity.... [studies show that] soft drinks are directly related to weight gain. That weight gain, in turn, is a prime risk factor for type 2 diabetes... Frequent consumption of soft drinks may also increase the risk of osteoporosis—especially in people who drink soft drinks instead of calcium-rich milk. Dental experts continue to urge that people drink less soda pop, especially between meals, to prevent tooth decay (due to the sugars) and dental erosion (due to the acids). Frequent consumers of soft drinks may also be at a higher risk of kidney stones and a slightly higher risk of heart disease.

Not to mention caffeine, artificial colorings, etc. But fruit juice doesn't have those ugly additives, right?

Well, juice certainly has the sugar and the calories. A revealing chart on hookedonjuice.com (a site that dispels the myth that "juice is good for you") compares a can of Coke to a similar 12-ounce serving of orange juice (8 teaspoons of sugar), apple juice (10 teaspoons), and grape juice (a whopping 15 teaspoons). And, for each of the three juices, the calorie content is higher than what you'll find in that can of Coke.

As a stay-at-home dad, I'm often the one doing the grocery shopping. Recently, I was looking at a bottle of cranberry juice... well, what I thought was cranberry juice. On the front, the label proclaims "100% juice." But, take a closer look, and you'll see this is a "cranberry flavored" drink. A peek at the ingredients tells us that there is actually more grape than cranberry juice in the bottle (with apple juice added for good measure).

We all want healthy foods for our families. We're all aware of the bane of processed foods -- salt saturated and packed with fats. But juice? What we give to babies?

According to fruitjuicefacts.org, a web site of the Juice Products Association (an industry lobbying group):

100% fruit juices are nutritious beverages that have been enjoyed by adults and children for decades. 100% fruit juices can play an important role in a healthy diet because they offer great taste and a variety of nutrients found naturally in fruits.

First, note the emphasis on "100% fruit juices" (so much of what's sold -- all those juice boxes, bottles, and cartons -- can't make that 100% claim). Second, as Hooked On Juice makes clear, even the 100% variety is "loaded with sugar and calories." Third, I've learned to always be wary of an entity (especially if it's a lobbying group) that professes to openly and magnanimously deliver the "facts."

Don't get me wrong -- I'm not trying to dis juice or rail against juice consumption. I don't think there's some kind of Great Juice Conspiracy. My concern is with consumers making informed choices, understanding that certain interests may be propagating a glowing, as-good-as-fruit image of juice. Case in point: the following VNR (video news release). Although it looks like a legitimate news story, it was produced by the Juice Products Association.

Ode to Ben

2009-09-27T13:11:00.000-07:00

I have a cat,
His name is Ben.
He is a beast
(I won't pretend).

Sway-gut. Sharp-tooth.
Lumbering mass.
More like Godzilla
Than a cat.

He picks on Bell.
He picks on Frey.
No pet is safe
In his domain.

He shreds the TP
On the roll.
He wants more kibbles
In his bowl.

He's rude, vindictive,
Often cranky.
My daughter even says
He's stanky.

With all of that
You'll wonder why
Ben's the apple
Of my eye.

He broke his tail
When just a tyke.
Touch him wrong,
He'll howl and swipe.

He'll prance and gnaw
With string unfurled,
The biggest kitten
In the world.

A can of tuna
And he's set.
Breast of chicken
Better yet.

He's been with me
Through thick and thin.
I click my tongue
To summon him.

He lays on me,
This sack of fur.
He has the very
Loudest purr.

At end of day
I feel at peace
With Ben stretched out
Right next to me.

"Orange behemoth?"
"Worthless lout?"
He's "Uncle Boo-boo"
In my book.

I have a cat,
His name is Ben.
But more than that,
He is a friend.

My Right Foot

2009-09-23T12:13:00.001-07:00

Peripheral neuropathy. Sound impressive? Not if you're living with it.

First, a quick anatomy lesson, courtesy of the Mayo Clinic:

Your nervous system is divided into two broad categories. Your central nervous system consists of your brain and spinal cord. All the other nerves in your body are part of your peripheral nervous system.

Now the Clinic's definition:

Peripheral neuropathy, in its most common form, causes pain and numbness in your hands and feet. The pain typically is described as tingling or burning, while the loss of sensation often is compared to the feeling of wearing a thin stocking or glove.

The condition "can result from such problems as traumatic injuries, infections, metabolic problems and exposure to toxins." What they don't tell you is that "traumatic injuries" can include the surgery a doctor performs in order to correct another condition (in my case, a broken right ankle requiring pins and screws... or "hardware" in medical parlance).

I know several people who've had lower back surgery, then suffered through a bout of peripheral neuropathy (a.k.a. nerve damage). They tell about numb or tingling toes, a feeling of heaviness in their feet "like wearing Frankenstein shoes."

The quandary, the worry, is in how long it takes for the condition to subside. Go ahead, ask your surgeon or physical therapist "When does this wear off? When will it improve?" You're likely to get an unnervingly vague and noncommittal response: "Depends. Few weeks. Several months. Up to a year." Because, to be fair, they don't want to cultivate false hopes about a quick recovery. Because it depends.

Look at it this way -- it's a trade-off. You're spared one, permanently disabling condition for another (cross your fingers) temporary one. And it's better than leaving the original ailment or injury unchecked and being wracked with interminable, excruciating, incapacitating pain.

Consider the discomfort and numbness the "cost of repair" -- part of the recovery process, the post-surgical malaise. An annoying, transient (if you're lucky) after-effect that they conveniently failed to mention before you went under the knife.

Note: You can visit the Neuropathy Association's website for information, resources, and support.

Bus Fare

2009-09-23T11:03:00.000-07:00

When I'm downtown with my daughter and we see a homeless person, she always wants to give the person money. I'm more reluctant (jaded urbanite that I am).

Hesitant, skeptical, I tend to assume the person will misuse the money. That my contribution will be self-defeating -- merely contribute to the person indulging in his/her vice, the vice that keeps him/her on the street.

The other day, I went to the grocery store (huge store, aisle after aisle overflowing with food). A young, homeless man was sitting, back against the wall, by the front door. As a woman passed, the man asked if she could spare some change. "I'm trying to buy a bus pass." He could've been a ghost -- insubstantial, invisible. The woman kept walking.

As I neared, the man glanced at me. "Can you...?" and stopped, realizing I'd already heard his pitch. I kept walking.

I got my groceries. Left the store. Saw the man still sitting there. Put my groceries in the car. Stopped.

Thought.

Pulled a couple dollars out of my wallet. Walked back across the lot.

Handed the man the money, telling him "I'm out of work, too."

"Thanks," he said. "This'll help."

As I returned to my car, I felt better. It wasn't just an indulgent, back-patting high (self-flattering kudos for "helping a homeless guy"). It was the glow of knowing -- I did something decent.

Sure, soon as I drove away, the man could've gone into the store, bought himself a fifth. That's the caustic, cynical view. The reality is, in tough times like these, more and more folks are being put out on the street. And for people without a home, a bus pass means the difference between spending the night in a shelter or huddled in an alley.

In times like these -- especially in times like these -- humanity matters. Because, face it: our problems pale in comparison to others. Because, at the end of the day, the man at the grocery store, the woman under the El: what are they? Vagrants? Bums? Panhandlers? No. They're people.

As a great thinker once said: "By giving value to others, I give value to myself." It wasn't the thinker who taught me that. It was my daughter.

A(nother) Blog Is Born

2009-09-23T09:04:00.000-07:00

We are a nation of over 20 million bloggers.

So proclaims a Wall Street Journal article from April 21, 2009. But when you talk about Internet competition, that's only part of the picture. Royal Pingdom reports that, in 2008, there were 133 million blogs worldwide. Add to that over 186 million websites and you have the clamor of 300 million "voices," all plying for a surfer's attention.

With those crushing numbers, what's the likelihood of a single, small voice being heard?

Well, dwell on that and you'll probably never create (or maintain) a blog. Best you can do is steel yourself, strap yourself to the mast, hold fast to an against-all-odds attitude. Because, as the day darkens and the waters rise, your blog won't survive unless it's buoyed by a sense of purpose. The unshakable, unwavering conviction that you have a story worth telling.

Admittedly, I'm a lot like your average blogger. As the Journal article notes:

Demographically, bloggers are extremely well educated: three out of every four are college graduates. Most are white males reporting above-average incomes.

College educated? Yep. White male? Yep.

So what sets me apart? In short, a bad year. Day after Christmas, I slipped, fell, and shattered my ankle (ah, Chicago winters). Lost my job a couple months later (large-scale layoff -- what else is new?). Couple months after that, my cat almost died (eight lives to go...).

A bad year, but in this economy, many people have it worse... much worse. I have plenty to be thankful for -- for starters, without the support of my wife and daughter, I'd be an absolute wreck. I have a home. I have my health (though that rebuilt ankle's still on the mend). I have my cat.

My problems aren't more pronounced, my perceptions more profound than anyone else's. But I have a voice. A voice that asks, "What keeps me going? What keeps anyone going?" That's the purpose of this blog. My take on the ephemera, as well as the larger issues, we all confront. Appreciating the little things. Contending with the challenges. Hardships. Victories. Epiphanies. My notes on the journey.

One day you're navigating the shoals. The next day it's smooth sailing. Every day is a step forward. (Just watch out for the ice.)