Strongly Worded Letter

Kentucky Tragedy

 Here's part of the Baltimore Sun's recap of yesterday's disastrous Kentucky Derby running at Churchill Downs.

                        

LOUISVILLE, Ky. - "Eight Belles was grabbing all the real estate she could as she pounded down the front stretch in a long-striding effort to catch Big Brown as he streaked toward victory.

It was a race Big Brown would win by 4 3/4 lengths, but Eight Belles had shown her stamina and determination and the 157,770 fans at Churchill Downs for the 134th Kentucky Derby celebrated as the favorite, followed by the lone filly in the race, came home one-two today.

But the celebration didn't last. As Eight Belles galloped out around the first turn, she stopped and went to her knees and then collapsed on the track.

Eight Belles, a big, strapping daughter of Unbridled's Song who was attempting to become the fourth filly to win the Derby, had broken both of her front ankles.                   

She was immediately euthanized.

'There was no reason to wait,' said Dr. Larry Bramlage, the American Association vet on call.

In the stands trainer Larry Jones saw his filly cross the finish line with her ears up, in no distress and he left the stands elated, having seen Eight Belles join Hard Spun as a second-place finisher for him in back-to-back Derbies. It wasn't until he got to the track that he discovered a horse had gone down and then that it was Eight Belles.

'I was shocked,' said Jones. 'Put her down? We're used to trying to save them now. But when I did see her, there was no doubt it had to be done.'

Bramlage, who has been working at race tracks since 1975, said he had never seen such an injury.

'Sometimes, rarely, you might see a horse suffer something in one leg,' Bramlage said. 'But I've never seen it happen in both like that.'

Eight Belles is the second 3-year-old in three years to be euthanized after injuries in a Triple Crown Race. Barbaro, the 2006 Derby winner, suffered a shattered left front leg in the Preakness Stakes two weeks after winning here."

Bean here. Question: At what price entertainment, you guys? I know that horse racing in this country generates millions of dollars of revenue for those involved and is enjoyed by millions of fans as well. 

But are the animals that are born and bred just to race merely expendable cogs in the money-making machinery? Should we just expect they'll just lose a few as the price of doing business? At the end of the day is Eight Belles' death just like crashing a NASCAR vehicle? Is it, "No sweat, we'll buy another one?"

Here's all I know. At 3:15 yesterday afternoon this very young horse was completely healthy. And through no fault of her own, just ten minutes later, she was completely dead.

Patient Dies

Patient Dies

That was the headline on a news wire service story in the print edition of yesterday's Seattle Post- Intelligencer. It is not the kind of headline that would guarantee I would keep reading but I am glad I took the time. Please join me and you'll see why.


"Denied transplant over pot use: A musician who was denied a liver transplant because he used medical marijuana with medical approval under Washington state law to ease the symptoms of advance hepatitis C died Thursday.

The death of Timothy Garon, 56, at Bailey-Boushay House, an intensive-care nursing center, was confirmed to the Associated Press by his lawyer and a spokeswoman for Virginia Mason Medical Center, which operates Bailey-Boushay.

Garon died a week after his doctor told him a University of Washington Medical Center committee had again denied him a spot on the liver transplant list because of his use of marijuana."


Okay, everybody still with me? The way that deal works, and this is the case in many other states as well, is that you are automatically denied a place on the organ transplant list if you have taken any non-prescription drugs in the past six months. Or taken the one prescription drug that your doctor gives you that is singled out above all others by the U.S. Government as being more dangerous than the rest.

Oh, but you are welcome to re-apply if you are "clean" for six months though, if you are still alive.

When I am running things (I'll get back to you with a date) there will be this new law on the books in my state:

No level of government gets to decide what a doctor can and can not prescribe to his patients.
   

This Is Why You Shouldn't Do Drugs

"Albert Hofmann, who died on Tuesday aged 102, synthesized lysergic acid diethylamide (LSD) in 1938 and became the first person in the world to experience a full-blown acid trip." (Telegraph.co.uk)

Okay, I had two thoughts when I heard the news yesterday. First, anyone who had Dr. Hofmann in his celebrity death pool technically lost ground in the game. The way many of these pools work is on a point system. You generally get 100 points, minus the celebrity's age. That way Miley Cyrus, God  forbid, would be worth  85 points but would be a much gutsier pick than, say, former First Lady Rosalynn Carter, who is on the exact flip side at 15 points. So if you had Hoffman, you owe 2. 

Secondly, he was only 102. Imagine how long he might have lived if he'd stayed clean like his parents probably advised him to. This is why you shouldn't do drugs.

In case the letters LSD mean nothing to you, here is more from the rather interesting Telegraph obituary:

"Hofmann was working as a research chemist in the laboratory of the Sandoz   Company (now Novartis) in Basel, Switzerland, where he was involved in
studying the medicinal properties of plants. This eventually led to the study of the alkaloid compounds of ergot, a fungus which forms on rye.

Hofmann’s studies led to many new discoveries such as Hydergine, a medicament for improvement of circulation and cerebral function and Dihydergot, a circulation and blood pressure stabilizing medicine.

His interest in synthesising LSD was stimulated at first by the hope that it might also be useful as a circulatory and respiratory stimulant.

But when his molecule, known as LSD-25, was tested on animals, no interesting effects were observed, though the research notes recorded that the beasts became “restless” during narcosis. The substance was dismissed as of no interest and dropped from Sandoz’s research programme.

But five years later, acting on some intuition, Hofmann decided to resynthesise LSD. In his autobiography, LSD, My Problem Child (1979), he recalled that in the final stage of the synthesis, he was interrupted by some unusual sensations.

In a note to the laboratory’s director, he reported 'a remarkable restlessness, combined with a slight dizziness. At home I lay down and sank into a not unpleasant intoxicated-like condition, characterized by an extremely stimulated imagination.'

'In a dreamlike state, with eyes closed, I perceived an uninterrupted stream of fantastic pictures, extraordinary shapes with intense, kaleidoscopic play of colors. After some two hours this condition faded away.'

Hofmann concluded that he must have accidentally breathed in or ingested some   laboratory material and assumed LSD was the cause. To test the theory he waited until the next working day, Monday April 19 1943, and tried again, swallowing 0.25 of a milligram.

Forty minutes later, his laboratory journal recorded 'dizziness, feeling of anxiety, visual distortions, symptoms of paralysis, desire to laugh.'

Unable to write any more, he asked his assistant to take him home by bicycle. 'On the way home, my condition began to assume threatening forms.'

'Everything in my field of vision wavered and was distorted as if seen in a curved mirror. I also had the sensation of being unable to move from the spot. Nevertheless, my assistant later told me that we had traveled very rapidly.'

Back home, when a friendly neighbour brought round some milk, he perceived her as a 'malevolent, insidious witch wearing a lurid mask.' After six hours of highs and lows, the effects subsided.

Sandoz, keen to make a profit from Hofman’s discovery, gave the new substance the trade name Delysid and began sending samples out to psychiatric researchers.

By 1965 more than 2,000 papers had been published offering hope for a range of conditions from drug and alcohol addiction to mental illnesses of various sorts.

But the fact that it was cheap and easy to make left it open to abuse and from   the late 1950s onwards, promoted by Dr. Timothy Leary and others, LSD became the recreational drug of choice for alienated western youth.

An outbreak of moral panic, combined with a number of accidents involving people jumping to their deaths off high buildings thinking they could fly, led governments around the world to ban LSD.

Research also showed that the drug taken in high doses and in inappropriate settings, often caused panic reactions. For certain individuals, a bad trip seemed to be the trigger for full-blown psychosis.

Hofmann was disappointed when his discovery was removed from commercial distribution. He remained convinced that the drug had the potential to counter the psychological problems induced by 'materialism, alienation from nature through industrialization and increasing urbanization, lack of satisfaction in professional employment in a mechanized, lifeless working world, ennui and purposelessness in wealthy, saturated society, and lack of a religious, nurturing, and meaningful philosophical foundation of life.'

Good times.  

Strongly Worded Letter #7

22 April 2008

NBC Universal
100 Universal City Plaza
Universal City, Ca.

Attn: Jeff Zucker, President & CEO

     Congratulations on the weekend's big box office for your new movie Forgetting Sarah Marshall.  I went to see it and as long as you keep giving Kristin Bell roles you'll be getting more of my business in the future too.
      However, I could not have been more disappointed with one completely unnecessary minute of the film. I know comedy is subjective and maybe others will object to the coarse language or the nudity but it's safe to say most people who go to an R rated  movie expect that these days.
     But how on earth did a scene where Jason Segal's character Peter knifes a pig to death end up in this movie? It came completely out of the blue and  was so tonally out of step with everything else in this otherwise light, romantic comedy as to ruin an otherwise festive outing. Is there anyone who finds that kind of gratuitous violence against an animal funny? Do you?
     Don't misunderstand me. I recognize that people eat pigs and I've even seen them, just like in this film, cooked in the sand at a Hawaiian luau before. But don't they deserve to die as humanely and as with as much dignity as possible, even in a movie, and not appear to be chased, caught and slashed to death for "entertainment?"
     Thank you for your time and attention to this customer's concern.

Respectfully,    

CC: Ron Meyer, President & COO, Universal
        Nick Stoller, Director, Forgetting Sarah Marshall
        Jason Segal, Writer, Forgetting Sarah Marshall
        Judd Apatow, Writer/Producer, Forgetting Sarah Marshall

Ultimate Sadness

My friend Mo is a surgeon in San Pedro, California. Much of the time he loves his job and is happy for the opportunity to help so many people.

Sunday was not one of those good days. With his kind permission, I am going publish the email he sent me yesterday. If the first line is something that is very upsetting to you then you should not read further.


"I just finished sewing up a dead boy.

I pronounced him dead at 10:34 PM. It's now 11:27 PM. I know I won't be able to get to sleep for a long time. I feel like I shouldn't.

I'm a trauma surgeon, down here at St. Mary's. I was sulking in my call room on Palm Sunday because I missed yet another important moment in my 5-year-old son's life. A tarantula crawled all over him at his best friend's birthday party, and my wife had e-mailed me a glorious photo of this big, hairy arachnid on my son's face.

The phone rings, and I am summoned to the ER for a "gunshot wound to the chest". That's bad, but around these parts, sadly not a surprise. Then the ER secretary adds, "...in a 12-year-old." That changes things a bit.

As I hurry down to the Emergency Department, I play out several horrific scenarios in my head...a mental exercise in preparation for what certainly was to be a difficult situation.

I arrive to a room filled to capacity with doctors, nurses, techs,  volunteers, firemen, policemen, and paramedics. The strictly medical people are swarming around an impossibly small figure, in a flurry of needle sticks in search of a vein, monitor-pad placement in search of a vital sign, stethoscopes vainly searching for a breath sound or a heart beat. The non-medical personnel had formed a concerned and curious peanut gallery. One ER doctor blurts out the important points, "GSW to the chest, pulses in the field but..." while another ER doctor is prepping this small chest for an ER thoractomy.

In English, an "ER thoracotomy" is where you flay open a chest in a soon-to-be-dead  patient, in the hopes of finding a hole you can quickly but temporarily fix. Once that is done, it gives you a chance to give the patient necessary things like blood and IV fluids (where they now will not simply flow out of those repaired holes), and get him to the OR so you can fix him properly. It is the trauma surgery equivalent of a "Hail Mary" football pass. This is not a "difficult situation", this is a nightmare.

The ER doctor sees me, and literally hands me the knife, as if to say, "Here. It's yours." I think the kid is dead, or if not dead, then he certainly is "unsalvageable", which is a horrible word to use for a human being. I don't think he's fixable. However, if he is to have any hope of survival, the ONLY way to save him is to crack him open and try to plug up the holes. Cracking open a 12 year old boy is going to tear my own heart in half, I think to myself, but this is part of what I do, so I slip the gloves on and take the knife. There is precious little skin to cut through, and I'm in the chest in a few seconds.

His chest cavity is filled with blood, which spills out of his chest like a macabre waterfall to the floor. There's a shredded tear in his lung, and a big, ragged hole in his heart. All the IV fluids that my associates are pouring into the patient are flowing out this hole and on to my shoes. I put my finger in this hole...such a big hole in such a small heart...but blood and fluids still flows unfettered. My other hand finds another, larger hole on the other side of his heart. My fingers touch. His heart is empty. Mine breaks.

His family is brought in while I am bathed in his blood, as "studies have shown" that this is better for everyone involved, to be present as the end nears. I scramble for a way to just stop the bleeding. I just want it to stop. It's spilling over my hands on to the gurney. His mother is begging me to do what I can. I know I can't do anything. She tells me to take her heart, and give it to him. I know that's not possible, and she knows that's not possible, but she could not be more serious. The first ER doc is sitting alongside the mom, gently telling her that we've done everything we can do. His mother looks at me. My hands are still in the boy's chest, trying to do something, anything. In her eyes, I see a soul that I am about to crush with a little nod of my head. I do so.

As the howl of unimaginable grief shakes the entire ER, I am filled with anger. Why do we still sell guns in this country? What is this child doing on the streets after ten o'clock at night? Why are we killing our innocent young soldiers overseas, and ignoring the merciless gangbangers...terrorists in their own right...that are invading our streets here at home? I try to put these thoughts away, because now, in front of his family, I have to sew him up. I have to close this huge gash in his left side, that I made.

I place the first stitch, and as I'm tying the knot, I look at the boy's face. He's small for 12, not that much bigger than my son Ben. All the adrenaline is gone. My shoulders sag. I feel myself start to cry, and I know that I can't stop it. I have no way of hiding because literally everybody is looking at me, including his mother, and my hands are busy, so I can't wipe the tears away. I make eye contact with the mom, and whisper "I'm sorry." I finish closing his chest up, and shuffle off to the sink to wash this child's blood off my arms.

I sit down in the doctor's area, to start filling out the pointless paperwork. Several nurses and doctors come over to offer encouraging words, or a consoling hand on the shoulder. I want to quit. I don't want to do this anymore. I want to quit because that means I can go home. When I go home, I can quietly open the door to my son's room,  and sit on the floor right next to his bed. I'll watch him sleep, that blissful sleep only found in young children. I'll watch him for hours, and tell myself how lucky I am to have him in my life. I want my son to put my heart back together.

But I can't go home, as I'm on call until 8:00 AM. I can't quit. Tomorrow I have patients, surgeries, rounds...the usual stuff. Hopefully, I'll be home for dinner. When I come through the door, I'll hear his cheerful yell of "Daddy!" and he'll jump into my arms. He will in all likelihood never know how much that moment means to me, but it is precisely that resuscitative energy that will restore me. To keep coming back to this sort of work.

I will sneak into his room after he falls asleep. I'll give him an extra kiss goodnight. And then, just maybe, I'll close my eyes."

Thank you Dr. Mo for the work that you do even when you can't manufacture miracles and thank you for giving us a glimpse into a small part of your world.

The Hardest Post I've Ever Had To Write

Yesterday was one of the hardest days we've had on the farm as our beloved steer, Hey, passed on about 11:30 a.m.

He had been in slowly declining health for the past couple of years, suffering the effects of old age. We estimated him to be about eighteen and he has lived with us for over fifteen years. So it does help a little bit that he had such a long life and he was so well loved. I am also grateful that it was not a long, debilitating illness that  took him but more likely a heart attack or some other quick event.   

   
Here is a quite recent photo of Hey and Betsy, taken through the barn door.

I wish I had taken some pictures of him on this past Saturday as that was the day Donna and I gave him his spring bath. We spent a couple of hours with him, shampooing him, brushing him, and drying him off with a big fuzzy towel. All the while we talked to him, told him how handsome he was, and made sure he knew how grateful we were to have him in our life. Yeah, we really did talk that way about a cow. He was a very special member of our family.

Here's a 2006 photo of Hey preparing to devour a waffle. He loved baked goods: bagels, bread, cake, you name it. Curiously, neither of the other cows ever cared for them. Just Hey.

Here is the earliest known photo I could find last night of Hey. He was between two and three years old when we adopted him to save him from the slaughterhouse. That is Donna giving him a kiss.  We kissed him on the head nearly every single day of his life.

We can't thank our friends Marty and Lorie enough for being here with us yesterday and making the arrangements to get Hey buried in a sunny spot on the property.  We talked about the trade-off we all make when we decide to have a pet. They will leave us too early and it will hurt badly but in return we get a few years of love and joy from  having them in our lives. The love we give and get from our furry friends is indeed a blessing.

I'll close with my favorite picture that we have of Hey, from about  2000 or so I think. Even with all our other pets around, his presence will be missed for a very long time.   Goodbye, sweet boy.

O My Queen.......

I got an email this week from a person with the unlikely name of Ruchelle. First of all, what's that about? But more on point she was writing because she had overheard me saying in conversation that one of my favorite things about the four hour road trip from the Bad Place to Las Vegas, Nevada is the opportunity to stop at the Dairy Queen in Barstow for a Blizzard. 

I've made that drive dozens of times over the years and it's just the perfect halfway stop to get out, stretch your legs, buy gas, get your delicious ice cream treat on, and shop for deals at the attached Pilot truck stop. You can buy everything from CB radios, to country music cassettes, to "Trucker By Choice, American By Birth" T-shirts there. Plus they have bathrooms (and showers!), a Western Union office,  and plenty of parking with easy on and off access from Interstate 10.   

Or do they? Ruchelle writes, "We came back from Vegas and we were going to stop there like we always do and we saw that it was gone!!!!! We are outraged! We loved stopping by that Dairy Queen."

I replied, "What?? Are you sure? In Barstow attached to the Pilot station?"

Ruchelle (if that even is her name), "Yes!! Now it is just an empty lot.  I am hoping they will bring it back. Here is the address. I tried to Google it but they have a old picture still on there.

DAIRY QUEEN BRAZIER / FUEL CENTER
2591 Commerce Pkwy
Barstow, CA 92311-9568"

Look, I know I could look up the number and just call the truck stop to confirm this awful news but it's too painful a thing to learn over the phone. I still haven't fully stopped mourning the loss of the famous Bun Boy restaurant down the Interstate in Baker, California.

So I am throwing it open to you readers who have passed through Barstow more recently than I have. Is Ruchelle on the dope? Does she sit on a Throne of Lies? Or is it all true? Dairy Queen R.I.P.?

People Who Are Better Than Us

So I heard on the car radio the other day that the Seattle Symphony's new "Principal Pops Director" would be presenting his first concert of the season next month.

He is renowned musician Marvin Hamlisch and if you recognize the name it might be from his hit soundtrack from the movie The Sting, for which he performed the ragtime score. Or maybe from his string of hits on Broadway, including A Chorus Line. Wait, isn't he also the guy who wrote all those pop songs like Nobody Does it Better and The Way We Were?   

A little research when I got home confirmed my suspicions. He did all that. In fact, Marvin Hamlisch is one of only two  people in history to win an Oscar, an Emmy, a Tony, a Grammy, and a Pulitzer Prize*.  Damn it and I am a worthless slug.

Then I heard an interview on the radio with a woman who was promoting the book she had written. What is the little book about? Oh, just Rachel Scdoris's story of being legally- blind- since-birth and how that didn't stop her from training and now racing annually in the Alaskan Iditerod dog sled race.  Damn it and I am a worthless slug.

Lesson learned. I gotta stop listening to the radio.      

*Richard Rodgers is the other one. I knew you wanted to know.

 

Hell Computers

I've been an Apple guy for the past seven or eight years and besides really, really loving their computers, I have been uniformly happy with their customer service. I can get them on the telephone. They speak English. They even have several retail stores in Seattle with competent, knowledgeable employees who seem eager to help.

Unfortunately, my job also requires me to have several Dell personal computers in my home and that's where today's post picks up.

Last Thursday a power surge somehow knocked one of the computers out of commission, despite being plugged into a surge protector. A little research revealed that the machine was still under waranty so I called and scheduled an appointment for the next afternoon, between 1:30 and 5:30.

Friday, Day One: Around 5 the tech guy showed up - as an aside, does anyone know anyone who has ever gotten an appointment near the front of the window? - and he replaced the PC's internal power supply which did not fix the problem. Turns out he needed another part to try Plan B, a part which he did not bring with him.

I made an appointment for the next business day - as an aside, why couldn't they offer support on weekends? - and proceeded to wait.

Monday, Day Four: Still waiting. And waiting. Then a call came in from Dell alerting me that the missing part had not been ordered in time so there would be no appointment that day either.

Tuesday, Day Five: Again with the 1:30 to 5:30 appointment window. Again around 5:00 the phone rang and I was told - get this - that the part had arrived but had been sent to a different tech person than the one who was scheduled to come to my home!!!  Then I was told there was no way to get  Part A to person B so they would have to reschedule the appointment for  the next day!!!!

Wednesday, Day Six was yesterday. Miracle of miracles. The tech guy came in the middle of the afternoon window, had the part, and finally fixed the problem. Now I am back up and running. 

If I had bothered to do a Google search for "Dell Computer customer service" I would not be so surprised by my experience.

Turns out Dell, despite their nearly continuous television commercials  that cheerfully claim the opposite, is far and away the leader among all technology companies in complaints to the Better Business Bureau. 

After scanning site after site dedicated to what many call Hell Computers I learned that their disregard for customer service is  legendary  and that I was apparently lucky to get my hardware problem resolved at all!  I saw stories of PCs that were dead on arrival and hours spent on hold on the phone to talk to "Wendy" in Calcutta.  Among the  pages I found:

Why Dell Sucks 

I Hate Dell

the Dell page of ConsumerAffairs.com

and the Dell page of Epinions.com.

I didn't have any choice but to bring Dell products into my home but you do. Buyer beware!

What A Difference A Day Makes

Y'all know how much I love the mug shots, I have written about them here on this blog even. Now a great one that comes with a delighful twist.

Her name is Kumari Fulbright, a law student at the  University of Arizona.  The 25-year-old former Miss Pima County and  Miss Arizona pageant contestant is charged with robbery, kidnapping and torture!  Well, if you want to call sticking a butcher knife in her ex-boyfriend's  ear, pointing a pistol at him and biting him while he was tied up "torture."  Good times.

What makes this story notable, though, is her extraordinary before and  after photos. The first one is an undated publicity shot. Next is her booking photo from the Tucson Police Department.  Really good times.

.

Strongly Worded Letter #4

Ms. Patti Labelle c/o
Universal Music Group
2220 Colorado Avenue
Santa Monica , CA 90404

Dear Ms. Labelle,

     I'm not a rabid fan but have always been impressed by your voice and your ability. I bought "Lady Marmalade" on 45* as a teenager, and just last month I bought your new Miss Patti's Christmas CD. May I ask for one minute of your time after my 35 years of support?
     I saw the photo in the newspaper of you with your friend Mary J. Blige at a record release party in New York last month, both draped head to toe in fur.
     You think you know what I'm going to say next but I am not an activist, am not deeply involved in this issue, and don't even agree with much of how PETA conducts their business.
     I know how slowly people's habits change but have been encouraged to see progress in recent years as the public has started to turn against eating veal and foie gras, recognizing that there is a difference between humanely raising and killing animals for food and unnecessarily torturing them for the entirety of their short lives.
     Just as there are moral trade offs in what we choose to eat, the same is true in what we choose to wear.
     You probably don't have time to privately investigate how chinchillas are killed for their fur but  you should at least be aware that they are commonly electrocuted, while they are conscious. Some are victims of what the fur industry calls "cervical dislocation," which is having their necks snapped, again, while conscious. These methods are documented as being used at chinchilla farms here in the United States but the animals in fur producing countries around the world suffer living conditions that are often inhumane as well.   
     The coat you wore that night to a party looks to me to represent the painful death of hundreds of little creatures.   
     If I could close with some good news for fashion icons such as yourself, it is that science has made impressive gains in the area of realistic synthetic furs. It is now quite difficult to tell the difference between faux and real fur and I think if you are a caring person you will look better in the man-made "fur" because you will feel better about the choice you made.
     That's all I wanted to say. Thank you for reading this and I wish you and your family a happy and prosperous new year.

Respectfully,





*(Not in the letter, but for my readers: a 45 represents what used to be the physical version of an mp3 download. "Records" were pressed onto vinyl, a sort of plastic. There would be one song on each side and the disc would spin on a "turntable" at 45 revolutions per minute. A needle would travel the grooves of the record and transmit the sound through a speaker.)       

Too Weak to Sleep?

Thank you to blog reader Catherine for the link to this story in Britain's Daily Mail. It especially touched me as a former hedgehog owner. (R.I.P Murray and Miracle)

Abandoned baby hedgehogs are too weak to hibernate

by DAVID DERBYSHIRE     

These lame baby hedgehogs are casualties of the chaotic weather.

They should be asleep for the winter - but instead they are nursing their broken bones at Tiggywinkles Wildlife Hospital near Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire.

The RSPCA says its rescue centres are looking after hundreds of abandoned hedgehogs born during the exceptionally mild autumn and who are too small or weak to hibernate.

A baby hedgehog worse for wear after a year of chaotic weather

 

The odd weather has also led to a shortage of their favourite grubs, beetles, slugs and caterpillars.

RSPCA wildlife scientist Adam Grogan said: "They need to gain weight before they can hibernate."

 

Weak hedgehogs like the one above have broken bones and are being nursed back to health

Not The Same Old Lang Syne

I had something totally fun and Christmasy to write about today but I just heard Dan Fogelberg died over the weekend and believe he deserves a few words.

I know exactly what you are thinking: "Who?"

Here are a few lines from the Associated Press story on his passing,

"Dan Fogelberg, the singer and songwriter whose hits Leader of the Band and Same Old Lang Syne helped define the soft-rock era, died Sunday at his home in Maine after battling prostate cancer. He was 56.

His death was announced Sunday in a statement by Anna Loynes of the Solters & Digney public relations agency, and was also posted on the singer's Web site.

'Dan left us this morning at 6:00 a.m. He fought a brave battle with cancer and died peacefully at home in Maine with his wife Jean at his side,' it read. 'His strength, dignity and grace in the face of the daunting challenges of this disease were an inspiration to all who knew him.'

Fogelberg was found in 2004 to have advanced prostate cancer. In a statement then, he thanked fans for their support: It is truly overwhelming and humbling to realize how many lives my music has touched so deeply all these years. ... I thank you from the very depths of my heart.'

Fogelberg's music was powerful in its simplicity. He didn't rely on the volume of his voice to convey his emotions; instead, they came through in the soft, tender delivery and his poignant lyrics. Songs like Same Old Lang Syne - in which a man reminisces after meeting an old girlfriend by chance during the holidays - became classics not only because of his performance, but for the engaging storyline, as well.

Fogelberg's heydey was in the 1970s and early 80s, when he scored several platinum and multiplatinum records fueled by such hits as The Power of Gold and Leader of the Band, a touching tribute he wrote to his father, a bandleader. Fogelberg put out his first album in 1972."

All of the songs mentioned in the piece are worth seeking out if you don't know them and he had several uniformly excellent albums such as Souvenirs, Phoenix, The Innocent Age and my favorite, Twin Sons Of Different Mothers, his collaboration with Tim Weisberg.

I think maybe the wedding favorite, Longer doomed Fogelberg to soft rock hell in many listener's minds but he was an extraordinarily talented musician and songwriter who deserves a better legacy.

Sometimes this time of year you might get lucky and catch Dan's holiday classic, Same Old Lang Syne on the radio and I defy you to turn it off before you see how the story ends.  It gets me every time. And today you got lucky to catch it on this blog. You are so having a better Monday than he is.

Why, Mommy, Why?

You see them in the mall. You see them on the street, in restaurants, even at the zoo. But is anyone stopping to ask, "What's the deal with the infants wearing headbands?"

Seriously, what's the deal? A person wears a headband to stop sweat from getting into one's eyes.  That's the only reason. How much working out is Baby Flashdance doing to require a headband?   

And isn't it well-known that a baby's skull is not even fully hardened until after the first year? Why strap a band of fabric tightly around the kid's forehead? Are you trying to leave a mark?

It can't possibly be because  Mommy thinks it looks good, can it? Because it really doesn't. In fact, it looks a  lot like  Mommy is saying, "Hey my child is too ugly to not scare passersby with her face so I'll try to cover up some of it."

Lastly, like Hillary Clinton is always saying, "Think about the children." Do you imagine they enjoy it? Having a pointless thing attached to their foreheads that they can't remove because they can't reach it? Being made to look foolish before they are even able to  defend themselves?  If they could speak they would say, "Mommy has issues. I hate her."

 

This Is An Outrage

Here's the Big Gulp machine at my favorite 7-11 store, taken yesterday afternoon. Maybe it's not a big deal to you but to me the Big Gulp machine is like the Sun to a plant or Mother's bosom to a baby. It's the source of one of life's  greatest joys which is, well, Big Gulps.

But now there is trouble in paradise. See where it says Manzanita Sol? Yeah, that wasn't there the day before. It seems to be some sort of apple soda but I  can't guess what "Refresco de Manzana Cae la tentacion" is all about.

What I do know is that in addition to the large panel of advertising that went in, the store also replaced the Cherry Cola fountain drink option in the Big Gulp machine with this new stuff. No Cherry Coke? No peace, right?  Cherry Coke is, along with its beautiful twin sister Vanilla Coke, what made America great.

To add considerable insult to an almost inhuman amount of  injury, this new Mexican soda is made by...by..... Pepsi!! Pepsi! The Devil's Pee!

Pepsi products instead of Coca-Cola products? Why not dirt instead of cake? How about hate instead of love? How about rats instead of dogs? Do I need to go on? 

Pepsi instead of Coke? Maybe you'd  prefer The Biggest Loser to The Office? Bea Arthur to Beyonce? How about getting polio instead of a good night's sleep?   

All I am saying is this: How about a little less marching in the streets over the Writer's Strike, or the Jena 6, or some other "injustice" and a little more paying attention to what's really going on in this country. One Big Gulp Machine at a time.   

 

   

Ouch.

When you look out your car on the highway exit ramp and see this man  do you:

A) Keep your eyes fixed straight ahead on the traffic light. If you don't see him, maybe he won't see you. 

B) Roll down your window and give the  dude a buck and wish him a Merry Christmas.

C) Think about giving him that buck but then don't do it because you're guessing he'll blow it all on drugs or drink anyway.

D) Feel okay because you know you have donated to an organized charity to help the poor and that way makes more sense in the long run anyway.

E) Wait until he's not looking and snap a photo with your iPhone that you can use to exploit the stranger as content on your blog. Then step on it.


You know what I chose. How about you?

Sweetheart, Have You Met My Wife?

I read an article in USA Today almost two weeks ago that I am still thinking about. So it occured to me that maybe I should share it with you in case it touches a chord in you as well.  I am betting it will.

"Retired Justice Sandra Day O'Connor's husband, who suffers from Alzheimer's, has found a new romance, and his happiness is a relief to his wife, an Arizona TV report reveals.

The report, which quoted the couple's oldest son, Scott O'Connor, focused on Alzheimer's patients who forget their spouses and fall in love with someone else. Experts say the scenario is somewhat common.

Offering a glimpse into the private life of a woman who has remained on the public stage since her Supreme Court retirement in 2006 to care for her husband, the report spotlighted John O'Connor, 77. He and the woman, referred to only as "Kay," live at a Phoenix facility for people with Alzheimer's.

"Mom was thrilled that Dad was relaxed and happy and comfortable living here and wasn't complaining," Scott, 50, told KPNX-Channel 12 in Phoenix in a story that aired Thursday. The station is owned by Gannett, as is USA TODAY.

VIDEO: Sandra Day O'Connor discusses dealing with husband's Alzheimer's

Though Sandra Day O'Connor, 77, did not appear in the television report, it gave a rare look at the life of the nation's first female justice. The family's willingness to highlight an aspect of a heart-wrenching illness recalled O'Connor's decision in 1994 to go public with her feelings about breast cancer.

In a speech to the National Coalition for Cancer Survivorship, she spoke about discovering the cancer in 1988 and undergoing a mastectomy.

Scott compared his father to "a teenager in love" and said, "For Mom to visit when he's happy … visiting with his girlfriend, sitting on the porch swing holding hands," was a relief after a painful period.

The O'Connors, who have three children, met at Stanford Law School and married in 1952. John O'Connor left a partnership at a Phoenix law firm to come to Washington with his wife in 1981. He worked for D.C. law firms but was limited in his ability to take on matters that could come before the justices.

As her husband's disease became more difficult to handle, O'Connor retired.

She was traveling Monday and could not be reached for comment.

Peter Reed, senior director of programs at the Alzheimer's Association in Chicago, said the frequency of Alzheimer's patients forming new romantic relations is hard to estimate. "But the underlying causes of this are fairly common," he said. Though patients lose their cognitive abilities and experience mood changes, "one of the things that doesn't go away is the need for relationships."

"Justice O'Connor is certainly to be commended for … raising awareness and helping to reduce stigmas," he said.

Lisa O'Toole, manager at the center where John O'Connor resides, said the facility participated in the TV report "to educate the public about the disease process."

Reed said 5 million Americans have the progressive brain disease that affects memory and behavior."

The Legend Lives On.....

Anyone who knows me already knew what today's post was going to be about before even clicking on their bookmark/favorites link. Yes, today is the 32d anniversary of the sinking of the S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald.

If you are unfamiliar with this maritime tragedy, here is a brief description from the excellent Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum website:

"The legend of the Edmund Fitzgerald remains the most mysterious and controversial of all shipwreck tales heard around the Great Lakes.   Her story is surpassed in books, film and media only by that of the Titanic.  Canadian folksinger Gordon Lightfoot inspired popular interest in this vessel with his 1976 ballad, "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald."       

The Edmund Fitzgerald was lost with her entire crew of 29 men on Lake Superior November 10, 1975, 17 miles north-northwest of Whitefish Point, Michigan. Whitefish Point is the site of the Whitefish Point Light Station and Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.  The Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society (GLSHS) has conducted three underwater expeditions to the wreck, 1989, 1994, and 1995.
   
At the request of family members surviving her crew, Fitzgerald's 200 lb. bronze bell was recovered   by the Great Lakes Shipwreck Historical Society on July 4, 1995.  This expedition was conducted   jointly with the National Geographic Society, Canadian Navy, Sony Corporation, and Sault Ste. Marie   Tribe of Chippewa Indians.   The bell is now on display in the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum as a   memorial to her lost crew."   

This week I looked into, and very nearly booked my flight to attend in person the memorial service scheduled for  tonight. I could not work out  all the travel arrangements necessary for this weekend but will plan ahead another year to have enough time to take in several of the commemorative events planned throughout the Midwest.

If you are lucky enough to be within driving distance, here is the information about tonight, again from the Shipwreck Museum's site:   

" The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum will present the 32nd annual Edmund Fitzgerald Memorial Service at 7 pm Saturday, November 10, 2007, at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum, Whitefish Point, Michigan. The public is invited to attend. The service includes reflections, music, and the Call to the Last Watch Ceremony in which the ship's bell is rung 29 times for each crewman lost with her, and a 30th ring for all who have lost their lives on the Great Lakes. Refreshments will be served; seating is limited, it is recommended that you arrive early. Admission to the Fitzgerald Service is free.

Or, click here to watch the 30th anniversary service from wherever you are.
 

For my Wisconsin readers, here are two events happening in Manitowic, courtesy of that town's Herald Times: 

"The music-filled theatrical production of “Gales of November” begins at 7:30 p.m. Saturday, Nov. 10, at the Capitol Civic Centre, 913 S. Eighth St., Manitowoc. Tickets are $33, $25 and $19. (920) 683-2184.

The Wisconsin Maritime Museum, 75 Maritime Drive, Manitowoc, will open its exhibit, “Of Ships and Men — The Edmund Fitzgerald” on Saturday, Nov. 10. It will run through winter 2008. Winter hours are 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. seven days a week. Admission to tour the museum and USS Cobia submarine is $12 for adults; $10 for children, 6 to 15; and free for ages 5 and under. 1 (866) 724-2356."

And from the Star-Tribune, a useful summary of the ship and its last voyage can be found here, plus word of this event in Minnesota:

"The 32nd anniversary of the most famous maritime disaster in Great Lakes history will be marked this weekend on Minnesota's North Shore. A beacon lighting and commemoration of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald in 1975 is scheduled for Saturday and Sunday at the Split Rock Lighthouse northeast of Two Harbors.  This annual event includes a film about the Fitzgerald to be shown in the Visitor Center theater throughout the afternoon.

The lighthouse and fog signal building will be open and staffed both days from noon to 6 pm. The lighthouse will close temporarily at 4:30 p.m., and the names of the 29 lost crew members will be read as a ship's bell tolls. After the ceremony, the beacon will be lit and the tower will reopen for visitors.

The commemoration is led by the Minnesota Historical Society. There is a fee of $4 for ages 6 and older. Society members pay no fee."

Rest in peace, men.

P.S. There was a humorous misunderstanding one year  when I pulled up to a stoplight next to a car with an  license plate that read 11 10 75.  I rolled down my window and starting chatting with him, assuming he was a fellow Edmund Fitzgerald fan. He looked at me like I was crazy and when I asked about his plate he reminded me that the United States Marine Corps. was  founded on November, 10 1775!

So Semper Fi too, men. 

Dude Looks Like A Lady

A tip of the LPGA tour hat to the clever blogger who started the "Men Who Look Like Old Lesbians" web page. It's genius and it really does cast some well-known celebrities in a whole new light.

For instance, music-producer-turned-Teflon-killer Phil Spector:



See, that is a man who looks like an old lesbian. Or former Speaker of the House of Representatives Newt Gingrich:




There is no doubt, right? Here's Oscar winner Al Pacino:




Now fellow Oscar winner Michael Moore:




As a Claymate, this one hurts me but you can't deny the Sapphic nature of Clay Aiken's appearance:




There are plenty more examples on the site so happy hunting!

Not So Great Dane.

Fact: Dane Cook sucks.

That wouldn't be even worthy of a post if he weren't sucking in new ways that are really getting on my nerves lately.

Let me back up. If you are lucky enough to have avoided this person so far, he is an "actor" and "comedian" of inexplicable popularity in 21st century America. Yet he has accomplished less than Paris Hilton. 

His movies are all horrible and yet he still manages to be worse than the material. Good Luck Chuck, Employee Of The Month, Mr. Brooks, and Waiting are some of his most recent offenses. It's not just that he is untalented. He's not even interesting.

Dane Cook: Vicious Circle, his TV stand up "comedy" special was all standing up and no comedy. His reality "comedy" show Tourgasm was so bad it made the viewer less funny just by watching it.

When he confines himself to his own shows at least he is easy to avoid but this month I've had to endure his face on TV and voice on radio because some genius at Major League Baseball thought Dane Cook is the guy to do promo spots for this year's playoffs. So one minute you are rooting for the Indians to beat Boston and the next, before you have time to hit the remote, Dane Cook's is on your TV urging you to watch the playoffs THAT YOU ARE ALREADY WATCHING. Yep, he is that stupid. At least the ads aren't funny. Or interesting. Or entertaining. Can I say anything nice about Dane Cook? Uh...he's consistent?      

At The Tone the Time Will Be....

I  still have 853-1212 lodged in my brain from years ago when i used to call that phone number to get the correct time when I lived in The Bad Place way back when.

Just last month, Southern Californians might have spied a "Service Withdrawn" message on their bills and an announcment that the Time of Day service had been discontinued. 

Now, the service hangs on only in Northern California and Nevada. Even those recordings are living on... uh...borrowed time.

It makes sense. The reason I haven't thought of the "Speaking Clock" service in years is because there are clocks everywhere in daily life now: on microwaves, cellphones, ipods, Tivos, computers, etc. Most young people don't even wear a wristwatch for the same reason.

Read more in this L.A. Times article, including a description of how it was large drums that  made the recordings work plus meet a few of the famous Time Lady voices of the 20th century.