As you read this:
Words will have flown from my finger tips,
scattered amongst the electronic,
tides and eddies of the web.
Twisting into terrible lives.
Their fierce energy hitting brain tissue,
with a powerful smack.
Huge verbs and nouns,
ripping and tearing.
Prophesying with a single voice;
Doom.
Doom.
Doom.
-Erk
9/23/95
10:00 am
There is a poem my mother used to read to us as a child by Charles Malam called Steam Shovel. The opening lines are:
The dinosaurs are not all dead.
I saw one raise its iron head
To watch me walking down the road
Beyond our house today.
This morning, as I was loading up our car at the hotel we stayed at in Fresno, I was reminded of this poem. Across the parking lot from the hotel is a restaurant called Huckleberry’s. It’s a nice enough place, we actually ate there this morning. The food is a bit heavy for my liking, but most people I know would enjoy it.
What I noticed while loading the car was the clientele waking into or out of the restaurant. I saw something like 20 people either going in or out, and all of them were obese. Were talking 60-100 lbs overweight or more. Every one! It was like seeing the beginnings of an over-eaters anonymous meeting.
Mind you, I carry 15-20 on my belly I could do without, so I’m not claiming perfections here, nor do I have the spare time to be a gym rat anymore — but com’on people! The fatty food you are eating is killing you! Really really slowly, but it is still killing you.
So what came to my mind was that us American’s were cursed by some AmerIndian Shaman, into becoming the buffalo we killed off many years ago. To paraphrase the poem, the buffalo are not all dead, I saw them walking to a shed…
Then I noticed all of the other restaurants in Fresno, and I have to say there are a lot of ones that serve red meat and potatoes, while I saw only one that looked like it sold “healthy” food. I’m telling you people, the ancient curse is starting to take hold. We are becoming buffalo.
It is very hard to describe what mental illness is like to someone who has not gone through it. It is a subtle change that takes place not in the world, but in your head. The changes it brings come slowly, and the mind is quick to mask most of these from the person, so that one generally does not notice it until it is manifest. Even the subtlety of the attack, and the way the brain works to co-op the victim, very much like a virus stricken computer suddenly working hard to help the erstwhile hacker, makes the process all the more unbelievable. You simply cannot imagine you are acting crazy right up until the moment you do. And then you can’t figure out how in the hell you got there.
It’s very much like waking up, and going about your day, only to find at the end, when you go to take a shit, that somehow in the course of your day you took off the white underwear you very carefully chose in the morning, and replaced them with a green pair you have never seen before, and then proceeded to put them on the outside of your pants. The worst thing is not realizing you just spent the last part of your day walking around the block, talking to your neighbors, eating at the local restaurant, all with green underwear on the outside of your pants. No the worst part is not knowing where you got the underwear from in the first place. Like there is some secret store you go to buy green underwear, but only when you are so crazy that you cannot remember.
I am lucky in that I have only a very mild form of depression. Pretty much the worse that happens to me is I suddenly find myself almost entirely rudderless, and with only the littlest bit of ego to manage most adult tasks. I can function, after a fashion, but I have very little initiative to do anything but go home, and crawl into bed. For instance, I can sit on a corner waiting for a bus, but I cannot raise my hand and waive down a taxi. The thought of doing something new, like riding in a taxi, is almost paralyzing, even though it would get me home sooner, and I had the cash in my hand. I can even realize that I am depressed, and need to get myself to a safe spot soon, before it gets worse (like all mental illnesses, it can get worse), but I cannot manage to do anything that is out of routine or unsafe. Mind you, the very next day I can wake up and take twenty taxis, without batting an eye, so the effect is not permanent. I’m lucky in that also know now pretty much when I’m depressed, and have a good handle on my limitations. I am also able to work when depressed because I have learned how to not shut down completely when there is work to do. It’s always in the denouement after late night work that is the hardest.
I can leave a client’s office, after a long day’s work, and walk out to the bus stop to wait for the bus, very much like I did last night, and then at some point while waiting for the bus, suddenly and completely shut down. I was planing on going to a restaurant to celebrate a friends birthday, and sometime after I got off my normal bus, and waited for a new one to take me to the restaurant, I lost it. I could not wait for the bus to come (it never did), and while pacing for it, I grew more and more agitated until I got to the point that I started having a very strong desire to yell at any car that passed, and it was all I could do not to scream at the the occasional pedestrian. Even I know, while in the grips of depression, that this is not normal. So I watched 20 taxis pass, all of them empty, and waited for my normal “safe” bus to come, and take me home. Almost 2 hours after I left the office I stumbled through my front door, and crawled into bed.
On the way into work this morning, I saw several taxis. All of them seemed perfectly safe. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to call a friend and apologize for missing his birthday. Fortunately for me, he is a good friend and will understand.
I’ve just recently updated my printed portfolio, and thought to do the same to my online one. There’s quite a few new pieces to look at, if you’re into that sort of thing, so have fun. I’m also thinking of adding a new section devoted to tips and techniques I’ve come across that might make it easier for others to retouch.
This morning I talked with an Art Director about a piece of art she had done. She needed a little bit of advice in a few areas about photoshop usage (hence the conversation), and I was doing my best to help. The problem was our conversation was over the phone, which is a medium almost completely unsuited for talking about art.
You see I work as an artist (really an artisan) in a field full of artists. We, collectively, put together some pretty cool stuff at times, and it’s hecka fun. That is until we start talking about art. Then its rather boring.
Us artists types are visual people. We put things together so you can see them. Think a picture and a thousand words. But when we talk about our art, it is done so in a very abstract way, and the conversation would be entirely meaningless if you could not see what we are talking about. If a part of an image needs to get brighter (as in closer to white) we might say, “make it hotter”, “brighter”, “whiter”, “open it up”, or even “more sunny”. All of these terms I have heard before, and they all roughly mean the same thing. Alas, when the topic gets more complex, then words tend to get confusing. That’s when we extend into metaphor. Make it like her face, or like that clock, or (referring to another poster) like Pearl Harbor.
Now if we were engineers, then we would have a very exact language, and could be extremely specific about what we want. But artists don’t work like that. We’re not used to working with words, and if you listen to our conversations it shows. One of these days I’m going to record a conversation about a piece of art we’re working on, because out of that narrow context, the conversation has got to be somewhere between banal and silly.
So this morning, when I was talking to my friend, I had to really be careful about what I said. I could not see what she was seeing, and I could not show her what I meant visually, so we had to constantly double check our meaning by asking if we understood each other. She would say something, then I would repeat it, and then she would repeat it again. This happened over and over, but was necessary to ensure that our differing experiences about the art remained in sync. No doubt a linguist would have a term for this kind of verbal “fact checking”, which is retrospect is not all that different from the way a computer makes sure it has got all the pieces of a file correct, when you send something over a network.
I’m rather sensitive to this kind of communication because I do it a lot. I am constantly exposed to new Art Directors (new to working with me, that is, not necessarily new to the business) and every time I work with one, I have to make sure what they say means the same thing as what I say. If we were engineers, for instance, then the language itself would be specific enough that it would not require much in the way of repetition. Some people use words in such a way as there really cannot be a second meaning to their sentences. Alas, with visual people, such specificity is tossed aside in exchange for speed. All one has to do it point to the artwork, and save those thousand words for something else, like what to order for lunch.
But such language usage goes beyond just the specific lingo of a given design shop, or Art Director. Artists, I have noticed, tend to not use word play, or make jokes with puns, like others professionals I have worked with. Perhaps this is because they have set aside verbal acuity, in favor of visual acuity. If this is so, then they have made a good choice because most of the people I’ve had the pleasure of working with are damn good. With art, that is.
“If television is a babysitter, then the internet is a drunk librarian that won’t shut up.” – unknown
About as accurate a statement as I’ve ever read.
Yesterday was the first day in a long time when I actually intentionally put on long pants. Mind you, I do wear long pants for work, but when I’m home, especially on the weekends, I always head to the shorts drawer. Well yesterday the weather was cool enough that I not only put on jeans, but I wore them all day long.
It’s official. Fall is creeping into Southern California.
The funny part is it had been so long that I actually stared at the contents of my pants drawer for at least a minute, trying to remember which pair was my favorite, and which one I should use for working out in the yard. I actually have pants which I do not remember owning. How did that happen?
Needless to say, it’s been a while since I visited the pants drawer. Does that make me neglectful?
I was at the library the other day, looking for some new materiel, and quite by accident I ran across a new(ish) novel by Steven Pressfield called Killing Rommel Steven Pressfield is the author of Gates of Fire, which is such a rip roaring fine piece of work that I simply hand to any male I meet who is looking for something new to read. It almost never fails, such is the power of that story, and the great writing chops of the author.
The main problem I’ve had with Gates of Fire is the antiquity of the story. The movie 300 did much to get the average American interested in all things Greek, and specifically in the battle of Thermopylae, but before it came out, trying to sell someone on the idea that a battle 2500 years ago would deeply move them today was a bit of a struggle.
Another issue with Gates of Fire is the historical accuracy of the novel. Fighting with human powered edged weapons is a bloodbath. There is simply no escaping this. Pressfield, to his credit, does an excellent job of describing this to an audience who has only a modern (and largely Hollywood) view into the violence of war. The kid gloves definitely come off in that novel, and it can be really distressing to those who do not like to be knee deep in gore.
So when I picked up Killing Rommel, I discovered I found the next “perfect” book to hand to any man. The story revolves around the LRDG or Long Range Desert Group in the North Africa campaign in WWII. This was the British Army’s answer to the German Afrika Korps, and the precursor to today’s special forces.
The level of detail is astounding, and completely draws the reader in. Pressfield does an excellent job of describing the day-to-day life of the soldier on both sides, including their equipment, tactics they used in battle, what its like to be in a retreating army, and an advancing army (amazingly similar), and how to drive over sand dunes without getting stuck.
From the very first page, to the entire end, the book reads exactly like a memoir of a solider who was in the thick of things. One also gets a sense of the rather haphazard way in which a war can appear as one if prosecuting it. There is very little, if any, heroic posing. This book was certainly not meant to be made into a movie to showcase the latest Hollywood star. No one single handedly holds off the German army with a machine gun. Instead you get boredom, breakdowns, being shot at by your own guys, and the occasional terror of getting mixed up with the enemy.
I should also note that this book is far less bloody than Gates of Fire. There is only one battle scene in which crosses from battle to gore, but it is blessedly short, and holds a moral significance to the protagonist, something you don’t truly get (or at least I didn’t) until you read the afterward. Other scenes show the protagonist actually evading bloodshed by quick thinking and decisive action.
For those with a more religious perspective, the characters are not religious, but the protagonist does face a rather interesting moral dilemma, one in which I think many Christians will likely be able to identify with. The solution to this dilemma is both inspiring and satisfying, but does not fully play out until, as I mentioned before, one reads the afterward.
The amazon page lists a few reviews, but I thought this one was the most appropriate for a closing.
I am particularly fond of historical novels because I consider them a painless way to learn history.
Amen to that brother. Killing Rommel is an excellent way to learn about one small part of WWII. It reads as if written by your favorite uncle, and is as exciting to read about the mundane as it is to read about the heat of battle.
I liked it so much that as soon as I returned the book to the library, I went out and purchased a paperback version for myself. Right now it’s sitting at my father-in-laws bedside, where it will no doubt keep him with a silly grin on his face for many a night as he recovers from surgery.
Today we had to put down the last of our old cats.
When Teri and I met, we each had two cats. Just before our marriage, her oldest, (and best) cat died. Since then we’ve been slowly decreasing our cat population. Today marks the end of our last one.
The details were a bit gruesome, and I really do not want to share them. Suffice to say it was an emotionally difficult day. Little Girl was my cat, and I loved her dearly, but she was not a fun cat to be around near the end of her life. She was given to me by a friend named Dona, as a companion for another cat I owed named Dusty. As a companion to Dusty she failed, but as my cat she excelled.
19 years is a good run for a cat. I’ll miss her, but at the same time I’m glad she’s gone. Trevor is already asking if we can get some more kittens. I’m not quite ready yet, but we’ll see. One thing is for sure, I can finally get a good night’s sleep without her howling.
We buried her in the front yard with a good view of the bird feeders. Teri bought her a window perch earlier this year, and she loved to sit up there and watch the birds. Now she can all the time.
Little Girl is the protagonist of a novel I’ve been working on, so it’s kind of strange to loose the inspiration for your main character. Funny as it sounds, not having her around will probably help me remember the younger Little Girl, whom was more playful, and fun to be around. In death, she looked more relaxed and happy than she had in years. Pain and age take their toll, so it was nice to get a glimpse of the younger kitty inside the old bag of bones.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our health care system in America, and why it works well in some areas, and sucks in others. Because of this, I’ve come up with a new way to look at health care, well at least new to me. Let me tell you how it goes.
Imagine in the future, there’s this middle aged guy. We’ll call him Fred. Fred is married, 46, and has two children. He has a job which he has kept for the past 12 years, even in this recession. He is mid/upper level management, and his prospects for higher management look good. Because his wife is at home with their children (ages 12 and 8), they live off his income alone. They own a house, and a few investments, but they do not have a lot of capital otherwise.
When Fred goes to see his doctor for a routine physical, he gets a surprise: he appears to have heart disease, and looks to need a double-bypass. Fred is shocked, but not worried. Fred has been making regular payments for his health care to the government (as a part of his taxes), and his company also has paid for a supplemental health insurance. Fred didn’t have to pay for either. Just by being a citizen he is automatically granted access to quality medical care. However, his company’s payments to the government are not for nothing. They have given him access to speedier care.
So after calling his wife, and telling her the news, Fred calls his health insurance agent.
What? You are thinking. Why would he call his insurance agent? Well because his health insurance agent actually works for Fred, and his job is to find Fred the best deal on fixing his heart.
The agent glances at Fred’s payment history, and policy, and sees that he is insured for up to $200k on a one-time procedure, (long-term care is much higher, as this is good insurance). Downloading Fred’s data from Fred’s doctor, the agent sends out a query to the local hospitals. (patient X, with this medical history, and these symptoms, is looking for Y procedure, by Z date. Budget under $200k) Immediately he gets back lots of responses. The agent tosses the ones from India (cheap, but Fred wants to be near his kids of something should happen), and the ones from the hospital two towns over (the price is right, but their staffing levels are in decline), and finally settles with three different proposals, which he emails to Fred with his notes on top. Fred glances at the offers, and looks though his agent’s notes.
The first proposal is from the local hospital, and their ratings are pretty good for second class rooms. For a small co-pay, he can get bumped up to a first class room, and get a surgeon with a slightly higher rating. Fred has played golf with the surgeon before, and was not too impressed, but the price is good. However, the timing isn’t. Their first opening, at this price, is in two weeks. Since it’s near the end of summer, Fred wants his procedure done in time for the family vacation three weeks away. He makes a note to his agent to ask what the additional costs would be to have the surgery done next week.
The next proposal is from a teaching hospital in the nearby big city. The price is cheaper, and there will be lots of over site. All those eager-to-prove-themselves interns will be looking over his chart for any flaw. The actual procedure will be done by one of the school’s best instructors (who has an excellent rating), as a part of a lecture on heart surgeries. The actual surgery will be in two days, which is quick for the price. The procedure will be perfectly safe, even though it will be observed by hundreds of students, as the school’s surgery has one of the highest ratings possible, especially on infection prevention. However, Fred thinks he would like a bit more privacy when getting cut open.
The last proposal is from a hospital in Southern California with excellent medical procedures, but only average room service. Because this hospital is located by several excellent hospitals, local competition has become fierce, and the hospital has had to partner with other companies to sweeten the deal. The advantage for this proposal is that the package includes round trip airfare for the whole family, and a week long pass at Disneyland. Hotel costs are extra, but almost every thing else is covered. If he can deal with slightly poorer room service, Fred can get his surgery next week, and his kids can get a summer vacation they will never forget.
Some nuts and bolts:
First off, every medical procedure is rated, from cleaning teeth to major surgeries. Ratings are made available by government on the internet, and are sorted by doctor, location, cost. etc. Hospitals, and other places where medical procedures are done, are also rated.
Likewise, every doctor is rated, both by specific procedure, and an overall rating (much like an ebay trader rating). Ancillary data, like surgical infection rate, is also attributed, albeit not directly, to them. In exchange, doctors can no longer be sued for malpractice. They can be sued for other things, like neglect, or malfeasance, but the burden of proof is lies with the plaintiff, and the standard for proof is high.
Patients are free to contract with any doctor, nurse, medical practitioner, or health organization (like a hospital or medical group), as long as they are licensed. The federal government pays a fixed minimum amount for almost every procedure (at a rate with is set locally, and is updated periodically). Doctors (health organizations, etc.) can charge whatever they want over that minimum, but half of the overage must be paid back to the government. Because there are some patients who are too poor to pay over the minimum, doctors who have 50% or more of their patient load as these “government only” patients, receive a healthy tax credit. A doctor who sees 90% or more of “government only” patients may be eligible for a reduction in their student loans.
One of the big price points is immediate access. The sooner something is accomplished, relative the to time of asking, the more one pays. Getting an appointment with your doctor for a routine check-up may cost nothing two months out, but cost an additional $100 co-pay if done tomorrow. Some patients may opt to collect a re-booking fee from their doctors if a rich patient wishes to buy their time slot.
Health insurance companies can no longer can tell you what procedures you are eligible for. Instead, they determine what you have invested with them, and what they think they can expect to get out of you. Patients may pay for $10k policies or $10 million policies, depending upon their need. What insurance companies can do is put together package deals, and broker your medical needs, much like a travel agent. They will have a vested interest in keeping the overage costs lower because then they will pay less. This will help to keep overall costs lower.
The government minimum is available for every citizen, and for most medical procedures. Some procedures, like cosmetic plastic surgery, will not be paid for unless it is part of a medical emergency. Illegal immigrants can also use the health care system, but they have to make a small co-pay with every visit, and always receive the lowest priority on appointments.
Money for this program comes in part from overage fees, in part from licensing fees, but the majority of costs are paid by taxes.