At this moment I wish very sincerely that Barack Obama could have felt the way I did on election night. I don't now believe that he has any real understanding of what it meant for LGBT Americans, so many of whom worked tirelessly to put him in office, to watch the passage of Prop 8 in California. To see not just rights denied as in the many other states that have passed similar measures, but rights taken away from those to whom they had been granted, that was just crushing. We are still licking our wounds, even those of us who watched from across the country unable to do much more than send a bit out a medical student's living allowance to help the cause. If anyone reading this wants to get a better sense of that pain, go over to Lesbian Dad and read pretty much any entry from the last three months. And so, to choose Rick Warren to speak at your inauguration in the name of inclusion, just pretty much redoubles the pain we had barely begun to heal from. Why is it so important to include those who campaigned against Obama, but not those who worked for him? It is NOT OK for Rick Warren, a man who has equated Lion's and my upcoming wedding to a grown man marrying a child, to speak at inauguration, I don't care how eloquently the man talks about climate change. Look, I know that Obama doesn't openly support gay marriage and he hasn't been awesome on all of the the LGBT issues, but he opposed Prop 8 so it's not like this man is representative of his position. We are still hurting, Mr. Obama. It was disappointing enough for you to tease us with the possible appointment of a lesbian for labor secretary, but please don't give a national microphone to someone working to invalidate my life. DAMMIT. It's personal.
I guess what matters is that people who think with Warren hold a great deal of power in this country.
For some good analysis, see Bilerico, Pam's House Blend,
12.18.2008
12.11.2008
New Arguments
At this point in the game, I am sometimes shocked when I discover a new argument for gay rights or any other position I've been engaged in mulling over for some time. After many years as Captain Gay of many a gay club, and far too much blog reading it's just not expected. And of all sources, I hardly expected it to come from Jon Stewart. In the video below, which I stumbled across via feminsting, he takes on Mike Huckabee on same-sex marriage. Most of the discussion is old-hat, though interesting to hear played out face-to-face. What struck me was the point that Jon makes that one is much more likely to choose their religion than to be gay and that we protect people's religious practice as a right.
Now, I'm not really one for the "is it a choice or not" debate. A good liberal arts grad knows that the answer is unlikely to be either/or but rather both/and. BUT I often hear that things such as sexual orientation and gender identity do not deserve to be protected classes because one can't prove them to be inborn and unchangeable in the same way that skin color is largely inborn and unchangeable. While I've always rejected the premise of the argument that rights ought to be doled out on the basis of provably inborn and unchangeable-ness it never plum occurred to me that one could counter that so very simply and elegant with the example of religious choice. Holy rebuttal, batman!
Now, I'm not really one for the "is it a choice or not" debate. A good liberal arts grad knows that the answer is unlikely to be either/or but rather both/and. BUT I often hear that things such as sexual orientation and gender identity do not deserve to be protected classes because one can't prove them to be inborn and unchangeable in the same way that skin color is largely inborn and unchangeable. While I've always rejected the premise of the argument that rights ought to be doled out on the basis of provably inborn and unchangeable-ness it never plum occurred to me that one could counter that so very simply and elegant with the example of religious choice. Holy rebuttal, batman!
12.07.2008
Moms and Forgetting
Something adorably funny and oh-so-typical for our family happened to my mother this week. Dad reports in smatters:
I’m just going to get it out there: I have a horrific and unreasonable Mommy complex.
1. I antagonize my mother at strange times for no significant reason.
2. I love, respect, ask for, value and am interested by her advice. And yet I am unthinkably skeptical the moment she offers it.
3. I am afraid that she’ll direct my choices for me even though she’s always encouraged me to be strong and independent (see 2).
4. I am afraid that I’ll become her, because we went to the same prep school and did some of the same things and now I’m in med school and interested in basically the same field of practice that she’s in. I’m worried that I choose these things because I already know what they look like from watching her, not because they are what I really want. At the same time I'm afraid I can't live up to her.
What’s crazy about being worried about being so much like her is that she is awesome as a role model and a mom. She is awesome in all ways! I mean, she is actually the kind of person that I do want to be. She is a great doctor. She’s very well respected in the community where I grew up as well as in her field. In fact, I had no clue how impressive and unusual her practice was before I started med school. She is a family physician who provides a huge range of care even beyond what the majority in her field do, such as c-sections. When I tell my classmates about her, they usually respond with “I had no idea that was even possible!” For the most part I’m probably more worried about living up to her example than anything else. This is why my dad's story is so awesomely comforting. I have always thought that I learned things best when I had to really articulate them to someone else. Thankfully, the educational method at this med school of mine makes me do that quite a bit. Hence, it has been really frustrating to realize that I can explain something quite well to a friend and then see it on an exam a week later and not really remember what it was. Knowing that not only do my mom and I share an amazing ability to underestimate how long things will take, over schedule, forget meetings, leave important items in restaurants/on trains, double-schedule, repeat conversations we’ve already had… but we also share the awesome ability to forget information we taught to others.
“[My Mom] was doing an on-line recertification quiz late last night. It was one of those things where they ask you the question, immediately tell you if you’re wrong, and if so, they give you references to the right answer. She got one wrong and looked at the reference. It was a paper she had co-authored herself.”Oh, the comfort I draw from such stories!
I’m just going to get it out there: I have a horrific and unreasonable Mommy complex.
1. I antagonize my mother at strange times for no significant reason.
2. I love, respect, ask for, value and am interested by her advice. And yet I am unthinkably skeptical the moment she offers it.
3. I am afraid that she’ll direct my choices for me even though she’s always encouraged me to be strong and independent (see 2).
4. I am afraid that I’ll become her, because we went to the same prep school and did some of the same things and now I’m in med school and interested in basically the same field of practice that she’s in. I’m worried that I choose these things because I already know what they look like from watching her, not because they are what I really want. At the same time I'm afraid I can't live up to her.
What’s crazy about being worried about being so much like her is that she is awesome as a role model and a mom. She is awesome in all ways! I mean, she is actually the kind of person that I do want to be. She is a great doctor. She’s very well respected in the community where I grew up as well as in her field. In fact, I had no clue how impressive and unusual her practice was before I started med school. She is a family physician who provides a huge range of care even beyond what the majority in her field do, such as c-sections. When I tell my classmates about her, they usually respond with “I had no idea that was even possible!” For the most part I’m probably more worried about living up to her example than anything else. This is why my dad's story is so awesomely comforting. I have always thought that I learned things best when I had to really articulate them to someone else. Thankfully, the educational method at this med school of mine makes me do that quite a bit. Hence, it has been really frustrating to realize that I can explain something quite well to a friend and then see it on an exam a week later and not really remember what it was. Knowing that not only do my mom and I share an amazing ability to underestimate how long things will take, over schedule, forget meetings, leave important items in restaurants/on trains, double-schedule, repeat conversations we’ve already had… but we also share the awesome ability to forget information we taught to others.
11.26.2008
A Final-y Post
My Anatomy final is in twenty minutes.
And so this may seem like a strange moment for a post to a blog that has been sparse for many months. But I am feeling a bit zen. Or may it's "in the zone." Upon reviewing my note cards from early in the class, I discovered that I no longer have any trouble keeping the cephalic and basilic veins straight. I am always certain which is the zygomatic and which is the sphenoid. Also that the scaphoid is in your hand and sphenoid in your head.
And of course, last week on the phone with my mother, I used about fifteen words that I have never ever used before. Thusly, I believe that I have officially become conversational (that's the one before fluent) in medicalese. The kinds of sentences that flew out of the mouths of so many in my parents' social circles as I kid that I reacted to rather disdainfully are now wandering from my own mouth.
I knew it would happen. They tell you that medical school changes you. They urge us with worried eyes to hold onto our ideals. Be humble, they say. And we try! But then, here we are, talking in this high falutin' language. Arm will never again be arm, and leg no more leg. How appalling to discover that it isn't actually called a "hamstring."
And so this may seem like a strange moment for a post to a blog that has been sparse for many months. But I am feeling a bit zen. Or may it's "in the zone." Upon reviewing my note cards from early in the class, I discovered that I no longer have any trouble keeping the cephalic and basilic veins straight. I am always certain which is the zygomatic and which is the sphenoid. Also that the scaphoid is in your hand and sphenoid in your head.
And of course, last week on the phone with my mother, I used about fifteen words that I have never ever used before. Thusly, I believe that I have officially become conversational (that's the one before fluent) in medicalese. The kinds of sentences that flew out of the mouths of so many in my parents' social circles as I kid that I reacted to rather disdainfully are now wandering from my own mouth.
I knew it would happen. They tell you that medical school changes you. They urge us with worried eyes to hold onto our ideals. Be humble, they say. And we try! But then, here we are, talking in this high falutin' language. Arm will never again be arm, and leg no more leg. How appalling to discover that it isn't actually called a "hamstring."
11.23.2008
Wedding Dresses
Yes, this is a post about wedding dresses.
On the prosected-cadaver viewing sandwich that was my yesterday, watching Lion try on wedding dresses was the bread. My anatomy final is on Wednesday, and so she used the excuse of my cadaver-viewing to schelp into Boston for some over-the-top dress exploring.
Yes, she's planning to wear a wedding dress. Like a white one. This is because she is a virgin and wants the world to know that true love waits. OW! Ok, that's not why. Actually, despite the ridiculous patriarchy juice flavor of many traditions that swirl around marriage we're swallowing, even wanting some of them, and it's been hard to know why. The dress was something I sort of resigned myself to, not wanting one myself but knowing it was part of her vision I figured, "why not, she'll look real pretty?" Now I get it. I even get why it is that even people like us sometimes spend more on wedding dresses than I did on my lovely used Subaru.
We had said that the schmancy schmance Boston shops (one of which was Vera Wang) were just for fun, you know, so that she could get a good idea of cuts and colors and lines and whatever it is that makes for a wedding dress. I expected to be vaguely bored but appreciative of watching my honey try on pretty dresses. But then, four dresses or so in, she walked out of the dressing room and suddenly I was almost crying. This is a way that I have felt occasionally in museums and at plays. When I read poetry. Things like that. It's art. It's for your body. And it is beautiful and damn classy. And suddenly I'm wondering if it's stupid to sell my car to buy clothes for Lion to wear for six hours.
Vera Wang came after I spent a couple of hours in the anatomy lab studying. I think the helpful dress wrangler person smelled the formaldehyde on me because she seemed to keep a distance. Lion floated in and out of the dressing room, and I looked on with a visiting friend from college. We nodded and smiled mostly, but with one or two dresses our breath caught and we found ourselves "oohing" against our will. Beneath the layers of meaning and the unwieldy traditions there is this glowing in-love person ensconced in art.
We ended the day at David's Bridal, hoping to talk ourselves down from the illogical afternoon couture. And really, she tried on some gorgeous dresses there. I'm sure she could fashion a mumu out of duct tape and I'd appreciate it. And she really did look beautiful, even under the harsh lights of the Wal-Mart of weddings. But, I had to admit a sense of resignation when she looked down from her little block in front of the mirror and said, "you're not crying, though."
All sorts of ideas about consumerism and values and how we value what and where we put our money are filling me in a whole new and interesting way. Is it definitely better to spend $600 on a pretty ivory-colored dress than it is to spend $6000 on a piece of stunning well-crafted art you can wear? When it comes to the sad state of overspending on this tradition and widespread pressure to go over the top on everything, which is worse? In the scheme of things, this wedding shin-dig we're having is very much on the cheap. My grum's backyard, mostly doing the food ourselves, etc. And my outfit costs like $60. Buying cheap badly-made things because they are cheap is part of the problem, right? And obsessively cutting costs can be a kind of greediness that I don't find palatable either.
The reality is that we live off of student loans and a TA stipend. Yes our parents are helping pay for the day, but the economy sucks and we don't equate special, personal, important landmark with spending a buttload of cash. If you had asked me Friday how much we'd spend on Lion's dress, I probably would have said $300, tops, and even that would feel like a lot. But then I saw her in that blush Badgley Mischka. And it changed my world.
On the prosected-cadaver viewing sandwich that was my yesterday, watching Lion try on wedding dresses was the bread. My anatomy final is on Wednesday, and so she used the excuse of my cadaver-viewing to schelp into Boston for some over-the-top dress exploring.
Yes, she's planning to wear a wedding dress. Like a white one. This is because she is a virgin and wants the world to know that true love waits. OW! Ok, that's not why. Actually, despite the ridiculous patriarchy juice flavor of many traditions that swirl around marriage we're swallowing, even wanting some of them, and it's been hard to know why. The dress was something I sort of resigned myself to, not wanting one myself but knowing it was part of her vision I figured, "why not, she'll look real pretty?" Now I get it. I even get why it is that even people like us sometimes spend more on wedding dresses than I did on my lovely used Subaru.
We had said that the schmancy schmance Boston shops (one of which was Vera Wang) were just for fun, you know, so that she could get a good idea of cuts and colors and lines and whatever it is that makes for a wedding dress. I expected to be vaguely bored but appreciative of watching my honey try on pretty dresses. But then, four dresses or so in, she walked out of the dressing room and suddenly I was almost crying. This is a way that I have felt occasionally in museums and at plays. When I read poetry. Things like that. It's art. It's for your body. And it is beautiful and damn classy. And suddenly I'm wondering if it's stupid to sell my car to buy clothes for Lion to wear for six hours.
Vera Wang came after I spent a couple of hours in the anatomy lab studying. I think the helpful dress wrangler person smelled the formaldehyde on me because she seemed to keep a distance. Lion floated in and out of the dressing room, and I looked on with a visiting friend from college. We nodded and smiled mostly, but with one or two dresses our breath caught and we found ourselves "oohing" against our will. Beneath the layers of meaning and the unwieldy traditions there is this glowing in-love person ensconced in art.
We ended the day at David's Bridal, hoping to talk ourselves down from the illogical afternoon couture. And really, she tried on some gorgeous dresses there. I'm sure she could fashion a mumu out of duct tape and I'd appreciate it. And she really did look beautiful, even under the harsh lights of the Wal-Mart of weddings. But, I had to admit a sense of resignation when she looked down from her little block in front of the mirror and said, "you're not crying, though."
All sorts of ideas about consumerism and values and how we value what and where we put our money are filling me in a whole new and interesting way. Is it definitely better to spend $600 on a pretty ivory-colored dress than it is to spend $6000 on a piece of stunning well-crafted art you can wear? When it comes to the sad state of overspending on this tradition and widespread pressure to go over the top on everything, which is worse? In the scheme of things, this wedding shin-dig we're having is very much on the cheap. My grum's backyard, mostly doing the food ourselves, etc. And my outfit costs like $60. Buying cheap badly-made things because they are cheap is part of the problem, right? And obsessively cutting costs can be a kind of greediness that I don't find palatable either.
The reality is that we live off of student loans and a TA stipend. Yes our parents are helping pay for the day, but the economy sucks and we don't equate special, personal, important landmark with spending a buttload of cash. If you had asked me Friday how much we'd spend on Lion's dress, I probably would have said $300, tops, and even that would feel like a lot. But then I saw her in that blush Badgley Mischka. And it changed my world.
10.24.2008
Cuz She's in Doctor School
The words of our 8-year-old neighbor to her friend, as I shooed them away so that I could "do homework." This is an increasingly popular scenario at our house as our neighbor scoots down to play with our dog (a welcome distraction) and I inevitably have to toss her out to hit the books.
Because, indeed, I am in doctor school. And this is something that I have many thoughts on. It is busy, it is a lot of work, it is messy, complicated. Suddenly I feel like I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. On the train home today I found myself making lists of my values and interests, trying to keep track of what I get passionate about. I may have put a bit too much caché in the ability of medical school to define my life trajectory. There are still oh-so-many choices.
The best and hardest part about school is having found a wide number of people with genuine interest in social justice and health and how that all comes together. I say hard because between the exposure, in lunchtime talks sponsored by student organization and in our required (hooray!) social medicine and global health class, to reading and lecture after reading and lecture about just how dismal the state of health is in this country and the world it all feels about overwhelming. Suddenly the idea of how to shape the kind of medical practice I would like to have and how to ensure that it fits with the overwhelming need I am feeling to be part of the solution of widespread health disparities is constantly in the forefront of my mind.
I feel so full of statistics and measures that outline the problems. Today's lovely tidbit highlighting part of the impact of life as a Black woman in this country: infant mortality rates among Black women with a college degree is higher than that of white women who did not graduate from high school. There's one to chew on. I've also been stuck on the knowledge that Native Americans have about the worst population health in this country, and yet we have about the least amount of measured data on that population to really assess the problem. Perhaps the real kicker has been realizing more fully how little the actual health system does to address the health of the USA. Even when you're insured and well-insured and you have great doctors, our society is just set up to make us unhealthy. Here's what's on my mind. Perhaps I will begin to actually blog again.
8.13.2008
Home Differently
Here we are, barely a day away from leaving Xela. I am so not ready! Not only do I feel that I have not quite so much exactly had a vacation these past five weeks, I am going to start La Escuela Medicina on Monday.
MONDAY! Less than a week! Have I paid my termbill? Have I read that biochem book? Sent them my transcripts? Filled out that mini-survey??? No, no, no, no, no.
But, indeed all that is far off on distant shores and I refuse to feel stressed about it until at least Sunday.
Meanwhile, Guatemala. It has been mad fun. My Spanish is way better (for about the 10th time in my life) and I swearrrr that I'm going to keep practicing at home. I will not lose the subjunctive again! Well, I might. But I really am going to get me a volunteer gig that involves hablando. This country! This town! I want to stay. And I want to go home, too. Turtle says that a big reason to travel is to experience home differently when you get back. And I suppose it is true. The difference between here and the HV or Boston, which I suppose is home now, are striking and yet not so striking at times.
This is a shockingly beautiful country. Especially the mountains, from which we have not strayed far for fear of malaria. Though the bus rides have been insane and nausea-inducing at times, the vistas were almost always worth it. Lion and I spent the last week doing a little circle through the middle of the country. We lounged on the shores of Lake Atitlan, spent a quasi-terrifying night in Guatemala city (scary movie, only people in the theater, late show, appallingly bad sound quality, ominous guidbook warnings, bedbugs) then cruised through the friendly town of Jalapa, where Lion's mom lived when she was in the Peace Corps 40 years ago. After that we went up to see Semuc Champey. Champey is frequently described as "the most beautiful place in Guatemala." But people are almost always at a loss to explain it. Don't worry. We took video. Soon enough YouToo will experiene its badly-filmed greatnes. It was a magical day, to be sure. Followed by zip-lining through a coffee plantation.
What could be more quintessentially eco-touristy than zip-lining through a cooperative, shade-grown, organic coffe plantation? I dare you to come up with something.
We spent an eye-blink in Nebaj, notable for its annual festival gearing up last weekend and insanely over-priced laundry service. We actually almost cried when she told us how much she wanted for cleaning our clothes. Actually, Lion probably did cry, as is her way.
Now back in Xela, we're chilling out at CBA and getting somethings done on the "Proyecto" we're helping them with. This has included sign-painting and shakey video taking, among other things. This has been a good month, especially for reflection. On human rights, on what one needs, on what constitutes being poor, being happy, being friendly, being thoughtful. Hugo and ElBia graciously tell us that we're not like other USAers. From the gringo conversations we overhear somedays in cafes, I dearly hope we're not. But then there are also many more dedicated and interested and thoughtful as well. Ah, well. More serious stuff later.
MONDAY! Less than a week! Have I paid my termbill? Have I read that biochem book? Sent them my transcripts? Filled out that mini-survey??? No, no, no, no, no.
But, indeed all that is far off on distant shores and I refuse to feel stressed about it until at least Sunday.
Meanwhile, Guatemala. It has been mad fun. My Spanish is way better (for about the 10th time in my life) and I swearrrr that I'm going to keep practicing at home. I will not lose the subjunctive again! Well, I might. But I really am going to get me a volunteer gig that involves hablando. This country! This town! I want to stay. And I want to go home, too. Turtle says that a big reason to travel is to experience home differently when you get back. And I suppose it is true. The difference between here and the HV or Boston, which I suppose is home now, are striking and yet not so striking at times.
This is a shockingly beautiful country. Especially the mountains, from which we have not strayed far for fear of malaria. Though the bus rides have been insane and nausea-inducing at times, the vistas were almost always worth it. Lion and I spent the last week doing a little circle through the middle of the country. We lounged on the shores of Lake Atitlan, spent a quasi-terrifying night in Guatemala city (scary movie, only people in the theater, late show, appallingly bad sound quality, ominous guidbook warnings, bedbugs) then cruised through the friendly town of Jalapa, where Lion's mom lived when she was in the Peace Corps 40 years ago. After that we went up to see Semuc Champey. Champey is frequently described as "the most beautiful place in Guatemala." But people are almost always at a loss to explain it. Don't worry. We took video. Soon enough YouToo will experiene its badly-filmed greatnes. It was a magical day, to be sure. Followed by zip-lining through a coffee plantation.
What could be more quintessentially eco-touristy than zip-lining through a cooperative, shade-grown, organic coffe plantation? I dare you to come up with something.
We spent an eye-blink in Nebaj, notable for its annual festival gearing up last weekend and insanely over-priced laundry service. We actually almost cried when she told us how much she wanted for cleaning our clothes. Actually, Lion probably did cry, as is her way.
Now back in Xela, we're chilling out at CBA and getting somethings done on the "Proyecto" we're helping them with. This has included sign-painting and shakey video taking, among other things. This has been a good month, especially for reflection. On human rights, on what one needs, on what constitutes being poor, being happy, being friendly, being thoughtful. Hugo and ElBia graciously tell us that we're not like other USAers. From the gringo conversations we overhear somedays in cafes, I dearly hope we're not. But then there are also many more dedicated and interested and thoughtful as well. Ah, well. More serious stuff later.
7.21.2008
Guatemala Loves Lesbians!
Ok, that is probably just blatantly untrue. But, so far, Guatemala seems fond of this odd specimin of sapphic gringa. In some ways this is the first time that I have really come out to people in the direct "I have a novia" kind of way. My maestro, Roberto, as well as a few other folks it´s come up with have been somewhat curiously delighted. None of them seem to have ever been aware of a lesbian in their midst before. I´m enjoying it. Roberto seems intent on being overtly accepting. Last week he told me that he was also a lesbian because of his significant affection for women. Though his jokes are frequently problematic and he´s not quite able to understand why they´re sexist when they´re "only a joke," I appreciate that he´s trying. He delights in using Lion in sentance examples and asking questions about when she´s getting here. Marcos was his personal brand of energetic and relaxed about the whole thing. He reported later to DHM that I was his first, and like a pro she corrected him, "first you who knew about." She also took him to task later for his off-hand comment that he didn´t like it when women spoke. Boy did I enjoy watching himself try to dig himself out of the "but women are delicate" hole. Tee-hee! And Julio! Well done, despite his quite Catholic ways! He even copped to know some gay dudes at his Universidad.
Lion and Turtle should be here in less than an hour. I can´t wait. I have received some news related to the impending doom that is medical school (buy this book and re-learn biochem, or else!!) which has set me on edge differently than I have been since we got here. Bueno. Necesito hacer mi tarea.
Lion and Turtle should be here in less than an hour. I can´t wait. I have received some news related to the impending doom that is medical school (buy this book and re-learn biochem, or else!!) which has set me on edge differently than I have been since we got here. Bueno. Necesito hacer mi tarea.
7.20.2008
In this other place
Hello, World from Xela, Guatemala.
I hardly know where to start. Is it people or places? In my recent musings on the HV, I've stuck to places. Though in my own journal last night, it was all people. How about some background and then we'll have some of both.
I'm here with DHM (my formerly downstairs housemate). and her sister. Lion and Turtle come tomorrow! Hurrah! I am pathetic mess trying to get along sans Lion. Xela, if you're not familiar, is in the Western highlands of Guatemala (which, if you're really unfamiliar is just South of Mexico). It's a big, but not huge, dirty, beautiful, chaotic. Brightly colored then drab. There are many more gringos than I remember from a visit three years back, but not the city doesn't cater to them in the same overwhelming way it does in some places. We passed the last week quietly. I've been pouring a healthy amount of WD-40 across my quite rusty Spanish skills at CBA. My maestro, Roberto, could have come directly from the stock on my high school math team. So very familiar is his personality, complete with engineering school, awkward jokes, a passion for Beavis and Butthead, and a slightly hesitant and very genuine friendliness. I feel a heck of a lot more confident speaking than I did six days ago, though a big stack of vocab flashcards would be useful. At CBA, we're tended to by the director Hugo and his wife, Elbia. They are just the sort of kind, thoughtful and open people you'd want to find yourself tended by in an unfamiliar place. Or in any place, really. I am nurturing a hope that friends here can stay friends for a long time. After several visits over the last few years, DHM has compiled a healthy bunch of friends here. DHM has a healthy disdain for the rest of the gringo population, and it leads us well into hole-in-the wall restaurants. There is a funniness in watching the bevy of Guatemalan male devotees that she and her sister have acquired. Nery, Julio, Marcos, Oswaldo, Javier. Marcos is my favorite, a student, musician and laundromat attendant, he is gregarious, thoughtful and really dang fun. Plus he managed to cut off at the pass a couple of viejos trying to hit on us the other night. This culture is, I am constantly reminded, quite different than the one I'm used to. The sexism on the streets is more overt and among even DHM's enlightened friends, an active mental struggle. There seems to be a way in which we, as women less culturally trained to be reserved, are easier to befriend for them. And for us it has been more difficult to make friends of women at least partially because they are less willing to join in on late night (Claudia, who runs our hostal refers to DHM, her sister and I as "las vampiras") outings to cantinas and dance joints. And then there is the flirting. I have not felt like I was flirting with men in a very long time. With all men, here, I seem to be flirting though I have made it a point to connect myself to the word "lesbiana." This gender interplay is something I'm just starting to process, really.
Still on NY time, I started out waking up a few hours before the others. I passed my mornings wandering the streets and trying (often failing) to get my bearings with the tiny map torn from Lonely Planet (Roberto calls it the Gringo bible). We have a great restaurante down the block which serves up a typical breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas, platanos with crema, coffee and chips for 15Q or about $2. Though we have a kitchen here, I've found myself drawn down the the restaurante to watch the owner's children play in and out of the kitchen. The coffee is terrible, though so I prowled around various coffee shops until discovering Dante, which really does cater to gringos, but its proprietor, Maria makes a mean latte. Plus she's incredibly chatty and doesn't seem to mind the syntax-confusing pauses that riddle my spanish. And she has a cute baby. Cute babies everywhere, money nowhere. Lack of family planning and sexism going hand in hand, what a surprise.
I hardly know where to start. Is it people or places? In my recent musings on the HV, I've stuck to places. Though in my own journal last night, it was all people. How about some background and then we'll have some of both.
I'm here with DHM (my formerly downstairs housemate). and her sister. Lion and Turtle come tomorrow! Hurrah! I am pathetic mess trying to get along sans Lion. Xela, if you're not familiar, is in the Western highlands of Guatemala (which, if you're really unfamiliar is just South of Mexico). It's a big, but not huge, dirty, beautiful, chaotic. Brightly colored then drab. There are many more gringos than I remember from a visit three years back, but not the city doesn't cater to them in the same overwhelming way it does in some places. We passed the last week quietly. I've been pouring a healthy amount of WD-40 across my quite rusty Spanish skills at CBA. My maestro, Roberto, could have come directly from the stock on my high school math team. So very familiar is his personality, complete with engineering school, awkward jokes, a passion for Beavis and Butthead, and a slightly hesitant and very genuine friendliness. I feel a heck of a lot more confident speaking than I did six days ago, though a big stack of vocab flashcards would be useful. At CBA, we're tended to by the director Hugo and his wife, Elbia. They are just the sort of kind, thoughtful and open people you'd want to find yourself tended by in an unfamiliar place. Or in any place, really. I am nurturing a hope that friends here can stay friends for a long time. After several visits over the last few years, DHM has compiled a healthy bunch of friends here. DHM has a healthy disdain for the rest of the gringo population, and it leads us well into hole-in-the wall restaurants. There is a funniness in watching the bevy of Guatemalan male devotees that she and her sister have acquired. Nery, Julio, Marcos, Oswaldo, Javier. Marcos is my favorite, a student, musician and laundromat attendant, he is gregarious, thoughtful and really dang fun. Plus he managed to cut off at the pass a couple of viejos trying to hit on us the other night. This culture is, I am constantly reminded, quite different than the one I'm used to. The sexism on the streets is more overt and among even DHM's enlightened friends, an active mental struggle. There seems to be a way in which we, as women less culturally trained to be reserved, are easier to befriend for them. And for us it has been more difficult to make friends of women at least partially because they are less willing to join in on late night (Claudia, who runs our hostal refers to DHM, her sister and I as "las vampiras") outings to cantinas and dance joints. And then there is the flirting. I have not felt like I was flirting with men in a very long time. With all men, here, I seem to be flirting though I have made it a point to connect myself to the word "lesbiana." This gender interplay is something I'm just starting to process, really.
Still on NY time, I started out waking up a few hours before the others. I passed my mornings wandering the streets and trying (often failing) to get my bearings with the tiny map torn from Lonely Planet (Roberto calls it the Gringo bible). We have a great restaurante down the block which serves up a typical breakfast of eggs, beans, tortillas, platanos with crema, coffee and chips for 15Q or about $2. Though we have a kitchen here, I've found myself drawn down the the restaurante to watch the owner's children play in and out of the kitchen. The coffee is terrible, though so I prowled around various coffee shops until discovering Dante, which really does cater to gringos, but its proprietor, Maria makes a mean latte. Plus she's incredibly chatty and doesn't seem to mind the syntax-confusing pauses that riddle my spanish. And she has a cute baby. Cute babies everywhere, money nowhere. Lack of family planning and sexism going hand in hand, what a surprise.
7.10.2008
I'm going to take this as a sign
That med school is the right choice
Your results:
You are Beverly Crusher
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
Also, my next best ones bag a lot of ladies... so...
Your results:
You are Beverly Crusher
| A good physician and a caring parent. You are devoted to your children and to your occupation.  |
Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Quiz
Also, my next best ones bag a lot of ladies... so...
7.08.2008
Moooving
Life is a-changing in such huge ways. Just the sheer conceptual overwhelmingness of recent months has made me gun shy when it comes to this blog.
Here. I'll bullet it.
-We're moving to the Great State of Massachusetts, that fresh-faced home to gay marriage, the Red Sox, Sam Adams and my extended family.
-Lion and I are gettin' Hitched. To which I say, Hoorah! This is old news, but due to scheduling and geographic constraints the actually doing of the deed is just shy of one year off.
-We're headed to Guatemala for a month.
-Two days after we return from Guatemala, I'm starting Medical School.
-I'm starting Medical School, let's just repeat.
-Lion is starting grad school. We only have one desk. But plenty of bookshelves.
-We're leaving the place we've been for the last five years.
The Hudson Valley. Sigh. This is the first place I have made my home as an adult. It's the first place that was unconnected to my family that I really have called home and felt was home. The fact that we're leaving it has left me feeling this really profound kind of sad that is a totally new feeling for me. I've gone away from places before, several times, and it has just never felt like this. Even with all we have to look forward to, I'm struggling to get excited about our next steps. Our lives in Poughkeepsie and friends scattered up the Valley have been so many kinds of wonderful. I think part of my difficulty is that it isn't just the people I'm sad to leave. We have the best kinds of friends here and I am confident we'll keep in touch and visit back and forth. I know from my past that it is plenty possible to stay close with those who leave your day-to-day or week-to-week. As sad as it will be to leave the likes of UP and DHM, Turtle and the crew on the other side of the river, our Roller Derby teammates (ok, that's a whole other post), and Pok neighbors, it is the leaving of this place that really gets to me. How do you stay close to a place when you are not there? How do you keep it as a part of you. Our sometimes housemate, the prodigal Farmboy/Devout environmentalist of our lives, gifted us a set of white oval bumperstickers with the initials "PKNY" to commemorate our love of this funny town forever on our cars. I feel like part of some club available only to a select few. The people I know I will not lose. And the ways in which I depend on them in the here-and-now will be filled by the old friends we'll be closer to and new friends we'll be making. But the Hudson River cannot come with us, nor can Waryas Park, Main Street Poughkeepsie, the crazy lady at the top of our hill, favorite little restaurants and bakeries, chance encounters with Pete Seeger, or the shared experience of this place. The Hudson ties people together geographically, across town boundaries. It defines this region apart from others and gave birth a grand history of art, folk music and environmentalism.
Part of what's hard for me personally is that we're moving to a place that many people find easy to love. Lord knows there's nothing unique about going to school in Boston. It seems to be in many ways the country's biggest college town. And while I'm grateful to be going to a great school and to be closer to family and old friends, Boston is not much of a challenge. Poughkeepsie has laughed, "you just go on and try to like me if you can" to me since I wandered here as a college freshcat and got hopelessly lost downtown in search of the Unitarian Church. It's a place much easier to write off than Boston or Providence and the growing ranks of those of us who have grown to love it share some pride in our different ways of seeing it.
Here. I'll bullet it.
-We're moving to the Great State of Massachusetts, that fresh-faced home to gay marriage, the Red Sox, Sam Adams and my extended family.
-Lion and I are gettin' Hitched. To which I say, Hoorah! This is old news, but due to scheduling and geographic constraints the actually doing of the deed is just shy of one year off.
-We're headed to Guatemala for a month.
-Two days after we return from Guatemala, I'm starting Medical School.
-I'm starting Medical School, let's just repeat.
-Lion is starting grad school. We only have one desk. But plenty of bookshelves.
-We're leaving the place we've been for the last five years.
The Hudson Valley. Sigh. This is the first place I have made my home as an adult. It's the first place that was unconnected to my family that I really have called home and felt was home. The fact that we're leaving it has left me feeling this really profound kind of sad that is a totally new feeling for me. I've gone away from places before, several times, and it has just never felt like this. Even with all we have to look forward to, I'm struggling to get excited about our next steps. Our lives in Poughkeepsie and friends scattered up the Valley have been so many kinds of wonderful. I think part of my difficulty is that it isn't just the people I'm sad to leave. We have the best kinds of friends here and I am confident we'll keep in touch and visit back and forth. I know from my past that it is plenty possible to stay close with those who leave your day-to-day or week-to-week. As sad as it will be to leave the likes of UP and DHM, Turtle and the crew on the other side of the river, our Roller Derby teammates (ok, that's a whole other post), and Pok neighbors, it is the leaving of this place that really gets to me. How do you stay close to a place when you are not there? How do you keep it as a part of you. Our sometimes housemate, the prodigal Farmboy/Devout environmentalist of our lives, gifted us a set of white oval bumperstickers with the initials "PKNY" to commemorate our love of this funny town forever on our cars. I feel like part of some club available only to a select few. The people I know I will not lose. And the ways in which I depend on them in the here-and-now will be filled by the old friends we'll be closer to and new friends we'll be making. But the Hudson River cannot come with us, nor can Waryas Park, Main Street Poughkeepsie, the crazy lady at the top of our hill, favorite little restaurants and bakeries, chance encounters with Pete Seeger, or the shared experience of this place. The Hudson ties people together geographically, across town boundaries. It defines this region apart from others and gave birth a grand history of art, folk music and environmentalism.
Part of what's hard for me personally is that we're moving to a place that many people find easy to love. Lord knows there's nothing unique about going to school in Boston. It seems to be in many ways the country's biggest college town. And while I'm grateful to be going to a great school and to be closer to family and old friends, Boston is not much of a challenge. Poughkeepsie has laughed, "you just go on and try to like me if you can" to me since I wandered here as a college freshcat and got hopelessly lost downtown in search of the Unitarian Church. It's a place much easier to write off than Boston or Providence and the growing ranks of those of us who have grown to love it share some pride in our different ways of seeing it.
5.16.2008
I'm Baaaaack
No, no, not in creepy horror movie way.Seriously. GW is having some growing pains as a blog. Clearly we over extended ourselves with the "I'm going to post every day" thing. Now we can't even decide if I'm "I" or "we." See how things are?
I have recovered from the trying to post all the time and failing induced whiplash and guilt and have decided once again to make something of this her blog. I've also gotten my own blog reading a bit more under control. No gone are the days of hours-long archive binges! Gone are the days of trying to read everything on half a dozen political blogs.
Substantive post coming soon, stay tuned.
3.13.2008
One Thing at a Time
I multi-task. I multi-task, A LOT. I'm a multi-tasker. I used to think, "Hey, I'm such a good multi-tasker!" But recently I've realized that I actually must multi-task. I'm now a multi-taking addict.
Exhibit A: The browser tab. I never ever ever have only one browser tab open. Minimum is probably four. One for email, one for pandora, one for calendar, one for blackboard, one for Google reader, one for the local paper or the NY Times or a google search for "public sewer department, NY," one for the episode of House that I'm listening to illicitly in the background while I work. You get the idea.
Exhibit B: The Lab. I used to think I was extremely efficient in lab work. Back in college I was almost always one of the first people done precisely because I multi-tasked. I seem to have taken this too far. Sometimes I am: doing a titration with one hand and eyeball, reading feministing.com with the other eyeball, making calibration solutions in between and also listing to streamed mpr.org I think my lab technique is suffering.
Exhibit C: The home. Laptop on lap, seven browser tabs open. Excel spreadsheet behind. Father on Phone. Attempting to communicate with Lion via facial expression. The latter usually backfires resulting in me getting in trouble for not paying attention to her. She is always right about this.
When I wait for a website to load, I get jittery. I think it feels like what it used to feel like to drink too much coffee, back when drinking too much coffee felt like anything. I can't seem to focus on just one thing. I suspect this might cause me trouble in med school. So, starting now, I'm instituting a one-thing-at-a-time policy. At least for a few weeks until I get a knack for it and can trust myself to find a better balance. Maybe this means that sometimes that one thing will be this blog. It's much easier to focus on when it's the only thing open in my web browser.
Exhibit A: The browser tab. I never ever ever have only one browser tab open. Minimum is probably four. One for email, one for pandora, one for calendar, one for blackboard, one for Google reader, one for the local paper or the NY Times or a google search for "public sewer department, NY," one for the episode of House that I'm listening to illicitly in the background while I work. You get the idea.
Exhibit B: The Lab. I used to think I was extremely efficient in lab work. Back in college I was almost always one of the first people done precisely because I multi-tasked. I seem to have taken this too far. Sometimes I am: doing a titration with one hand and eyeball, reading feministing.com with the other eyeball, making calibration solutions in between and also listing to streamed mpr.org I think my lab technique is suffering.
Exhibit C: The home. Laptop on lap, seven browser tabs open. Excel spreadsheet behind. Father on Phone. Attempting to communicate with Lion via facial expression. The latter usually backfires resulting in me getting in trouble for not paying attention to her. She is always right about this.
When I wait for a website to load, I get jittery. I think it feels like what it used to feel like to drink too much coffee, back when drinking too much coffee felt like anything. I can't seem to focus on just one thing. I suspect this might cause me trouble in med school. So, starting now, I'm instituting a one-thing-at-a-time policy. At least for a few weeks until I get a knack for it and can trust myself to find a better balance. Maybe this means that sometimes that one thing will be this blog. It's much easier to focus on when it's the only thing open in my web browser.
1.21.2008
It's Fixin Time
So, three days in DC at the NCSE did not leave me feeling all doom and gloom. I mean, it goes to reason that days and days of "hockey stick" graphs would leave you in a serious funk. A hockey stick graph is, if you haven't heard this clever lingo, is like the one below that shows global temperature cruising along steadily for hundreds or even thousands of years and then BANG shooting up over the last 200 or so. 
(The particular one I've shown via a paper by Micheal Mann, et al).
But I didn't leave feeling horrifically depressed.
And, yeah, I saw a hell of a lot of "yikes" figures. Like pictures of the appalling record arctic ice melt. Or stats like unchecked we could see 50% of the species on this planet become extinct. But as much as my feeling on climate change is now even more that we are at an incredibly crucial tipping point, I'm also full of hope. Because public opinion is changing incredibly rapidly on this issue. Because even though it will be incredibly hard work, we can have the strength. Because so many climate change solutions are win-win for our country and our economy.
I'd like everyone to gear up with me for Focus the Nation. Make a plan for 8PM on Jan 30 to watch the 2% solution. I'll add more on this later, but first I do want to say that it gives me hope that it's my generation who is tasked with this effort. I know that we are oft-maligned as the "me generation" or whathave you, but this is the generation that I know. And I trust my fellows to be the ones to rewire this nation and every city on the planet. Because I know us better than I could know any other generation, I do believe that we will fight free of the fossil fuel economy and work out a new food system.
Martin Luther King Day, for which I'm sad to say the SLAC did not release me from its clutches, is a day for hoping high and believing the the world we ought to have. It is a day for acknowledging the immense complexity of that which blights the ways we treat one another and because it is often so similar, the way we treat or environments.
(The particular one I've shown via a paper by Micheal Mann, et al).But I didn't leave feeling horrifically depressed.
And, yeah, I saw a hell of a lot of "yikes" figures. Like pictures of the appalling record arctic ice melt. Or stats like unchecked we could see 50% of the species on this planet become extinct. But as much as my feeling on climate change is now even more that we are at an incredibly crucial tipping point, I'm also full of hope. Because public opinion is changing incredibly rapidly on this issue. Because even though it will be incredibly hard work, we can have the strength. Because so many climate change solutions are win-win for our country and our economy.
I'd like everyone to gear up with me for Focus the Nation. Make a plan for 8PM on Jan 30 to watch the 2% solution. I'll add more on this later, but first I do want to say that it gives me hope that it's my generation who is tasked with this effort. I know that we are oft-maligned as the "me generation" or whathave you, but this is the generation that I know. And I trust my fellows to be the ones to rewire this nation and every city on the planet. Because I know us better than I could know any other generation, I do believe that we will fight free of the fossil fuel economy and work out a new food system.
Martin Luther King Day, for which I'm sad to say the SLAC did not release me from its clutches, is a day for hoping high and believing the the world we ought to have. It is a day for acknowledging the immense complexity of that which blights the ways we treat one another and because it is often so similar, the way we treat or environments.
1.17.2008
The Schmooze
So, it turns out that meetings of this variety have substantial schmooze component!
Ok, I knew that, but somehow I imagine climate scientists and policy folks as largely unable to schmooze in the tradition of the socially capable non-nerds. Anyway, not only do these people schmooze, but they schmooze with delish wine, organic beer, organic vegetarian pizza, pumpkin ravioli etc, etc, etc! They do it while balancing these things in their hands and managing to shake each others. It's highly impressive. I suppose in an effort to initiate the young'ns, they organized a "social outing" for students and young professionals last night. It was, uh, dear. Some person from the NCSE escorted us to a pub and there we ate and mingled. It sort of smacked of a "children's" program, but I guess was nice.
Anyway, my lovely compatriots are more hardcore schmoozers than I expected. By which I mean to say that I'm exhausted. A true recap, I promise, for tomorrow.
Ok, I knew that, but somehow I imagine climate scientists and policy folks as largely unable to schmooze in the tradition of the socially capable non-nerds. Anyway, not only do these people schmooze, but they schmooze with delish wine, organic beer, organic vegetarian pizza, pumpkin ravioli etc, etc, etc! They do it while balancing these things in their hands and managing to shake each others. It's highly impressive. I suppose in an effort to initiate the young'ns, they organized a "social outing" for students and young professionals last night. It was, uh, dear. Some person from the NCSE escorted us to a pub and there we ate and mingled. It sort of smacked of a "children's" program, but I guess was nice.
Anyway, my lovely compatriots are more hardcore schmoozers than I expected. By which I mean to say that I'm exhausted. A true recap, I promise, for tomorrow.
1.16.2008
Singing to the Scientists
Today was a whirlwind of climate scientist, policy geniuses and generally just loads of people who are out of my league.
But I just first want to tell you about one person. Right in the middle of a bunch of gray-haired white dudes giving wild climate change lectures, they had one presentation from a Caribou woman.
She talked about the history of her people and their beliefs. Their conviction that the creator gave them their little piece of Alaskan arctic to protect. She talked about sliding down snowy hills in a caribou skin snowsuit. And then she sang.
For about three seconds I watched the too-serious about some kinds of things audience not take her seriously. There were half smiles and averted eyes all over the place. But when she finished her prayer song for us the applause was more enthusiastic than for any lecture. Then she told us about the here and now first hand effects of climate change that her people are already feeling in incredibly tangible and painful ways.
My colleague, a librarian, turned to me afterwards and said, "you know, in five years, she's the one that I'll remember."
But I just first want to tell you about one person. Right in the middle of a bunch of gray-haired white dudes giving wild climate change lectures, they had one presentation from a Caribou woman.
She talked about the history of her people and their beliefs. Their conviction that the creator gave them their little piece of Alaskan arctic to protect. She talked about sliding down snowy hills in a caribou skin snowsuit. And then she sang.
For about three seconds I watched the too-serious about some kinds of things audience not take her seriously. There were half smiles and averted eyes all over the place. But when she finished her prayer song for us the applause was more enthusiastic than for any lecture. Then she told us about the here and now first hand effects of climate change that her people are already feeling in incredibly tangible and painful ways.
My colleague, a librarian, turned to me afterwards and said, "you know, in five years, she's the one that I'll remember."
1.15.2008
Going All Over the Country To Fight Global Warming
I'm fighting global warming again! Sort of. Actually, I'm at the annual conference of the National Committee on Science and the Environment (which could use a better website). In Washington DC. Me and a couple of gray-haired rockin women are representing the SLAC.
Since it's DC, the pub we had dinner in was blasting the Democratic debate in Nevada tonight. The candidates looked... tired. Really just that more than anything else. They just stumbled a lot more than I'm used to. Especially Obama. I think I've come to expect him to be calm and articulate all of the time. And man, Clinton needs a nap. And Edwards just looks bummed that he already lost this one. Again.
Also, I'm extremely jealous of Alison who is at Macworld. I want I want! Oops, I mean consumerism is BAD.
Since it's DC, the pub we had dinner in was blasting the Democratic debate in Nevada tonight. The candidates looked... tired. Really just that more than anything else. They just stumbled a lot more than I'm used to. Especially Obama. I think I've come to expect him to be calm and articulate all of the time. And man, Clinton needs a nap. And Edwards just looks bummed that he already lost this one. Again.
Also, I'm extremely jealous of Alison who is at Macworld. I want I want! Oops, I mean consumerism is BAD.
1.14.2008
BMIzz No More!
CELEBRATION! I have finished, finally, after months and months, the counting and tabulating of the BMIzz! If history is any indication of the future, it will only be about another three weeks before I stop seeing little creepy-crawlies every time I close my eyes. What an amazing improvement to my quality of life.
IN OTHER NEWS: It turns out to be an extremely bad idea to clean your keyboard with acetone. I was tidying in my chemistry lab today and spotted the charming red-topped acetone bottle. It reminded me that I have intended, ever since I started this job, to remove the grime on my office keyboard left by my predessor. Well, erm, under the grime there is apparently an acetone-soluble coating. Oops. I removed a large amount of that coating from several keys and actually smeared some of the characters. On the upside, the grime is now gone. My space bar seems to have suffered some drippage. It doesn't space quite like it did ten minutes ago.
IN OTHER NEWS: It turns out to be an extremely bad idea to clean your keyboard with acetone. I was tidying in my chemistry lab today and spotted the charming red-topped acetone bottle. It reminded me that I have intended, ever since I started this job, to remove the grime on my office keyboard left by my predessor. Well, erm, under the grime there is apparently an acetone-soluble coating. Oops. I removed a large amount of that coating from several keys and actually smeared some of the characters. On the upside, the grime is now gone. My space bar seems to have suffered some drippage. It doesn't space quite like it did ten minutes ago.
1.11.2008
D'you know?
My mom is going to love the movie Juno. Lion just took me to it as a surprise (as in I was forced to cover my eyes until we were actually inside the theater so I didn't even know what we were seeing). It totally rocked. Well, it mostly rocked. My mom is going to love it, I believe in part because she is a frequent deliverer of teen mom babies. Or at least it felt that way when I was in high school. I'm positive that she called me up to inform me (in a stern tone) of the types of unwanted struggles faced by the accidental mother every single time a pregnant teenager came within 1000 feet of her. This, and the relentless encouragement of birth control use, led her to the fear that such well hammered-in advice may have turned me gay. She swears it was a passing fear.
In any case, as attendee to the health and humor many a predicament laden high schooler, I'm positive she would love it. Plus it's set in Minnesota--though filmed way too much in Vancouver. Ellen Page is snappy and hilarious and fab. Imdb tells me that Kate Winslet is her favorite actress, a fact that I approve of completely. I hope this means she's going to make period movies that I can obsess over with my dad. And, on top of that, she's apparently making a lesbian werewolf move. Or at least there are "metaphorical" werewolves. Allison Janney totally rocks my party in this movie, as ever. And it's a non-tragic story about teenage pregnancy.
Here's what sucks: the women's health clinic is junky and they really really don't deal with abortion as an issue. It felt to me like they had decided to make this movie about an indie kind of girl who finds adoptive parents for her child, but didn't ever decide exactly why she was having the child in the first place. The make it sound both vaguely altruistic (she suggests she'll give it to "a couple of lesbos") and as though she's personifying her fetus (freaking out about its fingernails). Anyway, they really gloss over it. It's not horrible, but it's there. And the clinic scenario really reinforces the concept that women's health clinics are primarily abortion providers and that they aren't places that care thoughtfully for their patients. I think it's a pretty dangerous stereotype to reinforce in the current political climate is all.
Anyway, that pesky issue aside, it is a great movie as a movie, and does provide a pretty refreshing view of the teen pregnancy idea. It also does a pretty good job of staying away from calling Page a slut. Or, at least it makes you mad at the idea that other kids in school are probably calling her a skank. And it gets mad props for making fun of the term "sexually active." Also it made Lion and I cry. And want babies in that weird stereotypical lesbian way.
In any case, as attendee to the health and humor many a predicament laden high schooler, I'm positive she would love it. Plus it's set in Minnesota--though filmed way too much in Vancouver. Ellen Page is snappy and hilarious and fab. Imdb tells me that Kate Winslet is her favorite actress, a fact that I approve of completely. I hope this means she's going to make period movies that I can obsess over with my dad. And, on top of that, she's apparently making a lesbian werewolf move. Or at least there are "metaphorical" werewolves. Allison Janney totally rocks my party in this movie, as ever. And it's a non-tragic story about teenage pregnancy.
Here's what sucks: the women's health clinic is junky and they really really don't deal with abortion as an issue. It felt to me like they had decided to make this movie about an indie kind of girl who finds adoptive parents for her child, but didn't ever decide exactly why she was having the child in the first place. The make it sound both vaguely altruistic (she suggests she'll give it to "a couple of lesbos") and as though she's personifying her fetus (freaking out about its fingernails). Anyway, they really gloss over it. It's not horrible, but it's there. And the clinic scenario really reinforces the concept that women's health clinics are primarily abortion providers and that they aren't places that care thoughtfully for their patients. I think it's a pretty dangerous stereotype to reinforce in the current political climate is all.
Anyway, that pesky issue aside, it is a great movie as a movie, and does provide a pretty refreshing view of the teen pregnancy idea. It also does a pretty good job of staying away from calling Page a slut. Or, at least it makes you mad at the idea that other kids in school are probably calling her a skank. And it gets mad props for making fun of the term "sexually active." Also it made Lion and I cry. And want babies in that weird stereotypical lesbian way.
1.10.2008
The Gay=Philosophy part II
And now, while I wait for some my stream monitoring probe readings to stabilize during calibration, I'll continue on last night's ill conceived metaphor.
Ok, my point about philosophy was not really a point. Plenty of philosophy majors don't become philosopers. They go to law school. Or so I hear. But this guy's mom's conception of philosophy that it was a self-contained field. Without the assumption that it was inherently worthwhile, in her view, it wouldn't exist.
This is true of the idea that being gay just ain't OK. I'm pretty sure that there isn't an argument for why one should not be the gay (or why society shouldn't recognize the gay as a-OK) that doesn't boil down to a fundamental assumption that it's just wrong.
Take the big one:
It's bad for kids to have gay parents. Well, no, that's not what the social scientists say.
And then there was this woman, who made the point pretty well at some fundy-type "family" conference.
And pretty much the rest of the parental-type "it makes your life harder" type arguments wouldn't exist if not for the fundamental homosexual menace assumption.
I guess this is pretty obvious to yee small crowd of GW readers. But I do keep coming back to it.
The thing that makes me the most frustrated in talking about controversial issues (particularly queer issues and choice), is that people on different sides really forget that their co-arguers are also people. People forget that we all have common ground. Most of those arguments consist of this scary smoke-and-mirrors game where people skirt around their disagreement and never make it to the base assumptions that divide them. The blogosphere and internet in general seems to make this so much worse. People score these cheap, anonymous shots. They act inhuman and so easily treat others as inhuman.
If you know me, maybe you can tell that I've been reading the online message boards in the letters to the editor section of our regional paper again.
Ok, my point about philosophy was not really a point. Plenty of philosophy majors don't become philosopers. They go to law school. Or so I hear. But this guy's mom's conception of philosophy that it was a self-contained field. Without the assumption that it was inherently worthwhile, in her view, it wouldn't exist.
This is true of the idea that being gay just ain't OK. I'm pretty sure that there isn't an argument for why one should not be the gay (or why society shouldn't recognize the gay as a-OK) that doesn't boil down to a fundamental assumption that it's just wrong.
Take the big one:
It's bad for kids to have gay parents. Well, no, that's not what the social scientists say.
And then there was this woman, who made the point pretty well at some fundy-type "family" conference.
And pretty much the rest of the parental-type "it makes your life harder" type arguments wouldn't exist if not for the fundamental homosexual menace assumption.
I guess this is pretty obvious to yee small crowd of GW readers. But I do keep coming back to it.
The thing that makes me the most frustrated in talking about controversial issues (particularly queer issues and choice), is that people on different sides really forget that their co-arguers are also people. People forget that we all have common ground. Most of those arguments consist of this scary smoke-and-mirrors game where people skirt around their disagreement and never make it to the base assumptions that divide them. The blogosphere and internet in general seems to make this so much worse. People score these cheap, anonymous shots. They act inhuman and so easily treat others as inhuman.
If you know me, maybe you can tell that I've been reading the online message boards in the letters to the editor section of our regional paper again.
1.09.2008
The Gay=Philosophy
Senior year of high school, my friend Lee, who was headed to the hallowed halls of Yale the next year, announced that he was going to be a philosophy major. We were out to dinner with another friend's mother. I shrugged at the idea, philosophy to me suggested little more than old, dead Greek dudes. Our other friend's mom, however, had a very clear concept of philosophy. "A PHILOSOPHY major at YALE!?" she cried, shaking her head, "what a waste." An awkward silenced was followed by some strange grunts on her part and than an explanation of how philosophy, like so many academic pursuits, was just useless.
"You know, she explained, you'll learn all this stuff [about old, dead, Greek dudes] and then go to graduate school and learn more and than just teach other people about it. Philosophy is only good for itself."
Which, of course, is not true. But Philosophy, as a discipline, is dependent, I think on the assumption that it is useful or valuable in some way.
Next, I will explain why I remembered this today and it struck me that the assumption that homosexuality is an evil menace functions in a similar kind of way.
1.08.2008
Saved By Word Games
After usurping my buddy Turtle's TV for the Iowa caucus, and the state it put me into, I was definitely not suffering through that much Wolf Blitzer again. (Wolf Blitzer? I know, I know, the funny of his name was beat to death in 1991, but I'm not over it). My not watching of tonight's NH primaries got a little help-along by the fact that Tuesday is stone soup night at our house, the brainchild of my darlin' (who is also known as Lion, in some circles). Our family of friends comes on over (or we head to one of them sometimes), everyone armed with potential soup ingredients. The results have been, uh, varied since this tradition came into being, but overwhelmingly edible. Tonight brought us vegetable soup with beans. It was pronounced bland, but like pretty much everything, a little bit of added cheesed dressed it up nicely.
Hm, veggie-bean-cheese soup sounds kind of weird, I think.
Weird or not, soup and friends took my mind off of the primary. And there is little in my mind that feels more like contentment than the steamy air of a soup-in-progress kitchen.
I only thought to look at the results a few minutes ago. And so it looks like McCain and Clinton in this round. Ooh, I like very much that it's an across the board different result from that in Iowa. Now I guess it's ten more rounds of crazy campaigning before South Carolina and it looks like Obama and Clinton are neck in neck! It's like watching a rugby match.
And just for kicks- to bring it back to, uh, this blogs loosely connected themes, Healthline has a little sum-up of Obama's universal health coverage plan. It's interesting. And complicated. I'm definitely all for a single-payer system, myself. Simple! That means cheap! If you don't know how that stuff works, go watch the animation that Graham at Over My Med Body put together.
Hm, veggie-bean-cheese soup sounds kind of weird, I think.
Weird or not, soup and friends took my mind off of the primary. And there is little in my mind that feels more like contentment than the steamy air of a soup-in-progress kitchen.
I only thought to look at the results a few minutes ago. And so it looks like McCain and Clinton in this round. Ooh, I like very much that it's an across the board different result from that in Iowa. Now I guess it's ten more rounds of crazy campaigning before South Carolina and it looks like Obama and Clinton are neck in neck! It's like watching a rugby match.
And just for kicks- to bring it back to, uh, this blogs loosely connected themes, Healthline has a little sum-up of Obama's universal health coverage plan. It's interesting. And complicated. I'm definitely all for a single-payer system, myself. Simple! That means cheap! If you don't know how that stuff works, go watch the animation that Graham at Over My Med Body put together.
1.07.2008
Whew
Well, this is really silly but I've made it to my goal of five med school interview invites.
The number five is not based on anything reasonable, like I read somewhere that five was a good number to do. It's just the number that the med student I met at a wedding in October had had. Seemed like a good number. Though it's a strange thing to have a goal about since it's not as if I really had any control. I'm more amused at this one than completely thrilled as I was with the others, I mean, I already got in. But I'm one for keeping my options open, so I'll head on up to MA again to see what they've got.
The number five is not based on anything reasonable, like I read somewhere that five was a good number to do. It's just the number that the med student I met at a wedding in October had had. Seemed like a good number. Though it's a strange thing to have a goal about since it's not as if I really had any control. I'm more amused at this one than completely thrilled as I was with the others, I mean, I already got in. But I'm one for keeping my options open, so I'll head on up to MA again to see what they've got.
Old People! Hooray!
Well, I missed yesterday. Alas. I did, and I think this counts, considering posting on what I'm about to post on, but there were major distractions in trying to finish my darling's xmas etc. present before she got back from an extended stay with her parents in North Carolina. And then there was the distraction of her being home.
Yesterday something pretty amazing happened in my life. My mother, actually, did something amazing.
In the spirit of "It takes a village" my brother and I were raised by a bevy of folks outside my parents. Among them are Ethel and Lorraine. And they are as old and interesting as their names make them sound. They were our day care, our baby sitters, our nannies. It's been years, of course, since they carted us to piano lessons, but I see them when I'm home. I stop by as you would with any grandparent. And until yesterday I hadn't managed to come out to either of them. There are some excuses. I live on the other side of the country. They're old. And then there were those sideways whispers from intermediaries that "They won't understand." An 83-year-old, old-fashioned, mid-western farm girl is not going to get on board with your crazy lesbo thing, I mean, she calls "lunch," "dinner" for pete's sake!
But them, my mama wanted to do something as yet unprecedented in our family. She wanted to give my darling a cameo in the annual february letter. (This is like a holiday letter for procrastinators). And of course, no one displays the grainy inkjet photos and winter cheer than Ethel and Lorraine. Just like that, it was time. Mom asked how I wanted to tell them, and I could feel that old fear of rejection lump bubble up out of my stomach. And that's when the first bit of amazing-ness happened. My mama stepped in just like you imagine a parent can and took the burden right off my shoulders. She suggested that she do it for me.
Really, it couldn't have been any other way. I'm not about to fly to Minnesota in the next couple of weeks just to go, "poof, I'm gay!" and the advent of hearing aids hasn't actually made it possible to have a conversation that consists of more than "Yes, we're coming by in ten minutes," with them. But I thought I might have to ask her to do it, and then coach her. It turns out that she's one of those cool moms who's gotten all hip to your world.
I'm glad that I trusted her because yesterday brought news of the go around with Lorraine. And you know, just like pretty much every coming-out I've been through, I should have trusted her. She wiped my snot as a kid and went to my soccer games and drilled good manners into me. Who knows you better than the people who know about the naughty things you did as a child? My 83-year old, old fashioned, mid-western farm girl of a nanny is a-ok with me being gay. And was, as reported by my mother, was quite dismissive of my worry that she'd be anything but. Mom showed her a picture of me with my darling, whom Lorraine pronounced to be "pretty." Hey, it's 2007, she might be old but it turns out that she already knows some kid-raising lesbian moms. Anyway, lesson learned.
Yesterday something pretty amazing happened in my life. My mother, actually, did something amazing.
In the spirit of "It takes a village" my brother and I were raised by a bevy of folks outside my parents. Among them are Ethel and Lorraine. And they are as old and interesting as their names make them sound. They were our day care, our baby sitters, our nannies. It's been years, of course, since they carted us to piano lessons, but I see them when I'm home. I stop by as you would with any grandparent. And until yesterday I hadn't managed to come out to either of them. There are some excuses. I live on the other side of the country. They're old. And then there were those sideways whispers from intermediaries that "They won't understand." An 83-year-old, old-fashioned, mid-western farm girl is not going to get on board with your crazy lesbo thing, I mean, she calls "lunch," "dinner" for pete's sake!
But them, my mama wanted to do something as yet unprecedented in our family. She wanted to give my darling a cameo in the annual february letter. (This is like a holiday letter for procrastinators). And of course, no one displays the grainy inkjet photos and winter cheer than Ethel and Lorraine. Just like that, it was time. Mom asked how I wanted to tell them, and I could feel that old fear of rejection lump bubble up out of my stomach. And that's when the first bit of amazing-ness happened. My mama stepped in just like you imagine a parent can and took the burden right off my shoulders. She suggested that she do it for me.
Really, it couldn't have been any other way. I'm not about to fly to Minnesota in the next couple of weeks just to go, "poof, I'm gay!" and the advent of hearing aids hasn't actually made it possible to have a conversation that consists of more than "Yes, we're coming by in ten minutes," with them. But I thought I might have to ask her to do it, and then coach her. It turns out that she's one of those cool moms who's gotten all hip to your world.
I'm glad that I trusted her because yesterday brought news of the go around with Lorraine. And you know, just like pretty much every coming-out I've been through, I should have trusted her. She wiped my snot as a kid and went to my soccer games and drilled good manners into me. Who knows you better than the people who know about the naughty things you did as a child? My 83-year old, old fashioned, mid-western farm girl of a nanny is a-ok with me being gay. And was, as reported by my mother, was quite dismissive of my worry that she'd be anything but. Mom showed her a picture of me with my darling, whom Lorraine pronounced to be "pretty." Hey, it's 2007, she might be old but it turns out that she already knows some kid-raising lesbian moms. Anyway, lesson learned.
1.05.2008
Things I don't know how to fix
I was interested, though not shocked to read about this recent study published in JAMA which found that Blacks and Latinos are much less likely to be prescribed heavy pain meds in the ER. This is no slouch sample, either, they looked at 150,000 visits and found that only 23 percent of blacks and 24 percent of Latinos received opioids compared to 31 percent of whites.
Ok, not shocked, I'll repeat, but totally appalled. This is what sucks about modern racism. It's not your local neo-nazi making a scene, it's everyone either subconsciously or quietly treating people differently based on race. No, wait, that's making it nice, it's not treating people differently, it's treating people of color worse. The discrepancies found by this study are huge even for complaints such as kidney stones and long bone fractures.
Now, I understand that most ERs contend with a certain amount of drug seeking behavior in patients and that it's something to be wary of. I can only assume that there's a Doctor race auto-pilot that says Black=drugs. Here's the kicker: Blacks are actually the least likely group to suffer from opiate addiction.
All the while I'm reading about this and making this post, in some other tab an episode of House, MD is playing. And he makes asinine racist jokes all the time. The jokes seem to carry the assumption that he's a stand in for society when he makes them. But hell, half the show's success rests on the dark humor of House being a jerk to people. What's the impact of what he says on the viewing public? When House jokes about race, is he reinforcing stereotypes and helping us bright-eyed doctor hopefuls (who can still watch these shows only because we don't know a dern thing about doctoring yet, I'm told) become people who will only continue the problem? Or is it so deep down already that maybe he can bring it to the surface? Maybe, but I'm guessing that reports out of JAMA might do a better job of that. On the other hand, despite the numerous medical blogs I read, I picked this story up first while glancing through the news and the only blog I saw mention it was Pam's House Blend. Not exactly a medical blog, so who's paying attention?
Ok, not shocked, I'll repeat, but totally appalled. This is what sucks about modern racism. It's not your local neo-nazi making a scene, it's everyone either subconsciously or quietly treating people differently based on race. No, wait, that's making it nice, it's not treating people differently, it's treating people of color worse. The discrepancies found by this study are huge even for complaints such as kidney stones and long bone fractures.
Now, I understand that most ERs contend with a certain amount of drug seeking behavior in patients and that it's something to be wary of. I can only assume that there's a Doctor race auto-pilot that says Black=drugs. Here's the kicker: Blacks are actually the least likely group to suffer from opiate addiction.
All the while I'm reading about this and making this post, in some other tab an episode of House, MD is playing. And he makes asinine racist jokes all the time. The jokes seem to carry the assumption that he's a stand in for society when he makes them. But hell, half the show's success rests on the dark humor of House being a jerk to people. What's the impact of what he says on the viewing public? When House jokes about race, is he reinforcing stereotypes and helping us bright-eyed doctor hopefuls (who can still watch these shows only because we don't know a dern thing about doctoring yet, I'm told) become people who will only continue the problem? Or is it so deep down already that maybe he can bring it to the surface? Maybe, but I'm guessing that reports out of JAMA might do a better job of that. On the other hand, despite the numerous medical blogs I read, I picked this story up first while glancing through the news and the only blog I saw mention it was Pam's House Blend. Not exactly a medical blog, so who's paying attention?
1.04.2008
So, I'm gonna be a doctor
It's true, dear reader, I have been accepted to medical school. The secretary, who made it feel as though she was one of my friends' moms by the end of my interview day, gave me a call last week as I was heading to my Grum's house for the holidays. Just like that, one day I was obsessively checking my email in hope of some kind of sign and the next it was decided, written. Needless to say I made quite a scene as soon as we hung up. I had pulled into a crowded gas station parking lot to take the call, so at least twenty pairs of confused eyes took in my party-of-one in the drivers seat as I whooped and banged on my Subaru's ceiling. I almost want to get a tattoo in celebration.
Apologies for not sharing the news sooner, but, you know, what with holidays and my former non-committed blogger status, it didn't dribble out until now.
I'm feeling now, however, that I should turn sober and introspective. Here, let me consider the weight of my chosen career and all of the implications therein. I should... but maybe I'll save that post for the first day of actual medical school. Which I can say. Because I got in. So I'm going. Which is, uh, mad cool. It's funny how I'm not really nervous about all the work and pressure and how hard the actual school->residency->practice part will be. Mostly because that's on me, I can handle that, but man does it suck to have faceless admissions boards holding your future in their hands. I'd like to thank them, for giving it back. Actually, I almost sent them a card with my deposit check that said something along the lines of "Holy Crap, I'm So Excited!" but it wouldn't fit into the envelope.
Apologies for not sharing the news sooner, but, you know, what with holidays and my former non-committed blogger status, it didn't dribble out until now.
I'm feeling now, however, that I should turn sober and introspective. Here, let me consider the weight of my chosen career and all of the implications therein. I should... but maybe I'll save that post for the first day of actual medical school. Which I can say. Because I got in. So I'm going. Which is, uh, mad cool. It's funny how I'm not really nervous about all the work and pressure and how hard the actual school->residency->practice part will be. Mostly because that's on me, I can handle that, but man does it suck to have faceless admissions boards holding your future in their hands. I'd like to thank them, for giving it back. Actually, I almost sent them a card with my deposit check that said something along the lines of "Holy Crap, I'm So Excited!" but it wouldn't fit into the envelope.
1.03.2008
Caucus, THIS
A couple of weeks after I turned four, my grandfather sent me a letter. I don't now remember the first time I read it, but I do remember finding it again a few years later. The letter is written on Dukakis/Bentsen Stationary, and dated Election Day, November 1988. Grampa's jagged scrawl filled the page with dark black ink.
Keep your comments about brainwashing to yourselves.
Anyway, now I feel like some kind of politics junkie. I cover my local podunk journal, New York Times, BBC websites, a smattering of blogs and all of my car radio pre-sets are for the regional public radio station. Firefox's tabbed browsing is really a killer because as a member of the multi-tasking generation, I get twitchy if I don't have all of these sites open at once. Which brings me to the primaries.
I just got home from watching the coverage at Turtle's house (CNN, MSNBC for commercial breaks, peaks at Faux News for kicks) and I'm having trouble feeling any emotion at all. Well, ok, I'm pretty psyched about Huckabee because there's no way in heckles he can win, but if he does, I'm moving because then we really are a fallen nation beyond hope. But over on the democratic side, I never got around to really picking. It's like when my uncle finally put that inground pool, he agonized over what to choose for surrounding patio surfacing. Too much research lead him to an impasse because he was so thoroughly versed in the drawbacks of all of his options. The Hillary/Edwards/Obama trifecta is sort of the same deal. Heck, I like all of them better than the front runners last time around, but the excessive reading and comparing has left me in a funk. A few days ago I said I was rooting for Obama, but then felt as guilty as the time I lost my stuffed bunny "bunny" under my bed a didn't notice for days because Snowy the bear was my favorite. So I kind of like Edwards, but then I feel guilty for not wanting to be dedicated to breaking the white male stranglehold on the presidency. And gosh, that Hillary Clinton is trying so hard. It just kills my inner Nice Minnesota Girl to root against her.
I'm going to bed. We'll let those crazies up in New Hampshire decide.
Dear Granddaughter,While my mother assures me I was much more interested in the sheep at the time, I can't remember ever not caring about the political process. Though I frequently mixed up the words "liberal" and "conservative" and was unable to match them correctly with "left wing" and "right wing," I have always known where I stood when it came to Republicans and Democrats. I will never forget, and neither will my best friend from grade school, the conversation we had as eight-year-olds in which I demanded she choose a party loyalty. Her answer being not so satisfactory, I demanded, "You mean you would have voted for NIXON?! Don't you know that he resigned?!"
At the top of this page are the names of two good people who were just not elected to the offices of President and Vice President of the United States. As good Democrats, they advocated for strong education, affordable healthcare and programs to help the poor. Unfortunately, George Bush and Dan Quayle with their promise of no new taxes were able to sway the election. What this means is less healthcare, less education, and lots of people without jobs. I am writing to you because it is extremely important that as you grow up you pay close attention to the views of politicians and cast votes for those that care more about people than money. I hope you talk this over with your parents.
Love, Grampa
P.S. Kelley and Stephanie [two sheep I had named a year before] have not had their lambs yet, if it happens I will send you pictures.
Keep your comments about brainwashing to yourselves.
Anyway, now I feel like some kind of politics junkie. I cover my local podunk journal, New York Times, BBC websites, a smattering of blogs and all of my car radio pre-sets are for the regional public radio station. Firefox's tabbed browsing is really a killer because as a member of the multi-tasking generation, I get twitchy if I don't have all of these sites open at once. Which brings me to the primaries.
I just got home from watching the coverage at Turtle's house (CNN, MSNBC for commercial breaks, peaks at Faux News for kicks) and I'm having trouble feeling any emotion at all. Well, ok, I'm pretty psyched about Huckabee because there's no way in heckles he can win, but if he does, I'm moving because then we really are a fallen nation beyond hope. But over on the democratic side, I never got around to really picking. It's like when my uncle finally put that inground pool, he agonized over what to choose for surrounding patio surfacing. Too much research lead him to an impasse because he was so thoroughly versed in the drawbacks of all of his options. The Hillary/Edwards/Obama trifecta is sort of the same deal. Heck, I like all of them better than the front runners last time around, but the excessive reading and comparing has left me in a funk. A few days ago I said I was rooting for Obama, but then felt as guilty as the time I lost my stuffed bunny "bunny" under my bed a didn't notice for days because Snowy the bear was my favorite. So I kind of like Edwards, but then I feel guilty for not wanting to be dedicated to breaking the white male stranglehold on the presidency. And gosh, that Hillary Clinton is trying so hard. It just kills my inner Nice Minnesota Girl to root against her.
I'm going to bed. We'll let those crazies up in New Hampshire decide.
1.02.2008
Whatever Made Me Think?
New Year's resolutions have never gone well for me. Never. Except last year. Every year's thought of "I'll write a letter every month" "I'll call an old friend every week" and the absurd "I'll make huge biceps!!" failed miserably. But last year "no buying new things" and "no soda" went remarkably well. So well that I forgot that my keeping of New Year's resolutions is really about 4%. In any case. It is January Second, 2008. And I have already messed up this year. Because I didn't post in my blog yesterday. Alas.
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