Cancer sucks

We got totally shitty news Saturday. The 6-year old son of some friends at church, whom we haven't unfortunately seen in a while, discovered he has cancer. Not some pansy-ass whimpy thing like leukemia. The name is 2" long and ends with -carcinoma. It's highly aggressive & highly malignant.

Something so rare in kids that the docs at the Mayo Clinic [just down the road from here] initially said, "that can't be right", go get another opinion. 4 opinions later ...

There's only 2 cases reported in the literature about kids. Which translates to "we're sort of clueless about what to do".

He started chemo over the weekend. A whirlwind saga of options on chemo, surgery, and lots of medical terminology.

They aren't telling him the extent of the extremely poor prognosis. It hadn't occurred to me that there would be a psych specialist for the parents. Managing the information flow to their child, to help him stay informed enough about what's being done to him without nuking his still-positive outlook.

I'm not sure if Jr.Gopher#1 remembers the boy - right after we started going to St. Albert's, there were four boys all the same age who really enjoyed playing together.

A friend of the family is in the home stretch dealing with pancreatic cancer. Did I mention cancer sucks? He's 78. As unhappy as I will be, and likely contemplating the age of my parents, it will not be a life cut tragically short. 6 years, though ...?

Explaining to Jr.#1 that Don is sick and probably won't live much longer seemed a beneficial situation. After all, he intellectually knows that old people die. I am assuming [?] that Don's death won't be emotionally traumatic. Raven the Cat dying will probably be more emotional.

We told the boys that Mr.Gopher's uncle died - but this was 2 years ago. We could have said any other stranger died, for all it mattered to them. They had never even heard of this man.

So, thankfully at least, their first exposure to Death will be the death of someone they actually know, and it won't be their grandparents. But this boy? Even if Michael doesn't remember him all that well, trying to explain that a 6-year old boy probably won't live through the Summer...? God. No wonder people want to be atheists.

I was the Lector yesterday at Mass, and read the Prayers of Intercession.

These are the prayers that include:
lector: "For the healing of the sick, we pray."
Response: "Lord hear our prayer"

I was sooooo close to simply adding the boy's name to the list of the sick and realized I didn't know if the parent would want me to ... it made me feel so sad to refrain from asking people to pray for him.

So,
For the healing of Will Newll and the courage of his parent, we pray.
Lord, hear our prayers.

If anyone can, please say a prayer - or whatever intervention method you want - for Will Newell.

I'm usually one who cries at the drop of a hat. This ...? Mr.Gopher told me on Saturday night. It was this afternoon before it hit me. I'm sitting in the StPl library, trying to finish my thesis, and I can't stop crying and don't have any kleenex.

incompetent self analysis

From 'The Agnostic's Dilemma' (NYTimes):
When people are incompetent in the strategies they adopt to achieve success and satisfaction, they suffer a dual burden: Not only do they reach erroneous conclusions and make unfortunate choices, but their incompetence robs them of the ability to realize it.

the article also cites:
Justin Kruger and David Dunning, “Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties of Recognizing One’s Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-assessments,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 1999, vol. 77, no. 6, pp. 1121-1134
these authors have several related articles

[pre-review] This Body of Death

I can't take it anymore.

This Body of Death, latest endeavour from Elizabeth George, is up to par with her fantastic writing. Normally, her books start with an opening chapter which leaves you wondering which one of the people are going to bite it before Chapter 2. This opens in a totally foreign style, quickly identifiable as a formal report. Being about a group of 3 twelve-year old boys and a toddler, who is implied to be the victim of some horrific events. Chapter 2 comes. We still don't have a body or any police. We have, however, gotten a chapter which seems much more as expected. But no body. Back to the little boys. No body. At this point, I'm ready to ask "so where's Death, dammit?" Finally a body appears. But it is clearly an adult victim with an equally adult perpetrator.

As the plot progresses, it keeps popping back to the criminal report of the three boys and toddler.

I am at the point where I simply cannot read that part any more. The implication seems to be that the older boys killed the younger one with premeditated horror. If I knew the little tyke lived, I'd be okay with it. The writing is so bland and emotionally detached that I simply can't take it. Sure, the style is appropriate for some sort of review-report. But the sheer lack of emotional contact is driving me nuts.

Yet my response "why isn't anyone dead yet?" was in expectation of an adult victim. What's wrong with me, if the expectation of an adult dying is okay (in a literary sense), but a very young child completely horrifies me?

The new character on the force at Scotland Yard is an alcoholic woman, who like any alcoholic expends a lot of energy to avoid being revealed as such. An interesting approach to character is that she is far more worried about the vodka than in whether or not she's getting respect from her male subordinates, although if asked would claim the sexism was the biggest problem.

An Adult screwing up her life, and screwing up other Adults' lives, is much more emotionally palatable to me than trying to read something piecemeal that I just know is going to be truly horrific (as the report-author keeps stating). I think it's just the victim's age which is bothering me; I wonder, however, what my response would be if it was an adult. George's book With No One As Witness had a psychotic killer luring teenaged boys to their death; for some reason that wasn't so bad. In that situation, though, the kidnapping and murder were only mentioned distantly with details coming out only with the police investigation. This just drags out and out in excruciating detail, leaving me in fear for the child's life. Obviously this is extremely well written to provide such a strong response. Nevertheless ...

Sorry, Ms. George, I just can't take it. I am certain the two plot lines will merge; if the toddler survives, I might go back and read the whole thing when I re-read the book eventually (which I'm sure I'll do).

Drugs vs. Reading good books

Hennepin County Sheriff's Office is implementing a new program within DARE (drug abuse resistance education - btw have I mentioned how annoying I find cutesy acronyms?). I'm glad they're being creative about personnel resources. I know it's been around a while, but I don't know if it's really been demonstrated to be effective. Given the teenage drinking rate is chronically increasing, I'm not sure if it's so worthwhile.

Drugs & alcohol are some of the few things that worry me about being a parent ... I cannot remember ever being even vaguely interested in trying anything. Alcohol was always an ordinary part of life: I've never seen either of my parents intoxicated. Albeit, this is no doubt part of a child's perception of things - - but still, being intoxicated was always seen as something stupid, just as doing drugs was seen as something stupid.

Yet, I never got any peer pressure to do either. My high-school classmates drank - yet the rebellious aspect always seemed to be the simple "look at what I can get away with". Getting drunk didn't seem to be the goal. Admittedly, since I was never part of the social circles, this is a perception from outside.

Still, both of my parents smoked, and I was also never tempted to smoke either. I didn't see it as bad or good, just something that seemed like "mom and dad do it". Unlike drinking, which I assumed all adults did, smoking seemed to be more of a personal choice.

My brothers & I got wine at the big holiday dinners (Thanksgiving, Christmas & Easter) - just a little bit. I think I was 12 the first time I did. I distinctly remember it, since it seemed to be such a big deal.

I once wondered if being Roman Catholic might make drinking less of a mystery. We normally let children take communion when they're around 9 or 10 and we use real wine. Never the less, I'm sure Catholics are just as likely to drink underage as any other group, so my assumption is likely empty. (let's not even get into what 'underage' is or ought to be)

There are so many things that are critical to a child having a healthy, well-adjusted life, e.g. reading, respecting others, personal faith. In the grand scale of things, I'm more worried about the boys avoiding the life-destroying activities (drugs/teenage sex) than whether they read at age 5 or 6. Yet, I can influence the reading far more than the others.

never thought I'd say it

I never thought I would say it ... but I want to buy the more expensive one because it's prettier.

I have an innate ability to look at a collection of things for sale, pick out the one I like best - and it is almost without fail the most expensive one. But that is picking what I like without considering the price; which means I usually wind up buying it because it has more features that I like better.

The external hard drive ...? I just like the blue better. It's prettier.







No, no, Mr.Gopher - you need not fear - I'm getting the ugliest because when it comes to computer parts, pretty really doesn't matter to me.

Retarded: redeux

Retarded.

Apparently the newest target of PC-mania. "developmentally disabled", "developmentally challenged" "otherwise abled" ... ???

How about just "fucked up just like everyone else in the world"?

I am handicapped ... or is it developmentally impaired (maybe that's 'retarded') ... or crippled ... or otherwise-abled ... ?

Hell if I know what you want to call me - I just go with whatever the government form has in its demographics:
Race: Other
Gender: F
Military Status: No
Handicapped: Yes

Now ... don't be pissin' me off about this. I am handicapped (or whatever), therefore I get to pick whatever damn term I want to talk about myself or my fellowly-abled.

This is right up there with being black and calling your friends niggers. They get to because its a self-reference? But I can't, because it's grossly offensive? Is it only offensive because I'm white? Would it be equally offensive if I was Asian & calling someone nigger?

What about calling people Black rather than African-American? Is that okay these days? Or what about Colored? Is that as equally offensive as nigger? At least one person I know, who is African, didn't particularly care for being called "African American" since he was white.

Who thinks they're appointed by Linguistic Gods to tell me what I can or cannot use? I'll use any word I want any time I want. If you don't like it ... oh, well. Mind you, I do have a sense of social propriety. I'm not going to yell, "yo, cunt!" across the table of some executive business meeting.

Most women I know find 'cunt' to be the maximum offensive euphemism for 'woman'. Why? Because it's only used when trying to be offensive? I guess the Vagina Monologues wouldn't have the same advertising draw as the Cunt Monologues, or the Pussy Monologues. (One of the scenes in the play is a list of every single word possible in the English language to use as a euphemism for vagina - wow.)

Know what ...? letting Them get away with this is tantamount to signing away one's power.

By being offended at a given term, you give Them power over you.
Making Them stop using a word is not exercising power over Them; it's giving them the power to offend you.
Sure, being called a nigger by some red-neck home-boy is likely on par with being called cunt by some red-necked home-boy. Know what ... I don't give a damn.

Yup, I've been called a cunt. And ... I didn't give a damn then. Don't care now. If he was so g-damned stupid to think that his pie-hole-noise would somehow hurt me ... he's even stupider than his actions would indicate.

It isn't the word. It's how its used. The [person] who complained on my blog

... what's with using the word retarded? just wrong any way you look at it.

apparently failed to notice the term 'retarded' was applied to the Catholic Church, and not some 'developmentally disabled' person. The term 'retarded' was also immediately followed by "retarded ... as in developmentally retarded' - explicitly stating the application of this word was not about a person.

I'm a scientist; whether or not I have finished my MPH (almost there, almost there, almost there), I was a scientist long before grad school. When I wrote "retarded growth of the microorganisms" ... I was not referring to "developmentally disabled bacteria".

John Stewart Mill, a famous sociologist of the late 19th Century, wrote in his 'Sociology':
"However much their pursuit of these objects may be for the present retarded by want of electoral organization," should this monumental text be re-edited? (maybe to accommodate inadequate 21st Century education to realize that he meant "these people don't have their political shit together"). Are these pursuits are "otherwise abled"? no ... His point is that they hadn't grown and whether or not they would was yet to be determined.

The word retarded has meaning outside of a person's physical or mental development. By demanding Society ignore those other meanings detracts from the rich melange called the English language.

There are so many different physical manifestations that are today considered to be "handicaps". No one would look at me and call me a cripple - during martial arts classes or biking to school or carrying my 3 year old son.

I'm not sure if people would be understanding of assigning me to a category of "handicapped", since it's not obvious. Is it still a "handicap" if it's not obvious?

Am I handicapped? Some times I wonder myself.

Yet, I can't drive without having my neurologist reassure the DMV every 6 months that I'm safe. I can't go anywhere without my medication, on the off chance I get stuck somewhere, e.g. another unplanned 3-day stay Children's Hospital. I really shouldn't do contact sports. A serious amount of pharmacological attention to detail before/during/after pregnancy. This does handicap my life. Yet "crippled" seems more severe. That, to me, is a perception of severity. Even I wouldn't apply that term to myself.

A co-worker's sister is retarded. She doesn't seem to feel comfortable with any particular term for this, seeming equally uncomfortable with retarded (due to PC-ness) or 'developmentally disabled' (because it's long and sounds euphemistic).

Developmentally disabled is a euphemism. So are most words related to bodily functions or parts. We use euphemisms for things that make us feel uncomfortable. We curse what makes us feel uncomfortable, usually using euphemisms to help distance ourselves psychologically.

The problem is not society's use of a word. The problem is society's delusional beliefs about what that rate/level of development means about a person's intrinsic value. Changing the word ain't gonna do squat to change Society.


Therefore, move out of my way; let the handicapped get on with her life and change society, not her language.

.

Gravely Imperilled

The future of mankind will be gravely imperilled, if great questions are left to be fought over between ignorant change and ignorant opposition to change.

John Stewart Mill, Sociology, 1879.

he also wrote in his introduction to the book well the commentary is mine:

The great increase of electoral power which the Act places within the reach of the working classes is permanent. ha ha ha The circumstances which have caused them, thus far, to make a very limited use of that power, are essentially temporary. 131 years later, does it still count as 'temporary'? It is known even to the most inobservant The powerful certainly observed this, that the working classes have [... for good or ill realized their goals/opinions are in conflict with the powerful...]. However much their pursuit of these objects may be for the present retarded seriously retarded by want of electoral organization, by dissensions among themselves, or by their not having reduced as yet their wishes into a sufficiently definite practical shape, it is as certain as anything in politics can be, that they will before long before 2010? find the means of making their collective electoral power effectively instrumental to the proportion of their collective objects.

His introduction is poignant in its delusional futility. He - and perhaps the rest of Socialists in general - completely and totally underestimated the willpower of the disenfranchised classes. Their will to do nothing is astonishing. He also completely and totally underestimated the lengths to which the propertied/powerful would go, in order to protect their status quo. Or the awe inspiring, subtle creativity they would employ.

The disenfranchised have had their "collective objects" co-opted by the rich & powerful. The powerful, fearing to loose their proportion of that power, have convinced the Little Guy that "you can be just like me". So, all these tea-party idiots are running around defending the rich & powerful because they think they, too, can become rich and powerful, and want to have those power-perqs.

What better way to fuck the little guy, than to get her to do to herself?

German Poetry in color

... and no, not Goethe ...

Farben
Vor allem Schwarz und Weiß und Grau
vergesse ich manchmal
die bunten Farben in meinem Leben:
Du bist für mich
weder Schwarz nor Weiß
sondern Rot und Blau und Gelb und Grün
meine Lust und Freude

rev: it occurred to me that most of my friends don't speak German, so a translation is in order:

With all of the Black and White and Grey,

at times I forget

the brilliant Colors in my Life:

You are for me

neither Black nor White

but rather Red and Blue and Yellow and Green,

my Passion and Joy

My friend The Author enjoys poetry; I braved the elements of authorship & posted something I wrote on her blog. to wit:

The only thing vaguely like poetry that I’ve written in my adult, post-college life was in German.
We do not, and will certainly not, even consider what spewed forth from my pen during those heady days in Arnold Hall dating one of the ... uh, no, the greatest asinine Idiot I've ever given my affections to. Boy, and that's some epitaph. What a waste of paper that relationship was.

This is why one should clean out the car regularly, besides achieving the status of mobile microbiological experiment station. One might leave bits of paper with incriminating doodles indiscriminately about a semi-public space.

My mother-in-law saw a small bit of such paper in my car. My heart sunk, as she read it. Her comment was along the lines of “it looks like something written to a lover”.

I responded, with forced courage, “I wrote it for Mr.Gopher” (who at the time of maternal discovery was my husband, although he was my lover at the time I wrote it).

I’m not sure if the surprise was due to the fact that I wrote it, or that I wrote it for her son. Although, I suppose, the surprise might simply have been that I wrote anything in German.

And, strangely enough, I didn't feel embarrassed, when I contemplated sharing it on The Author's blog. This is strange since I’m horribly, mortally embarrassed every time I think about asking for someone’s opinion on the prose fiction that I wrote. Perhaps this is simply too short to be able to be embarrassed.