It ain't all pizzas and cream

44

JFK was President. 
Beer was a dime a glass. 
A gallon of gas cost 33 cents. 
And a pack of smokes cost a quarter. 

Those things were all true the year I was born. 

A few years ago, when I turned 40, a friend said I had reached "the top of the mountain," and in a strange way it has proven true.  I can for the first time look back on my life with something that resembles clarity, look at the present with something that resembles responsibility, and look at my future with something that resembles optimism.   

Regrets?  As Sinatra said, I've had a few.  Mostly that I'll be an old man when my daughter graduates college.  They'll probably have to wheel me in.   But in many ways, I am lucky.  I have lived at least four lives in these last 44 years... the child, the drunken poet, the sober married man, and now the new father.  And I have worn many hats... The barfly, the romantic, the gambler, the musician, the hiker, the photographer, the caregiver.  And I am grateful for the experience.  If I have learned anything as a son,  a husband, and a father, it is that it is better to ask "how can I help?" than to ask "what's in it for me?".

So, just wanted to take a moment on this day to thank all those of you who stop by regularly, and those who lend your support, advice, and humor to this irregular column. 

Freedom takes another one, on the chin

Well, if you were wondering just how far we as a nation can take the current mood of jingoistic, chest-thumping, national paranoia...check out this story.

Apparently it is illegal in the great state of Colorado to display any flag other than those of the United States or the state of Colorado, its counties, etc. 

I guess that's why the United Nations isn't in Denver.

Anyone feel a draft?

Check out this story.  ...So much for our "all-volunteer" army.  What's next?

And for perspective...
U.S. involvement in WW2 lasted from Pearl Harbor (12-7-41) to VJ day (8-15-45).  That's 3 years, 8 months, and 1 week.  That means, as of November 28th, 2006, it will have taken U.S. forces longer to achieve their objectives in Iraq than to defeat simultaneously both the Third Reich and the Japanese Empire.

Given that yesterday, Pres Bush vowed that U.S. forces will not leave Iraq during his Presidency, that means January 2009 at the earliest (making a complete withdrawal unlikely before the war's sixth anniversary, March 20, 2009).  And with the forced redeployments, lengthened troop rotations, and level of fatigue...is a draft that unrealistic?

    Have the lessons of Viet Nam been lost in their entirety?

P.E. or not P.E., that is the question

Two nights ago I had alot of trouble sleeping.  Whenever I'd begin to drift off, my breath would catch at the depth of the exhale and send me gasping for oxygen.  Or my heart would pound so hard it would wake me.  This happened enough times that I gave up on sleeping altogether and instead volunteered both overnight feedings with the baby.  But by morning I was pretty worried.   I'd been experiencing some pressure, like a finger, pushing at the center of my diaphragm, on and off for the past week.  I didn't know what it was or if it was related to the sleepless night,  but I was concerned enough that when Cecily asked if I wanted to go to the E.R., I agreed.  So we piled in the car, poor sleepy Tori included, and drove off to our local hospital.

Now the best time to arrive at a suburban Emergency Room is definitely Sunday at dawn.  The place was  quiet as a winter beach.  So I was seen immediately, ushered into a bay, and hooked to an array of monitors.  I was given an EKG and intranasal oxygen.  An IV line was established and blood was taken.  Cec and the baby waited with me.  After the EKG, the doc said my history and description of the discomfort, along with my EKG result, was leading him toward a daiganosis of pulmonary embolism. 

I had to roll that one around in my mouth awhile... pulmonary embolism. 

I remembered my father, who'd had his first heart attack at 39, and the fatal one at 46.  I remembered the huge grins Tori had given me just that morning, and how much I want to be there for her, to see her grow up.  And how much I missed my dad.  I asked if maybe we could take some of the big-money chips off the table and talk about things like sleep apnia, reflux disease, or hiatal hernia, all of which are part of my health history.  And yes, he said those were ll potential causes, butthey had to rule out PE. 

There was a blood test, the doc said, that would be definitive.  But it would take time, so they were just going the faster route of a chest x-ray and a contrast CT.  And they were fast.  I was wheeled into the x-ray before 10am and had the CT before noon.  Then the wait for the results.  I asked the doc about treatments (he was a very nice D.O. and took time to answer all our questions).  He said that the first thing to try, if I had a PE, was blood thinners like coumidin or heparin. 

By this time, Sarah had arrived to give Cec a hand with Tori and to be the kind of unconditionally supportive friend few are lucky enough to have.  And we waited.  And waited.  We watched my blood pressure rise and fall...talked about people and TV shows...cooed over Tori...and tried not to think about pulmonary embolisms.

Finally the resuilts came back... all negative for PE.  So, the Attending said, this was the good news.  But what had caused the pressure, the heart poundng, the insomnia?  No clue.  They sent in the Respiratory Therapist, who gave me an albuterol breathing treatment and a prescription for an inhaler, and then sent me home, with advice to see my family doc (which I'd already planned to do).

But yesterday afternoon again, each time I lay down, my breath would catch, my heart would pound, and I'd startle and gasp awake.  Cec suggested I try one of her blood pressure pills (methyldopa, leftover from pregnancy).  I'm not a huge fan of med-swapping, but I took one.  In 20 minutes, I felt relaxed, and in another 10, I was asleep in the easy chair.  I later went up to bed and got a few more gasp-free hours of high-quality REM sleep.  Then fed our beautiful baby girl at 3:30am, promising I'd always be there for her. 

I don't know what the day will bring, but facing it on a few hours of decent sleep can make a world of difference.

Virgin chocolát

If you've been wondering what the Virgin Mary's been up to since last year's appearance in a roasting pan, check out this story. 

Would you like some nougat with that?

Nougat

Some words make me uncomfortable.  Words that sit badly in the mouth.  Some bang against the teeth like notes from a tonedeaf madhouse piano.  Others sound like amputees, a syllable shy of complete.  Others are like the awkward kid who sulks at the edge of the schoolyard.  The kid who grows up to be Jeff Dahmer or Charlie Manson.  Perhaps I take words too seriously.  But that's who I am.  It's what I do.

Take "nougat," for example.  It's a word we hear alot, in candy commercials.  Particularly ads for Snickers and 3 Musketeers bars.   It doesn't really sound like food, yet if we are to believe the intonations of the voiceover announcer, we are to swoon at its very mention.  "Caramel and nougat...aaaaah."  To me it sounds like a thing that grows on your toe, like a bunion.  "I won't be going to the dance tonight, my nougat is acting up again."

I keep thinking that if I say it enough times, it'll sound better... nougat nougat nougat nougat.

Nope.

So I decided to look it up.  If you're interested, Wikipedia provides an ample listing.   Seems that if we disregard the true European confectioner's term and concentrate on the U.S. product, what we have is a mixture of two kinds of sugar (sucrose and corn syrup) whipped with egg white and a host of substances not found in nature into something that resembles (at least in texture) foam insulation or Fix-A-Flat.

Yummmmmy. 

Yet it must be quite a cost-saver. "Hey Ned, we're running outa chocolate...how 'bout pumping a few thousand more gallons of that foam insulation in here!"    And I wonder if anyone's tried filling a blown tire with nougat.  Wonder how many miles you'd get. 

In any case, if it's going to be a food, it should sound like a food.  Even brains get the moniker "sweetbreads".  Doesn't "nougat" deserve as much?

Fly the Naked Skies

Today's reports of a thwarted terrorist plot seem to have everyone in a froth, with security forces at airports in both England and the U.S. scrambling to ban a wide array of common liquids, pastes, and cosmetic products from carry-on luggage.  This, because the plot in question apparently planned to use a common sports drink and a peroxide product to create an improvised explosive. 

In response, the Brits have gone so far as to ban carry-on bags altogether.  Tho U.S. authorities will continue to allow carry-on bags, they will ban all liquids, pastes, etc. with the exception of medications and baby formula or breast milk (tho mothers may be required to have a sip of their own milk in the presence of security officials to prove the innocence of the substance).  Naturally, the whole process has resluted in obscene delays and has caused thousands of passengers to jetison their make-up, toothpaste, soft drinks, and other items before boarding their flights. 

Well, I say we've not gone nearly far enough. Liquids can still be smuggled aboard by being soaked into fabrics, only to be wrung out later in the airplane lavatory.  So the solution I propose is simple: an all-nude international flight policy requiring all passengers to strip to their birthday suits before boarding.  Clothes would be surrendered to security personnel, where they would be tagged and bagged, inspected for concealed fluids, then shipped along with all luggage to their waiting owners aboard a separate flight that would carry no passengers, only their baggage and clothing (a "freight plane" if you will).  Once both the all-nude passenger flight and the corresponding freight plane arrive at their destination, passengers would be reunited with their clothing and belongings at the usual terminal luggage return.

Of course, one would have to be a little more careful when snapping the seatbelt buckle before takeoff.  But when it comes to security, no sacrifice is too great.

MELtdown

You know you have a drinking problem when you're stopped for a DUI and Robert Downey Jr. openly supports your recovery in the press.  Such is the case for embattled actor/director Mel Gibson, whose recent anti-Semitic tirade following a traffic stop has landed him in some very hot water... or in Mel's case, tequila. 

But no fear, Downey is in in Mel's corner.  Which is only fair, since Gibson championed Downey's cause after the last of the actor's many public meltdowns (and subsequent trips to rehab) back in 2003.  I had not until recently remembered this, but the two worked together in the film Air America a few years back.  Despite my recent post expressing indifference toward drunk airplane passengers, I would nonetheless be reluctant to climb aboard an aircraft with either of these two at the helm.

As an old friend used to say,"If you're gonna fuck up, don't do it in public." 

Maybe Mel should practice the phrase, "Would you like an apple or cherry pie with that?" for his next career move. 

Please leave the runway

Well, I've kept this little rant quiet awhile, but with more entertainment venues like "Project Runway" drawing attention to the fashion industry, I just can't keep my yap shut.  I'm going to make some enemies on this one, but in my humble opinion, the fashion industry is one of the most parasitic, bloodsucking, and wasteful contrivances yet devised by humans.  And yet it seems to avoid the same kind of criticism that's been heaped upon, say, the Iraq War or Big Oil.  Not a fair comparison, you say?  Well, let's look at the numbers. 

US Fashion Industry ... generates retail sales of approx. $180 billion annually

US War in Iraq ... costs approx. $80-100 billion annually

Exxon Mobil profits ... approx. $30 billion annually

Now I'm not suggesting that folks run around nude, but even if 40% of fashion's revenues go for necessaries like socks, underwear, t-shirts, and sneakers, the pursuit of "style" still costs Americans as much as the war in Iraq.  And worse, designers are vaulted to the status of rich heroes.  Instead, maybe we should be hauling Vera Wang and Tommy Hilfiger before Senate Committees, as was done with the carpet-bagging oil profiteers a few months back.  Of course, when the hearings are televised, everyone will only talk about what the designers are wearing.

Perhaps a better idea would be to shave a few billion off the industry's profits and spend it on (a) disaster relief, (b) universal healthcare, (c) education, or something we really need.  Oh, but I forgot, concerns like those are SOOO last year.

At the very least, we should as a nation get honest about the fact that we are vain idiots who spend far too much time looking at our own spongy visages, or worse, worrying about what the moron down the block thinks of our shoes. Not to mention the fact that our fashion "do's" and "don'ts"  are largely the creation of sweatshop child laborers along the Pacific Rim or in Central America.  When I buy a car, I can be fairly sure that the workers who built it were at least somewhat fairly compensated for their time and effort... but with even a simple shirt, I can be almost certain that the hands who made it earned only 40 cents an hour.  We could do what some progressive companies have done, and declare that those at the top of the fashion ladder can earn only, say, a hundred times what those at the bottom of the ladder earn.  At the present rate, then, top designers and fashion CEOs would be forced to support their lifestyles on a mere 100k annually...or raise the pay of their Filipino and Guatemalan wage workers.  Sounds more than fair to me.