Will eat more than drink away the bad times of 2008. I was going to list the crappy year that was, but I could enumerate none worth listing. For me, guess it wasn't a bad year after all. Or I just tend to remember the good things more - seeing the glass half full. In the spirit Slate Cleaning Day, I resolve to ...
Damn you, Will Shortz for enabling my puzzle addiction further. How best to describe Ken Ken? Sudoku with math. Pre-requisite: Ability to add, subtract, multiply, and divide.
There are days that going to work is like going to combat. Receiving the night assignment through SBAR (a Navy communication tool), gearing up with your equipment (saline flushes, stethoscope, scissors, etc.), and hitting the ground running – non-stop.
Shouldn't really complain. Compared to what my brother in Baghdad, this is probably nothing.
With the year wrapping up, I’m already looking forward to 2009 when a CG “Astro Boy” soars high in the sky on the big screen.
Total 80s flashback after seeing the teaser – one of the afternoon cartoons I devotedly watched, even though we didn’t have a TV. I would slip out of our house and watch it at a neighbor’s living room. As a fan, I doodled that head a lot on paper, perfecting those two pointy peaks on his head, those wide Manga eyes, and the dash of white on his hair.
And I don’t need to spend money for a psych session to understand why I identify and adore this robot and his relationship to the “Professor.” That he only wears a black brief and red boots is another story.
Previous Sondheim-Weidman shows (“Assassins” and “Pacific Overtures”) always felt like thesis statements, rather than narratives. Timely, ill-timed, or timeless with its real estate boom and bust sequence? Scattered: episodic structure, songs that mostly comment on the action, and few dialogue songs – Might have worked better with that dark vaudevillian tone in “Assassins” or the ironic thrust of the Loveland sequence in “Follies.”
From the man who can write “imperturbable perspicacity” into a song, the show left me wanting for those Sondheim wordplays. In addition to listening to his discography (marveling at “A Little Night Music” more than the others at the moment), getting to know the cruciverbalist in him and trying my hand at solving Sondheim’s old crosswords from New York Magazine. Stephen Sondheim's Crossword Puzzles: The First One
Downgrading Nat King Cole’s version of “The Christmas Song” this year. New holiday staple: the yummylicious John Legend crooning his craving for "Nutmeg." Warms my heart (and other parts of my anatomy).
For community health clinical as a nursing student, my section set up camp outside of the school's cafeteria taking blood pressures, giving out free condoms and lube, and handing out literature to fellow college students much like the Jesus people handing out their tracts to heathens. We warned about having too much fun in college: drinking, having sex. Or about not having fun at all: depression.
During one of those weeks, I created an educational poster to highlight HIV/AIDS. I thought it would be cool to hand out red ribbons to raise awareness. I found myself explaining what the ribbon is for more than what HIV/AIDS was about to the "younger" generation. That gap, of seven or eight years between me and "them," felt wide. To them, "Rent" is a period piece, as old as "La Boheme." Not even a whiff of the menace the disease once felt like, the anger of those early times only a cooling ember.
This one young woman asked me, "Wearing the ribbon means you have AIDS?" If not for the fact that I was being graded, I would've laughed at her stupidity. I hope she's learning some other things in school.
Funnier this time around: The Tramp saying, "We'll get a home even if I have to work for it." And that makes him more sensible than many in our modern times. And work he does. From one job to the next: assembly line worker, night watchman, ship builder, mechanic's assistant, and waiter.
Modern times = hard times. If that was modern then, we're ... um, still modern.
What struck me more this time: a significantly bittersweet moment when the Tramp opens his mouth to sing for his supper. Aside from this being his last "silent" film, it's Chaplin's capitulation to the talkies - begrudgingly it seems, because what he sings is verbally unintelligible, but wholly delightful and comprehensible in pantomime. The advent of talkies is like the Towel of Babel moment in cinema. From one universal language of images, sound dialogue fractured them into nationalities. Note too the sense that performing (individuality, artistry)- out of the many he tries out in the film - is the job that satisfies the Tramp well.
Where do I fall under the bell curve? If I knew I ranked average, would I throw in the towel? Probably not. I would strive to be better. I asked myself this throughout orientation: "How can I do it better the next time?" Thought I'd stop asking that at some point. I haven't yet.
Aiming to be a positive deviant by following Gawande's suggestions:
With "layaway" now resurrected in modern usage comes other ideas for thrifty living. This lives up to that word:
Recycle Your Romances The joys (and savings) of sex with your ex. By Em & Lo From: New York Magazine Published Nov 2, 2008
Normal dates—with the requisite mani-pedis, barbershop shaves, drinks, and movie tickets—can easily add up to more than $200. But just because you’re single and can’t afford big nights out doesn’t mean you need to forgo sex altogether. Just sleep with your ex. Booty-calling an ex, at least one you’re on good terms with, is a low-risk, high-yield investment. You’re familiar with each other’s flaws already, so no need to mask them with pricey beautification or elaborate mating rituals. Just order in Chinese—or better yet, nuke some Ramen, then get busy. Bonus perk: Your ex knows his or her way around your body, and vice versa, which means a guaranteed good time for all.
Annual Savings: $2,400 (Compared with twelve $200 dates.)
Sleepy on the way home this morning. But I know I wasn't dreaming. "Isaac Newton" was on the train with an apple lodged on his brain. Some high schooler's costume on his way to homeroom. Nerds.
Enjoy tricking and treating!
Too much science in mind after exploring Brian Greene's "The Elegant Universe." I'm a loop? I'm made up of fractals? (Thanks to this week's NOVA.) "I'm the seagull. No, that's not it."
Overheard at the arena before Janet Jackson's concert: "Which artists do you think are recession-proof?"
Since the economic woes, "We'd Like to Thank You, Herbert Hoover" from ANNIE keeps popping up on my iPod. Also brings to mind STEEL PIER. Could a dance marathon be around the corner?
Lyrics to "We'd Like to Thank You, Herbert Hoover":
ALL Today we're living in a shanty Today we're scrounging for a meal
SOPHIE Today I'm stealing coal for fires Who knew I could steal?
MEN I used to winter in the tropics
WOMEN I spent my summers at the shore
FRED I used to throw away the paper--
ALL He don't anymore! We'd like to thank you, Herbert Hoover For really showing us the way We'd like to thank you, Herbert Hoover You made us what we are today
Prosperity was 'round the corner A cozy cottage built for two In this blue heaven That you gave us Yes! We're turning blue!
They offered us Al Smith and Hoover We paid attention and we chose Not only did we pay attention We paid through the nose.
In ev'ry pot he said "a chicken" But Herbert Hoover he forgot Not only don't we have the chicken We ain't got the pot! Hey Herbie
WOMEN You left behind a greatful nation
ALL So, Herb, our hats are off to you We're up to here with admiration
SOPHIE Come down and have a little stew
ALL Come down and share some Christmas dinner Be sure to bring the missus too We got no turkey for our stuffing Why don't we stuff you We'd like to thank you, Herbert Hoover For really showing us the way You dirty rat, you Bureaucrat, you Made us what we are today Come and get it, Herb!
Rock Witchu Tour on Friday night. Had a blast! She always delivers the goods. Whipped out those hits one after the other to prove her pop cred and music biz longevity. Performed less sharper moves in certain numbers. Marking? Conserving energy? Still recovering from her vertigo? Highlights: the S & M segment, "Together Again," and the mohawk! Best when she's kicking it old school. '80s: "Escapade," "Control," "Nasty" ... My oldies. Can you imagine PBS showing oldies specials decades from now? The way they do Doo Wop or Motown specials during their fund drives? We'll be singing "Nasty boys, nasty boys ..." while forking over $ for a tote bag.
Laboring over a Statement of Purpose for grad school. Be introspective? Tell them I love them? This is harder than I thought. Reminds me of the time a Board of Education lackey advised me to "sell myself" to an assistant principal so I can be enrolled in a better school outside my school district. Like that time, writing the SoP must be what polite whoring feels like. I feel so dirty.
Confidence. A word often heard these days. Bandied about like a hacky sack by pundits on the air. "Boost consumer confidence," "investor confidence." Think twice. Do not get played. They are not called "con men" for nothing.
Strolling down memory lane at work and only one other person knew "Histeria." Smart, funny, and edumacational - in other words, doomed for cancellation. The segment I most remembered from it is this:
Are you surprised my viewer response to this movie falls under a queer reading? Nearly four hours and not one female voice utters a word in its entirety. Can't deny the homoeroticism palpable between Lawrence and his two twinks, um, servants. And what did happen in Daraa? Let's just say David Lean leaves the door open a crack to hint at some other crack being violated. And how about Lawrence prancing around in his white flowy Arabian robes? Think desert, heat, and all those men. How gay is that? His being that way serves the film's persistent question about it's subject's identity. He questions his allegiance, his position in society (a bastard child), and why not his sexual identity?
Don't get me wrong, I love this movie. No one can deny its cinematic power. I had some dread before seeing this again, though. But as David Lean unspools one showstopping cinematic moment after another, you sit enrapt. The jump cut from match to desert, the mirage scene at the well, the Nefud desert crossing, Aqaba, and so on.
But as long as the movie is, in the end, Lawrence is as opaque as ever, as its movie poster shows. You still don't know him at all. And this somehow characterizes a lot of David Lean's films. His works thrive on dissatisfaction. The ambiguity in "Madeleine" and "Lawrence of Arabia"; the loves lost in "Brief Encounter," "The Passionate Friends," "Doctor Zhivago," and "Summertime." Yes, the bridge in the River Kwai was built. That was satisfying for like two minutes before it met its doom.
All this Lean because of Film Forum's retrospective.
I know, it's an ad for a credit card. And this is probably one reason why we're in this financial mess. But this commercial's plain irresistible. Wish I had one of those to drop off in school.
"I love those wide eyes," intones Alec to Laura midway in the movie. And I wanna say, "Me, too."
This is on the top heap of my all-time favorite films. If Robert Osborne asked me to sit next to him as guest-programmer for a night on TCM, this would undoubtedly be one I would choose to air - with a Kleenex nearby. Finally got a chance to see it in a movie house and it's as moving and clearly impeccable the fifth (sixth? I've lost count, really) as it was the first time viewing it.
Short and simple: A piece of grit gets into those said eyes, Alec brushes it off, and so begins an "affair" that threatens their British-ness. That economy adds to its sheen. Its beauty and artistry lies in how it's told.
I have tried to pinpoint the moment when I feel my eyes well up. I know it's near the end. But I can never quite say whether it's a word, a gesture, the music, or the image that gets me. And it's not any individual aspect of the movie that does. I believe it's the sum of all these parts, its gestalt, if you will, that slays me every time. Each cinematic element adds up to that emotional impact.
Consider the opening: two trains passing running in opposite directions. It is how the movie ends. That's not a spoiler because in the movie, we begin at the end. Note the noir-lit lovers that make them look positively criminal. You develop a Pavlovian response to those train bells. Hear it many times, as I have, and you too can distinguish the ring for the express train. David Lean embeds the lovers in Rachmaninoff (hearing it instantly conjures up cinematic images) - florid, but fitting to Laura's confessional. Most of all, those eyes. Celia Johnson's eyes express octaves of emotions. See the scene when she realizes Alec will never tell his wife about meeting her and contrast it with how those eyes ignite when she sees Alec really meant to meet up with her the following Thursday.
Just think, without seeing this 86-minute masterpiece, Wong Kar-Wai's "In the Mood for Love" (or many of his movies, for that matter) would never be and the following scene from "The History Boys" would be lost on you:
Just finished watching all three seasons of it and can't get enough of it. Adored it, of course. A show that gets the theater right from top to bottom and made me miss show business. The show tracks a Canadian festival's mountings of Shakespeare plays and one musical. They almost made me like "Romeo and Juliet." And I'm now a "Hamlet" convert. I'm partial to the stage manager character, of course. But I have a fondness for Anna, the associate administrative director. Can't re-fashion it into an American show, like "The Office" or "Queer as Folk," because we don't really have a national theater or a theater festival familiar enough to portray. No Stratford or Shaw Festival or RSC. Transposed to community theater, it might work.
Off to the Golden State. To attend a wedding and take a holiday. Anxieties of meeting the "in laws" and if there's one thing I learned from "The Amazing Race," it's that trips try the tensile strength of any relationship. Here's hoping this trip will be like that ocean in the west: Pacific.
Reading Sarah Vowell's "Assassination Vacation," I came across James Garfield's front porch campaign. The candidate literally campaigned in his house. His supporters would visit his home to hear him bloviate on his views. I kind of see his guests loitering in the lawn. This got me thinking what if 2008 candidates campaigned in their own front porches? I was really more interested in their houses. This may be how the HGTV bloc are voting: comparing home fronts.
"Arsenic": Who knew? Arsenic still fills the beauty counter according to the article below.
Ancient, but How Safe? By ABBY ELLIN Published: NY Times, September 18, 2008 The health industry has questions about metals like lead, mercury or arsenic being found in ayurvedic supplements.
"My First Code": I mentioned "Wit," Margaret Edson's play, on that post. My lit profs in high school lobbed that John Donne poem "Death Be Not Proud" at us every semester. (On one hand, I'm fed up with it, but on the other, I thank them for it because a Donne poem actually appeared in the essay section of the AP Lit Exam. I now wish I had written how the man loved his commas.) No escape from that poem. Dame Eileen Atkins' lecture from the "Wit" movie breaks it down for you:
I'm with Katherine Heigl snubbing tonight's primetime Emmys. (Did you know she sells her own line of medical scrubs? It makes me "Izzie.") Not because the writers slacked off, but the awards' nominating body dissed HBO's "The Wire" for the fifth time. Get this. Only 2 nominations for its entire run! I know that its language/dialogue/street poetry poses the main barrier to appreciating it. So turn on the subtitles/close captioning! And prepare to get lost in its octopus-like storytelling tentacles.
Related article: ‘The Wire’ receives one last Emmy snub - Show received only one nomination, for the writing of its series finale From: Associated Press
Despite that, I'm rooting for Tina Fey, "30 Rock," and the resuscitated "Lost."
Bed sharing 'drains men's brains' From BBC News Bed sharing disturbed sleep quality. Sharing a bed with someone could temporarily reduce your brain power - at least if you are a man - Austrian scientists suggest.
Is the claim true for gay men since the study sample only included hetero couples? Am I getting dumber? Is my BF getting dumber? Is that why I find Professor Layton's puzzles harder now more than ever? Maybe they had it right in the old movies and TV shows when couples slept in separate beds. However, I don't doubt this statement from the article:
"Bed sharing also affected dream recall. Women remembered more after sleeping alone and men recalled best after sex."
What I learned at the movies today: That arsenic is more than rat poison and sold at Victorian Sephora counters as skin care? Courtesy of David Lean's "Madeleine" (1949). I so wanted to like this movie but Ann Todd ruined it for me. In the hands of a better actress - plug in a Hitchcock blonde - and the movie would easily rank as a bona fide classic. Based on a true case, did she or didn't she poison her lover with arsenic? The next time I give arsenic as chemo (FDA approved), I'll dab the leftover on my skin and tell you if it's better than my Clinique regimen.
In the Victorian era, "arsenic" (colourless, crystalline, soluble "white arsenic") was mixed with vinegar and chalk and eaten by women to improve the complexion of their faces, making their skin paler to show they did not work in the fields. Arsenic was also rubbed into the faces and arms of women to "improve their complexion". -Wikipedia
Inappropriate song to sing at work, Leona Lewis' "Bleeding Love." I kept telling my co-worker this. But she will not stop, because I won't stop giggling.
Took me more than a month, not because it was a difficult read, but because I wanted to savor the novel's richness with its enormous cast and the detailed rendering of 19th century Russia. Who knew Russian farming and elections could be interesting? Tolstoy has the knack for drawing believable and engrossing characters. He opens windows to their souls imperceptibly (at first) that it's like a magic act. Before you know it, you are as hooked as they are to their own wants and passions.
Plotwise: Anna has an affair, flees a loveless marriage, and throws - er - I don't wanna ruin the ending for those who don't know. The "B" plot or the courtship of Levin and Kitty will appeal more to the Harlequin Romance set.
It touches on practically all the grand themes of life, but I'll back up my claim that above all else, it's about family from its opening line/thesis: "All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."
I'm sure I'm not the only one who found Anna difficult to like. She is so annoyingly human and (dare I say it?) so female with her needs and jealousies. And also because there's a question I can't seem to answer: Why does she not love her second child?
Near the end of my first year as an RN (or Real Nurse). The article on NY Times chronicled the first code ("condition A" = cardiac arrest) I encountered - aka the Exorcist case. Uncanny similarities in details from my experience that I thought one of my colleagues had written it.
"Inside the room I found my patient with blood spilling uncontrollably from her mouth and nose. I remembered to put on gloves, and the aide handed me a face shield."
I remember grabbing a box of face shields, an item we don't normally wear in a code. The floor was like a slip-and-slide, with blood instead of water.
"The reigning theory was that part of her tumor had broken off and either ruptured her pulmonary artery or created a huge blockage in her heart. Apparently this can happen without warning in lung cancer patients."
Many of us posited this theory as well. The suddenness of it shocked us all. How can you explain this to a grieving family member when the patient was walking and talking mere hours ago? That code became legendary - a profound shared experience between those who were there: it gave us nightmares (experienced and new RNs alike). I found it cool in a morbid way. But it was so traumatic for many that the manager had to send a counselor to verbalize our feelings about it.
Regarding the article: About time a nurse has written for the Science Times. But why does it have to be a feel-good piece about death and dying? Besides, I'm sick of John Donne being quoted in oncology - let "Wit" be the end of that.
Playing "Professor Layton and the Curious Village" on the DS. The game offers a series of puzzles strung along a threadbare mystery. Another way to stave off Alzheimer's.
Stumped on a puzzle in the game that reminds me of an old mathematical problem sprung on us sophomore kids at a special program in City College: The Seven Bridges of Konigsberg. Based on the map below, was it possible to make a journey across all seven bridges without having to cross any bridge more than once? Drunk people claim to have done so.
You can google for the answer. Only later (years) did I grasp the mathematical significance of the puzzle. Mathematicians are exempt from playing this!
Frankly, I expected this from my friends, not my mother.
Standing at the doorway, she wore a smile that's an obvious prelude to announcing some exciting news.
"I had my colonoscopy," she said. "They found a polyp and took it out." Only my mother could seem thrilled about such a procedure.
"Do you want to see?" Before I could say no, she showed me the pictures from her colonoscopy! - Which shows her rectum from the scope's point of view, btw.
Used to my friends showing me their wounds and rashes. Not with my mom. Evidently, mother has never heard of things being TMI. (Too much information.)
And that is what my mother did on her 30th wedding anniversary.
How come there are many songs about September? "See You in September" "The September Song" "September"
Because it's the end of summer vacation? The new school year? Fall lurking around the corner? The beginning of the end of the year? Of months that end in r?
Just because it's September, here's a crowd-pleaser from Earth, Wind, and Fire. I dare you not to groove.
You know it's the first day of school when the kids in the subway are donning their new clothes. From the bright colored shirts that have yet to see a rinse cycle, one can tell. More envious of their shiny new sneakers with nary a scuff nor blemish.
Since summer's unofficially over, rather than say what i did in my stay-cation (mostly work), I'll list the things that may not be too late to do:
-Bid farewell to the old Yankee Stadium -Line up to see "Hair" in the Park -Long Beach -Walk across the Brooklyn Bridge -Frisbee time
Collecting some happy songs to my playlist to pep me up.
Late in warming up to Madonna's recent "Hard Candy" album, so only coming across this bouncy track. So far, it's the only song in the playlist. And it does the job.
There's a reason why I'm asking: A patient had suddenly lost his sense of sight and set me off into a pensive mode ("mood," more like) - and this is one of the questions that popped into my head.
As in emotionally and physically. Must've been because it was my third night in a row with this dying patient, because when he passed away with me and his family members present, I lost it. I shed tears in front of the patient's family as I consoled them. That has never happened before. Snapped to professional mode and had to collect myself in the bathroom.
And my next admission a few hours after that was another case that'll break anyone's heart ...
I may talk like a cynic, but I'm a real softie.
Need to reignite myself by getting lost in life's simple joys ...
Back to regular cable after 2 years of satellite dish TV. Shaving off a chunk from the monthly bill by combining phone, TV, and internet. The other reason for the switch was because The Filipino Channel is now available through Cablevision with cheaper subscription. Can finally tear down the unwieldy dishes and cables off the roof. Re-adapting to cable's pros and cons:
Some cable pros: -We can watch TV now during a rainstorm. No more messages about "searching for a signal." -More DVR space. -On Demand!
Some cable cons: -Less HD channels. What do you mean USA is not in HD? -Less channels: No more Cinema One - must Netflix my Tagalog movies from now on. -Less user-friendly search menu.
Sharing the greenery from our front yard. Peppers above, basil, and tomatoes below. I raided the garden some time ago with my parents' help (not a green thumb here). After my mother snipped a bitter melon from its stem, she told the plant "Thank you." She turned to me and said, "I always tell them thank you." Loony, but it probably works. I've heard gardeners being advised to talk to their plants to help them bloom. Veggies aplenty and I've had my share of roughage (lots of beans!) to last me the rest of the year.
NY Times' Funny Pages features a weekly graphic serial. Been following Rutu Modan's "The Murder of the Terminal Patient." Why? Because it's set in a hospital and it's a mystery? No. Because it reminds me of the Pinoy Komiks I devoured when I was a kid in the Philippines, which I would secretly buy and hide from my mum and aunts. And when I didn't have the money to buy them, I came up with stories to tell and drew my own.
Hmm. Home-sick thoughts: Where can I buy Liwayway Magazine? Do they still publish Pinoy Komiks? Whatever happened to "Niknok"?
Been taking care of young patients lately. Young as in younger than me or close to my age. Not all of them are terminal. But when they are, it gets to me. "Mortality," as Keats wrote, "weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep" in those times and it scares me. But it also helps me prioritize what's important in my life.
That was a downer, now here's an upper from that much-missed Gary Larson strip, "The Far Side":
In honor of 4chan's Caturday, here's the new addition to the household:
My mother picked up another stray! Though he's well-behaved and potty-trained within a day, he's not the cutest kitty in the litter. I said he's ugly, my brother says he looks like a rat, and my mother is going to name him Mickey Mouse.
Maybe because I watch too many DVDs or I'm just rough with them, but remotes for our DVD players die in my hands a lot that I feel like I'm the Dr. Kevorkian of remote controls. So if you want your suffering remote to die, just send it to me. The original remote for my player self-destructed because the batteries melted inside it. So I borrowed - stole, more like it - my parents' remote so I can use it in my room and that died, too. (I'm surprised it lasted this long after I spilled Coke on it.) Since universal remote controls don't have the buttons I frequently use (no Disc Skip or no Subtitle buttons?!), I had to buy a replace remote for my 6 year-old player this time. Of course, it cost a bundle because it's an older model. But when it arrived, and after I juiced it with new batteries, I felt like Sweeney Todd and saying, "At last, my arm is complete again!"
It’s No Boo-Boo: Bandages as Fashion Accessories By KAYLEEN SCHAEFER Published: August 7, 2008, NY Times Since the adhesive strip has been upgraded by designers or studded with Swarovski crystals, some adults have begun to view it as any other accessory.
So ridiculous that I have to share this from the Thursday funny pages, otherwise known as Thursday Style Section of the NY Times. They wear band-aids for no apparent reason except to be hip. My favorite part's at the end of the article:
Patricia Graf, a designer in Aachen, Germany, wears Mr. Seibert’s designs as a ring, on a foot or under an eye as a sparkly version of a football player’s greasy black stripe. Somebody once offered to buy her bandage from her at a party.
“Gross,” Ms. Graf told this reporter. “It was used.”
As for Mr. Brown, he’s worried his supply is running low (he bought only six boxes, after all) and plans to use them sparingly from now on. New York Fashion Week is just four weeks away, and for that, he said, “I definitely have to be rocking a bandage somewhere visible.”
Can't wait for patients asking for designer bandages in the hospital soon. "Would you like the Swarovski or the Tiffany duoderm on your pressure ulcer?"
DVR-ed the 4 hour ceremony since I was at work. Watched the "artistic portion" and sped through the Parade of Nations to the lighting of the Olympic flame.
Curious about what Zhang Yimou would do with live spectacle compared to his cinematic spectacles. (I like his quieter movies: "Not One Less" and "The Road Home.") Marveled at the technology he used: the LED screens on the floor and top rim of the stadium. The flying and wire work got a little tired. More amazed at the low-tech undulating printing blocks that formed Chinese characters, drops of water, and the Great Wall - a segment at the end of which I found myself applauding. The sphere with performers traveling around it was cool until Sarah Brightman pierced my ear drums. I don't know but there's something so "Triump of Will" about the whole ceremony that I can't help Zhang Yimou may be the next Leni Riefenstahl.
The spectacle confirms that poorer countries would never be able to host the Olympics in the future. When will the IOC let an African country host the first Olympics in that continent? It is the only continent in the 5 Olympic rings to never host one.
Now, onto the swimsuit competition -er - the swimming competition. The games I will most likely watch for sportsmanship: Beach volleyball and gymnastics. The games I will most likely watch for hotness: Swimming, Soccer, Water Polo, Basketball.
Douche: "What do you do?" Me: "I'm a nurse" Douche: "Of course, you are. You're Filipino." I'm a stereotype in so many ways. (But let me be the first to make fun of myself.) So imagine my relief to hear that pretty soon, we'll be importing teachers in addition to nurses.
Lessons Far From Home by Phuong Ly from The Washington Post At a Forestville elementary school, Mabel Ventura learns what it will take to give her family in the Philippines a better life
The bleak side of the story is that Baltimore can kill you (Sorry, John Waters.):
German entrepreneur and sex educator who designed a spray-on condom made of liquid latex
There are lots of reasons scientists are looking for ways to make condoms more appealing--and safer--to use. TIME's Callie Lefevre asked Jan Vinzenz Krause about his efforts to make a spray-on condom.
How did you get this idea? I went to get my car washed. In Germany, you drive through a tunnel, and there's water coming from all sides. I was sitting in my car, and I said, "Yes! This is the idea! I will try this with a condom." So I went to a hardware store--I felt a little like MacGyver--and I bought a tube, put some holes in it, attached these nozzles and connected them to a box of liquid latex. The latex sprays out of the nozzles.
What's the advantage? The condom fits 100% perfectly, so the safety is much higher than a standard condom's, and it feels more natural.
Did product testers worry that spraying on latex protection would ruin the mood? Yes, that was mentioned. The prototype takes a few minutes to dry. For people to buy it, it needs to be ready in five to 10 seconds.
Any other hesitations? They were a little bit afraid to use the tube.
Are you waiting for someone to come up with a better latex formula? Right now, I have to focus on things I think will be successful in the immediate future.
So what's your latest project? A condom brand in six sizes. We developed this brand for the Web. Men on the Web--they are very honest.
Could you imagine kids getting a hold of this? The way I got a hold of my parents' condoms when I was in grade school. I thought the condoms were balloons, but my aunts insisted they weren't. So I demanded to know what they were. Being conservative, they didn't explain it further. Believing they were balloons, I blew them up and took it outside in the street to play, much to my aunts' mortification. They weren't good balloons to play with. They popped after they landed on a blade of grass.
So, what if a kid gets a hold of a spray on condom and sprays it on his schoolmates? He'll probably just think it's silly string.
The first week of August instructs us to feng shui our lives by celebrating National Simplify Your Life Week - a tidbit courtesy of CBS Sunday Morning News. Do professional personal organizers and declutterers have that powerful a lobby? Maybe instead of sinking down on the couch simply watching "neatTV" and "Clean House," I should sort my junk alongside the folks in the program and hold a giant yard sale for useless stuff. Selling possessions may be the only option for some to fend off foreclosures in this economic climate anyway.
Not going to be as drastic as some have done - whittling down their material possession to 100 things. That just sounds so monastic.
At a recent visit to the Met, I wandered around the small photography exhibit and discovered Brassai. I feel dumb (my inferiority complex kicking in) because when I Googled and looked him up in Wikipedia, he's apparently well-known and well-loved. The pictures displayed at the exhibit showed Parisian scenes at night: in alleys, after-hours bars, bordellos. They had the feel of film noir - a term yet to be coined at that time. Paris + film noir = I'm there.
"What's your blood type?" How's that for a pickup line? It's not as weird as you might think.
My friend started talking about blood type as a sign of romantic compatibility. I simply thought she was wacky. But upon trawling the net for some research, the idea that blood types can be a matchmaker, much like how others believe that astrological signs can indicate compatibility, is an idea that's been around for a long time. And researched, too, by a Japanese scientist. It reminded me about the four humours the Greeks assigned to bodily fluids.
So, here's the breakdown and see if it's true to your type:
Type O: Type O’s are outgoing, and very social. They are initiators, although they don’t always finish what they start. Creative and popular, they love to be the center of attention and appear very self confident. Worst Traits: Vain, careless, ruthless. O is most compatible with O, and AB.
Type A: While outwardly calm, they have such high standards (perfectionists) that they tend to be balls of nerves on the inside. Type A’s are the most artistic of the blood groups. They can be shy, are conscientious, trustworthy, and sensitive. Worst Traits: Fastidious, over earnest. A is most compatible with A and AB.
Type B: Goal oriented and strong minded, type B’s will start a task and continue it until completed, and completed well. Type B’s are the individualists of the blood group categories and find their own way in life. Worst Traits: Selfish, irresponsible, arrogant. B is most compatible with B and AB.
Type AB: Type AB’s are the split personalities of the blood groups. They can be both outgoing and shy, confident and timid. While responsible, too much responsibility will cause a problem. They are trustworthy and like to help others. Worst Traits: Critical, indecisive. AB is most compatible with AB, B, A and O.
Dropped by Cafe Wha? in the Village this past week. A place I go to where I re-acquaint myself with pop rock. Who knew I liked "Drops of Jupiter" that much? After a night there I always find myself rummaging through my records at home. (Note to self: Download Journey and The Jackson 5 into my iPod.) The house band is a cover band. Cheesy, I know. But the place is just plain fun. Byron and Bryan (the guitarists, aka eye candies) are more playful with each other, which makes it fun to watch. Some new vocalists this time that mostly deliver the goods.
While there, I wondered how many of the young 'uns know that "Killing Me Softly" was originally sung by Roberta Flack? A thought that made me feel old. On the other hand, how many of the middle aged folks there know that the version the band was performing is a cover by the Fugees being covered by the house band? A thought that made me feel young.
Below is a vid of Bryan and Byron singing and playing a love song to each other. Not really, but that's what I'm thinking in my head:
There must be a reason why the show's still running on Broadway other than it being a much needed diversion a month after 9/11. And this defense from TIME is as good as any - It's the music. So the reason to go see this bad / mostly mediocre movie is the music. It's a ridiculous plot to begin with, lifted from the Broadway show's book. I had enormous fun when I saw the stage musical, despite groaning about its story or its fugly costumes. But those performers sold it and the music elevated it. Full disclosure: I am an ABBA fan. I think those songs are fABBAlous. My parents love them and I grew up listening to their records. Knowing those lyrics, it proved difficult not to sing along while watching the movie.
The movie is not "Xanadu" bad. It's not going to end Meryl Streep's film career like "Xanadu" did to Olivia Newton-John's career. But it may be the first and only movie by its director. It is a movie that makes me think I could direct a better movie than its own director did. So, if I were directing it, I would:
Make better use of its Greek isle location and not overusing the Aegean blue background.
Allude to some Greek mythology (stealing from Broadway's "Xanadu"). It's in the lyrics already : "The gods may throw a dice/Their minds as cold as ice." Plenty of songs employ themes of fate and games already. Employ a Greek chorus, not just a background of Greek people who sing.
Pay homage to Lasse Hallstrom's ABBA music videos. (He could've directed the movie for that matter!) There are some iconic images in those videos - see "Muriel's Wedding."
Re-orchestrate certain songs. I know, you can't mess with ABBA's studio sound too much. And a lot of it is in the movie - the arrangements sound like they do in the ABBA albums except for the vocals. It's intricately layered recordings, which makes it terrific pop. But, you could punch up some Greek-ness to it, the way sections of "I Have A Dream" hint at bouzoki sounds, for example. Or fully utilize the song to tell the story and convey character - see Streep's "The Winner Takes It All." After all, the art of a good pop song is how it rings emotional truth to its listeners.
Not hire Pierce Brosnan to sing.
There are a few high points in the movie: "Dancing Queen," Meryl Streep's "Slipping Through My Fingers," and especially her rendition of "The Winner Takes It All."
What I'm really waiting for is an ABBA musical that tells their own story (much like "Jersey Boys"). Just think of the irony and heartbreak those songs have in the context of dual divorces between its members. It's so VH1, I know.
Slowing Down to Let the Moment Sink In By JESSICA L. ISRAEL, M.D Published: July 22, 2008 For a doctor, the first glimpse of death and a simple thank you are reminders to never forget.
The article's author defines the "wow" as a moment when she "smells the lilies and looks at butterflies" - when she slows down to acknowledge that death/dying means more than a clinical fact.
I've found it quite interesting that I'm in that position - with interns. One time, an intern was doing her clinical rotation in our unit and I informed her about a patient's poor status. She said with sadness, "I don't want another death today." My response was "Welcome to oncology." I meant it with humor (a defense mechanism). But now that I think about it, that statement could've been interpreted as unfeeling.
July ushers in new interns fresh from med school and I should be more mindful. A few weeks ago, I told the intern to come see a patient and pronounce him dead. After assessing the patient, he came back to me and asked me if I was okay. I was surprised by the question. I told him I was fine and didn't think any of it. This past weekend, another patient died and I asked that same intern regarding something about post-mortem care. He said he didn't know the answer because this was only the second death he's dealt with in the hospital. Then it clicked - I had my "wow." I thought back to when he asked me if I was okay - It was really a question to himself than to me - I should have reflected that question back to him because I now realized that earlier death was his first.
Like the rest of the fanboys, I eagerly awaited this movie.
I'm not normally a size queen - but this movie rocks in IMAX. The first 2-D movie I've truly enjoyed in that giant screen. They've somehow figured out how to seamlessly switch aspect ratios and make use of that full wrap-around screen, mainly for the aerial shots - so if you're acrophobic, think twice.
The movie lives up to its title in tone and cinematic color palette. Top-notch acting (thank God, Tom Cruise abducted Katie Holmes and gave us Maggie Gyllenhaal instead), tight story, and dynamite action sequences.
The reason to see it - as some posters tout - is Heath Ledger. One of those performances they call "possessed" - as if there's no acting going on. His character's sociopathic energy ripples throughout the movie that near the end of it, you feel like the chaos in Gotham would spill over into the movie theater. And that nurse outfit, I only wish I could pull that off.
I'm not a betting man, but I see dudes donning the Joker more than McCain and Obama masks this coming Halloween. It'll be cheaper too. They'll just borrow their girlfriends' make-up. We are in a recession, after all.
Thank you for being a friend ... Estelle Getty played Sophia Petrillo from one of the best TV shows ever, "The Golden Girls." I dare you to watch an episode and not laugh. (But if you happen to catch one of the serious episodes - you'll appreciate what makes it a good show.) Well, she's now looking down on us from her lanai in the sky.
Catching up to new music and have been listening to Duffy's album, "Rockferry." At first I thought Hilary Duff changed her name (like Puff Daddy/P. Diddy).
She's cut from the British factory that puts out pop singers who sing retro-'60s-sounding songs - a la Amy Winehouse without the emphysema. I'd say she's a less feisty-sounding Joss Stone. What she most reminds me of though is Lulu. When I listen to the album I expect "To Sir With Love" to play on the next track.
Harmless pop to listen to. Not as good as "Back to Black." Something to bide the time until Winehouse cuts a new album after she gets more oxygen in her lungs.
"Warwick Avenue" - one of the better tunes from Duffy's album:
The BF and I will be attending his sister's wedding in California this October and many have remarked that since it's California, there might be more than one marriage taking place ... Let me put an end to all that speculation: I will NOT be getting married in California! It's too soon. And there's no ring on this finger. Yet?
Two consecutive days of high-brow theatrical events this past weekend, courtesy of Lincoln Center Festival 2008 with "Die Soldaten" and "The Bacchae."
"Die Soldaten": 12-tone music is not my cup of tea, so I won't discuss the music. The production is technically astounding. Audience seating is on risers that travel on railroad tracks that follow the length of a T shaped stage. A larger orchestra is house left, a smaller one is house right. So as the risers move past the orchestra, the music/sound surrounds you in interesting ways. The music gets under your skin that it's aurally overwhelming by the end. And it was only at the end when I realized how much I fully appreciated what I saw. As the lights faded, I collected myself and asked, "What the hell have I just seen?" The experience trumps text/musical content for me. Don't care much for the story nor the political overtones. It is a German modernist opera about a young woman corrupted by soldiers. I was always riveted by the action/movement/staging onstage. I described the stage a lot because the subject of theatrical space popped up in my head (oh, memories of Senior Seminar in Theatre). A play about soldiers presented in an armory is too fitting. The platform reminded of a hanamichi and as the risers travel the length of the runway, distance affects how one feels about a character and situation. A lot of depravity happens in the story and those scenes are served to the audience as close as possible. The last scene is quite moving - the audience travels along with the daughter, now a beggar, as she walks away from her father. As we inch farther from her father, the gulf between father and daughter and the distance between her and decent society feel even wider.
"The Bacchae": The German opera above featured an orgy, a Bacchanal, the character of Dionysus in "The Bacchae" would totally stamp his seal of approval on. I've underestimated Alan Cumming's chops as an actor. If only he could stop mooning the audience in every production he's in. He exemplifies the impishness of that Greek god and his wrathful quality - a scorned rock idol, I suppose. Cumming charms the pants off the audience that allows the audience to immediately follow him on his path for revenge. True to the text but extremely pop in its presentation - more rock n' roll, complete with pyrotechnics. The Maenads are groupies or more like backup singers. The sharp tonal shift from almost comedy to high tragedy jarred me, but it presents the masks of comedy and tragedy side by side.
As if we don't have other things to worry about - like patients attacking us - we also have to be careful of other nurses. "Nurses eat their young" have a fancy scientific name: lateral violence.
Read on from the Clinical Journal of Oncology Nursing (Vol.12, No. 3):
Brought back memories of Bay Street Theatre in the Hamptons because a lot of the action takes place there. The book has the typical John Irving touches: symbolic amputations, sex, and dead children. The book is about writers. Ted (a children's writer) and Marion (a crime writer later on) are married with 2 dead kids and a daughter, Ruth (who becomes a famous novelist). Ted hires 16-year-old Eddie (future novelist) to assist him and have him sleep with Marion.
For a novel that spans over 30 years, not a lot of plot happens, which is strange for an Irving novel. Instead it delves deeper into its characters by exploring how writers write and what they write about, namely how real life and their written stories interrelate.
The book doesn't trump "The World According to Garp" as my personal fave out of his oeuvre, but it has one unforgettable car crash that still gives me the creeps. The end felt unsatisfying to me and there's a plot detour in Amsterdam that feels so out of place with the book's tone.
Advocates for nurses are lobbying for increased penalties for violent patients and urging that all incidents be reported. (Click HERE to read more.)
We were just discussing about this at work because one of our patients became verbally and physically abusive to one of the nurses. My co-worker asked, "How come we can't do anyting when they try to hit us?" She meant file charges or at least file a complaint. My answer basically was that it comes with the job. I expected patients to be like that, since I've grown up hearing my mom's tales of when patients attack. Now, I have my stories, too. One is of a 90-year old lady trying to take a swing at me. My other question to my co-worker: Can a patient be responsible for his/her actions when they are confused (whether from psych or physical reasons)? I don't really have an answer. Different hospitals deal with that in some way, I'm sure. Hasn't come up for me yet, so I haven't investigated.
Spurred by the article, I tried to see if NY was doing anything along those lines. In NY state, NYSNA is lobbying for Bill A06186. The bill would make assault on nurses a class C or D felony, equal to assaulting a police officer. However, the bill seems very specific in only being applied to emergency situations, as in first aid, or in ER cases. What happens to nurses in inpatient med/surg units? Maybe I should just work with babies. They don't hit you at all. The OR maybe? They're too knocked out to even lift a finger. Bill AO6186 is currently referred to the Codes Committee.
See, that Nursing and Society class actually paid off.
FANNY (1961): A recent essential pick from Turner Classic Movies. Never heard of the film before that and was intrigued by its cinematographer and the stars in it. Leslie Caron plays Fanny, a fish seller's daughter in Marseilles. She falls in love with the cafe owner's son, who longs to sail the seas rather than stay with her.
This entry might as well be a love letter to Leslie Caron - She is even more beautiful than the scenery. She matures from gamine to a more serious actress here. Charles Boyer and Maurice Chevalier flank her ably with delicious comic banter. The young eye candy is German actor Horst Buchholz. Kinda creepy that Maurice Chevalier's character gets together with Fanny - in a really odd twist to the opening of "Gigi" when Chevalier sings "Thank Heavens for Little Girls."
Jack Cardiff photographs Marseilles on location with breathtaking aerial shots that readily added itself to my personal list of places to go.
Not an essential to me in the way its hosts treasure it, but worth a look anyway. Maybe I was too drawn to Fanny/Leslie Caron that I don't believe her lover would leave her behind for a sea-adventure. Also, not sure about the tone the movie takes about her decisions in order to retain her honor. I know that it has to do with the time and place it's set - and I do see that internal struggle in Caron's eyes.
Five stories below Manhattan sits piles of gold that you can see for free. According to the Federal Reserve Bank of NY, "The Fed houses the most foreign gold held anywhere in the world." There's a guided tour that you must book way in advance (a week to a month before). The gold looks so shiny and seemingly fake. Compared to seeing it in the movies being stolen by the baddies in "Die Hard with a Vengeance," the real deal almost looks dull. Too bad you can't touch it. What fascinated me though are the security details. There's a demonstration that almost made me claustrophobic and appreciate oxygen even more.
