Friday, August 18, 2006

You said "fundies"

This is what my sister blurted out when I asked "What? What is so funny" the other night when we were talking. I had made some comment about fundamentalism, referring to those who practice and preach it as "fundies". I was talking away, got several sentences beyond this point when I realized my sister had been laughing for a while.

"You said 'fundies'! bwahahahahahahahahahaha!" Clearly this needed to be addressed for the conversation to continue.

"Yes, I said 'fundies'. That's what they're called," I explained, "It's short for 'fundamentalist'."

She was still laughing. "Fundies are underwear for two people!" More laughter.

The woman had a point. "Ok, yes. Fundies means underwear for two and fundamentalists," I said. This made her laugh more. "Settle down Beavis."

Later, when I was recounting this conversation to some friends, I discovered "underwear for two" was not only not the most salient meaning of the word "fundies", it was in fact an entirely unknown, unexplored idea. My sample was a mixed age group out for margaritas for A___'s b-day.

Janice, a 50 something who protested the vietnam war, played in a band, and lobbied as a single mother against housing discrimination in the 70s (she ain't no square), had no idea what underwear for two were, that they ever existed, or that they were called "fundies".

Scott, a 24 year old sorta hippie grad student from the south had not heard of the word (except to describe fundamentalists) or the concept. He wanted to know how the two people would be positioned in underwear for two. "Can they stand in any orientation? I mean, can they be facing away from each other?" "Like spooning?" I asked. "Yeah that too..." he said but apparently he was envisioning several positions which I, being constrained by knowledge of the actual construction of fundies (the underwear), would not have envisioned.

We debated how underwear for two might be constructed so as to allow for these variations. Side by side Fundies? Could they exist? "Oh so you mean like "hole, hole, hole......Hole?" I said, gesturing so as to place my hypothetical leg holes into a straight line over the salsa cup and salt crusted glasses between us, not sure if there should be three or four leg openings in this creation. "Yeah!" said Scott, "Exactly!"

T___, a 30 year old student born and raised in Japan, had never heard of this concept but was immediately quite taken with it. He kept repeating "hole, hole, hole....hole" and laughing uncontrollably.

Janice accused me of making this up. "No, really! Underwear for two exists, it is called "fundies", it allows two people to stand facing one another or front to back while wearing the same pair of underwear. It does not allow two people to stand side to side as it's only hole, hole."
"Hole.....hole!" T___ promptly added.

"Fuck it, I'm googling 'Fundies' and I'll send you a picture" I announced.

So here it is. The google results are in. If you google fundies + definition, the first hit is a definition for fundamentalism. If you google just fundies, the first hit is underwear for two.

Tuesday, August 15, 2006

"eye shit"

In the course of looking for some content for my class - because you know, I think the students deserve at least that much - I ran across this dialect survey. One of the survey questions was "What do you call the gooey or dry matter that collects in the corners of your eyes, especially while you are sleeping?"

Turns out "sleep" was well liked by a sizable proportion of respondents (37.78%). The next largest group preference (10.68%) was for the childishly gross "eye booger". However, my personal favorite term was "eye shit", which accounted for .45% of the responses and was distributed as in the map above (yellow points).

I find it strangely comforting that "eye shit" had a showing at all. It's not a conscious distain for the whimsy underlying more popular terms like "sleepy seed" (1.67%) or "sand" (7.77%). It's just that sometimes I go through periods where am seized with a very strong urge to dispense with the verbal frippery.

Or maybe I'm just, at heart, a true vulgarian.

holy stars and stripes

I had to remove the model's face. She had this look like she might just kick my ass and it was seriously damaging my full enjoyment of the effect of her extremely patriotic ensemble. And I am enjoying it. A little bright spot of mirth in an otherwise largely mirthless day.

I'm in the going back to school murk and slump I think. Or maybe it's just anniversaries that have got me down.

Seems like everything today was at least a little not ok. I had planned to stay home on account of my hip hurting, work on the class I have to teach in about two weeks, finish my appeal to financial aid so I can please go further into debt for a chance at an ambiguous career.

To my dismay, at about 11, I remembered that I had a dissertation defense to go to. A friend this time, not the ex. It was, well, I had heard it before so it was not anything new. The presentation was great. Unfortunately, attending it involved my being in a room full of people I am growing to have a powerful dislike for. So many assholes, so little space. Each time I thought I could safely direct my gaze say over there, my line of vision would intersect with someone I dislike.

It was dark, my friend standing up front doing a valiant effort to bravely present his data and findings to a bunch of shitbags, and the shitbags all sitting around the table in various stages of ethical decay. Each rubbing a hand on his face in some scholarly way. And me standing then sitting then standing then pacing in the hall outside the door then standing again in the back of the room while several of the shitbags cast me those "what are you doing?" little half looks over their shoulders. One actually stared at me for prolonged periods of time, like he could stare me down into my seat.

At several points I had to fight an urge to bite someone. I did this by telling myself they would taste bad and of course there's the whole I'd be judged insane and locked up thing.

I passed the time thinking up colorful stories I could tell should one of my very concerned faculty members say anything about my fidgeting. "I had an abortion this weekend and I think they nicked something" was high on the list.

I think I should have stayed home today. Sorry Jay...I hope my seriously negative vibes were not perceptable and if so, I hope you know they had nothing to do with you or your dissertation. I'd like to think it was just my own little private storm cloud but then again, I know I have one of those transparent faces. If you caught me grimacing, it was either pain from my hip or the stray thought of how much it sucks that you can't walk up and slap the shit out of a windbag like, oh anyone on your committee, with impunity.

Needless to say, I skipped the "after party". Pain and the fear that whatever is up with me today might drive me to say what was on my mind sent me scrambling for home soon after the defense was over. Not soon enough to spare the idiot first year who got in my way, but he's not exactly a fan of mine anyhow.

Golly, I can't imagine why.

Friday, August 11, 2006

defensive

I just got a notice that my ex is defending his dissertation in two weeks. This pisses me off. This raises a whole range of unpleasant emotions and memories, but mostly all of them can be nicely overgeneralized into the category of "pissing me off".

I'm not sure what I'm gonna do with all that. I do have almost an entire dozen old eggs I haven't thrown out yet because I was certain a good reason to keep them would come up. They aren't rotten, just older than I'd want to cook with.

Please, no I am not going egg the fucking loser's house, car, family's house (although THAT is VERY tempting), or family member's cars. The eggs are relevant only because when I'm in a shitty foul mood that demands an outlet but for which the only apparent outlets are inappropriate, I like to go throw eggs at things. Neutral targets - phone poles, tree stumps, my landlord's house, etc. (cars with anti-choice stickers on them don't get egged. They get mayo.)

Anyhow, I think those eggs are going to come in handy.

Thursday, August 10, 2006

fashion fucked

I'm not a fan of feet and toes, certainly not my own. Other people's I'm more neutral on, except when they are very alarmingly, disturbingly diseased looking bad. In general, I find I am more charitable in my assesment of other people's feet than I am of my own. I don't like the shape of mine and my toes strike me as looking freakishly long, boney, and skinny. They sometimes dislocate themselves just for the hell of it. The most embarassing time this happened was while I was high school aged and on the phone with a boy...I dropped the phone, yelping in pain. When I finally retrieved the phone, it was to mutter something like "My um, toe just went out of joint...I, uh, I have to go now 'cause I think I'm gonna pass out."

My toes have not been kind to me although I have tried to be nice to them, at least in recent years. I have tried painting them, thinking this might help. Somewhat but not enough to make me comfortable with the fashionable open toe sandals. It occurs to me that I'm fighting a lifetime of toe shame and training to be shod. The neighbors' kids ran around shoeless in the summer providing us with a model of barefooted barbarism which we discouraged from emulating. Our elitist parents had raised us to believe people like the neighbors' kids were idiots whose brains had been rotted by too much TV and a diet which included sugary cereal, Tang, and wonder bread.

To make matters worse, our mother the nurse had informed us of parasites that live in the ground and burrow up into the bare feet of morons like the neighbors' kids. She neglected to mention the rarity of hookworm infections in northern climes. We believed her. Why not? They did drink Tang after all.

Having been brought up to see barefootedness as a symbol of an unredeemable philistine nature helped along my budding aversion to the notion of exposing what I thought of as my nearly deformed ugly feet. Going to college changed that somewhat. I had to adapt to the many hippie kids who walked around campus and came to class bare foot. Their one concession was birkenstock type sandals, worn even in the winter (on the bitterest days worn with rag wool socks). I still never got the urge to be habitually bare foot in public though.

For most of my life, this was not a serious problem. It was possible to buy sandals that allowed me to keep my creepy toes safely out of the public eye. All that changed some years ago when the "hooker shoe" look took off. Black leather skinny strap sandals over (usually) tanned feet with bright red painted toenails look especially ridiculous on aged baby boomer white suburban women wearing pastel skorts and striped jerseys. To complete the scene, imagine some beach boys music blaring from a restaurant speaker, oil slicked boston harbor water slapping the dock which resembles nothing nautical as much as it does a strip mall surrounded by an armada of bright shiny midlife crisis boats, and a wide flat rear end looming ever closer to your bucket o' fried clams which rocks precariously on the cheap plastic table as the hooker footed woman shimmies in time to a beat that apparently only she can hear. Ah, summer at the marina.

And now there is no escaping the open toe. I have tried. Each summer I pray that the open toe sandal trend will come to a close but alas, each year it is reintroduced as if it were something new and exciting.

- One look that might take some getting used to is hosiery with open-toe shoes.
- By the way, open-toe works nicely right through fall (if you're cold, wear tights, it's a new look!).

No, it's not. I recall this look from the days when I saw women on TV exercise shows wearing long sleeved earth toned leotards and pantyhose (think fitness before Olivia Newton John's Physical and Jane Fonda's workout tapes). It's not a new look. It's an old look that thankfully had died a quiet death. It needn't be revived. Not everything retro is cool.

The only people who can possibly enjoy this years long and still growing obsession with open toe shoes are pedicurists.

On top of my issues with my own feet and exposing them, the impracticality of this trend offends my sense of, well, practicality. I was in New York two years ago for a conference in August. It rained buckets all week, and there they were, armies of open toe sandal wearing women, slogging through the urban creeks and streams that flowed at the edge of each sidewalk, seasonal rivers which crested at crosswalks, turns, and potholes in a scummy froth which only a Tang drinking hook worm addled fool would plunge their naked flesh into. Hell, the other week I saw several hospital support staff members wearing open toe shoes. Oh my god, you just don't want to do that. Sick people, fluids, etc. I won't go into details but there is a reason hospital floors aren't usually carpeted.

I'm keeping my feet covered, even if it means doing extra work to find the closed sandals. It's a comfort level thing, emotional and physical. For someone who used to spend summers debating combat boots or high tops, sandals are enough of a capitulation to the heat's effects on my arthritis. I refuse to be fucked by fashion into putting my toes out where they simply don't belong.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Bday

It's A___'s birthday! Officially it is in 6 minutes but by the time I get done and posted, it will be the birthday.

Happy Birthday Aaron!
How can I NOT love a man who lets me put ribbons in his hair?


As usual, I am having a gift buying conundrum - pay for half his campus parking pass or buy a memory thing reader (I'm so tech savvy) and other, um, toys. Guess he'll have to wait to see which one I decide on tomorrow.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

"I was right"

This is a great quote from Senator Joe Lieberman, provided in the context of an MSNBC story, and apparently said this past Sunday:
But the Iraq war is a dominant issue for many voters. “I still believe I was right,” Lieberman said Sunday night, to support the U.S. military intervention to overthrow Saddam Hussein.

As of 10:23 PM, the early results of the CT democratic primary are:
Lieberman 108,683
Lamont 116,387

I'm wondering if he still thinks he's right after today. Even if he manages to squeeze out a win, this will be one hell of a spanking.

Monday, August 07, 2006

Add it up

Feeling kind of shitty so I'm missing a meeting tonight. This sucks but I'm going to try to get some work done so I don't feel like a total waste.

On the plus side, A___ is cooking dinner at the moment and it smells REALLY yummy. Mushrooms sauteed with wine is one of my favorite smells because my god it's good.

Today I did very little. I had big plans involving going to campus, hitting the financial aid office to drop off my enrollment form, and showing my face to the faculty who will otherwise conclude that I am sitting on my ass at home eating bon bons and living the vita slacka. I am not, but I've seen them make this assessment of others so I know it could easily apply to me.

However, before I got out today, I got this from financial aid:
You have attempted (registered for) more than the maximum permissible number of credits for a student pursuing a doctorate (including transfer credits).

It is for the above reason(s) that your request for financial aid has been denied for the 2006-2007 academic year.

Now this isn't a huge surprise to me. In fact, it is part of why I took so long getting my financial aid paperwork done. I suspected this was coming because they hit me with it last year too. Last year was the first year as a grad student I applied for loans. I was told I was approved for x amount, then sent exactly the same message you see above. What up with that? Presumably the loan program requires schools to ensure that students are not just sucking up federal loans (you know, 'cause it's such free money), wasting time and precious not free money we will need to pay back with interest while we drink and drug our way through school. And so even though that was the first time I asked for money while I was in grad school and even though it had been 15 years since I had taken out loans as an undergrad, my school felt I was at risk of being exactly that kind of apparently wide spread freeloading loser.

See, the way they measure satisfactory progress (which they are required to do by the federal government) is by how many credits you've taken in pursuit of your degree. What counts as credit toward the degree is broad and means in this context simply "graduate credit courses" on your transcript. You took them here, they're on the transcript, even if they are irrelevant, which in my case they are. Since I started off as a PhD student in one department then was harassed by my insane advisor to the point where it became clear I had to leave or switch to a different department, I have four years of a whole lot of credits, most of which are largely useless towards my current degree. I have four years of Noam Chomsky dogma that I had to essentially unlearn, and lost time on research methods, theoretical perspectives, findings, and stats that I had to catch up on. Hence, I have SHITLOADS of credits. More than enough for a PhD, according to financial aid.

I went through all this shit last year with them. I spoke to the dean (acting since the previous dean had been sent to a farm to live with other deans who tend to say horrible, racist things in public). The dean was unhappy that this was how the financial aid office was applying the credit limits or satisfactory academic progress requirements for grads. Specifically, his problem was that financial aid requires a written appeal before they will reinstate someone's eligibility for aid. This causes delays in loan disbursement, anxiety for the student, extra work tracking down faculty who are on vacations and/or out of town, etc. It also in some cases pressures students to disclose confidential personal information ranging from family tragedy, marital problems, and health issues. What makes it so extra disturbing is that once you have been deemed to have too many credits, you must go through this process EACH YEAR until you are done. Mr. Dean-guy said he would speak to them about this and try to change it. I'm sure he meant to. He's an earnest fellow. But he not usually very effective in any of the issues he addresses. I'm not sure if this is more because the school just really doesn't give a shit about graduate students and their needs or if it is because he flakes. How can you ask the dean that? "Hey Dean Doofus, did you like totally flake on that financial aid thing last year?" Earnest or no, I doubt he'd admit to that.

This year, I decided that since they wouldn't get around to telling me that I was denied aid until mid summer anyhow and since I will find the whole process about as much fun as a root canal, there was no rush in getting the first package processed. I just did my fafsa this past month. And voila, here's my rejection, without the cumbersome and disappointing denial following the initial approval.

And so I spent the afternoon on the phone with them ("Do I really need to write another appeal? Do you really need to know all of the gorey details of my checkered life since I started grad school? Do I really need to ask my troll-like division head for another letter stating that I have only been in this program for three years?") and the glorious financial aid hold music (holy shit it was bad), then writing e-mails to various faculty members asking them to yet again write supporting documents for the appeal.
Which sucked, btw.

However, while I feel tired and shitty today, less disappointed but highly annoyed nonetheless with my university's beurocratic bullshit, my hip is not too painful at the moment. I have a sweet guy who is cooking me dinner even though his birthday is this week and he's the one who's supposed to be kicking back and being taken care of, and I've got some awesome friends who are there for me if and when I need them. Overall, I think I come out ahead.

When in doubt...

This morning, my brother called. It wasn't that early, but I hadn't gotten to bed until a little after 3:00 AM so when he called a little after ten, I was still hitting the snooze button on the alarm. First he called my house phone.
"hey...It's me. I just wanted to remind you to vote tomorrow because your senator voted against gay marriage..." etc. etc.

Then he called my cell phone.

Waking up late today meant I almost missed the deadline to make changes to my registration should they have been necessary. See, although A___ and I both went down to town hall on the same day, both filled out registration cards right there in the office and dropped them off with the town clerk, both dealt with the somewhat ignorant and possibly stupid town workers there presumably to "assist" with matters like this, only A___ got a confirmation in the mail that his registration had been processed.

He got it last week. I checked my mail several times but nothing. I figured perhaps my letter carrier had done something creative with it. She's like that. I have decided she places the mail into the various compartments of our cluster box based on the principles of Feng Shui. I waited out the week hoping that my card would arrive or a neighbor would come to negotiate a mail exchange. Nothing.

So today is the last day to register as a democrat (in person) with the local registrar of voters. I think it was today at noon in fact. After speaking with little brother, I called the Secretary of State's office. Why them? Because that is what the morons at town hall said I should do if I hadn't gotten a confirmation card. I called and I spoke to someone who said "You should probably call your town's registrar". PROBABLY? I said "You know, they told me that I should call you guys." The woman replied by telling me she was new and this was her first election.

Ok. Now, I've got some sympathy for her at this point. But why (oh why) have this newbie answering the phone the day before the primary? It's not like the CT Secretary of State's office didn't know this was going to be a bigger than normal primary. Maybe they are so busy they had to let a Judy answer the phone at the elections office.

The woman got me the number for my registrar. I called. It was confusing. Finally, the old gal on the other end (who despite the confusion sounded much more competent than the town clerk who "helped" with my registration) said "I have you registered but something's not right. Let me call you back."

Turns out whoever processed it gave me the wrong address. Aw, and here I was blaming the mailman....she does deserve it though not for this issue it seems. Why would I leap to the conclusion that it was the carrier's fault? Because she does suck (A___ frequently gets a neighbor's bank statements), but also because I just sort of naturally assumed that something as important as processing voter registrations would not be left in the hands of idiots.

Turns out A___ also got a confirmation card for another person, not a neighbor. She shared a last name with A___ though. So that's two local registration fuck ups right here in my tiny little apartment complex in my tiny little town. This is troubling, no? Not conspiracy theory troubling, but again, don't you think voter registrations should be processed with a bit more care? I do.

After I vote tomorrow (assuming the repair the town registrar made to my registration actually goes through) I'm planning on asking who processes this stuff. I'm sort of curious now.

Oh and mostly of the point of this was to say if you live here in the US and plan to vote (ever), if you find you have any doubts about whether you are registered or registered PROPERLY, call and ask. I'm hoping to find out today what I should do if I go to vote tomorrow and find that the problem has not been fixed (because now I am finding I just haven't got a lot of faith in the town government). If I discover anything remotely informative, I'll post it.

Sunday, August 06, 2006

Seriously, CT sucks

I live in the wealthiest state in the country. I live in Connecticut. I hate Connecticut. I plan to leave as soon as I am able.

I just read an AP story which gives me more reason to dislike Connecticut. According to the story, a study by the State of Connecticut's Office of Health Care Access shows that residents of CT visit the ER at a rate that is above the national average.

(from the OHCA report)
In 2003, the national ED utilization rate was just under 400 visits per 1,000 population, as compared to 420 per 1,000 in Connecticut.

Worse, the 2003 CT ER rate is up not only above the national average for 2003 but also above the CT rates for 2001 and 2002. From 03 to 04, CT showed an ER "utilization" rate increase of 2% (national data for 2004 isn't available yet).

So what the hell is up with Connecticut? It seems we do not do a good job taking care of our people. This does not need to be the case. Connecticut has the highest per capita income in the US. The region has the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth highest per capita income. We are a rich state surrounded by other rich states. It would seem we have the financial potential to take care of our citizens (maybe if we were able to bring ourselves to part with the notions of having only 2 state personal income tax brackets and one of the region's lowest corporate tax rates) . Is it that we have a state government that has spent far too many years assuaging the deep pocketted minority who faithfully pay for their re-elections, home improvements, and insulated blitheringly ignorant policies? Or maybe we just have a lot of lazy average citizens who have nothing better to do on any given night but go take up space in the ER? I suspect it is not the latter, as it seems the increase in ER usage reflects an increase in ER need (again from the same OCHA report):

Inpatient admissions through the ED increased from 44% in FY 2001 to 50% in FY 2005.
And
...In FY 2005, admissions through the ED were frequently more serious than routine admissions. While routine admissions were frequently birthrelated, ED admissions were more likely to involve respiratory or coronary diagnoses.

Am I being too mean to little old Connecticut? Isn't this just a reflection of trends in the national economy? According the chairman of emergency medicine at Connecticut's Norwalk Hospital Michael Carius (AP - Boston Globe) reasons for the trend in increased use of the ER include "a larger population that is also aging", "a growing number of uninsured and underinsured patients who rely on emergency rooms as their sole source of health care", and "a shortage of primary care physicians and specialty doctors".

It isn't clear from the context of these items in the AP story whether Carius meant all three of the listed factors were part of the national trend or whether some were specific to CT (like the shortage of PCPs and specialists). Even if for the sake of argument we assume that Carius meant them as general reasons for a national trend in increased ER use, if those reasons are valid, then it follows that CT has must have all those same general factors going on as well. This, in addition to the the information from the OHCA report regarding increased admits through the ER (compared to non ER admits), suggests that the richest state in the nation is outpacing the national average by simply letting our sick people rot.

And so I say, take Connecticut. Please.

Keep going

About a month ago, I said I was looking for a mantra or affirmation of some sort. I had forgotten about that but this week, upon recovering my saved bookmarks from my old computer, I finally checked in on a friend's blog and found his reply to my request there.

This past week, and most especially things like the encounter with the slack and ill tempered receptionist at what already felt like a relatively hopeless and overheated trip to the doctor's office, made last month's quest even more accute.

I am happy to say that I think I just came upon something completely satisfactory in a quote from Winston Churchill which appeared as the first line of Rob Brezny's horoscope for Virgo this week:

"If you are going through hell, keep going."

Thursday, August 03, 2006

sometimes you eat the bear

I just read this story about a guard dog that freaked out and ripped up a priceless teddy bear that had once belonged to Elvis. I completely empathize with that dog.

Another agonizingly hot day. I thought that it was a little cooler than yesterday but today the storms kept threatening around the edges, never quite following through on the promises of lightening and thunder.

Another long hot car ride out to where there are signs of civilization, like doctors' offices and such. Today's ride ended with a surly receptionist who had NOT entered my appointment in the computer when I made it more than a week ago. I stayed calm, ish. I asked her to see if I had messed up and come on the wrong day. She looked me up. "No, you don't have an appointment in here. The last appointment was in March..." she started to read me the exact date and time of the appointment, like that was somehow relevant. I interrupted her "I know I didn't imagine making the appointment. I just rode all the way out here in an unairconditioned car. Is there any way he can fit me in today?" She flipped through my chart, looked things up, walked away from the desk twice, came back and did some more flipping through my chart. "It's a $25 copay" she said.

This apparently meant "yes, I checked and we can fit you in". I said "Ummmmm, ok. Do you have any idea what the timeline would be? I mean, how long?" She huffed and said tersely "I don't know. He'll try to fit you in..."

I stopped writing my check, "So uh, do I get my money back if it's five and he hasn't been able to see me?" More attitude "No. We close at 4:00." Oh no she didn't! Oh yes she did. "Do I get my money back if it's 4:00 and he hasn't been able to see me?" I said. I'm quite sure I said it with a whole lot of tone. I don't recall because my attention was not on self monitoring but rather turned inward, where I was throttling her like a dobermann with a teddy bear.

Very shortly after that, a nurse took me in. You know, it's funny how shocked they get in a doctor's office when you swear. There's extra shock when you swear in a gynecologist's office. Although for me, I was reserved, I know I said "fuck" and "bullshit" at least once each. "Maybe we'll just wait on your blood pressure" the nurse said stepping away from me like my potty mouth might be contagious. I watched her tanned french manicured fingers, ornamented with a white gold solitaire diamond engagement ring and wedding band, while she checked my pulse. When she finished my vital signs, I stood up. Now, second only to swearing for that "clutch the pearls" kind of response is if the patient who has been seated by the medical provider has the impudence to actually stand up. It's ok if you start off standing, if they didn't tell you to have a seat here or there. But for god's sake, don't get up unless you want to scare the shit out of them.

The nurse with the pretty hands backed up until she was pressed against the counter - I remained standing, speaking to her and the plastic larger than life movable parts display of the female reproductive organs. I remained standing while the nurse told me my doctor would not have time to perform the exam but his resident would. The plastic vagina sat safely mute on the counter behind her.

The nurse scurried off to find the more steel willed or at least less candy assed resident. I changed into the sheet they give you to change into and surveyed the room. One of my friends has told me that one way she deals with the demeaning effects of this sort of shit at the doctor's office is by taking things. Not shit like needles and stuff, they don't leave that out and anyhow, it's not what you'd take. I love this idea btw. Unfortunately, unless I wanted to try to jam the removable parts plastic twat into my purse, there was really nothing else that whispered "Take me!" Fortunately, A___ and I had stolen a pair of the paper shorts from the Ortho surgeon's office yesterday. I savored this memory for a moment, then pulled apart the adhered pages on the patient pamphlets on Lupron and shoved them back into the holder. Not much but it made me feel a teeny bit better.

So the exam was all good, said the Uber-gynecologist (the one I was supposed to see....the reason I drive all the way the fuck out there because he's an expert in Endometriosis which is what I have). All super duper great. Fucking fabo, oh yeah, except that my left ovary is fucked. This one has always been a problem and it is on the same side as the fucked up hip. But this did not bother Uberdoctor. It seemed to rattle his resident a bit during the exam though.

Because she was a resident and, I suspect, relatively new at this, she narrated her exploration with the ultrasound probe. "That" she said crushing a very tender part of my anatomy with the tip of the lubed condom wrapped probe "is your ovary" "Oh." I said. Because what else do you say? "It's...have you had problems with cysts before?" she asked wrenching the probe around some more to see it from a different angle. "Well, yeah...in college. I passed out. Ended up in the hospital" I offered. "This one has some, ah, well, and um....it's a little, well big. It's not as big as it looks on the screen. It's magnified. I'll just get some pictures" she said as she used her free hand to set the machine to capture various images of this large mutated looking thing. "And that's your other ovary," she said brightly, subjecting my other side to the twisting probe crush. "Oh yeah, that one's way back there....much smaller."

Again, what do you say to that? I guess I'm glad she didn't treat me like a slab of meat, but I have very little to say to her on the topic of a comparison of my ovaries. The way it works is they do the exam, then you wipe up and get dressed, then go wait (in a special interior waiting room) to be called into the office. It feels a little like going to see the principal. "Shit. What's he going to say? Am I in trouble?" So I figured I'd get the full report in the office. I know from experience that asking "what does it mean that my left ovary looks like, well, like that?" during the exam would be seen as jumping the gun. They don't like jumping the gun in doctor's office land.

Exam over, wipe up, dressed, wait, and then into Uber-doctor's office where he told me everything looked 100% great and normal. What about the ovary? I thought. But at that point, I was fed up with being there, sick of doctors and nurses and annoying peevish receptionists, and tired of trying to curb my desire to flip the fuck out.

I decided the brush off was my "get out of jail free card" and took the opportunity to flee. I will go back if the ortho approach to whatever the fuck is wrong with my hip doesn't pan out, I swear I will, and I will insist that a note be put on the chart and appointment record saying only my doctor will do the exam. At that moment though, I just wanted to make a break for it before someone else did something else to piss me off. Days like this, it's just too easy to lose your cool.

Well, a wiser fellow than myself once said, sometimes you eat the bear...

Wednesday, August 02, 2006

3 things

Three things that made me laugh today:

- Reading "Naked" by David Sedaris. I laughed so hard and so long that tears were streaming down my face, even after I put down the book. My god that man is FUNNY.

- The pad ad I saw on TV while waiting for over an hour in my doctor's office today. According to the comforting female voice over, this is the only pad that "soaks up worry". A____ suggested we get some and wear them on our heads.

- The blue puffy paper shorts I had to wear for my exam, and the face I am making in this picture (a mix between damned amused and impatience with the digital camera flash which delayed what had been a regal looking poofed out crotch pose I struck just before this one).

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Normal

Normal is a difficult concept. Wordnet gives several shades of meaning:
- conforming with or constituting a norm or standard or level or type or social norm; not abnormal
- in accordance with scientific laws
- being approximately average or within certain limits in e.g. intelligence and development "a perfectly normal child"; "of normal intelligence"; "the most normal person I've ever met"

Which of these, I wonder, applies in the case of my looking for a normal bra?

I went to the mall today, the little bitty mall, the one the kids call the "shit mall" (the grad student kids at least). It was air conditioned, nice to get out of the house to somewhere other than a medical establishment or campus. I bought some sale stuff - things I had intended to buy for a while, which is always good.

Generally satisfied with my selections, I decided to quickly look over the offerings of bras since the ones in my drawer are in various states of decay. I hardly wear the fuckers in the winter but in the summer time I am resigned to needing to strap on the evil contraptions as the least over-heating way to preserve what constitutes "normal" modesty in those contexts that require it.

Problem is, my having not shopped for bras in years (and years) leaves me with few options in these summer months. I have one of the whachacallems, racerback bras that is in reasonably good repair. This is one of the better ones as it has no tears in it and the elastic stitching has sustained enough to hold it on and in place. Even this one has been through hell. I recently had to wrestle the plastic hook out of the vent hole in a dryer. Some of the hook broke, but it still snaps so I still wear it. The other choices involve the dark green threadworn satin and ripped lace one and the white floral thing which has been slowly turning itself inside out even on me.

I didn't have high hopes for finding a bra that wasn't evil. Most bras are evil - you just look for the one that is less so. Even the language that goes with bras is evil. Push up, under wire, center gore, plunge, rigid straps.

While I expect some disapointment when bra shopping, I wasn't prepared for the level of malice that the bra makers that be must holding towards women these days - towards flat chested women in particular ("Wonder bra. Your not-so-secret weapon will mash and torture those little B cups into a more presentable C so you can fight the good fight). It turns out if I wanted a bra with actual straps and cups and not just the undifferentiated band of suffocating lycra spandex cottonish fabric that they call a sports bra, my only choices were padded monstrosities. Padded monstrosities in a variety of colors, fabric, and with any number of trims for the large chested lady who wants to easily fend off any bullets that might happen to be streaking towards her décolletage.

I pretended to fall and hit my head on one of the monstrosities. "Oh thank god that big gianormous pad was there!" I said loudly to my fella A____ who was watching my mall theater. Shortly after, a customer service person was sent to Intimates. I kept looking but kept my editorials to quiet giggles and muttered curses.

I do remember when all the bras went underwire. It was difficult then but sometimes perseverence paid off in a soft cup. This gave me hope I might find something yet. Eventually, I spied a cluster of straps hanging more or less weightlesslyv around a rack. I ran over to examine the cup design. No mondo pillows, that was good. No scaffolding, also a bonus. And it was sort of like a bra, but not quite. More like a halter. Looser than the sports bra-constrictors, but tighter than a t-shirt. Some definition on the cups but not as much as I wanted. I looked at the tag. It turned out that in my hand, I held a "bralette".

Those were my choices. Bra-constrictor, bomber bra, or bralette. I guess I'm left with the scraggly looking but faithfully comfy rags in my wardrobe until the fashion lords that be stop building bras like warships and make some normal bras again.

Quiz

Which Major Arcana Tarot Card Are You?

You scored as XI: Justice. The blindfold arbiter weighs the evidence and passes judgement without fear or favour. There can be no appeal.Justice is not necessarily the same as Law. True justice seeks out the spirit of the law, not just its letter. If a law is bad then true Justice will set that law aside. This is the sacred responsibility of those given the power to judge. If well aspected in a Tarot reading, this card can indicate settlement of disputes, the achievement of a just outcome. If badly aspected this card can indicate corruption and failure of justice.




XI: Justice


81%

III - The Empress


81%

XIX: The Sun


69%

IV - The Emperor


69%

VI: The Lovers


69%

I - Magician


69%

VIII - Strength


63%

II - The High Priestess


63%

XV: The Devil


63%

XIII: Death


56%

0 - The Fool


38%

XVI: The Tower


19%

X - Wheel of Fortune


13%

Which Major Arcana Tarot Card Are You?
created with QuizFarm.com

Monday, July 31, 2006

Heat

I'm not a fan of the heat. Never have been. I grew up in New England and even the seasonably warm weather of years gone by was too much for me. As a child, I remember moping around most of the Summer looking forward to the Fall. Yes, although school was in the Fall, I adored Autumn. I even made up a song about it when I was very young. I'd sing it while swinging near the grape arbor in my grandparents' yard. It was one of those atonal 6 year old "compositions" and included lyrics about how great the Fall was because that was when my birthday and halloween were and when apples and grapes got ripe (my grandparents had an apple tree too). My love of Autumn made it Summer just that much less tolerable. Summer was like the nasty vegetable you have to eat if you want dessert.

As an adolescent, I loathed the beach in the daytime. I tried different things to make it tolerable - reading magazines (boring, hot, glare from page), reading books (hot, glare from page, crick in neck and hands), and walking the beach wall. The last one was less troublesome, but still it didn't spare you from hot. And hot, aside from just being fucking uncomfortable and draining, means fewer clothes so you don't get heat stroke. Which brings me to a whole other set of "I hate Summer" issues - the clothes. As a teen, I was quite down on my body. Although I was underweight most of my life, I recall quite distinctly at 16 thinking that while I wasn't "fat" overall, I had "fat" parts...like my thighs. I used to call them "porpoise thighs" because to me they looked humped and stout. Yes, this was incredibly foolish, I know. But it was a manifestation of being young and female in my particular cultural context. 80s teen summer clothes tended to unavoidably expose my "porpoise thighs" and I went to great lengths, including wearing overly warm overly long jean shorts and combat boots, to disguise them somewhat. No cooter cutter daisy dukes for me.

To make matters worse, for all of my life I have been just totally untannable. I get what we call the "Irish Tan" which is to say I burn, blister, and then if I'm lucky I walk away with a fresh crop of freckles (if not I stay reddish for a while, then go back to white). I've actually gotten a rash from sun exposure and have had two just god awful burns in my life. But never the fashionable golden tanned skin that would make wearing short and skirts with sandals even remotely high on my list of things I look OK in.

Now that there's so much about the aging affects of sun on skin, I am happy I generally tended to have limited sun exposure in my life. Unfortuantely, the sight of my blue-white legs with dark stubble (or worse, dark not stubble) poking out from under the kinds of super short clothes one would find desirable in 90 degree weather has always bothered the shit out of me. We all have our things, don't we? Now that I'm older, I'm less freaked out about my body but I still hate the quite large amount of untanned (and untannable) skin extreme summer heat requires me to show. I worry I look like my mother, over 30 skinny white legs showcasing veins and missed hairs.

Which brings me to the point. It is going to be hotter than blazes here in CT this week. I realized as I was thinking about what I had to do this week and what my wardrobe options were so I didn't look horrible doing it that the issue of looking good (or not) in a sun dress is so tiny in comparison of another much more valid concern. Keeping healthy if we lose power. We do tend to do that here in rural buttfuck CT. Last year, we lost power in my area for nearly a week with no explanation from the electric company. This year, I've read numerous reports about power outages even in urban areas...power outages that have gone on and on and on. A quick check of my temp this evening puts me well into the still febrile category (100F) so I guess it's time to bust out the bikini top, the halters, the crotch grazing sundresses, and the sandals, and worry less about my dignity and more about staying cool and healthy.

Friday, July 28, 2006

vulvadral dodecahedrons

Now that's what I'm talking about. Go Daniela, who had the absolute best neologism and example sentence for the concept "being like or having some aspect of a vulva".

Daniela's example...

"The entry facade of the new museum for contemporary [art] features an outstanding and complex frieze of abstract, yet subtle, vulvadral dodecahedrons in recycled papier-mache..."

...is the first thing today that made me laugh out loud.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Blh

Not even worth the "a". I'm just in a blh mood. My big events for the day included getting my mail and cooking dinner.

For some reason, since the hip thing started, I have found myself humming a lot, usually something repetitive from classical music or (glug) christmas carols. Why is it when that happens, it's never a good song? Or is that just me? So here I am, on the edge of a total shit mood, humming. I should have little animated animals and stuff following me around, like the birds and shit that follow Disney's Snow White...except mine would have to be buzzards, storm clouds, and maybe a pack of angry squirrels flitting about as I move through my day (thanks to A___ for the angry squirrels suggestion).

Next week brings more doctor's appointments and probably at least one big fight because that is the mood I'm in. I think I should take it out on one of the doctors since they have luxuries most other people in my life don't. Therefore they can afford a little venom and I've got plenty to spare right now.

You know what I hate most about this mood? That there is usually some asshole who wants to tell you that "you need help" because of your anger "issues". Given the fucked up state of my health and the limits it's putting on my life at the moment, I think anger is a fully predictable and reasonable response. Yeah, it's not super great in the overall scheme of things, but hey...if you can't get cranky over having a big day of checking the mail and making some food then what can you get cranky about?

Well that's it. I just wanted to share this with, um, my blog. And what does that mean, I mean communicatively speaking? Dunno, something like that urge to sharpie up a wall or something. At best, it's me yodeling my bullshit to a scant collection of mostly unknown or less known people who can judge if they are so inclined from a safer distance. I guess that's what suits me about it. It's like a social inoculation or something.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Primary here I come

I have never voted in a primary. I usually register independent and I haven't ever lived in a state where the presidential primary seemed like a big deal. In short, I've been like a whole lot of people who assume (tacitly usually) that elections like that are for "other people".

However, I've been following the challenge to Connecticut Senator Joe Lieberman's comfortable incumbency for a while now and today, I decided I am going to register democrat just so I can go vote AGAINST Lieberman in the August 8th primary.

After Hillary Clinton's speech promoting the Democratic party's new "American Dream Initiative" (which is only new in packaging), I feel a little skeezy registering as a democrat. But I am so fed up with Lieberman and his current campaign that I am going to do it anyhow. What finally pushed me over the fence I was sitting on was this:

U.S. Senate candidate Ned Lamont released a document Tuesday showing he does not control investments in a stock fund that once included shares of Halliburton Co. The letter, signed by a Goldman, Sachs & Co. vice president, says the managed account is run by Goldman Sachs' Quantitative Equity Group, which makes all investment decisions. Halliburton stock is no longer part of that fund, Lamont Campaign Manager Tom Swan said last week when Lamont released his 2005 tax returns.
.....

U.S. Sen. Joe Lieberman has repeatedly accused Lamont of having direct shares of Halliburton. The Connecticut Post reported last week that there is Halliburton stock in two mutual funds that Lieberman owns.

Lieberman spokeswoman Marion Steinfels would not comment on Lieberman's mutual funds.

"While Joe Lieberman was calling for a congressional investigation into Halliburton's abuses, Ned Lamont was profiting off them," she said in a written statement. "We are glad that Ned has dumped the $50,000 in stock that he owned in Halliburton."


This is part of why when I did have money, I was somewhat distrusting of mutual funds. You know, the whole "who the hell are they going to invest my money in?" issue. I've heard of "socially responsible mutual funds" but by the time I heard of that, I was well on my way to being divorced and destitute (my current status) and so I never really researched it. So really, I am not surprised to hear that Lamont's investment portfolio included shares of an evil corporation like Halliburton. I am disgusted that the Lieberman campaign is using THAT of all things as an issue. Not that it isn't relevant, but this really is one of those throwing stones from the lawn of your glass house moments. If the Lieberman campaign had anything to say about how exactly Lieberman is going to change, I might listen. Ok, I probably wouldn't but I sure wouldn't feel this irate.

That quote by Lieberman's spokesperson is a perfect example of what pisses me off about how a campaign like this is run. Issues? Intelligent debate of policy? Hell no! For the incumbent, public talking points tend to be comprised of bullshit, bamboozling, and backhanded insults.

After reading that campaign update, I called my town clerk, found out I can register to vote in the primary up until August 3rd (by mail in presumably) and up until August 7th if I do it in person. So off I go to register (today if I get showered and out in time...still moving slow from the hip).

Monday, July 24, 2006

please note that side effects are extremely rare

Oh the silly things they write in medical procedure information. Below is a collection of excerpts from information available online about gallium scans. I found these after looking up side effects and gallium when I got home today, feeling like I was going to hurl (one of the extremely rare or impossible side effects of the injection). I'm going back at 2:30 for a scan, I'll mention the "rare" side effect then. Any bets on the type of response I will receive?


Are there any side effects?
Most people do not experience any side effects from gallium. Possible side effects, though rare, include allergic reaction, skin rash, and nausea.

Side effects and complications
Diagnostic nuclear medicine exams produce no known side effects or complications.

What You Need To Know

As with all Nuclear Medicine procedures, you will have no side effects from the medication.

And last, but not least...

Can I bring somebody with me?
We would prefer that you do not bring more than one person with you. It is advisable not to have a pregnant woman or a small child with you.

Now that one really sucked because I do usually travel with a pregnant woman (you know, for protection) and finding out like this that I can't have one with me for the scan was a bit of a shock, I must say.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

My laptop










It's here and just in time. My desktop is acting bad, something's going on when I start up that seems to be overwhelming my processor (but what do I know...I'm only 1/4 tech nerd). It's being sluggish in general lately but it's particularly bad when I start up.

So while I figure out what's wrong with persephone (that's the desktop) I at least have the pretty little perky laptop now to use (I haven't named the laptop yet). I'm not keeping both computers. The desktop is going to a good cause once I get it straightened out.

My only complaint so far about the laptop is that the keyboard feels a little flimsy.

"So far"...I just realized my distrust of such happy feelings apply whether the object of my affection is animate or inanimate.

Friday, July 21, 2006

R-filled box

Where I grew up (south of Boston), we used to joke that people from a town called Medford had donated their D to Sesame Street. They pronounced it "Meffud". Since all of us spoke with the same south of Boston accent, no one was in a position to remark upon or even notice the irony of a bunch of nonrhotic English speakers mocking another set of nonrhotic English speakers for having dropped a sound (we said "Medfud").

Which brings me to this...
GREENCASTLE, Ind. --Dozens of letter Rs swiped last weekend from several businesses' signs were returned in an R-filled box left outside the Greencastle Police Department.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Rush Limbaugh sings

Total serendipity. I was looking for a distraction while I count down to when I have to leave, doing a search on states that have cohabitation bans, because you know, that's relaxing. So anyhow, I came across this and while there is the not entirely unexpected decline into the potty humor realm later in the song, some of it at least early on made me laugh out loud. Not hard hitting social/political commentary, just something that was unexpected, stupid, and funny.

Sometimes a yoni is just a vulva

A while back I decided I wanted a word that described the external part of female genitals, a word that would capture the anatomical sense of PHALLIC but in relation to female. I discarded vaginal quickly as it places too much focus on the interior (see 3 below). YONIC is a good counterpart to PHALLIC in an extended and usually abstract metaphorical sense, e.g., if I were a baby boomer English major, I might talk about the phallic versus yonic versification in a comparison of selected writings of Ayn Rand and Tolkien. What is a counterpart in the physical sense? Does YONIC work as well as PHALLIC in that case? My concern was about how to express the adjectival form of VULVA, how to express the concept "being (physically) like a VULVA" in the same neat, concise, and non-ambiguous way that PHALLIC can be used to describe everything from skyscrapers to cigars.

Sticking with the most concrete definitions (that is, not the abstract extensions of being "like X" in form, function, or philosophical metaphor), here is an overview of some mostly coherent thoughts on the matter. Mostly coherent because in addition to the fever I still have, I am starting to feel the brain clogging tendrils of anxiety about the MRI I have this evening. I'm sure this is affecting my, well, everything. I've had to edit this post numerous times now for purely superficial problems. Oh well, apologies in advance for any difficulty the ones I might have missed cause.

1) Phallus/phallic
- We got it from Latin. They got it from Greek. In both ancient languages, it was used to describe the actual protruding part. No ambiguity here. No "meat and/or two veg". It's the meat. It can mean more than that...
Wordnet: relating to a phallus especially as an embodiment of generative power
...but it still can be used unambiguously to describe something which shares physical properties of the anatomical term PHALLUS
(btw, wordnet doesn't even have an entry for YONI or YONIC)


2) Yoni/yonic
- Sanskrit. In the physical sense in modern English use, apparently it's not so clear what part a YONI is. I haven't personally studied Sanskrit so I'm left to rely on second and third hand interpretations but it looks like the jury's out as to what part exactly YONI refers to and therefore whether or not YONIC properly refers to being like vag, vulv, or womb. Here are some representative definitions and etymologies.
AHD: Definition: Hinduism. A stylized representation of a vulva worshiped as a symbol of a goddess or Shakti.
Etymology: Sanskrit yoni[h], womb, abode, source.
Wiktionary: 1. The womb, 2. The vulva, especially when worshiped as a symbol of a goddess or Shakti
Wikipedia: The word yoni (Sanskrit योनि yoni) is the Sanskrit word for the female reproductive organ. Translated directly into English, it could mean vulva or vagina.

Wiki does suggest YONI as the basis for the Western-used adjective YONIC, which is the counterpart to the term PHALLIC. However when you click the link to YONIC in that wiki entry, it gives the definition of YONIC as in the shape of a vulva or vagina, in the shape of a yoni which continues and possibly even adds to the confusing and non-specific senses of the term. I don't know if this ambiguity arises out of sexism or ethnocentric laziness. Someone who has studied Sanskrit and Indic languages would have much better insights about this I suspect. The point is though that in the modern English usage, the term YONI and YONIC seem best described as higher class phrasings of "meat and/or two veg" (see 1, above).

Therefore, I concluded that if I want a word to characterize and object based mostly on a physical resemblance to the external part of female genitalia, the word YONIC was a little imprecise.

Before I go on to VULVA, let me describe the specific situation where the word was required. I think it helps to understand the full context in order to make the correct word choice.

At one point in my life, I had decided that a noticable number of men seemed to be afraid of women's purses. If you're female and you want to test this, carry a big leathery purse and put it down on a man's desk/work space. It should be up as close to eye and face level as possible and definitely in line of sight. You don't even need to root around in it although you might be tempted to in order to draw attention to it, if you do this, you can't observe your subject without exposing him to an unnaturally divided attention which could influence his behavior. Best bet is just put it up where he has to see it in order to look at you or even in your direction while you two are talking.

For the unconvinced, I present as (further) evidence the humor (and pejorative connotation) of the term and concept "man purse". It seems reasonable to say the humor is largely if not entirely related to the very strong association between a purse and a thing exclusively and embarassingly female. If a man is wearing a dress, we've got common use words for that (e.g., drag, transvestite(ism), cross-dressing) which aren't all considered automatically humorous and which don't require male specific modifiers. However, MAN-PURSE is funny, right? It belongs to the same class as "he-pussy", "man whore" (yes, I will pretty much watch anything), and "man-boobs". Whether or not you personally find those terms funny, several people thought they were funny enough to constitute a core part of entertainment which they expected people to pay for.

We can postulate a productive algorithm which involves adding a masculine identifier before something strongly female: [man, he] + [boob, purse, pussy, whore]. I realize that I am saying women's clothes are not considered as inherently or strongly female as something like a purse, a highly female and highly negative role (whore), or a part of a woman's body. Maybe we as a society will find a need for words like "man earring" or "man necklace" although I've never heard those (have heard just plain ol' "earring" and "chain"). So I would say this does suggest a pattern in which purse is more feminine/female even than things like jewelry, and my proposed explanation for that is the combination of its use as a woman's accessory and the purse's actual physical resemblance to a vulva.

Hey I just realized we can add in [minivan] as well. I think the minivan characteristics might be a little bit of a stretch as based in a directly physical analogy to female anatomy, but not a whole lot. In this case it's a little more function than morphology, but it is physical.

A slight detour on minivans:
The minivan came first, not the SUV. The SUV is a masculinized minivan, and it was masculinized by removing things that made it seem passive, by remarketing it as being primarily for outdoors shit and not for carting kids around. The first SUVs were extremely uncomfortable to ride in - seats like boulders and a suspension that would rattle the man-earrings off your pretty little head. Minvans remain as large and road-wise significant as all but the super gianormous SUVs but possess different physical features that mark them as [-male, + female]. Those features are largely stylistic details like how high up the driver sits (low and presumably dominable in the female minivan) and design (boxy exterior, angular lines in the SUV versus Rounded edges, tapered front end in a minivan). Minivans have unexpected openings which confuse and sometimes bother people unfamiliar with them (sliding doors which intrude less into other people's space versus "regular" doors which open out and into the car parked next to the SUV).
From Forbes.com:
Minivans don't need Chili Palmer to make them look cool anymore. These days, the fanciest options packages on minivans...have elevated them beyond the merely utilitarian into the downright luxurious. But beneath their glossy new veneers, minivans are still about transporting large groups of children and groceries--and with typically better fuel economy than comparably sized SUVs and pickups.

Minivans do follow the algorithm, although in a slightly more phonologically efficient way, resulting in manivan.

So I was sitting there one day (substances may have been invovled) wondering what the hell the right word for something like this would be. It needed to be something describing the thing ( a purse in that instance) in terms of its similarity in form and somewhat in function to the external visible part of female genitals. And so the term VULVA was raised at this point. VULVA seemed the right basis for whatever word I was looking for to describe this property.

3a) Vulva
-Latin
Online Etymology: 1548, from L. vulva, earlier volva "womb, female sexual organ," lit. "wrapper," from volvere
Wiktionary: From Latin vulva, earlier volva ‘womb, female sexual organ’, probably from volvare ‘to turn, wrap arround’.
AHD: The external genital organs of the female, including the labia majora, labia minora, clitoris, and vestibule of the vagina.

A usage note from Wikipedia: In common speech, the term "vagina" is often used improperly to refer to the vulva or female genitals generally, even though strictly speaking the vagina is a specific internal structure and the vulva is the exterior genitalia only. Calling the vulva the vagina is akin to calling the mouth the throat.

3b) Vulval/vulvic/vulvar/vulvalic/vulalescent?
Wiktionary didn't have separate entries for any adjectival forms, instead listing them under "derived forms" in the VULVA entry (PHALLIC and PHALLUS each get their own entry in Wiktionary).
Wordnet: vulvar, vulval (of or relating to the vulva)
AHD gives the following adjectival forms: vulval, vulvar, vulviform, vulvate (the latter two of which were not listed in wordnet).

Which means that if you want to describe something as being like a vulva, it seems you can simply take the word VULVA and add whatever adjectival marker suits you at the moment. I believe this lack of standard form (compared to the very agreed upon "phallic") is due to an underusage of this specific term (and perhaps the concept). I see the underusage of the term, the ambiguity of YONI and YONIC, and the usage of VAGINAL to refer incorrectly but commonly to something that is more properly vulval, as linguistic evidence that we as a society still have an extremely limiting view of women's sexuality, one which is seen through the fingers of the hand mom or dad places over our eyes when something naughty is happening. Who can be expected to get a good look if they are always looking away? Of course, we are not always looking away, but when we are allowed to take a good look, what we are shown is usually a yoni, given the best sense of the word as it is used in our modern language, a stylized representation of female sexuality.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

More from the "American Values Agenda"

I'm interested to see how (and if) the supreme court will react to this posturing.


(Excerpts from)
House OKs bill guarding Pledge from courts
By Jim Abrams, Associated Press Writer
July 19, 2006
The House, citing the nation's religious origins, voted Wednesday to protect the Pledge of Allegiance from federal judges who might try to stop schoolchildren and others from reciting it because of the phrase "under God." ....

The pledge bill would deny jurisdiction to federal courts, and appellate jurisdiction to the Supreme Court, to decide questions pertaining to the interpretation or constitutionality of the pledge. State courts could still decide whether the pledge is valid within the state. ....

"We should not and cannot rewrite history to ignore our spiritual heritage," said Rep. Zach Wamp, R-Tenn. "It surrounds us. It cries out for our country to honor God."

I guess this sort of rhetoric is why they are called "bible thumpers".

Who's this Wamp guy? I did a little research. Representative Wamp was first elected in 1994. He is now planning to stay past his promised no more than 12 years in office and is running for re-election this Fall. Looks like this litle fella's got some big plans.

Oh my god it's a....

...Larynx!


No seriously, it is. It's a slow motion movie of vocal fold vibration brought to you by the speech nerd people at UCLA.


I'm working.
This counts as work.
For real. It's class prep. I probably won't show the UCLA vocal fold animation in class though. I have a feeling the undergrads might find it disturbing. You know, because they might be less mature than me.

For those of you who have not yet left the blog, your reward is a set of online sound toys (I liked this one best. It's very soothing if you do it right.). Don't worry. They are not fleshy and wet looking. They're just good clean (possibly ear splitting) fun.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Activist government

For some time now I have wondered about the rhetoric regarding "activist judges". I know this isn't a new concept, although you try googling it to look for a discussion of the evolution of the term and concept. The web is chock full of mention of the phrase, largely due to the never ceasing efforts of crackers with internet access and the unquestioning love of the term in the mainstream media.

And now I'm adding to it, again, by putting it in my blog.

I've been wondering when it will catch on to extend the term or apply the concept (with a new term) to anyone in government who goes against an agenda which promotes a theologically mandated oligarchy (i.e. "jesus told me to vote republican"). I know this is internally inconsistent. I know that the current anti- "acvitist judge" movement tends to focus on how members of the judicial branch are supposedly illicitly taking away power from the legislative branch, and so it would be extremely unreasonable to hear talk about activist legislators, in name or concept. Then again, I don't find the reason underlying the arguments which support the "American Values Agenda" (see below) to be terribly sound as a general rule. So what will it be? Activist legislators? Runaway legislature?

I'm a fan of irony, so I'll stick with Activist.

Activist US legislators in the House blocked passage of a constitutional ban on gay marriage today. This vote came over a month after activist US senators blocked the amendment, according to this article. Here's some more from the actual text of the story.

The marriage amendment is part of the "American values agenda" the House is taking up this week that includes a pledge protection bill and a vote on President Bush's expected veto of a bill promoting embryonic stem cell research. Bush has asked, and social conservatives demanded, that the gay marriage ban be considered in the run-up to the election.

The White House, in a statement Tuesday, urged passage of the measure. "When activist judges insist on redefining the fundamental institution of marriage for their states or potentially for the entire country, the only alternative left to make the people's voice heard is an amendment of the Constitution."

So you still think my "theologically mandated oligarchy" remark is silly? I don't. But I'd be happy to entertain other terms for the concept. Submit them in the comment section. I'll make a banner out of it if I like it enough.

Monday, July 17, 2006

Viva

Viva la france.
Did anyone ever really say that, or was it from les mis or something? If you know, don't know, or just want to make something up, please comment. We can guess whether it's true or not.

The US French embassy's site is pretty lame on the issue of Bastille Day. This is just as well since I think a more detailed description would elucidate too many parallels in terms of trends in world political systems deserving of large scale public outrage. Even a slightly a more thorough description makes that clear. How direct are the parallels? It depends I guess. I think here in the US at least an argument could be made that we have a church class (party/estate), at least in the cracker barrel areas.

On a slightly different note, I just browsed a story about "best places to live 2006". I'm wondering if someone will ever do a piece on best places to live if you aren't a breeder who can afford overpriced housing or a bible thumped cracker. I sure would like that.

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Limits

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Friday, July 14, 2006

Bright sidishness

Today I found out two nice things.
One is that my laptop will be here soon. This will not fix everything and I'm going into debt for it however, it will make my life a lot easier. I can now have my own (yay) set up for collecting and analyzing my dissertation data. This really will help a ton.

Two is that I found out the schedule for the class I'm teaching in the Fall. I believe my exact words when I was asked what time I'd like to teach were "Afternoon...the later the better." And whoopee, it is! Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 3:00 to 3:50. How fucking great is that? It's very fucking great. I do want to ask opinions though. If you're an old fart (like me) think back to when you were college aged. If you're a young un', just answer. If you had a class with that schedule, would you ever go if Friday was for discussion? I think making it Monday would risk too much info loss due to weekend activities. Your thoughts and suggestions are welcome.

Radioactive

So has anyone heard of a gallium scan? I've got one in ten days. If you've ever had one or know someone who has, drop me a line.

It sounds creepy but the doc says it's a good way to get a look at what's up with my hip, especially because now I am running a fever too. She also ordered an MRI and I think it's not an open one which means I'm going to be in a coffin like tube. Jeezus...Sorry, I gotta bitch about this because it's kind of freaking me out right now.

I keep feeling tempted to cancel it, say "hey it's not that bad" and just suck it up. But then I remember how much it sucks when my hip goes out. It's hard to be responsible about this, especially when it seems like the docs would let it go if I did.

I'm feeling very acutely how much this sucks at the moment. Yesterday was a big fat migraine day too. I need to take a second to whine that this really fucking blows since all my life I looked forward to being in my 30s because then I'd be a "grown up", away from my evil parents, young enough to still be healthy and old enough to maybe have some financial security, and instead I've spent most of the last four years feeling like I'm fucking 78!!!!! Shit shit shit motherfuckingshit.

I'm in such a bad mood. It's probably good I'm not going into school today. I feel like starting a fight with someone.

Ok. I think instead I'll rent stupid movies, maybe paint later.

On the plus side, I bought a laptop. It's pretty, well it looks pretty online (here's a picture of it). It's not here yet, but it will be soon. A pretty little Sony Vaio, supposedly < 4 lb with a 13" screen and far more power than my 2002 desktop Dell. I broke down on the laptop after the second hip outage, and I ended up with the pricey one because I need something that's lightweight but with close to normal sized interface (no wee tiny elf sized screen and keyboard for me). I figure the laptop is good because I can run my experiment on it without needing to use other people's shit and I can work reclining instead of sitting upright at my desk.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Blog birthday!


Happy belated birthday to my blog.


It was one year old yesterday.

Cake later.

Friday, July 07, 2006

coming home to roost

This made my day a little bit brighter.

Ortho Cheer

It goes a little something like this:

Rheumatology!
Gynecology!
Turf, turf, turf!
Yaaaay Ortho!



"what's a turf?" go here, or here.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Bright and early

It's gray-green and wet.

I'm awake. It's not even nine AM. This is not common since school has ended. I think I'd like to be a morning person. There is the social stigma that goes with being a non-morning person. I've had arguments with people who use the term "beauty sleep" to describe people whose sleep hours are no more than 5 or 6 but which happen to be the wrong 5 or 6 hours*.

I love sunrises. The way coffee and toast smell in air that hasn't decided whether to be hot or cool reminds me of mornings at my grandmother's house. I like the sounds of morning birds, not the same set as the evening birds or maybe just things are quieter in the morning so it takes less to hear them all. I like hearing the increasing frequency of cars coming down the road. Before it reaches the point where it becomes routine background noise, the stream is a bracing antidote to any feelings of 3 AM solitude.

Still, I am just not a morning person.

For a time, I made the mistake of believing the cultural rumor that people like me are just lazy and can be whipped into shape if given the right incentives. My attempt to overcome my "laziness" ended with very bad grades, several degrading and demoralizing academic experiences at college, and more than one professor who asked me if I had sought medical help. I guess I looked as rotten as I felt in the morning. I am not a morning person.



* = "I know you people need your beauty sleep" (very annoying woman at work)
"Are you still asleep?" (labmate Sharon speaking in a derisive tone on my voicemail ~ 8 AM)
"Hey! Tom! You awake? Tom! Hey! Gotta wake up! Everyone's been up for hours already, what are you doing?" (my ex's dad on answering machine ~ 9:30 AM)

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Hrrumph2

This has been a not so great week. I really want to blame the mid week holiday for screwing with my attempts to have a regular schedule but I know there's other shit in there.

I'm a little down because I couldn't spend my sister's birthday with her. I've tried to do this most years since I've been back east and it truly depresses me that I couldn't do it this year. The reason for my having missed it was not lack of time. It was lack of health on my part, which is in and of itself quite discouraging and possibly a significant part of the reason a bad mood is nipping at my heels today. This morning I woke up to hip pain again which sucks but which also reminds me why a two hour car ride would have been a bad idea this week.

My sister's in her new place, nervous about her new job, doesn't have her cat, and didn't have anyone to celebrate on her birthday with. While not celebrating a birthday on some random day like say September 25 sucks, not celebrating your birthday while everyone in the fucking country is having a big party seems like it would suck more. I feel like I should have been able to get up there yesterday or even Monday but one too many ill fated attempts at pushing what I am starting to realize are sometimes very narrow limits have ended not only with me seriously fucked but with my friends and family fucked because they wind up helping me get un-fucked. Pushing too much is irresponsible and ultimately counter-productive to the goal. Knowing this doesn't make the limits less disappointing though.

I believe also egging this mood on is that tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment with a brand new doctor. I wasn't consciously aware of this until I started trying to get a copy of my x-rays from April and noticed how completely furious I was getting at what really is just standard normal phone run around shit.

I'll try to attempt some attitude adjustment before then. I need a mantra - something uplifting and fortifying. Any suggestions?

Bad blogger

Blogger is misbehaving. No fruit cup.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Firecracker

I grew up very near Boston. Every year, we could hear the big fourth of July fireworks show in the distance. Not in great detail, just the soft bumping contours of the explosions crashing off the blue hills and granite quarries behind us. Oh yes, we could hear them, but we couldn't see them. We were just a little too far away and going in to town for the show was not allowed. It was the topic of one of my father's frequent rants. This was one he felt quite secure in though. Because this one was not just about being better than other people - although the inevitable traffic and the "all the g.d. tourists" also featured so prominently in the rant that you almost felt the extreme discomfort of being there parked in the southeast expressway traffic with Dad.

No, the reasons we couldn't go into Boston to see one of the best fireworks displays around was because of safety. First off, there was undoubtably "freddy three fingers" who was in charge of handling the fireworks who just might fumble a charge, blowing everybody to bits. There were, according to our dad, also the "maggots" who trolled the edges of crowds picking pockets and who might commit other unspeakable criminal acts. Our father once worked in the post office and briefly was a letter carrier. He would tell us every year that the day after a big event in Boston, they would find all the wallets that had been stripped of cash then thrown in the street mailboxes. We couldn't even go to the suburban fireworks displays. Same reasons, just maybe fewer pickpockets, fewer mailboxes, but far more morons.

To combat this, or to at least express our displeasure with our father's decision and reasoning (which even at the time seemed like overprotective elitist bullshit - although in my age appropriate vocabulary, it was just plain old bullshit), when we heard the fourth of July Boston fireworks, we would go and stand on the second floor porch off the living room and after each thud, we would react as if we were watching them:

(thud) Oooooh!
(boom) Ahhhhh!
Hey dad, you gotta come out and listen to these fireworks! They sound great!



I'm reminded of this tonight as I listen to the firecrackers exploding not too far off. Mostly whistlers, but a few cracks and pops come from the humid darkness outside my open window. The town postponed this year's big display due to the rotten weather but I am happy to say that I know from last year I will have a great view right from my porch.

This is something I consider to be happy irony.