In praise of modern chemistry
I've been fighting a sinus infection for a few weeks now, and it's only due to the miracle of modern pharmaceuticals that I'm a functioning human being. All hail drugs! I am so happy to live in a world where relief from my migraines is only an Imitrex away, and where various antibiotics can wage war in my body so that I can look forward to feeling better soon.
As an avid reader of history I find myself occasionally delving into worlds where even something as commonplace as aspirin didn't exist, and I find myself eternally grateful to live in the time I do. And I feel infinite pity for the poor migraine sufferer in the 12th century who probably had only bleeding or trepanning (look it up) as options to ending the pain (or her life). Perhaps back then migraines were seen as some form of demonic possession?
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
The power of speech
I believe that most companies, and certainly the group in which I currently work, drastically underrate the power of friendly communication. To date after nearly 2 months on my new job, I still have not had a personal conversation with anyone on my immediate team. I still go through entire days not speaking to another living soul. I am gradually developing friendly working relationships with others in the building, but not on my team. Why is hiding out in your office with the door closed and the blinds down considered to be a good, productive environment? I have always found that I work better, and harder, when I am working as part of a team -- with shared joys and pains. The day goes so much faster when there's joking, non-work conversations, and those small interruptions that brighten a long afternoon. And yet here it's either all e-mail, or it's the briefest conversation possible -- all work (often not even a "good morning") and then they're gone. No lingering to ask how the weekend was. No "nice picture, is that your husband?" Nothing.
Personally I feel this team is fragmented, confused, isolated, and morale is extremely low and I blame the lack of human interaction.
I believe that most companies, and certainly the group in which I currently work, drastically underrate the power of friendly communication. To date after nearly 2 months on my new job, I still have not had a personal conversation with anyone on my immediate team. I still go through entire days not speaking to another living soul. I am gradually developing friendly working relationships with others in the building, but not on my team. Why is hiding out in your office with the door closed and the blinds down considered to be a good, productive environment? I have always found that I work better, and harder, when I am working as part of a team -- with shared joys and pains. The day goes so much faster when there's joking, non-work conversations, and those small interruptions that brighten a long afternoon. And yet here it's either all e-mail, or it's the briefest conversation possible -- all work (often not even a "good morning") and then they're gone. No lingering to ask how the weekend was. No "nice picture, is that your husband?" Nothing.
Personally I feel this team is fragmented, confused, isolated, and morale is extremely low and I blame the lack of human interaction.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Yawn
Is it just me or were last night's Oscar proceedings even duller than usual? I blame Chris Rock, by the way. Not only was he not in the least bit funny, he was also insulting. No class whatsoever and a complete lack of appreciation for the history of the Oscars. Sure they're occasionally ponderous, but that's part of what makes them the Oscars. 70+ years deserves better than smartass remarks that pass for humor.
And please, get the presenters out of the aisles. And get the poor nominees off the stage. That's just tacky.
Is it just me or were last night's Oscar proceedings even duller than usual? I blame Chris Rock, by the way. Not only was he not in the least bit funny, he was also insulting. No class whatsoever and a complete lack of appreciation for the history of the Oscars. Sure they're occasionally ponderous, but that's part of what makes them the Oscars. 70+ years deserves better than smartass remarks that pass for humor.
And please, get the presenters out of the aisles. And get the poor nominees off the stage. That's just tacky.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Jesus may love you, but he hates your SUV
Today's ramble is about the stickers which people choose to put on their cars. My first stunning observation is that liberals are still so pissed about the election that not one of them has removed their Kerry sticker. They (and I include myself in this assessment) feel the need to constantly disassociate themselves from the current administration. My Kerry sticker says "hey, I didn't vote for the Bozo," and gives me some minor sense of an impending "I told you so."
On the other end of the spectrum are the brain-dead zealots who feel the need to inform me of their superiority by virtue of having been "saved." This, apparently, gives them the freedom to cut me off, do 60 in the fast lane and generally drive like they have no fear of death (thereby proving their peity, apparently). However, their stickers do apall me. "God gave you two knees...use them." (Um...crap games? Oral sex? Scrubbing the bathtub?) "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven." Oh goodie, free reign to go out and be imperfect. Hate thy neighbor! Protest against same-sex marriage! Bomb an abortion clinic! It's ok, you'll be forgiven.
On the other end of the parking lot spectrum is the earth mother; a term I use regardless of actual gender. "Love your mother," emblazoned on a picture of the earth. Nice sentiment, however seeing on the back of an SUV seems to be the height of "just not getting it." "Love animals, don't eat them." Listen Moonflower, animals were made meat-flavored for a reason.
I reserve a special class of my loathing for the spoiled bitch. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. "Daddy's Little Princess," on a BMW driven by a blond 17-year old future ex-wife of some as-yet-not-out-of-grad-school future CEO. "Spoiled rotten, I deserve the best." Wow...nice ego there. Great example of the "it's all about me" generation.
I just love feeling superior to strangers. Don't you?
Today's ramble is about the stickers which people choose to put on their cars. My first stunning observation is that liberals are still so pissed about the election that not one of them has removed their Kerry sticker. They (and I include myself in this assessment) feel the need to constantly disassociate themselves from the current administration. My Kerry sticker says "hey, I didn't vote for the Bozo," and gives me some minor sense of an impending "I told you so."
On the other end of the spectrum are the brain-dead zealots who feel the need to inform me of their superiority by virtue of having been "saved." This, apparently, gives them the freedom to cut me off, do 60 in the fast lane and generally drive like they have no fear of death (thereby proving their peity, apparently). However, their stickers do apall me. "God gave you two knees...use them." (Um...crap games? Oral sex? Scrubbing the bathtub?) "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven." Oh goodie, free reign to go out and be imperfect. Hate thy neighbor! Protest against same-sex marriage! Bomb an abortion clinic! It's ok, you'll be forgiven.
On the other end of the parking lot spectrum is the earth mother; a term I use regardless of actual gender. "Love your mother," emblazoned on a picture of the earth. Nice sentiment, however seeing on the back of an SUV seems to be the height of "just not getting it." "Love animals, don't eat them." Listen Moonflower, animals were made meat-flavored for a reason.
I reserve a special class of my loathing for the spoiled bitch. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. "Daddy's Little Princess," on a BMW driven by a blond 17-year old future ex-wife of some as-yet-not-out-of-grad-school future CEO. "Spoiled rotten, I deserve the best." Wow...nice ego there. Great example of the "it's all about me" generation.
I just love feeling superior to strangers. Don't you?
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Free Stanley!
With the demise of the NHL season, a movement is underway to free the Stanley Cup. The Stanley Cup was originally intended to be an award for the best hockey team in Canada. I support the Free Stanley movement....lets have a Stanley Cup playoff even without the NHL. Besides, it'll give me a chance to break out my Manitoba Moose sweatshirt.
With the demise of the NHL season, a movement is underway to free the Stanley Cup. The Stanley Cup was originally intended to be an award for the best hockey team in Canada. I support the Free Stanley movement....lets have a Stanley Cup playoff even without the NHL. Besides, it'll give me a chance to break out my Manitoba Moose sweatshirt.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
The sound of Cameroon
Once again I turn to music to get me through my day. Today I'm favoring Henri Dikongue, a singer/songwriter/guitarist from Cameroon (now based in France) who is just glorious. His warm, breezy, easygoing style is perfect for days when my brain doesn't want to work.
I don't know whether it's lack of sleep or this headache that won't go away, but I just can't seem to concentrate today. It's like an episode of "Short Attention Span Theatre." I try to do something and after 5 minutes I'm distracted away after something else. And above all is this driving, nagging urge to have a conversation. I'd give my shoes to have someone to talk to right now. Not that my shoes are worth anything, but you get the idea.
But once again it's a sea of closed doors out there. Luckily I have Henri Dikongue to at least bring beautiful sounds into this otherwise silent world.
So here I am distracted into uselessness and bored into submission. Is this any way to make a living?
Once again I turn to music to get me through my day. Today I'm favoring Henri Dikongue, a singer/songwriter/guitarist from Cameroon (now based in France) who is just glorious. His warm, breezy, easygoing style is perfect for days when my brain doesn't want to work.
I don't know whether it's lack of sleep or this headache that won't go away, but I just can't seem to concentrate today. It's like an episode of "Short Attention Span Theatre." I try to do something and after 5 minutes I'm distracted away after something else. And above all is this driving, nagging urge to have a conversation. I'd give my shoes to have someone to talk to right now. Not that my shoes are worth anything, but you get the idea.
But once again it's a sea of closed doors out there. Luckily I have Henri Dikongue to at least bring beautiful sounds into this otherwise silent world.
So here I am distracted into uselessness and bored into submission. Is this any way to make a living?
Monday, February 21, 2005
Why is it...?
That commercials are always so much louder than the show you're watching? That there are people who can manage to drive for miles on the freeway with their turn signal on? That yellow rain slickers are only worn by children? That commercial radio stations get away with playing the same pablum as every other commercial radio station? That high tech offices typically have dozens of unwanted keyboards laying around, but you can bleed to death looking for a band-aid? That people are willing to embarass themselves in front of millions of people for the sake of being on TV? That milllions of people will watch idiots embarassing themselves rather than read a book? That people still feel the need to explain on their answering machines that they're "not home right now, please leave a message after the tone?" That the people who scream the loudest about "Christian values," are the least charitable, least accepting people in the world? That the word "party" gets used more as a verb than as a noun? That people actually care what kind of exercises Jennifer Aniston does? That Bush won the elction....any election? That men are always surprised when a woman actually knows something about sports? That more people have heard of Homer Simpson than have read Homer the poet? That Gwenyth Paltrow has a career? That people can get paid $5 million a year for playing a game, but cops and teachers can't afford to buy a house? That the damned mockingbird outside my window wakes me up at 6:30 every weekend, but doesn't sing a note during the week? That the asnwer to "paper or plastic" still confuses me? That I should pay extra for shoes that hurt my feet than for shoes I can walk in? That Hawaii is always too far away? That people feel the need to be reachable at every minute of every day? That people would rather send an e-mail than walk down the hallway for a face-to-face conversation? That pot stickers can cure everything? That old people in love always make me smile? That there are so few news stories that make me feel hopeful?
That commercials are always so much louder than the show you're watching? That there are people who can manage to drive for miles on the freeway with their turn signal on? That yellow rain slickers are only worn by children? That commercial radio stations get away with playing the same pablum as every other commercial radio station? That high tech offices typically have dozens of unwanted keyboards laying around, but you can bleed to death looking for a band-aid? That people are willing to embarass themselves in front of millions of people for the sake of being on TV? That milllions of people will watch idiots embarassing themselves rather than read a book? That people still feel the need to explain on their answering machines that they're "not home right now, please leave a message after the tone?" That the people who scream the loudest about "Christian values," are the least charitable, least accepting people in the world? That the word "party" gets used more as a verb than as a noun? That people actually care what kind of exercises Jennifer Aniston does? That Bush won the elction....any election? That men are always surprised when a woman actually knows something about sports? That more people have heard of Homer Simpson than have read Homer the poet? That Gwenyth Paltrow has a career? That people can get paid $5 million a year for playing a game, but cops and teachers can't afford to buy a house? That the damned mockingbird outside my window wakes me up at 6:30 every weekend, but doesn't sing a note during the week? That the asnwer to "paper or plastic" still confuses me? That I should pay extra for shoes that hurt my feet than for shoes I can walk in? That Hawaii is always too far away? That people feel the need to be reachable at every minute of every day? That people would rather send an e-mail than walk down the hallway for a face-to-face conversation? That pot stickers can cure everything? That old people in love always make me smile? That there are so few news stories that make me feel hopeful?
Just do it!
No, I don't mean go out and be a Nike ad. I mean just do your damned job.
What is it with people who are so concerned about keeping their job that they don't actually do their job? Why are people so afraid to say "that's a bad idea?" Why is making your boss happy more important than doing what's right?
Oh yes, and can I just say how sick I am of people who want to be seen as "different" and "edgy" who manifest their individuality by continually saying "yes boss, you're brilliant. I'm brilliant too!"
No, I don't mean go out and be a Nike ad. I mean just do your damned job.
What is it with people who are so concerned about keeping their job that they don't actually do their job? Why are people so afraid to say "that's a bad idea?" Why is making your boss happy more important than doing what's right?
Oh yes, and can I just say how sick I am of people who want to be seen as "different" and "edgy" who manifest their individuality by continually saying "yes boss, you're brilliant. I'm brilliant too!"
Friday, February 18, 2005
The savior can't act
So exactly when did Keanu Reeves become the official savior of the universe? I recently saw an ad for his new movie, Constantine, and once again he's fighting hell for the gipper. Or for somebody. And I must say, it's beginning to freak me out. Between him being just this side of Christ in the Matrices (because I am too much a lady of quality to misuse my irregular plurals), and this new flick I have to say it's not looking good for the world. Keanu Reeves the man who can change destiny? Density maybe.
So exactly when did Keanu Reeves become the official savior of the universe? I recently saw an ad for his new movie, Constantine, and once again he's fighting hell for the gipper. Or for somebody. And I must say, it's beginning to freak me out. Between him being just this side of Christ in the Matrices (because I am too much a lady of quality to misuse my irregular plurals), and this new flick I have to say it's not looking good for the world. Keanu Reeves the man who can change destiny? Density maybe.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Comfort
Hot baths and favorite old books. Mashed potatoes. Warm chocolate chip cookies and cold milk. Buttermilk biscuits with butter. Classic MGM musicals where everyone lives happily ever after and even the cab drivers know how to dance. Sweats and slippers. Fires. Cocoa. Toast. As Time Goes By on BBC America. Photographs of loved ones. Things that are soft, faded, comfy, warm, and familiar. Homemade chicken soup. French bread and cheese. The music of Louis Armstrong. Clean sheets. Cozy mysteries. Popcorn. Pillows and blankets. Making a nest on the sofa.
Hot baths and favorite old books. Mashed potatoes. Warm chocolate chip cookies and cold milk. Buttermilk biscuits with butter. Classic MGM musicals where everyone lives happily ever after and even the cab drivers know how to dance. Sweats and slippers. Fires. Cocoa. Toast. As Time Goes By on BBC America. Photographs of loved ones. Things that are soft, faded, comfy, warm, and familiar. Homemade chicken soup. French bread and cheese. The music of Louis Armstrong. Clean sheets. Cozy mysteries. Popcorn. Pillows and blankets. Making a nest on the sofa.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
In praise of world music
You may or may not know, or care, that I host a world music radio show on KZSU, the Stanford University radio station. Because of that, I am constantly exposed to new music from all around the world. And all I can say is...wow!
Thank god for Sanseverino, a wacky Italian-French gypsy-jazz-pop singer whose CD "Les Senegalaises" was one of my top ten of 2004 and still gets me through the day when things get dreary. Thanks too, to Rachid Taha whose Algerian cover of The Clash's famous anthem "Rock the Casbah," is an ironic hip-shaking rai-groove that is seriously cool. Bless Henri Dikongue (one of my first discoveries), Wassis Diop, Angelique Kidjo, Oliver Mutkutzi, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and all of the wonderful artists out of Africa who don't get nearly the fame they deserve. Bless all those 80 year old "Buena Vista Social Club," guys who keep Cuba dancing. Thanks to Kila for their hypnotic Celtic-world epics. And lets not forget the amazing Native American performers who are (typical of Native Americans, unfortunately) pretty much ignored by the mainstream: Joanne Shenandoah, Robert Mirabal, Bill Miller, Sharon Burch, to name only a few.
If you only listen to mainstream music, do yourself a favor and discover the world. Like Blues? Check out some French Blues? Like hip hop? You might try listening to African or Spanish hip hop. Pop? Hell, the world is full of great pop, rock, jazz, even punk artists.
Please, listen to the world. It wants to be heard.
You may or may not know, or care, that I host a world music radio show on KZSU, the Stanford University radio station. Because of that, I am constantly exposed to new music from all around the world. And all I can say is...wow!
Thank god for Sanseverino, a wacky Italian-French gypsy-jazz-pop singer whose CD "Les Senegalaises" was one of my top ten of 2004 and still gets me through the day when things get dreary. Thanks too, to Rachid Taha whose Algerian cover of The Clash's famous anthem "Rock the Casbah," is an ironic hip-shaking rai-groove that is seriously cool. Bless Henri Dikongue (one of my first discoveries), Wassis Diop, Angelique Kidjo, Oliver Mutkutzi, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, and all of the wonderful artists out of Africa who don't get nearly the fame they deserve. Bless all those 80 year old "Buena Vista Social Club," guys who keep Cuba dancing. Thanks to Kila for their hypnotic Celtic-world epics. And lets not forget the amazing Native American performers who are (typical of Native Americans, unfortunately) pretty much ignored by the mainstream: Joanne Shenandoah, Robert Mirabal, Bill Miller, Sharon Burch, to name only a few.
If you only listen to mainstream music, do yourself a favor and discover the world. Like Blues? Check out some French Blues? Like hip hop? You might try listening to African or Spanish hip hop. Pop? Hell, the world is full of great pop, rock, jazz, even punk artists.
Please, listen to the world. It wants to be heard.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Happy Hallmark
Today is Valentine's Day. An entirely retail-created holiday that has little or nothing to do with romance.
Romance is not sending flowers to your loved one because advertising tells you that you must (or else you'll be sleeping on the sofa). Romance is sending flowers just because, or when he or she is having a bad day and could use a little extra love.
I don't know how people can get romantic on demand. Nor do I understand how people can make such a huge thing out of such a manufactured occasion. I know I am loved, not because my husband buys me candy on February 14th, but because he brings me tea when I'm sick. And because we always seem to end up holding hands, even when we're just watching TV.
Today is Valentine's Day. An entirely retail-created holiday that has little or nothing to do with romance.
Romance is not sending flowers to your loved one because advertising tells you that you must (or else you'll be sleeping on the sofa). Romance is sending flowers just because, or when he or she is having a bad day and could use a little extra love.
I don't know how people can get romantic on demand. Nor do I understand how people can make such a huge thing out of such a manufactured occasion. I know I am loved, not because my husband buys me candy on February 14th, but because he brings me tea when I'm sick. And because we always seem to end up holding hands, even when we're just watching TV.
Friday, February 11, 2005
Anybody else remember the song "detatchable penis?"
I didn't know there actually is such a thing. Turns out some actor used one to help him try to fake a drug test. He failed. Oops.
I didn't know there actually is such a thing. Turns out some actor used one to help him try to fake a drug test. He failed. Oops.
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Poor dear
How will poor, maligned Carly Fiorina get by on just $21 milllion? Thanks for helping my husband's job move away so he had to leave something he truly enjoyed, Carly.
How come I can't get $21 milllion for getting fired? Hell, I'd happily be fired for only $1 million!
How will poor, maligned Carly Fiorina get by on just $21 milllion? Thanks for helping my husband's job move away so he had to leave something he truly enjoyed, Carly.
How come I can't get $21 milllion for getting fired? Hell, I'd happily be fired for only $1 million!
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
Hey ladies, don't want to use sex to get ahead at work?
Use sports! Today thanks to my knowledge of football and hockey I was able to cut through work crap and "bond" with two separate men because of sports. Coming together on a common ground of "what's wrong with hockey" and "why the Eagles lost" (sob!) we were able to quickly reach a work decision because there was some semblance of equality and none of the obnixious "this is my turf" posturing that I keep running accross. So, what to break the ice with the guys you work with? Learn to discuss the infield fly rule. Trust me, it works.
Use sports! Today thanks to my knowledge of football and hockey I was able to cut through work crap and "bond" with two separate men because of sports. Coming together on a common ground of "what's wrong with hockey" and "why the Eagles lost" (sob!) we were able to quickly reach a work decision because there was some semblance of equality and none of the obnixious "this is my turf" posturing that I keep running accross. So, what to break the ice with the guys you work with? Learn to discuss the infield fly rule. Trust me, it works.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Baby, can I drive your car?
From my (temporary) window I can see the freeway. I watch the cars zooming by, writing in my mind scenarios of homecoming and evenings of relaxation. Cooking dinner while listening to John Coltrane and talking to your loved one about the day. Solo Thai takeout eaten in front of whatever goodie TiVO caught on your behalf.
Trucks filled with the sounds of Alan Jackson twanging the drivers along their way. Self-important BMW drivers too intent on their cell phones and not intent enough on the traffic.
Moms with kids tucked and buckled safely in, singing “The Wheels on the Bus” for the 17th time this month.
Every one in every car has a story. Someone just got fired. Someone got hired. Someone fell in love today. Someone broke up.
A few lucky drivers have furry passengers licking up their windows breathing down their necks.
Some cars are filled with silence. The calm, relaxed silence so needed at the end of a hectic day. The cold, uncomfortable silence of people who have run out of things to say to each other far too early in life.
Some drivers smile and wish herds of field-stuck cows “good evening,” as they speed along, enjoying the freedom. Others would probably be surprised to learn that there are cows along the side of the freeway.
In the sleepy, waning hour of the workday when I’ve had not enough to do and not nearly enough human interaction, I envy the cars on the road.
Right now, I would like nothing more than to be among them, heading home.
Have a good evening, cows.
From my (temporary) window I can see the freeway. I watch the cars zooming by, writing in my mind scenarios of homecoming and evenings of relaxation. Cooking dinner while listening to John Coltrane and talking to your loved one about the day. Solo Thai takeout eaten in front of whatever goodie TiVO caught on your behalf.
Trucks filled with the sounds of Alan Jackson twanging the drivers along their way. Self-important BMW drivers too intent on their cell phones and not intent enough on the traffic.
Moms with kids tucked and buckled safely in, singing “The Wheels on the Bus” for the 17th time this month.
Every one in every car has a story. Someone just got fired. Someone got hired. Someone fell in love today. Someone broke up.
A few lucky drivers have furry passengers licking up their windows breathing down their necks.
Some cars are filled with silence. The calm, relaxed silence so needed at the end of a hectic day. The cold, uncomfortable silence of people who have run out of things to say to each other far too early in life.
Some drivers smile and wish herds of field-stuck cows “good evening,” as they speed along, enjoying the freedom. Others would probably be surprised to learn that there are cows along the side of the freeway.
In the sleepy, waning hour of the workday when I’ve had not enough to do and not nearly enough human interaction, I envy the cars on the road.
Right now, I would like nothing more than to be among them, heading home.
Have a good evening, cows.
The morning after
Alas, our beloved Philadelphia Eagles did not win the Super Bowl. Certainly my husband and I did everything in our part to bring about a victory. We were attired in the appropriate green clothing. We were drinking the right beer. I did not look during the crucial plays. It's amazing how superstitious even the most rational of people (and by which I mean my husband, not I) can be when the stakes are so high. We actually get anxious that our team might loose because we took off a hat or forgot to use the same water glass we used during the victorious playoff games.
I know Philadelphia is a blame kind of town. In fact there's a poll in today's paper asking whose fault it is that the team lost. (Poor Donovan McNabb is in the lead for taking the rap). But I hereby declare my innocence. I swear that I was in no way responsible for their defeat. I swear by the statue of "Dirty Bill" that I did nothing to jinx, hex, or otherwise stymie the Philadelphia Eagles in their quest to become champions.
Oh well...there's always next year.
Go Eagles, and thanks for a great season.
Alas, our beloved Philadelphia Eagles did not win the Super Bowl. Certainly my husband and I did everything in our part to bring about a victory. We were attired in the appropriate green clothing. We were drinking the right beer. I did not look during the crucial plays. It's amazing how superstitious even the most rational of people (and by which I mean my husband, not I) can be when the stakes are so high. We actually get anxious that our team might loose because we took off a hat or forgot to use the same water glass we used during the victorious playoff games.
I know Philadelphia is a blame kind of town. In fact there's a poll in today's paper asking whose fault it is that the team lost. (Poor Donovan McNabb is in the lead for taking the rap). But I hereby declare my innocence. I swear that I was in no way responsible for their defeat. I swear by the statue of "Dirty Bill" that I did nothing to jinx, hex, or otherwise stymie the Philadelphia Eagles in their quest to become champions.
Oh well...there's always next year.
Go Eagles, and thanks for a great season.
Friday, February 04, 2005
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