First Sunday of Lent: Lenten blog break

Stained glass from St Mary's, Greenville, SC: Christ stills the tempest.




In case you all haven't figured out by now, I am taking a blog break for Lent.

I did not initially announce this, because I wasn't sure I could do it. Last year, I tried it and had to break my silence over the death of my favorite author. This year, I thought I would do likewise, when I heard about the death of a well-known American war criminal.* Then I thought, NO, I will not break my Lenten devotions for.... him. I might, though, for something or someone of towering importance. (The official rules are that Lenten devotions are suspended on the Sabbath, so I will try to update you on my spiritual progress every Sunday, if I have anything to say.)

~*~

I need to get centered, and perhaps I need to get my blog-stats way down first, before that can happen. I have been thoroughly confused over various Blogdonia incidents of late (such as being banned at FWD/Forward without explanation), and once again wondering if I belong here, Land of the Ultra-Connected and Always-Trendy Grad Student. Certainly, I am not as smart as ANY of these people. (And they like to tell me so, often.) But I am committed to the idea that even us not-smart people deserve a place to hang out, and deserve to have our say, even if we aren't up to the standard of FWD or similar high-toned blogs.

Does everyone have to be a genius these days? When Dubya was president, the communication standards were much lower! ;)

~*~

I'm also trying to figure out how to talk/write about fat, of all things.

I have usually worried that anything I wrote about fat, fasting and/or calorie restriction had to be very careful not to "pile on" in a fat-hating, fat-hysterical culture. As is the case with disability, it is very difficult to discuss things honestly when dread, misogyny and negativity are the rule. But the fact of the matter is: fat is not good for me. Fat is trashing me. It is indisputable that 50 extra pounds on one's knees and feet (regardless of the source of that weight) are going to be pretty damn rough on that person's knees and feet, especially if they stand/walk all day. I have decided that drastic action is necessary to prolong my working life and my overall bodily health.

In feminist Blogdonia, it is not considered progressive to say anything negative about fat, and I have therefore been very reticent to write this, although I have written about the calorie restriction movement (CRON) and related issues in the past. In a culture that thrives on jokes about the likes of Jessica freaking Simpson being fat (!!!) ...well, this is obviously not a healthy environment to talk about fat. Duly noted and understood. But I am post-menopause and at my highest weight since my pregnancy. This is not good, and I am changing it.

In the process, I have noticed that our culture's negative-obsession with fat has dovetailed with the "personal acceptance" of fat overall. We all weigh more than ever. I remember when Archie Bunker was considered a fat guy, and now... well, go over to TV-LAND and have a look at him. Does he look fat to you?

Our standards have radically changed.

I was regarded as one of the biggest girls in my school. Looking at crowds of kids congregating outside of middle schools now, I am utterly amazed by their average size; that would certainly not be true today. My middle-school-sized self would not even be considered big at all, by today's standards.

Americans are just plain consuming too much. And not just food, but in every respect. Food is only one of many things we plow through at an alarming rate. We use most of the world's oil and other natural resources. We ship our garbage everywhere. As I get more and more involved with the Green Party, these matters are increasingly on my mind.

And I am meditating and praying and will get back to you. I loves you guys! (((weeps)))

~*~


*To the right wing trolls: I will not argue this point with you and will delete all comments defending ALL Nixonian-era mass-murdering swine. Thanks in advance.

Disability and Aging: A Response

Ideally, I would like to respond to this piece on the blog that originally posted it, FWD/Forward... but (sigh) I don't think that is too likely to happen.* I will instead post my reply here.

I believe the topic is extremely important (indeed, my incessant yowling may be one reason why there is a post on this topic in the first place) and I think more input, rather than less, is necessary and crucial for understanding.

~*~

FWD asked two older women to blog on the topic of disability and aging, Laurie Toby Edison and Debbie Notkin. Edison and Notkin work in publishing, are quite well-traveled, and live in what is possibly the most expensive city in the USA. I hope I don't have to make the obvious point that women with multiple published books to their credit are not typical older women; I assume they are well-educated and do not need to do hard physical work to live. For example, Edison's Wikipedia entry tells us: "Her family intended her for the academic intelligentsia." I will assume from this statement that Edison does not make her living standing on her feet all day (waitresses, nurses, retail) or doing continuous repetitive movements (factory, farm or garment workers). However, such work is the reality for most people in the world. And so, when I read the following, I get a bit confused:

We are 67 and 58, respectively, and both of us are able-bodied, and active. Not because “70 is the new 50″ but because our bodies work just fine.

And of course, this is fairly typical for women of their class, which is a very, very small percentage of the world's population. (Note: I used to type Workman's Comp claims, thousands and thousands of them, from everywhere, and I have never heard of an artsy-photographer making a Workman's Comp claim.)

My question: Why ask two older women who are proudly able-bodied to talk about disability and aging? I mean, shouldn't FWD maybe talk to women who identify as older and disabled? (This is a puzzling choice, unless it's because they don't know any other older women to ask to guest-blog, which is entirely likely.)

And let me be clear--Edison and Notkin's experience is interesting and vital, it's just that they seem to have decided that their experience is true for the remaining 95% of the world's population:

The stereotypical intersection between aging and disability is the cultural expectation that they are the same thing. Whether people are saying “After 40, it’s patch, patch, patch” or just looking surprised if a woman over 50 lifts a 50-pound box, the common assumption is that age and disability are irretrievably linked, just as youth and ability are perceived to be irretrievably linked. While 75-year-old marathon runners and charmingly fragile disabled teenagers both show up as role models, old people who walk to the grocery store and people in their young 20s who are frequently unable to leave their homes because of chronic pain are equally invisible.

[...]

These things, however, are not disabilities. Conflating age and disability is not only dishonest about the realities of aging, it is also disrespectful of the realities of disability. We can both go where we want to go, and get in to the buildings or transit vehicles when we get there. Neither of us is in the kind of pain (physical or mental) that keeps us from living able-bodied lives. To describe our minor aging issues as disabling would be to undercut and undervalue the real disabilities that people live with every day.

Minor?

In the health-supplement retail-business, it is not uncommon for me to meet working-class southerners and Latina immigrants under 30 who already have extensive job-related health problems. In fact, I don't know anyone who doesn't have these issues. My first varicose vein was at age 24. If you work hard all of your life, you will wear out. This is a GIVEN; it is a FACT. It's true for cars, for furniture, for roads, for televisions, for shoes, for umbrellas. It is equally true for people. There is simply no way you can bend a joint over and over a million times, and not have it wear out, just like your tires. After it wears out, it ceases to function, and it is... DISABLED.

Most people in the world must work hard to sustain life. I am not an exception; I am the mainstream. Therefore, most people, when they get old, have bodies that have worn out to the point of sustaining actual damage, yet they/we must function anyway, often in a great deal of pain. We are not as lucky as photographers who have published books. And hey, I don't mind if you are lucky enough to be exempt from hard work, but do not proclaim that your life is typical, when it simply is not. Your aging issues are "minor" because of the life you have been privileged enough to lead. The rest of us? Not so privileged. For most people in the world, aging is a painful process, and the process can start pretty early, depending on the kind of work they must do. (And their example is quite telling: No one looks "surprised" if I lift a 50-lb box, since I do it several times a day, every day. They look surprised on those days that I can't do it, actually.)

And so, we have older women blogging on aging and disability who start out by bragging about their good health, and then inform us that those little "minor" aging issues (!) are not important enough to be labeled disabilities. However, most working-class people around the world are not as fortunate and have always been required to do hard work.

Thus, MOST old people in the world become disabled. It is simply unavoidable.

Edison and Notkin continue:

At the same time, the stigma of aging (which is partially fear of death and partially the culture’s definition that beauty must be youthful) puts a disturbing spin on diseases and conditions which are associated with aging. If someone over 60 has mild to moderate arthritis, almost everyone (including her) will view it as evidence of her body’s degeneration and eventual demise, while if someone under 40 has mild to moderate arthritis, it will be just something she has to live with, and not evidence that she’s falling apart.

This is another deeply classist comment. I've always known I was falling apart (arthritis diagnosed at age 37), since I know that my arthritis was caused by overuse of those particular parts of my body. Most working-class people know that osteoarthritis (as opposed to rheumatoid arthritis) just comes with the territory, and fully realize it's a matter of WHEN, not IF, they should develop it. You simply can not wait tables for decades on a hard-tiled floor and not get arthritis/varicose veins/foot problems/etc.

The next time you go to a store or restaurant or Starbucks**, please be aware of the ages of the people who work there. You will notice a cut-off point (usually between 40-50) and very few visibly-old people will be employed there. What happened to them? Did they all just decide to quit? No, they WORE OUT. These jobs are ROUGH, and after a certain point, they become almost impossible. Older workers have to make the decision, at some juncture, to transition out... or apply for disability.

Edison and Notkin:

[One] of the major medical problems with aging is that people expect their aches and pains to be permanent, and thus don’t address them.

If they are due to the body wearing out, then the aches and pains ARE permanent. Degeneration of joints, tissues and organs is not reversible.

Edison and Notkin wind up:

It comes down to rejecting stereotypes: the two stereotypes of aging are the ever-increasing decrepitude and incapacity on the one hand and the cheerful, active grandparents in the Depends commercials on the other hand. Like stereotypes of disability, or of women, or of people of color, these are not true. The truth is much more layered, complicated, and different for every individual.

The truth is that most people in the world work very hard to earn a living, and for even longer hours than we work here in the USA. Immigrants tell me of their earlier lives in countries with no labor laws and no days off, ever. The Latino workers doing construction adjacent to my apartment complex, tell me of the copious "aches and pains" that they must work through, or risk deportation. The women who work in the textile mills tell me of their co-workers' first mesothelioma symptoms (often manifesting obscenely early in life)... and they worry, rightly, that they could be next.

For the working classes, aging MEANS disability. Period. They are synonymous. There is simply no way that one can work at physical labor for 5-6 decades without the body showing extensive signs of wear.

There is nothing in this world exempt from this rule.

~*~

On another note, it is thoroughly dismaying to me that a blog supposedly about feminism and disability, would bring in two older able-bodied feminists to authoritatively proclaim that aging and disability are unrelated, when for the majority of women in the world, this is not the case.(???) I can only surmise that FWD is not addressed to the majority of women in the USA or the world, and is basically directed to educated feminists of the professional-classes, a very small minority. And that's okay, but please be aware that the reality you describe (women of 58 and 67 who are relatively free of all signs of wear and tear), is not the experience of most older women in the world.

~*~

*As I said in this post, I have been banned from FWD for reasons never explained to me. I attempted to post three separate comments back on 11/18, all censored. Consequently, not bothering with that anymore.

**Starbucks seems to only hire people under 30 or so; I think it's an unwritten rule of some kind.

Call BR-549

At left, Junior Samples, Hee Haw star and possibly the greatest redneck of all time! (Meant as high compliment, of course.)



Unfortunately, I've had a sick shoulder and a sick car, which together have given me precious little time and inclination to blog.

Well Being Journal, which some regard as the Bible of my profession, features (another) ableist article in this month's issue. I usually don't call these things out, since I'd be doing it 24/7, but this just rubbed me the wrong way today.

Food is the Key to Multiple Sclerosis Recovery is the title of the piece by Ann D. Sawyer and Judith E. Bachrach.

First of all, there is no known "recovery" from MS, and second, this article implies if you just go far enough and eat exactly right, you CAN recover. I find these types of articles cruel for instilling false hopes, as well as for the implied judgment: These people (supposedly) were cured, and if you are suitably pure in intentions and acts, you can be too:

Once MS sufferers begin to attend to these changes, they may see subtle patterns emerge. It is possible then to discover the cause and effect relationship, relating back to what was eaten and the resulting symptom states. There is no one-size-fits-all diet; each person must discover and fine-tune the specifics of their own recovery diet. It can take varying amounts of time, patience, discipline and dedication to reap the rewards of a complete restoration of health. Given the alternative of yielding to MS's fury, and the dearth of any other effective, safe treatment, the diet is well worth doing. By necessity and even more by choice, most people who have recovered from MS remain careful and conscious eaters. The contrast of once having had MS provides many gifts, including a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the value of good health.

The big question: Why haven't Sawyer and Bachrach been nominated for the Nobel Prize by now, if they know how to cure MS?

And speaking of alternative medicine, I have recently jumped full-force into orthorexia, to no avail...I need to see a real live M.D. (Medical Deity) this week for the pain in my right shoulder.

It's very much like the old HEE HAW joke: Doc, it hurts when I do this (moves arm).

Hee Haw doctor: "Well, then, don't do that!"

I had the same thing in 2004, far worse, in my left shoulder. (It is usually
called "frozen shoulder.")

Hee Haw doctor: "You know what you had before? Well, you got it again!"

Damn, sometimes, I miss HEE HAW! I even read a book about it, she admitted, embarrassed.

~*~

Closing with a song that always makes me feel better when I hurt. I dunno why. It's also properly accompanied by pretty pictures!

Are those real violins or synthesizers? (Is there some foolproof way of knowing the answer to this always-vexing question, without cheating on Wikipedia?)

Moody Blues - You and Me



All we are trying to say...
is we are all we've got...

The place where nobody can follow

In a sense sickness is a place, more instructive than a trip to Europe. It's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow.

--Flannery O'Connor

~*~

Julie of Modern Mitzvot wrote some great stuff about her back problems and attendant pain, and I identified so strongly. I started this post as a blog comment on the thread (at Alas, a blog), and was eventually embarrassed by the length and overall narcissism of it... so I am printing it here instead and tracking back. (Narcissism IS acceptable on my own blog, after all!)

~*~

Julie's original post, titled About My Body.

This is some great writing, Julie. I think the process you describe mirrors aging very well, too. (you've had something of a crash course)

When I broke my leg, the person who "rescued" me thought I'd also broken my wrist because of the way I'd tried to break my fall with my hand ... I was in so much pain from the "sprained ankle" (I didn't know my tibia was actually broken until the X-ray, about a week later) that I hardly noticed.

Now the leg is healed, but a small bone/ligament in my left thumb is inflamed, and apparently, I broke that too but just never knew it. (My doctor says this happens all the time in injuries--people often don't notice the "smaller" injury until much later.)

So, I never healed properly and it keeps getting re-injured with every new move. In short, it now hurts like the proverbial motherfucker. (I open boxes and put stuff on shelves every day and thumbs are necessary.) The joint is now HUGE and swollen; and I am reminded of Sissy Hankshaw in Even Cowgirls Get the Blues--which is not a pleasant thought at all.

Just letting you know, I am with you.

I have recently passed into another place, wherein I don't really consider myself able-bodied now. There is just too much, taken together...thyroid disease, arthritis, high cholesterol, and now my Sissy Hankshaw thumb. I am supposed to go get some immobilizing-brace for my wrist and thumb, but after wearing a leg-cast for so long, I am self-conscious about still another thing going wrong with me. It makes me appear vulnerable and calls attention to my age, in a job market in which older workers are getting left behind. I try to look energetic and "happy" on my job, since we are "selling a lifestyle" and all that shit: I feel pressure in the health supplement industry to always appear healthy. Since it's a job in which people are always talking about their health, I am duly questioned about mine, when there are many times (like now) that I'd rather not answer. The overall sentiment seems to be: well, if you know so much about supplements, why are you falling apart? Aging is inevitable and people are in denial about that, as well as in denial about disability-as-part-of-life in general... I recently had a seemingly-reasonable, middle-class, educated woman very seriously and sagely inform me that cerebral palsy could be cured by detoxification and raw foods.

Ohhh, good God.

Thus, I am also coming to terms with the concept that my business can be oppressively intolerant of illness and ableist... it's like when I came to terms with the fact that my religion could be and has been oppressive. Just because I have a positive approach, certainly does not mean everyone in the business does, and that is also depressing to finally confront and accept.

Julie writes:

And I keep wondering if the whole sprain/strain thing is just a smokescreen anyway - if the problem is something completely different and has gone untreated. What if the doctors aren’t taking me seriously because I’m a woman? What if they think I’m lying?

I think what you are describing is an intersectionality, in these days of Feminist Blogdonia discussing intersectionalities: Ableism and ageism meets sexism. The very idea that a young, lovely, middle-class graduate student like yourself could have anything going awry physically? I mean, how could that be? It just doesn't fit the whole prescribed template for your life. You are going outside the boundaries, and whoever does that in our society is summarily punished for it.

This is part and parcel of the same wholesale cultural denial at the heart of eating disorders: But wait, she can't be sick, she is beautiful!!!! Confronting this fact leads to an unwelcome confrontation with WHAT we consider beautiful in our culture; beauty can co-exist with SICKNESS and DETERIORATION. (And what does that tell us about beauty standards?)

Julie writes:

But the core of the issue is that I’m afraid I’m making this up. I’m afraid it’s all in my head. Why didn’t I think to go to the ER that night in my boyfriend’s apartment? I’d known other people who’d gotten quick injections for back spasms; in fact, one of them was standing over me, offering to carry me to the bathroom. Obviously it was because deep down, I was just pretending. Why can I still not wrap my head around the idea that this pain is real?

Because of all of the above. How can this be happening to you, when you are a mainstream person? Our ableist culture teaches us that this is an exceptional, weird thing... when in fact it is normal and average. Pain is part of life--as Buddha said, life is suffering. Somewhere along the line, Western Civ decided pain was an anomaly, or evil, or punishment, probably because it was USED to inflict punishment. Pain is stigmatized, it often renders people poor. Bad luck.

And you have always had pretty good luck, so how can this happen to you? WE ARE AMERICANS, goddammit, everything is supposed to be easy. When it isn't, we feel cheated and angry. We are socialized that way. (And that is another intersectionality, Western culture: the Wild-West stoicism that leaves the sick dog by the side of the road to be eaten by coyotes while the wagon-train continues westward.)

I just want to know why I lack the courage to admit that it hurts, to ask someone to listen and help.

On some intuitive level, I think you know that this admission brings about contempt and judgment in people, and you want to avoid this. Like the raw foods lady, the endless yammerings about "what you should do" never let up. People judge. They are afraid, so they create distance instead of connection.

I want to create connection, so I am sending my virtual ((hugs)) to Julie, and anyone else out there who is experiencing physical pain.

Yes, it does hurt, but it also proves that we are alive, awake and aware of our bodies.

By necessity, and in spite of ourselves.

Odds and Sods - post-frenectomy edition

Here at Dead Air, I try to keep my readers updated on the newest frontiers in hippie-aging. Today, we discuss frenectomy, specifically a labial frenectomy. (Nooooo, not THAT labia!)

First, imagine my heart-stopping reaction when I am referred to a periodontist (yes, as always, the consult-a-rama never ends!) with the same surname as a local politician whom I have, umm, written about in an unkind manner here at DEAD AIR! (((gulp))) A friendly question brings out that YES, they are RELATED (as everyone in the south is, of course). I can only hope this individual isn't fond of frequently Googling their relatives, or if so, maybe secretly hates their politician kinfolk as much as the rest of us do.

So...I go to see the periodontist for a graft of my receding gum and a frenectomy, which is the snipping-and-mending of that long, weblike piece of skin that attaches lip to gum; a useless fold of skin that we don't really need. Some evolutionary adaptation, maybe, like our appendix, no longer necessary. Now, it exists merely to attract stray hulls of popcorn, as well as pull on your gum and make your gum recede even faster than it normally would. This procedure is called a labial frenectomy. I also had two skin-grafts, over two teeth.

Simply put, this hurts like a mofo. But there are drugs to be had, and the days of my chemical purity in such matters are long gone. As Alan Arkin reminded us in LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE, when you're young it's crazy to do drugs; when you're old, it's crazy not to.

Now I look like I've been pummeled. And you know all that perky-ass Mouseketeer bullshit you heard as a kid? I now speak very specifically to baby-boomer-aged American females, bludgeoned daily with: SMILE! It takes MANY MORE MUSCLES TO FROWN! This line was usually delivered by some insufferable, strenuously earnest 4th grade teacher, fresh from the local Midwestern Teacher College. The immediate capitalist goal was the continuous baby-boomer Gidgetizing of the masses of American womanhood during the halcyon 60s--ambiguous or thoughtful facial expressions were banned by the cultural authorities as signs of female independence. "Frowning" also referred to various versions of not-smiling, such as smirking, scowling, or sneering. Looking perplexed or furrowing one's brow in thought, were pretty risky also. Related other facial expressions that might imply girls were thinking for themselves, needless to say, were NOT permissible. We were constantly exhorted to SMILE, SMILE, SMILE.

Well, lo and behold--it turns out that...YES! It IS easier to smile. My preliminary research shows that reading blogs, post-periodontal surgery, has brought on involuntary painful smirking, scowling and the especially post-surgically-stinging sneer. (Aiyeeee)

I am suddenly aware of just how much smirking and sneering I actually DO in a day.

What would I do without the net, to teach me these important things?

~*~

Renegade Evolution reports that various anti-porn websites using porn performers' images without their consent, are just as much in violation of the law as any actual porn site that does the same thing:

The Stop Porn Culture Slide Show Training Program includes a script, tips for conducting the session; it also includes the power Point Visual presentation, which contains pornographic material. They are saying that this slide show falls under the preview of Fair Use.

However, as it can now be watched, downloaded, viewed, reproduced, and yes, even sold, the creators of Stop Porn Culture, or anyone and everyone else who wishes to showcase, distribute, or otherwise use the material in the slide show is in violation of Federal Law 2257.

Never mind that not a one of the performers featured in this “educational tool” were asked their opinions, or for their consent, nor were the companies that originally produced the images…but now see, there are questions of a Federal Law which applies to Pornographers, and as these people have essentially made themselves such, the law also applies to them. Any person exhibiting pornography, even if it is free, is beholden to 2257, this includes SPC, and those who run this seminar. You will note, at the end of the presentation, there is a claim of copyright over images already subject to copyright, and used without permission.

Another one of those interesting paradoxes that never occurred to me; rather as the film Tongues Untied was later used in anti-gay videos made by the Christian right (and I saw one of those; this isn't academic). Some of these clips were pretty explicit, too... it is interesting how far the "anti" people go in utilizing so-called obscene material to make their points. I can't help but wonder how much of this is to draw the audience in, to guarantee them some sexual excitement and appeal to their own repressed, unacknowledged prurience.

~*~

Some brave souls on the left and right are finally daring to take on the seemingly-sacrosanct matter of John McCain's war record. Politico reports:

Critics have accused McCain of war crimes for bombing targets in Hanoi in the 1960s. A widely read liberal blog on Sunday accused McCain of "disloyalty" during his captivity in Vietnam for his coerced participation in propaganda films and interviews after he had been tortured.

"A lot of people don't know ... that McCain made a propaganda video for the enemy while he was in captivity," wrote Americablog.com's John Aravosis. "Putting that bit of disloyalty aside, what exactly is McCain's military experience that prepares him for being commander in chief?"

"Getting shot down, tortured and then doing propaganda for the enemy is not command experience," Aravosis wrote in the blog post, titled "Honestly, besides being tortured, what did McCain do to excel in the military?"

Wow! And predictably, it's ON. (226 comments so far! Check it out.)

~*~

Blogdonia's most recent feminist trainwreck concerns the CARNIVAL OF FEMINISTS (#59), which included an extremely transphobic blog post purporting to "deconstruct" transgenderism. The article was eventually removed, but the resulting conflagration (113 comments) continues.

Again, I feel it necessary to apologize to transpeople for the actions of these bigoted radical feminists, as I apologize to people bullied by Christians, by southerners, by white people, by Americans...I can only say I am sorry, folks.

They do not speak for me.

----------------
Listening to: Grateful Dead - Estimated Prophet
via FoxyTunes

Screamworthy!

Left: Canebrake rattler photo from Kingsnake.com.



Lesson: Don't leave luggage open on the porch!

Snake crawled in man's luggage in SC and bit him when he unpacked in VA.

The Associated Press • March 25, 2008

McLEAN, Va. -- A high school coach emptying his luggage after a team trip to South Carolina was bitten by a small rattlesnake that had somehow gotten into his bag, authorities said.

Andy Bacas in was stable condition at Inova Fairfax Hospital, fire officials said. He remained hospitalized Tuesday morning.

Bacas, a rowing coach at Yorktown High School in Arlington, told authorities he felt a sharp pain on his hand Monday when he reached into his luggage. He then saw the nearly foot-long snake and slammed the suitcase shut.

Fire and rescue workers took the suitcase outside, opened it and blasted the snake, identified as a juvenile canebrake rattler, with a carbon dioxide fire extinguisher. The chemical essentially froze the animal to death.

"The guy who responded had seen (the fire extinguisher technique) done on TV," Arlington County Fire Department spokesman Ben Barksdale said.

Bacas' son, Peter, said the luggage had been left open on a porch during the trip to Summerton, S.C., which is about 75 miles northwest of Charleston. Barksdale said he had no information that the snake was deliberately put into the luggage.

Bob Myers, director of the American International Rattlesnake Museum in New Mexico, said it's conceivable that a snake would crawl into luggage seeking warmth or shelter.

The venom from a canebrake rattlesnake can be particularly harmful, but a young snake is not usually large enough to deliver enough to be lethal, Myers said. Adult canebrakes can grow to 6 feet.

"There's an old wives' tale that says a baby rattlesnake bite is worse than an adult bite, but that's just not true," Myers said.

Three or four people die each year from rattlesnake bites in the United States, out of perhaps 8,000 bites a year, Myers said.

(((screams)))
----------------
Listening to: Bob Marley & the Wailers - Is This Love
via FoxyTunes

How to survive your root canal

Looking up ENDODONTICS brings up some horrifying reading, and just look at those DRAWINGS! (screams)

~*~


The first thing you notice when entering any specialist's office: how nice everything is. My god, the money. It radiates. My fashionable endodontist (herein known as FE) has beautiful framed jazz posters in his office, what looked to be a Keith Haring coat rack (I didn't have time to inspect it carefully), and in the ladies' loo, beveled mirrors and a solid glass washbasin. The tiles are lovely, and look like marble or stone. I helped pay for all this, I thought.

Baby boomers' bad teeth--all that Dairy Queen crap, Hostess twinkies and Coca-cola, has paid for this pricey office.

I always demand gas forthwith, shocking most dental assistants with my fortitude (pump that UP, girls! MORE!) and astounding ability to withstand copious amounts of nitrous oxide. I assume there is a notation in my file (which I am told is one of the largest in the practice--ta dum!) that specifies "She likes a lot of gas!" or something like that.

FE has weird space-age, scientific tools that he employs, one of which looks like he is in a space capsule, wearing little goggles and looking through a microscope that sits right on top of your face. Meet George Jetson! I always bring some music along, and during this particular sequence I was listening to the Delfonics' "Didn't I blow your mind this time?" ...which, along with the gas, made it somewhat otherworldly and fun, for about 10 seconds or so. It hurt like a mofo, but I really couldn't differentiate the pain of the root canal itself, from the pain I have been experiencing for the past week--all sensation tends to run together into a steady stream of pain, worthy of MARATHON MAN. (Is it safe?)

Left: Fancy George Jetson space-age endodontics microscope.

The noise is positively harrowing, reminiscent of chain-saws and coffee-grinders; then you smell something burning and ... Clorox? Just close your eyes, and concentrate on the Delfonics. (Daisy's advice: nitrous and music, can usually get you through it. No strange or odd music; something familiar.) The filing of the root is where you start to feel, well, nauseated. WHAT is he doing? Oh my GOD.

Apparently, my infection had something to do with the bone (the WHAT? the BONE? Oh, holy Jesus, Mary, Joseph) and might get worse before it gets better. It could become re-infected, since the bacteria in the bone doesn't get oxygen and can multiply quickly, or somesuch thing. As FE patiently explained, I felt dazed. (Bone? Did he say BONE?) I kept thinking about how I'd like to just pull it out, but I couldn't say this to color-coordinated FE with his designer scrubs and shoes. He'd wrinkle his nose at me and make me feel low class. He'd be right, too!

~*~

This round, at least, is over.

Can anyone guess the price? The winner gets a free Daisy's Dead Air Bloglines subscription! HAHAHA!

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Listening to: Yo La Tengo - Moby Octopad
via FoxyTunes

Dead Air Church: Ain't Life Grand?

Left: Clara Zetkin, founder of International Women's Day. Photo from Marxists. org.

Yesterday was International Women's Day, and I had intended to write this wonderful, bang-up socialist women's herstory piece about the founder of IWD, Clara Zetkin. Alas, I spent most of the day clutching my jaw in abject misery, and did not get to it. Here is a biographical account of Zetkin, by Roy Rydell, reprinted from the March 7, 1998, issue of the People's Weekly World. It's the best I am able to do right now, and I'm sorry, dearest Clara!

I have a do-over root canal scheduled for Wednesday, but for now, need to reduce the infection in my tooth-root before they "open it up" (doncha love those terms they use?). I'm on antibiotics and Tramadol. As stated previously, I feel like I've had my jaw broken--and consequently, not thinking real clearly this weekend. I wasn't able to finish my work shift last evening, and I can't even remember the last time that happened.

And so, I was thinking "Ain't Life Grand?" sarcastically, and then thought, hey, where is the song, anyway?


Ask and ye shall receive! I found this lovely video. Thanks to Khat Baker for this montage of photos set to Widespread Panic's Ain't Life Grand (1994).

Have a great sabbath, and don't forget to floss.

~*~

Ain't Life Grand - Widespread Panic

[via FoxyTunes / Widespread Panic]

The dentists all love me

Yes, the dentists, as well as their compatriots, the endodontists and the oral surgeons, all rub their hands with glee. Dollar signs light up the eyes. They clear their schedules, they work through lunch, they eagerly make follow-up appointments and call each other on the phone, consultating madly together, hemming and hawing in harmony and looking at my (very expensive) X-rays. Hmmmmm, they agree: It doesn't look good.

Not surprising. It never has.

Only two generations ago, people had all of their contrary, infected teeth pulled out--just pull them all out, said my grandmother. I used to wonder how anyone could agree to such a thing, but no longer. I totally get it. JUST PULL THEM OUT has occurred to me any number of times, but the suburban dentists I go to look shocked if you say this, and this is now apparently the equivalent of Dental Blasphemy. It's BAD for your jaw and your bite and all the rest of it. The problems just get worse. You are supposed to have teeth, after all.

I read about Chairman Mao, who had horrific, chronically infected, pus-filled teeth and endured awful pain, and I am inclined to forgive a lot. The poor man was under terrible stress.

Since this past weekend, I have throbbing pain in a tooth that already has a root-canal* and crown--never a good sign. Abscess? The tooth is, God help me, moving around a bit in my jaw (grandmother's voice: Just pull it out!) and there is what appears to be a "cloud" (what?) on the X-ray. The root is possibly infected, and the consult-a-rama has begun.

So, there they are, my dentist and and my fashionable endodontist, who wears designer scrubs to work. (At his prices, I'm surprised we don't get piped-in pharmaceutical heroin and live jams from Eric Clapton himself.) Yes, yes, they sing in well-known dental-harmony, it doesn't look good.

Follow-up appointment on Friday morning, which will make me late for work, then late for home, and a veritable chain reaction of lateness will ensue--all of which will make me significantly crabbier since I am in PAIN. Well, I thought, I possibly can at least lose weight since I can't chew anything... but no, I decided the one thing I can eat is ICE CREAM, and by God, I stopped to do some consulting of my own with Ben and Jerry on my way home.

I hope Chairman Mao at least had some ice cream to make him feel better, too.

*I've had 13 root canals in all, and I'm not sure how many crowns, since several have been replaced already.