Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Week 16 Journal

Journal entries Sounds

Friday: I love the sound of an old wooden lake-house screen door slam echoing across lazy hot air. Even in the dark cold of December in Maine the thought of it warms and brightens me. I think I’ll record it next year along with some sounds of kids splashing around and a distant motor boat and a fishing reel unwinding and the little waves lapping on the shore. Then come next December I’ll put it on the MP3 player and listen to it every morning and smile.

Saturday: The sound of the day was splashing water. Our son swam today in a meet with about 100 other kids and the parents’ all in an indoor pool. These pools are designed by architects to keep rodents out of the building with chaotic sounds bouncing off every tinny surface. Add to the splashing and cheering voices 80 degree heat and 95% humidity to make the contrast to the snow quietly falling outside in the gray cold. When the uproar inside seemed overwhelming I looked out the wall of sliding glass doors, shivered, and appreciated the warmth.

Sunday: Today brought more sounds of people sharing the same space. The sermon was about Malcolm Gladwell’s latest book which starts with a story about a Pennsylvania town where researchers concluded the lack of heart disese was attributable to their practice of community. After the usual singing together we stayed for a couple hours to make wreaths and cards and the like in the basement; another warm room buzzing contently. Later the echoing bounce-bounce and yelling across the courts at the rec center made accompianied another nice memory of playing ping-pong which has its own gentle rhythm section.

Monday: Today’s sounds start with muted footsteps on carpet outside my office and the hushed whoosh of air through duct ways above. Just above I can here collegues’ discussions. Forgotten are the blah-blah-blahs from the hour and a half of Monday staff meetings. Remaining are a few good ideas for action and so the keyboard tapping noises commence for the rest of the day.

Tuesday: Today found us back at the pool for practice. The pool and kid sounds are low enough to get lost in conversations between the attending parents. Most of the dads are separate watching the kids swim up and down the lanes or at least their eyes are on the pool maybe their thoughts are miles away. The women sit in little clusters, some knitting and gabbing away. Where I noticed a gender listening difference was after practice we all waited outside the open locker room doors. We were all talking about American cars and government bailouts when the women suddenly laughed all together about something. The dads looked at each other with raised eyebrows wondering what the funny was. Turns out only the women overheard something hilarious from the girls locker room, the men were oblivious. I would not have noticed this if not for journaling sounds this week.

Monday, December 8, 2008

Theme Week 14 Part 2

these companies profit every time someone tosses an old bottle

The list of companies that have shed sales staff this year reads like a Who's Who of Pharma, including Novartis, Merck, Wyeth, GSK, Schering-Plough, and Boehringer Ingelheim.

The judge opened the hearing by quoting the highly respected American Law Institute’s statement that the fundamental purpose of a corporation is to maximize profits and return those profits to its shareholders.

It's October, so I'm reminded of what my pod mate said about our CEO: "For Halloween he should come dressed as a leader---that way nobody will recognize him."

finding that 90% of these medications were safe and effective far past their original expiration date.

Two reps at a POA where they speaker was talking about the new bonus plan.
Rep: They are just confusing me with these numbers. Just tell me how much fucking money I'm going to make.
I guess he wanted to see pictures of piles of money.

Providing gifts to physicians and financial support to hospitals for continuing medical education are an integral part of the drug industry’s strategy

I heard a rep talking to another about a counter part at a recent POA.
Rep: She doesn't like to bore the Drs with actual facts about the drug. She prefers to ask them how their weekend was then ask them if they could write some for her.

And yet, the AMA endorses these dates so what is a consumer to do?

Rep in front of me in line for "cattle call" at largest office in territory:Rep to doctor: "If you're not going to write my product don't use my samples.Doctor: "Next."

More than two-thirds of the clinical trials that are published in our most trusted medical journals are commercially sponsored.

In a psych office a patient who had been waiting a long time was talking with the receptionist.
Patient: Ask the Dr if I am going to have to kick the door in to get back there.
Receptionist: You may have to.
Patient: I'll do it. I'm a crazy fucker. I've done my time in the psych ward to prove it.

References:
http://www.cafepharma.com/overheard
http://bipolar.about.com/od/medications/a/expir_when.htm
http://www.overdosedamerica.com/2008/06/dose-of-bias-is-unhealthy.html

Theme Week 15 Part 1

The decision to discontinue UFO investigations was based on an evaluation of a report prepared by the University of Colorado entitled, "Scientific Study of Unidentified Flying Objects;" a review of the University of Colorado's report by the National Academy of Sciences; previous UFO studies and Air Force experience investigating UFO reports during 1940 to 1969.

One of the best documented cases of UFOs at a military installation is the Loring Air Force Base UFO sightings in 1975

No UFO reported, investigated and evaluated by the Air Force was ever an indication of threat to our national security;

Air Force Base was put on a Security 3 alert status. The UFO was now only 150 feet above the base grounds

There was no evidence indicating that sightings categorized as "unidentified" were extraterrestrial vehicles.

So intent was Loring's command on identifying the object that they summoned Maine State Police

Persons wishing to report UFO sightings should be advised to contact local law enforcement agencies.

it moved to within 300 yards of the nuclear storage area

There was no evidence submitted to or discovered by the Air Force that sightings categorized as "unidentified" represented technological developments or principles beyond the range of modern scientific knowledge

The Wing Commander of the base ordered the grounds searched for any intruders, just in case someone had been deposited from the UFO.

was getting dinner started and discovered this ET potato. Maybe it's a sign from the ETs that they are coming soon? --Xander (To see the photo go to:
http://www.coasttocoastam.com/gen/page2861.html?theme=light

References:
http://www.af.mil/factsheets/factsheet.asp?fsID=188
http://ufos.about.com/od/bestufocasefiles/p/loring.htm
http://www.coasttocoastam.com/

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Week 14 Theme

Sailing with the Commodore can be a harrowing experience for both captain and crew especially on an empty stomach. One summer I agreed to be the sole crew on a twelve-foot sailboat with my future father-in-law, Ed, racing around the buoys between Somes Sound and Southwest Harbor. Ed had agreed to be the Commodore of the little sailing fleet that season, a post of much work and little thanks. Weather on those Friday afternoons was mostly sunny and the air refreshing and brisk compared to the muggy heat up in Bangor where I worked the rest of the week. I would finish my work early and zoom down to the coast picking up a late lunch on the way. I was already well known in my fiancĂ©e’s family for not missing a meal, or a snack, or even teatime.

One breezy Friday afternoon I stopped in Somesville at the old A.V. Higgins store for his famous rotisserie chicken. This was before the day every supermarket deli provided the same mass-produced pullet. A.V.’s chickens were raised out back of the store and flavored from an old family recipe. Matched with some homemade potato salad they had no rival in fast food. I arrived lunch in pack at Ed’s house a few minutes before we were scheduled to leave and could not find him. I saw a puff of blue smoke and recognized the engine noise of Ed’s tender. Walking next door to the dock I saw Commodore Ed intently revving the little dinghy motor checking the gas tank and looking over the engine.

He looked up as I approached and said smiling, “Don’t just stand there, cast us off. Time’s a wasting.” I did not dare mention anything about lunch even though my stomach growled almost as loud as the motor. “Make sure the spinnaker is loaded as soon as we get aboard. The race will be won or lost on the downwind run today.”

We motored out to the mooring and I jumped aboard unbuttoning the covers and unfurling the mainsail from the boom. Ed is single-minded especially when sailing and I am known to be somewhat stubborn at any time. Ed’s sole goal was to get to the starting mark in plenty of time and make a respectable finish while my rumbling tummy jabbed at me to open the pack and have a picnic.

As Ed expertly maneuvered us out of the harbor under sail I sat on the bench opposite for a moment’s rest. That gave Ed the opportunity to remind me to check and re-check that the spinnaker was ready for the first mark. Our spinnaker was a bright blue and red chevron pattern as high as the mast and three times as wide as the boat at the bottom of the sail. We kept it in a plastic, rectangular tall kitchen trash can all stuffed down in there but in a precise way. When stowed properly the two attachments for the sheets or ropes that controlled the bottom of the billowing sail and the one that hooked to the top allowing it to be hoisted aloft would stick up out of the can’s top amongst the blue and red nylon. I pulled the sail out of the can and carefully stuffed it back in perfect order for the hoist which would come at the time of maximum stress in the race just after we turned around the first mark in the race and headed downwind.

I stowed the stuffed can just below and noticed my pack and my mouth began to water. We were approaching the starting boat in the distance where several boats were already milling about. It seemed the only chance for me to gain nourishment before the race stared so I politely placed the warm chicken in my lap and opened the potato salad placing it on the bench beside me with a smile. “Would you like some?” I asked cheerfully. He stared in disbelief as I pulled out a bottle of soda and a large bag of chips.

“Oh God, how come I didn’t see that coming?” Ed said reflecting my smile. “Five minutes to the start and you have to tear into a greasy chicken. If you got that at Higgins’s make sure it’s not two weeks old.”

“Don’t worry I have napkins, and this is the best chicken money can buy.” I believed it biting into a drumstick. I followed the chicken stuffing a handful of chips into my mouth and washing it down with Orange Crush.

“Now put that away, we have work to do,” he said seriously. When I say Ed was serious about racing that’s like saying the chicken was serious about getting away from Higgins on chopping day, he was dead serious. It was more than a race; it was to prove that he was a skillful sailor.

We reached the start but I was still famished. So while Ed was darting around the start hailing others I stashed the chicken below on the shelf beside the spinnaker can figuring to make like I was fixing fast when I was really munching down.

So as we line up for the start Ed starts with barking the orders and I really do need to be told what to do because of inexperience. The orders subside and Ed is intensely monitoring the feel of the rudder, the direction of the wind we are in and look of the water ahead. He is tacking toward the first mark, going against the wind and it looks like it will take a while. So I duck under the front deck to “Look over the spinnaker” and dig into the dark meat under the wings feeling around for the little round pieces set into that bone socket under there that are so good. I grabbed a handful of chips a crunched them without fear of Ed hearing them over the wind.

“How are we doing under there?” Ed said.

Swallow, pause, “OK,” I said.

“Good, are you made fast with the spinnaker because the mark is coming up?”

“What?” I bumped my head on the under deck looking up to see the mark right there. “No I’m not”

“Well what the hell are you doing under there, get with it.” He shouted and I looked back to see fury in his eyes, the dangerous moment in this most critical enterprise.

I grabbed the sheet attached to the pulley at the top of the mast and quickly attached it to the clip and did the same for the two sheets for the bottom of the enormous sail noticing all the grease staining the rope and sailcloth but it was too late.

The mark was right there and Ed was shouting, “Jibe. Watch your head.” The boom came zooming just over my head. If my heart was not racing up to that point I noticed it then all crouched down under the swing toppling over to the opposite bench while Ed turned the boat 180 degrees. The mail sail filled and I scrambled up to see the boats in front unfurl their spinnakers. Ignoring Ed’s shouts I grabbed the pulling end of the top sheet and quickly, arm over arm hoisted up the spinnaker. The chicken flew as it never had in life and right into Ed’s lap. Potato salad dumped under foot and chips scattered over the deck. Shouts became louder in my ears but made no sense as I made fast the top sheet and grabbed the two lower sheets to trim in the spinnaker. I gave every bit of concentration to flying that sail and keeping us from falling behind. I looked up and seeing one billowing shape without twists I tuned the shape a bit with the sheets and calmed to a point where I understood that Ed was still yelling.

But whatever he said now I knew I did my most important job well. But I would have one extra job back at the mooring, scrubbing the grease off the sail, ropes and deck. I still had hopes to find a few morsels under there because I was hungrier than ever.

Monday, December 1, 2008

Week 13 Theme

All I wanted were some new shingles on the roof when I approached my neighbor Randy the seat-of-the-pants contractor one cold autumn Sunday morning. He was outside his house fixing his old pick up truck with his friend and part time employee Ken. After asking about his schedule for roofing I got more than I anticipated.

“We went to that mexican resturant on Main Street in Rockland last night. I had a few good drinks there but it still didn’t straighten me out after what I done yesterday. I had to put down my dog myself,” Randy said. “She was howling somethin’ awful all last Thursday night.” He pointed to the porch of his rented house. “The way she was moaning I couldn’t sleep so I went out for a walk and saw the cop parked up at the pizza place. I asked if he would shoot the dog for me but he said it was against policy but they shoot deer if they’re thrashing around after getting hit by a car.”

“I’ve seen them shoot dogs that weren’t dead yet after an accident. I don’t know why he didn’t help you out.” I offered.

“Probably wasn’t sure if maybe I wanted to get back at the wife by shooting her dog or something.” He went on. “The cancer was all through her neck and stomach and the vet told us to put her down last June. But she could still hobble out the door to do her business so we figured why do it. We thought she would just go in her sleep, and we’d had her for 16 years. She was like part of the family. Besides, would you believe the vet wants $310 to put her down, and then another $110 to destroy the animal after that?”

His friend Ken took a drag off his cigarette and said, “Yup, it’s getting like a racket now.”
“And the vet put her on the scale and weighed her to give us the price for doing it. So much per pound.”

“They must have to put so much killing drug in to her for each pound” said Ken.
They were both a half-foot taller than me so I kept looking up and back and forth as they spoke.
“So I had to do it myself, 50 cents instead of 400 bucks,” Said Randy. He lit a cigarette and ran his palm over his 2-day stubble. “We dug a hole up at my brother’s house and laid her down in it on her quilt and gave her favorite little chew doll. She looked up at me with my rifle in my hands and then just looked away and I shot her. She didn’t suffer at all.”

Randy worked for about $15 an hour underthe table. It would have taken him the better part of the week to earn enough for the vet to do what he did for 50 cents. It cost him a bit more though, in the memory of shooting his family companion of 16 years and covering her with dirt. A night out and a few drinks can quiet the pain for a while but in the daylight it’s hard to escape feeling down and lonely.