travel buff’s Neighbors

It doesn't matter what I do, not for all my little words

nobody@vox.com(Jess) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 04:31:01 -0500

I am slowly drowning in a transparent sea.

I know it to be true because the world around me carries on, unaware. Sunrise beckons, the dogs nudge me gently, outside the air is crisp and there is a scent of rain whispering in the wind. I go about my day as I am supposed to. The schedule, always keep to the schedule. Breakfast and lunch are bypassed in exchange for lack of appetite. I go to the gym, or to a power walking group, depending on the day. I exercise until I am soaked with sweat, my stomach heaving with exertion, my heart pounding. It is only in these moments that I am okay. When I know that I am alive, and I am okay, listening to the blood pounding in my ears, and for that hour, with the adrenaline coursing through my body, I am neither manic, hypomanic, or depressed. I simply am.

It is when I stop that the ride begins. This last week I hit a brick wall so hard that I almost broke my left hand, and still dont know the extent of the damage. I don't remember it, didn't feel it, have no idea why it happened. The next day my heart jumped into my throat and my body seized with panic at the sight of my credit card, lying there unassumingly on the table; racked up with things I couldn't afford, in the blink of...how long this time? An hour, more? And a bill that made my stomach knot. Yesterday I spent three hours sobbing in the bathroom, where I had run the hottest bath that I could possibly physically stand. Sobbing for what? I don't know. Overcome with such grief and remorse and utter desperation, a tsunami of emotion that no amount of heat could boil and wash away clean.

At the clinic, with the kids, I fill their bellies, and listen to their troubles. They are so much more than mine. Addictions, pregnancies, homelessness, mental illness, abuse. All bundled into children, really. Amazing individuals that inspire. They are brave, and strong. To survive on the streets you must be strong. It manifests in so many ways, this pretense of strength. I do not tell them that I see the raw cowering child behind their bravado. That I know it because mine looks the same. Malnourished, vacant eyes, huddled and shivering. One youth asks why I have to visit the Dr. so frequently. I fix her eyes with a stare, laugh carelessly and proclaim "Well, I'm nuts." She looks back, shrugs her shoulders and answers "You don't look crazy to me." And I know that she is right. The world carries on, unaware, and I?

I am drowning in a transparent sea.

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What's wrong with me

nobody@vox.com(Jess) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 14:56:51 -0500

I kind of liked this list over at Schmutzie's. And I felt sort of compelled to write my own. It was scary and hard, but here's to airing everything in public.

I took a puppy home from this lady with a free sign, and a sad look in her eyes, which I took as foreboding, without asking my mother. I grabbed a metal toaster with both hands before I understood that it would burn me badly. I watched a pit bull destroy an entire hutch of rabbits. I stood feet away from a rabid red fox that stumbled close to the farmhouse while my mother screamed my name. I took out my aggression by joining in a group of bullies that terrorized one poor kid. We gave him wedgies and hung him on the fence by his underwear. At age 11, when my nana was dying, I whispered to the stars that it was okay for her to let go now, so she could stop hurting. I wasn't surprised that she died later that night. I never went to her funeral. I swam in the wrong part of the river that ran through my grandma's farm and came out covered in leeches. I went on a stealing jag, and only stopped after I stole a picture book from a church, and too afraid to give it back, I threw it in the trash. I disappeared down this overgrown trail and stepped on a colony of red ants that stung my sandaled feet and legs so that I could barely walk. I caught a huge snapping turtle out of our river and watched my uncle cut it's head off, it's mouth continuing to open and shut long after it had been decapitated. I walked down a highway with my brother and stepbrother cracking jokes, while we waited for the cops to come and arrest his mother on Christmas Eve. I held my grandma's dog as she suffered her first grand mal seizure when she was 16. I was in a convoy of cars going to a cast party after a succesful drama production, young teens driving way too fast hyped on adrenaline. I watched the car in front of me completely miss the turn, drive straight into the ditch and flip end to end 4 times. Miraculously no one died, but I will never forget the blood that streamed down one's face, while his older brother who'd been driving wept openly. Or the hundreds of stitches it took to close all of the gashes. Or the terribly blank stare of another who sat pale and confused, and the three weeks he then suffered amnesia. Giving in to peer pressure I jumped off a cliff to impress co-workers, landed horribly wrong in the water and nearly drowned. I pithed a frog. I bashed in the head of a grey squirrel that was dying and in terrible agony. I finished my college valedictorian speech 5 minutes before delivering it, and felt like a fraud the whole time. I held my dog and stroked him and felt his life drain quickly from him, in my arms. I vaccinated a coyote against rabies, and took pictures when I released it. When it turned and stopped to meet my eyes, I held my breath and listened to it howl. I euthanized skunks for a scienific study. I got sprayed directly in the face and eyes while doing so. I fell down the Niagara Escarpment and almost rolled onto the highway. I accidently helped spread canine distemper through a huge population of raccoons. I sobbed relentlessly and almost quit my job when I released staggering raccoon babies that I knew would die. I chased an opposum mother through the woods to re-attach a baby she had dropped. I made my best friend say she loved me, when she first discovered her bi-sexuality, knowing that I was the first person she was coming out to, instead of helping her say it, even though I already knew. I crashed my car into not one but two barricades on a stretch of the Trans Canada at 4 am on a patch of black ice. Somehow, the metal that sliced through the driver's door, did not slice me in half. I packed up and moved across Canada 3 times. I didn't stay in touch with so many friends along the way on purpose, hoping they would forget me. I gave my heart and soul to two wonderful beautiful children. I never asked the first guy that I truly loved whether he felt the same way, and have always regretted it. I never attended his wedding, though he desperately wanted me to be there. I bought a car so my dad would feel as though he'd done something to help my depression. I gave in and listened to the graphic images playing in my head and injured myself. I sat in a sand box and screamed at the sky. I threw rocks into the ocean until I fell into an exhausted heap. I worked with severely mentally and physically handicapped adults and felt unconditional love, and acceptance. I broke down in a panic attack after being unable to comply with the moons demands that I fly there (manic). I got a tattoo and several piercings while manic. I had the tattoo redone by the same guy after I came down and realized he'd been high at the time he did it. I never told anyone what was going on when we were kids. I bought a puppy to replace the baby I miscarried. I didn't tell my mom or dad that I was locked up in the psyche ward for 2 months. I swallowed a bottle of pills and refused to tell paramedics what they were. When I woke to find I was still alive, I only felt regret that I was.

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Epic Journey

nobody@vox.com(Jess) — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 03:51:11 -0500

Just Be 1

I yearn for silence. I spend my minutes, hours, days, constantly searching for a stillness that I don't possess. If I listen closely enough, I can capture it for a moment. When I watch the trees sway, at a drum circle, where my head naturally cocks to one side and I pick out the different rhythms, the tones, the pitches being played. It stills me. But in the interim, I am like a hummingbird, wings beating so fast it appears as if I am standing still. I am this contrast; a turbulent tranquility.

I watched this film called The Blue Butterfly. It's based on a true story. A terminally ill 10 year old boy convinces his hero (an entomologist) to take him into the rainforest in search of the elusive Blue Morpho. He is convinced that if he catches this magnificent specimen, that it will hold all the answers, and it will be his miracle. He searches desperately, and more than once, is thwarted by it. In the end, his epic journey to capture it fails. Instead, a young girl, sitting quietly, silently, still, discovers one for him.

I have been on an epic quest in search of my own miracle, my stillnes, a sense of understanding. And when I approach it softly, positive it is within reach, it flies swiftly away, only this time thwarting me by flying farther, higher; over more dangers. It is a treacherous path, this journey. And I haven't yet begun to comprehend that what I am in search of, I may never grasp. I am not naive in thinking that I am the only person who is in search of something they simply cannot, and will not ever capture. I think perhaps, that we are all stumbling along in search of something, although our somethings vary. It makes me wonder about actors. When they play pretend and lose themselves in a character, do they find what they are seeking? And in having found it, does it change them? How do they return to the person they are...how do they even know who they are, if they have been so many people.

I have been missing out on the vital parts of me. The ones that are, the bad and the good. I have not been taking the time to just be. Who I am, as I am, here and now. I am a turbulent tranquility, I am contrast. This is what I know, have known, and will always know. This is who I am.

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Booking Through Thursday: Life's Too Short

nobody@vox.com(Steve Betz) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 12:54:09 -0500

Suggested by JM:

“Life is too short to read bad books.” I’d always heard that, but I still read books through until the end no matter how bad they were because I had this sense of obligation. That is, until this week when I tried (really tried) to read a book that is utterly boring and unrealistic. I had to stop reading.
Do you read everything all the way through or do you feel life really is too short to read bad books?

I've almost always completed books that I've started. Maybe because I usually read books that have been well-reviewed or maybe because I'm generally an optimist and that even after a slow start I hope that it might get better, or maybe I have a stick-to-it-iveness that says if you're going to start something you might as well finish it.

Stephen King

Speaking of of finishing it, that does remind me of one of the few books I didn't finish -- "IT" from Stephen King. Clocking in at over a thousand pages and at the apex of his drug-addled, no-one-will-edit-him 80s long windedness (Steve: more isn't always better) -- I plodded along in this for about 400 pages and then said, "No mas!"

Oddly, I know several people for whom this book was one of their favorites, but I couldn't stand IT.

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In remembrance

nobody@vox.com(Jess) — Wed, 11 Nov 2009 23:07:07 -0500

At the age of eight I was a freakish bookworm. I spent long hours immersed in other places, magical lands, other times. It brought with it surges of emotion, sometimes longing, sometimes disgust. And then one day I stumbled across a book about the holocaust. I read accounts of horror and terror and destruction that i couldn't comprehend. I became obsessed with World War II. I read tales of survivors from the camps, work camps, and extermination camps. Dachau, Auschwitz-Birkenau, Buchenwald, Bergen-Belsen...the list is endless. I read of mothers being ripped away from their children. People dying of starvation. Women, men and children of all ages being massacred. I read of the "scientific" experiments carried out; children and twins in particular. How Josef Mengele took a set of 4 year old twins at Auschwitz, and proceeded to turn them into Siamese twins, sewing them back to back, until the pain of it drove them mad and they were destroyed. How handicapped and mentally challenged people were castrated. I tried to comprehend the workings behind such madness. I needed to understand how one man could convince so many people to commit such atrocity. I read Mein Kampf to try and understand the workings of a mind that could do something like that. And I came up with nothing.

I read of the men, women and children who were destroyed by bombing, gunfire, gas. Long nights and days spent in bomb shelters. Thousands upon thousands of displaced persons, displaced families. Evacuee's: children sent into the country or abroad to complete strangers, some who were kind and willing, some, who would ultimately abuse their charges. Many of these children would never see their families again. And I didn't understand.

I would learn later that my grandfather had flown POW's back to their native lands. He was haunted by the images of sunken gaunt human beings. Many sick, some, mad from it all. He never spoke much about it, but I know he never forgot. And he couldn't understand.

And then I immersed myself in World War 1. The war to end all wars. I learned of the battles fought, the thousands killed. I visited the monument at Vimy Ridge. Walked through the trenches. Saw the chaos and destruction that has been preserved. And none of it made any sense. So many deaths, so much destruction, and pain and hatred. I was overcome, and still, I couldn't understand.

And it still goes on. Today, wars are fought everywhere, conflict, pain, terrible, horrible things. And there will never be a war to end all wars. We strive too much on conflict, power, dominance.

But today, I remember, I remember all of it. And though I will never be able to understand it, I will never forget. I will pass on the message to as many people as I can along the way. And I will hope, that enough people remember so that it never happens again.

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Pomp and Circumstance

nobody@vox.com(Steve Betz) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 18:21:52 -0500

It was a big day for Penny yesterday as she completed and graduated from her Family Dog I class. For the past month and a half or so, we’ve been working on sitting and staying and heeling and coming when called – all the things that are needed to be a good dog citizen.

Good Down

I will have to say that Penny didn’t really love the classroom environment, because she couldn’t quite conceive of a place where there were half a dozen nice dogs and that she wasn’t supposed to play with them. What else could they be there for???

Good Heel

Still – when called on to do her series of behaviors, I have to say that she did really really well and passed with flying colors. After the final class, there was a little graduation ceremony and all the dogs received their diplomas to everyone’s cheers, though I’m pretty sure Penny was everybody’s favorite (not that I’m biased or anything).

Proud Pack

After the class, Penny got an extra treat and then got to go play with her BFF Roxy the Vizsla at dog beach. They ran and ran and ran together and just had a great old time.

BFFs in the surf

Chase me!

Afterwards, we all tramped over to a dog-friendly café in Del Mar for a late breakfast, relaxing well into the early afternoon over good food, pleasant conversation and tired pups.

Good job, Penny!

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Lost My Coffee

nobody@vox.com(Steve Betz) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 09:34:31 -0500

Xkcd is usually pretty good -- but this is genius.

Orbitals

Happy Friday!

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Compose Yourself

nobody@vox.com(Steve Betz) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 17:17:27 -0500

So, one of the things I’ve gotten to spend some more time with during my – err – sabbatical from gainful employment – is my piano.

For those who’ve been around here a while, you might recall that a couple of years ago, I was stressing about and then actually enjoying learning a little music theory in the last piano class I had before I started taking private lessons.

So, last year, after I’d settled in and developed a bit of rapport with my teacher, I’d described the things I’d liked and not-liked about the classes I had taken. One thing I’d said I’d appreciated (and that maybe it was my analytical-science side coming out) was the introduction to music theory that I’d had – how it helped shaped the way I heard and learned new pieces. She suggested that I start a series of workbooks on music theory for the piano.

Fundamentals of Piano Theory (K Snell Series, Primer-Level 10)

I think this series is pretty good, and after a year or so I’m right in the middle of the set. I’ve really enjoyed learning the hows and whys of how a musical composition is put together. We’ve covered meter, scales, keys, intervals, chords, ornaments, motifs and have begun to analyze different compositions for melodic phrase structure. There are also sections for ear training and sight-reading. Altogether, I think they’ve really helped me be a better (and I use this word very generously) musician.

So, of course, reading and dissecting music naturally began to make me curious about how it gets created. Do you start from a motif and build? Do you start with a feeling and go? What are the “rules” that make something sound “good”? And so on…

Pretty Famous Motif

And so, last month, I started another series: “The Craft of Music Composition”. This also has several levels and naturally I’m starting at the entry level, since I’ve never written music in my life. The first book has a sort of a lead-you-by-the-hand way that takes some of the intimidation out of the idea of putting notes to paper (or notes into Finale’ as the 21st century equivalent might be…) – while learning some of the common techniques used by composers.

Get Started

I’ve never really considered myself a “creative” person. Insightful, maybe. Analytical, for sure. So composition is way out of my comfort zone – and maybe that’s good. I don’t know that there will be any critical successes coming from my brain, but it sure is fun to sit and plink-plunk-plink at the keys and decide what you think sounds good.

Wish me luck!

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Sayonara Means Good-bye

nobody@vox.com(Steve Betz) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 00:29:26 -0500

I’m still bummed, so I’ll keep this short. Great season. Good playoff run and lost to a very good team that got more clutch pitching and better clutch pitching in this Series.

Hideki Matsui (who had SIX RBIs tonight – holy crap -- and who hit the cover off the ball all Series) and Andy Pettitte were great examples of both of those tonight as the Yankees closed out the World Series at home, winning 7-3. Pedro Martinez was fair but really it was the Durbin-Happ tagteam that couldn’t stop the bloodletting.

Feels Like This

Anyway – good job from the Yankees, they got it done when they had to. And at least as a silver lining, Noelle still owes me lunch for the NLCS…

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What Would You Call a Social Networking Site for Scientists?

nobody@vox.com(Steve Betz) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 14:05:26 -0500

Today, the NIH announced that they are spending $27MM of your Recovery money on creating a social network for scientists in the biomedical research community. You can read about it here.

The goal is summed up as follows:

These Web-based initiatives will bring the power of Internet-based tools, as exemplified by social networking, to biomedical research. Modern technologies for communication and collaboration have the potential to enhance interdisciplinary research, enabling individuals to connect with each other and with resources — irrespective of location — to address challenges in new ways.

That’s very nice – but I wonder if this is really necessary? Frankly, most of the social networks among scientists that I know involve a couple of pints. And though I don’t want to be a Luddite, I wonder if it can be successful. Do I really need a social network to help me solve scientific problems of a common sort (Hey peeps, I’m out of ammonium sulfate, anyone in 92121 got any in da house?)?

Because I’ll tell you, the first thing that popped into my mind when I heard about this was two little letters: “I” and “P” as in Intellectual Property. The who “owns” what question is always a contentious issue that plagues researchers from the --- whose name gets to go on a paper, or whose name gets to go first on the paper questions on the academic side – to the industry ones of who had an intellectual contribution worthy to be on a patent to which organization owns the rights to this new discovery and can license it out to the highest bidder(s)? Can you imagine “Hey peeps, I’m looking to cure Parkinson’s Disease with this new compound I made, anyone got a validated preclinical animal model in da house?” Somehow I don’t think so.

Work Social Networks

I think this also raises the question of how many social networking sites do you really need? I have three that I can think of – Facebook, Vox and LinkedIn – which seem to adequately cover the personal and professional sides of life. I’ve eschewed Twitter because I think it only enforces America’s short-attention span problem. Though I did just get a GoogleWave test-account (thanks, DeWitte!) – and I’m not really sure how to classify that. So – is this new endeavor supposed to be a less “career networking” and more a "work networking" site than LinkedIn? Perhaps.

I’m sure being supported by the government, they’ll come up with some terrible name out of committee – NerdNet, Science Communication And Networking Tool (SCANT), Fritter? Maybe the social network itself should organize and name itself.

What do you guys think? Good idea, bad idea, I'm not a scientist so who the heck cares and I want my $27 mil back?

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