It's funny how you can add -sphere to any word and it instantly becomes a place -- usually a digital landscape inhabited by those who claim to be social and networking, but who are actually so detached from interpersonal contact that they prefer screens to faces, and keys to voices.
Ok, that sounds much more negative than I mean it to. It's not a judgment, it's just a fact. And the truth is, I now see that I've done things backwards, so I'm trying to catch up a bit and have a place in both worlds.
I've always been a writer; good or bad content, it was just something I had to do. Several years ago, I leveraged that compulsion to join LiveJournal, then moved on to MySpace, and while I was a prolific blogger, I also kept most of my friends at a digital distance. Since then, I've lost interest in calling web avatars my friends, and have come to prefer face to face contact. If I want to be alone, I stay home. If I want to be social, I go out and spend time talking to people. And it has made me better at connecting with other human beings, while it seems like everyone around me is getting worse.
I've watched many of my "analog" friends become so immersed in the social technology that they can't relate to the people in front of them. If you're not living in their FacePlace, you don't really exist; they have nothing to say to you. I have no desire to be like that. But in my attempts to avoid being That Girl, I've lost my ability to express myself online.
The other night I was looking for a blog post I had written a few years back, because something had reminded me of it. I never found it; instead I got caught up in reading months and months worth of old posts. They were engaging, funny, sometimes insightful, and they had a distinct voice and point of view. I honestly couldn't believe that I had written them. Because they were actually really good, and I wouldn't be able to write them today.
I can talk to strangers for hours in a bar, which would have mortified me in the past, but I'm really bad at connecting with the friends I can't always see face to face, because I don't use my online outlets anymore. I can produce pages and pages of corporate communications and technical documents, but I'm not good at writing anymore. I'm out of practice.
So I'm working myself back into shape -- blogging more often, joining Twitter -- trying to get a balance of the real world and the innernets. Because they are still different places, no matter what the movies try to tell you.
But no. You still won't see me on Facebook. Get over it.
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Canadian Health Clinics
Despite my avoidance of the Health Care Hype, I did watch Monday's installment of The Hour with Canada's (and my) boyfriend George Stroumboulopoulos, as I do every weeknight. That show included a discussion of the new US health care legislation with narcissist and maker of inflammatory documentary films, Michael Moore. While I still am not ready to get into the topic, their conversation did get me wanting to talk about Canada's socialized medicine, since Moore pointed out that Canada was always used as the big scary reason why Americans can't all have health insurance.
I think I'm in an unusual position, being an American who has also experienced the Canadian social health system. And truth be told, Canada is at least 900% better.*
I grew up on the American health care system. As a child, I always managed to get to the doctor when it was necessary, and my parents managed. In college, I was insured, but had to come up with an office visit co-pay and exorbitant full prescription costs every time I got sick. As a student, I couldn't always afford it, so I skipped the doctor unless something was really, really wrong.
Then I moved to British Columbia, where I was immediately required to sign up for a Canadian social insurance number. This came with a marginal premium -- I remember it being twelve bucks a month or so, based on their sliding scale using my income of meagre university stipends -- and full medical coverage. I never had to pay anything when I went to the clinic, and prescription medications were cheap enough that I never decided to pass on them, even as a poor grad student.
As a result, I went in once a year, right on schedule, for my annual physicals. If something was bothering me, even a little, I dropped into the clinic and had it checked out. I had an ongoing relationship with a primary care doctor, who referred me elsewhere as necessary. This was all covered by my small monthly premiums... and the taxes I paid, along with about 30 million other Canadians.
Once I came back to the States, I lost all that. My (now ex-)husband had to pay something like $250/month for me to be insured by his company, while I worked at low-paying uninsured jobs. When I finally got my own $60/month insurance, I still had to face co-pays and restrictions galore, none of which I could afford. I found a doctor I liked, and she moved out of network, costing me hundreds of dollars for a routine check-up. Now, I haven't had an annual exam for years, and I only go in when I'm in danger of dying or becoming completely incapacitated. That's partly to do with the cost, but also because of the regulations around who can be my doctor, which haven't allowed me to find anyone I want to see regularly.
See, Canada's system can be cheap, because everyone pays what they can afford, and it balances out to cover everyone equally. For those who don't like the national system, there are also private insurers available. A lot of companies set up supplementary insurance for their employees the same way that American companies do. And in general, Canadians are happy with the system. It encourages wellness. It's not perfect, but it works.
And the US system doesn't, new legislation or not. I don't want to put more blah-ba-dee-blah-blah out there into the world, so I won't. But the two pennies from me are this: Canadian social health is not the bad example. Americans should be so lucky.
*Percentage is pure hyperbole and was not mathematically derived, although the author will defend its accuracy against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
I think I'm in an unusual position, being an American who has also experienced the Canadian social health system. And truth be told, Canada is at least 900% better.*
I grew up on the American health care system. As a child, I always managed to get to the doctor when it was necessary, and my parents managed. In college, I was insured, but had to come up with an office visit co-pay and exorbitant full prescription costs every time I got sick. As a student, I couldn't always afford it, so I skipped the doctor unless something was really, really wrong.
Then I moved to British Columbia, where I was immediately required to sign up for a Canadian social insurance number. This came with a marginal premium -- I remember it being twelve bucks a month or so, based on their sliding scale using my income of meagre university stipends -- and full medical coverage. I never had to pay anything when I went to the clinic, and prescription medications were cheap enough that I never decided to pass on them, even as a poor grad student.
As a result, I went in once a year, right on schedule, for my annual physicals. If something was bothering me, even a little, I dropped into the clinic and had it checked out. I had an ongoing relationship with a primary care doctor, who referred me elsewhere as necessary. This was all covered by my small monthly premiums... and the taxes I paid, along with about 30 million other Canadians.
Once I came back to the States, I lost all that. My (now ex-)husband had to pay something like $250/month for me to be insured by his company, while I worked at low-paying uninsured jobs. When I finally got my own $60/month insurance, I still had to face co-pays and restrictions galore, none of which I could afford. I found a doctor I liked, and she moved out of network, costing me hundreds of dollars for a routine check-up. Now, I haven't had an annual exam for years, and I only go in when I'm in danger of dying or becoming completely incapacitated. That's partly to do with the cost, but also because of the regulations around who can be my doctor, which haven't allowed me to find anyone I want to see regularly.
See, Canada's system can be cheap, because everyone pays what they can afford, and it balances out to cover everyone equally. For those who don't like the national system, there are also private insurers available. A lot of companies set up supplementary insurance for their employees the same way that American companies do. And in general, Canadians are happy with the system. It encourages wellness. It's not perfect, but it works.
And the US system doesn't, new legislation or not. I don't want to put more blah-ba-dee-blah-blah out there into the world, so I won't. But the two pennies from me are this: Canadian social health is not the bad example. Americans should be so lucky.
*Percentage is pure hyperbole and was not mathematically derived, although the author will defend its accuracy against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
Monday, 22 March 2010
The Kitchen
I've decided to skip all the news and opinion on national health care for the moment, and instead have been O.D-ing on Food Blogs. One of my favorites is the Voltaggio Brothers, written by the winning and running-up siblings of Top Chef fame.
While I quite enjoy Bryan and Michael's devotion to the home gourmet, and read their blog daily, I can't say I truly relate. I love to cook good food, and love to eat it even more, but my home cooking is significantly more... let's say... rustic than what you see being discussed and encouraged on the Voltaggio site.
I am totally obsessive about my food quality and origins. As much as possible, I use whole ingredients, and eat nothing processed. I research the farming practices of local producers before buying their meat, and get a bi-weekly delivery of sustainably grown organic produce.* I think about food more often than the average male thinks about sex. Which is a whole lot. Seriously.
But I can't say I've ever thought much about the presentation of my food. And truth be told, if there are more than a few steps or courses involved in putting together a home-cooked meal, I'll pass. There are exceptions where it's worth it, of course (one day I'll post my bacon-topped baked macaroni and cheese recipe), but my perfect meal has high quality ingredients, makes my mouth orgasmically happy, and cooks in one pot... preferably while I sit in the next room and catch up on No Reservations.
I thought about my effort not matching my level of food obsession yesterday, while enjoying the delicious curry and sweet potato shepherd's pie I made for dinner. It wasn't pretty, but damn was it good. Had I been cooking for friends at a party, I might have put each portion into an individual ramekin, just for the sake of ease at dinnertime, and less of a mess in serving.
But really, when it comes down to it, this is me plating.
It's on a plate. It even has a nicely paired glass of petite sirah to the side.
What, you want more? Sigh. Needy.
My point is, I have the greatest admiration for the chefs, both amateur and professional, whose creations are both visually and gastronomically incredible. I wish I had their patience. And their artistic style. But I don't.
I probably will never have either. After an upbringing of spaghetti and tacos, I don't have much of a "culinary background." But thanks to a little bit of the Food Network and a whole lot of James Barber during grad school, I'm a hell of a cook. My food tastes good. So maybe that's enough.
Even if it's not, I'm settling for it. And enjoying every bite.
*We'll save the Food versus Industrially Produced Garbage rant for another time. Or never. Sometimes even I get bored of my preaching.
While I quite enjoy Bryan and Michael's devotion to the home gourmet, and read their blog daily, I can't say I truly relate. I love to cook good food, and love to eat it even more, but my home cooking is significantly more... let's say... rustic than what you see being discussed and encouraged on the Voltaggio site.
I am totally obsessive about my food quality and origins. As much as possible, I use whole ingredients, and eat nothing processed. I research the farming practices of local producers before buying their meat, and get a bi-weekly delivery of sustainably grown organic produce.* I think about food more often than the average male thinks about sex. Which is a whole lot. Seriously.
But I can't say I've ever thought much about the presentation of my food. And truth be told, if there are more than a few steps or courses involved in putting together a home-cooked meal, I'll pass. There are exceptions where it's worth it, of course (one day I'll post my bacon-topped baked macaroni and cheese recipe), but my perfect meal has high quality ingredients, makes my mouth orgasmically happy, and cooks in one pot... preferably while I sit in the next room and catch up on No Reservations.
But really, when it comes down to it, this is me plating.
It's on a plate. It even has a nicely paired glass of petite sirah to the side.
What, you want more? Sigh. Needy.
My point is, I have the greatest admiration for the chefs, both amateur and professional, whose creations are both visually and gastronomically incredible. I wish I had their patience. And their artistic style. But I don't.
I probably will never have either. After an upbringing of spaghetti and tacos, I don't have much of a "culinary background." But thanks to a little bit of the Food Network and a whole lot of James Barber during grad school, I'm a hell of a cook. My food tastes good. So maybe that's enough.
Even if it's not, I'm settling for it. And enjoying every bite.
*We'll save the Food versus Industrially Produced Garbage rant for another time. Or never. Sometimes even I get bored of my preaching.
Monday, 15 March 2010
Mini Tokyo
Let's just put it right out on the table: I love Godzilla movies.
I'm not a devotee of Japanese cinema, nor am I fond of movie monsters in general, but I just can't get enough of Gojira and his Monster Island pals. I've seen piles of them, from the 1954 original on late night cable, to Godzilla 2000 in theatrical release, although I never saw that American version with Matthew Broderick. Oh, Ferris Bueller, what have you wrought?
This past weekend brought me a chance to view Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla, which is at least the third matchup of these two characters. It came out in 2002, and while it had some brilliant special effects and a bit of well done CGI, the monsters were still two dudes in suits lumbering over a miniature version of Tokyo and swatting toy planes from the sky. This is one of the reasons I particularly enjoy the Godzilla flicks made in the past 10-15 years -- the anachronism of plastic, rubber, and scale models mixed in with cutting edge film technology makes me smile.
The cast of characters was typical (Do-gooder Scientist, Sympathetic Hero/Love Interest, Sensitive Kid), and the plot was standard Godzilla flick. I was slightly disappointed in the relative lack of monster on monster fighting, but in general quite enjoyed it. Thumbs up!
I've been hitting up Netflix for some more Rubber Monster Movies, but I'm having trouble finding any that I haven't already seen plenty of times... That Toho Productions needs to get on this immediately!
I'm not a devotee of Japanese cinema, nor am I fond of movie monsters in general, but I just can't get enough of Gojira and his Monster Island pals. I've seen piles of them, from the 1954 original on late night cable, to Godzilla 2000 in theatrical release, although I never saw that American version with Matthew Broderick. Oh, Ferris Bueller, what have you wrought?
This past weekend brought me a chance to view Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla, which is at least the third matchup of these two characters. It came out in 2002, and while it had some brilliant special effects and a bit of well done CGI, the monsters were still two dudes in suits lumbering over a miniature version of Tokyo and swatting toy planes from the sky. This is one of the reasons I particularly enjoy the Godzilla flicks made in the past 10-15 years -- the anachronism of plastic, rubber, and scale models mixed in with cutting edge film technology makes me smile.
The cast of characters was typical (Do-gooder Scientist, Sympathetic Hero/Love Interest, Sensitive Kid), and the plot was standard Godzilla flick. I was slightly disappointed in the relative lack of monster on monster fighting, but in general quite enjoyed it. Thumbs up!
I've been hitting up Netflix for some more Rubber Monster Movies, but I'm having trouble finding any that I haven't already seen plenty of times... That Toho Productions needs to get on this immediately!
Friday, 12 March 2010
Sweden
Thanks to Neal providing me this video, I am now 100% prepared for drinking on my trip to Sweden.
Despite the video being in some sort of Svenglish, I have learned some things about where to procure alcohol, and that a kastrull is a saucepan of sorts. It's all very educational.
Despite the video being in some sort of Svenglish, I have learned some things about where to procure alcohol, and that a kastrull is a saucepan of sorts. It's all very educational.
Monday, 8 March 2010
A Normal-Sized Chair
From the Chicago Tribune:
Plus-size furniture grows with America's girth
This story shouldn't surprise me, but it does. Although I'm well aware that this country is getting larger, person by person, it never occurred to me that society overall was having to become Big & Tall to accommodate the growth.
I was recently talking with a friend about regional food, and joked, "I can't wait to move to the Midwest and get a big fat ass!"
I don't really want to triple my size on Illinois portions, obviously, but it is very clear that the region of the country has a lot to do with your recommended sofa size. We've all seen these maps showing obesity by area, and there are clearly some trends. This one shows obesity by county, and comes from the Center for Disease Control:
I live in Seattle, in King County, which is in the lowest category for obesity. This seems true of a lot of urban areas around the country, but Seattle has specifically done its part to kick out fast food joints, and encourage lots of outdoorsy activities to keep its citizens fit. I don't tend to partake of this "exercise" nonsense, but I do like the fact that, as ugly, granola, and hipster as we Seattleites are, at least we're thin.
By the way, this chart also indicates why Southern food is so damn good. Mmmmm.... fat.
Plus-size furniture grows with America's girth
This story shouldn't surprise me, but it does. Although I'm well aware that this country is getting larger, person by person, it never occurred to me that society overall was having to become Big & Tall to accommodate the growth.
I was recently talking with a friend about regional food, and joked, "I can't wait to move to the Midwest and get a big fat ass!"
I don't really want to triple my size on Illinois portions, obviously, but it is very clear that the region of the country has a lot to do with your recommended sofa size. We've all seen these maps showing obesity by area, and there are clearly some trends. This one shows obesity by county, and comes from the Center for Disease Control:
By the way, this chart also indicates why Southern food is so damn good. Mmmmm.... fat.
Thursday, 4 March 2010
The Office
Random day at work today.
Despite my source's reports that my cupcakes were one of the only edible treats offered, our Haiti relief bake sale last month made $1472.02. That's great, but what's with the .02? Who gives their pennies to charity?
There's a 6-pack of beer in the kitchen near my desk, nestled on the top shelf of the fridge amongst everyone's lunches. Three of the bottles are missing. I guess someone's figured out how to take the stress out of their workday.
Workin' nine to five...ish.
Despite my source's reports that my cupcakes were one of the only edible treats offered, our Haiti relief bake sale last month made $1472.02. That's great, but what's with the .02? Who gives their pennies to charity?
There's a 6-pack of beer in the kitchen near my desk, nestled on the top shelf of the fridge amongst everyone's lunches. Three of the bottles are missing. I guess someone's figured out how to take the stress out of their workday.
Workin' nine to five...ish.
Wednesday, 3 March 2010
Cosmic Court
On my way home tonight, I narrowly missed getting into a car wreck. I was cruising along, under the bright sunshine, in totally unobstructed view, when an SUV pulled out of a parking lot to turn left in front of me. Luckily I could see him in time and had space to swerve and stop, so when he finally saw me and hit the brakes, we ended up just inches from each other. I turned to the driver and put up my hands as if to say, "WTF, dude?!" He returned a blank look, backed out of my way, waited for me to go past, and barrelled out in front of the car behind me without looking.
How is it that these people can go around being reckless and stupid, and manage to live through their lives? I can't say I'm not guilty of bad decisions; at times in my life I've been a member of the Bad Decision Royal Family, but I usually take a lot of care in situations where life and death are involved. These people need to have consequences for their stupid actions, but without harming others. I mean, that SUV would've knocked my car halfway across the road, and he probably would've been fine. That's just not serving the purpose; it doesn't teach him anything.
I remember an episode of Red Dwarf (shut up, at least I'm a cute nerd) in which the crew landed in a place of pure justice. If you steal someone's wallet, your wallet goes missing. You try to set a car on fire, your car goes aflame. I think we need a cosmic version of this for idiocy. Do something stupid, something stupid happens to you.
Ok, obviously it doesn't translate directly. I'm going to have to figure out more of the details before implementation. I suppose I still have a couple weeks to work on it, since I don't control the universe. Yet.
How is it that these people can go around being reckless and stupid, and manage to live through their lives? I can't say I'm not guilty of bad decisions; at times in my life I've been a member of the Bad Decision Royal Family, but I usually take a lot of care in situations where life and death are involved. These people need to have consequences for their stupid actions, but without harming others. I mean, that SUV would've knocked my car halfway across the road, and he probably would've been fine. That's just not serving the purpose; it doesn't teach him anything.
I remember an episode of Red Dwarf (shut up, at least I'm a cute nerd) in which the crew landed in a place of pure justice. If you steal someone's wallet, your wallet goes missing. You try to set a car on fire, your car goes aflame. I think we need a cosmic version of this for idiocy. Do something stupid, something stupid happens to you.
Ok, obviously it doesn't translate directly. I'm going to have to figure out more of the details before implementation. I suppose I still have a couple weeks to work on it, since I don't control the universe. Yet.
A World of Silence
I can't talk. Well, I can, in a really raspy low voice, but I'm not supposed to, because I have laryngitis.
I caught a mild cold that came on in the middle of last week, and didn't really limit my activities or make me feel all that bad. Friday I had the day off and a good friend in from out of town, so I went on with my plans for the day. The relaxed afternoon with an old friend extended into a crazy night with new friends, getting home at 4am, and losing both my voice and the belt of my raincoat along the way.
My immune system became vengeful, and I got the World's Worst Cough, which turned my hoarse voice into actual laryngitis by Monday. The cure is mostly to just be quiet until symptoms go away, which according to WebMD, should be "no more than two weeks."
TWO WEEKS?!?!
I hope my two readers are ready for a lot of writing to come, because I don't know any sign language. And everyone knows I can't just shut up for 14 days.
I caught a mild cold that came on in the middle of last week, and didn't really limit my activities or make me feel all that bad. Friday I had the day off and a good friend in from out of town, so I went on with my plans for the day. The relaxed afternoon with an old friend extended into a crazy night with new friends, getting home at 4am, and losing both my voice and the belt of my raincoat along the way.
My immune system became vengeful, and I got the World's Worst Cough, which turned my hoarse voice into actual laryngitis by Monday. The cure is mostly to just be quiet until symptoms go away, which according to WebMD, should be "no more than two weeks."
TWO WEEKS?!?!
I hope my two readers are ready for a lot of writing to come, because I don't know any sign language. And everyone knows I can't just shut up for 14 days.
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