October 27, 2009

Critique, Cancer, and the Afterlife




CRITIQUE


“We live in a society basted in self-regard, our moralists tell us; fat and dozy on the lion’s share of the world’s resources, polluting the seas and burning fossil fuels, we gaze in loving torpor at our own reflection, and the gnat-bite of recession barely disturbs our narcissistic trance.”

-- Hilary Mantel “The New York Review of Books” (10/29/09)


This begs the question: what is it we aspire to? The surrounding throng, it would seem, seek celebrity above all else. Reality televison reflects the tragi-kitsch consequences of this obsessive “self-regard.” Warhol’s fifteen minutes of fame has been blown up, passe in its quaintness, the temporal abolished. “Fat and dozy” on slow-speed Bronco chases, Jiffy Pop balloon rides, and dancing charlatans, the bar is low. When mediocrity is the inevitable outcome of a society living in a “narcissistic trance,” seeing only ourselves in the mirror of nature, it is understandable we prefer our media indifferent and banal in attending moral matters.


After all, the grotesque depths to which our collective aesthetic appreciation has fallen, never mind our moral attention, would have us prefer Tom Delay represent a dancing star to watching Cyd Charisse in “The Bandwagon.”


I suppose the discomfort in casting that inward gaze toward the lot of others -- aside from those we can identify with -- is too painful to bother. No wonder tardy pilots trump atrocities in Congo, and celebrity extortion is the story of the day. The 14 Americans who were killed yesterday, making it one of the deadliest in the eight-year war, is relegated to page ten news when no hostile fire is involved; as if crashes during gun battles, friendly fire, and other unholy accidents, carry less gravity, encompass less lethality, and are, therefore, less worthy of our consideration, when, as the headline reads – “Hostile Fire Is Not Suspected.” Death-lite, I suppose.


History shows us that moral indifference is not solely the province of the ignorant and uneducated. At least they choose to disassociate themselves from civic obligation. Writing on human sacrifice in ancient cultures (10/26/09 NYT), Janet M. Monge, a physical anthropologist at Penn, informs us that, “Ritual killing associated with a royal death was practiced by other ancient cultures, archaeologists say, and raises a question: Why would anyone, knowing their probable fate, choose a life as a court attendant? It’s almost like mass murder and hard for us to understand.” Oh really? Do tell. Perhaps Dr. Monge missed yesterdays suicide car bombing in Baghdad, where the toll stands at 155 dead and counting. 9/11 must have escaped her, too.


Is there really a distinction between palace attendants loyal to royal mortuary rituals, Japanese kamikaze pilots zealously dedicated to emperor and country, doctrinally submissive Christian martyrs, and fundamentalist fanatics of Allah? “Hard for us to understand?” Monge’s is less a cold choice than a chosen obliviousness. An oxymoron, yes, but one I think applies. Scholarly over-immersion, or intellectual narrow-mindedness, is no excuse for moral inattention.




CANCER


Given my age and audience, curios of science in matters of health are an ever engaging, and always fascinating subject. Even my limited encounters with serious illness have solicited encouragements toward healing pyramids, salvific light shows, miraculous elixirs, manipulative hand cures, and preemptive energy unblocking procedures. Dear Mr. Mcgoo’s advice column has periodically invoked the ghosts of Dr. Snake Oil in recounting the pseudo-sages along the road to recovery. The smug exhortation to follow the proper diet -- as if the secret cure to immortality is as close as the people’s food co-op -- rings hollow when your next meal will be delivered by a feeding tube through your nose. Interesting it is how quickly we spawn of the New Age Zeitgeist reconsider the status of modern medical science when faced with tumors diffuse through the abdomen and suspicious masses in the breast.


With that introduction, please attend to the following excerpts from Gina Kolata’s most interesting article in the 10/27/09 Science Times section of the NYT: “Cancers Can Vanish without Treatment, but How?”

Call it the arrow of cancer. Like the arrow of time, it was supposed to point in one direction. Cancers grew and worsened.

But as a paper in The Journal of the American Medical Association noted last week, data from more than two decades of screening for breast and prostate cancer call that view into question. Besides finding tumors that would be lethal if left untreated, screening appears to be finding many small tumors that would not be a problem if they were left alone, undiscovered by screening. They were destined to stop growing on their own or shrink, or even, at least in the case of some breast cancers, disappear.

“The old view is that cancer is a linear process,” said Dr. Barnett Kramer, associate director for disease prevention at the National Institutes of Health. “A cell acquired a mutation, and little by little it acquired more and more mutations. Mutations are not supposed to revert spontaneously.”

So, Dr. Kramer said, the image was “an arrow that moved in one direction.” But now, he added, it is becoming increasingly clear that cancers require more than mutations to progress. They need the cooperation of surrounding cells and even, he said, “the whole organism, the person,” whose immune system or hormone levels, for example, can squelch or fuel a tumor.

Cancer, Dr. Kramer said, is a dynamic process.

It was a view that was hard for some cancer doctors and researchers to accept. But some of the skeptics have changed their minds and decided that, contrary as it seems to everything they had thought, cancers can disappear on their own.

….Cancer cells and precancerous cells are so common that nearly everyone by middle age or old age is riddled with them, said Thea Tisty, a professor of pathology at the University of California, San Francisco. That was discovered in autopsy studies of people who died of other causes, with no idea that they had cancer cells or precancerous cells. They did not have large tumors or symptoms of cancer. “The really interesting question,” Dr. Tisty said, “is not so much why do we get cancer as why don’t we get cancer?”


….With early detection, he said, “our net has become so fine that we are pulling in small fish as well as big fish.” Now, he said, “we have to identify which small fish we can let go.”


But enough about miracles and the obligations of living, what about the afterlife?


THE AFTERLIFE


Coming from a proselytizing atheist, you may find it odd I’ve even broached this subject. Has he left his senses, come to his senses, had an epiphany, or worse…? Is the man daft? Has he no shame? Like a minority of other fools we suffer, I, too, wonder what the state of conscious reality is circumscribed by. Imagining other worlds, physical laws, apart from those which lie within our understanding is, by definition, inconceivable. Is there something, anything, beyond understanding? For some, faith allows a way of imagining a realm beyond the specific worldy context that shapes consciousness and its awareness of that world. A rhetorical digression, but worth saying as a preface to my own struggle with contemplating an afterlife.


But first, some excerpts from Carl Jung’s reflections on the afterlife:


“Critical rationalism has apparently eliminated, along with so many other mythic conceptions, the idea of life after death. This could only have happened because nowadays most people identify themselves almost exclusively with their consciousness, and imagine that they are only what they know about themselves.”


“Rationalism and doctrinairism are the disease of our time; they pretend to have all the answers.”


“Unfortunately, the mythic side of man is given short shrift nowadays. He can no longer create fables. As a result, a great deal escapes him; for it is important and salutary to speak also of incomprehensible things.”


“What the myths or stories about a life after death really mean , or what kind of reality lies behind them, we certainly do not know. We cannot tell whether they possess any validity beyond their indubitable value as anthropomorphic projections.”


“The question of immortality is so urgent, so immediate, and also so ineradicable that we must make an effort to form some sort of view about it. But how? My hypothesis is that we can do so with hints sent to us from the unconscious – in dreams, for example.”

-- C. G. Jung (c.1957)


Dreams, paranormal activities, crop circles, the Mystery Spot, Sea Shell City, might not these strange psychic manifestations suggest something beyond the constrictions of consciousness? I recall a recurring dream I’ve had where I’m chased down and knifed repeatedly. In another, the top of my neighbors’ heads has vertical zippers from ear to ear. Further, my dead friend, Ned, unzipping his head, so that he might better share his thoughts, bows to me, at which point the head of a dog I once had emerges and begins to lick my face incessantly. Is this evidence that dreams are really a form of unconscious flatulence that releases the various psychic debris that accumulates over the course of one’s life? Or perhaps a banal conflation of non-linear subconscious memories, akin to the mental structures that inspired the surrealists.

But how do we escape our “anthropomorphic projections”?


Jung writes, “It seems probable that the real nature of the archtype is not capable of being made conscious, it is transcendent.”


Here, Jung, a lifelong student of philosophy and psychology, implies the archtype as something arising from our animal instincts. Why not simply say the impetus toward spirituality and religious belief is innate rather than learned. For Jung, our belief in the myths and stories we collectively share is correlative to having a faith that our conceptions concerning the afterlife are equally valid to the convictions of the non-believer. And how might this benefit us? While I don’t know if he had the existentialists in mind, here’s Jung:

“While the man who despairs marches towards nothingness, the one who has placed his faith in the archtype follows the tracks of life and lives right into his death. Both, to be sure, remain in uncertainty, but the one lives against his instincts, the other with them.”


-- Randy

October 19, 2009

Dog Walk Musings: "Cod Liver Combover"


"One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
-- William Wordsworth 1770-1850
: "The Tables Turned" (1798)



Credit Card Offers 79.9% Rate!!



Yes, it's true. It's not a joke or a misprint. First Premier Bank is offering a "Premier Card" credit card with a 79.9% APR. That's right, 79.9. And it's not just the interest rate that's outrageous. The fees are pretty hideous, too.

As part of a project to understand how the brain learns, biologists have written memories into the cells of a fruitfly’s brain, making it think it had a terrible experience.

WASHINGTON — People who use marijuana for medical purposes and those who distribute it to them should not face federal prosecution, provided they act according to state law, the Justice Department said Monday in a directive with far-reaching political and legal implications.

In a memorandum to federal prosecutors in the 14 states that make some allowance for the use of medical marijuana, the department said that it was committed to the “efficient and rational use” of its resources and that prosecuting patients and distributors who are in “clear and unambiguous compliance” with state laws did not meet that standard.


"A century’s worth of experiments suggest that people’s actual behavior is not driven by permanent traits that apply from one context to another. Students who are routinely dishonest at home are not routinely dishonest at school. People who are courageous at work can be cowardly at church. People who behave kindly on a sunny day may behave callously the next day when it is cloudy and they are feeling glum. Behavior does not exhibit what the psychologists call “cross-situational stability.” The psychologists thus tend to gravitate toward a different view of conduct. In this view, people don’t have one permanent thing called character."
-- David Brooks NYTimes 10/20/09





Start Spreading the News






  • Claudius. Now, Hamlet, where's Polonius?
  • Hamlet. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten. A certain
    convocation of politic worms are e'en at him. Your worm is your
    only emperor for diet. We fat all creatures else to fat us, and
    we fat ourselves for maggots. Your fat king and your lean beggar
    is but variable service- two dishes, but to one table. That's the end.
  • Hamlet. A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, and eat
    of the fish that hath fed of that worm.
  • Hamlet. Nothing but to show you how a king may go a progress through
    the guts of a beggar.


While in Manhattan over the weekend, a mild case of insomnia had me up and watching the telly in the wee wee hours. I ended up switching back and forth between the History Channel’s “102 Minutes That Changed America,” a documentary on 9/11, and “Three Shots That Changed American,” a film on JFK’s assassination.

TWO BUBBLES BURST

1.

What struck me about the historical significance of these events was the paradigm shift they precipitated in the American weltanschauung. Recall it had been 62 years, since the 1901 McKinley assassination, that anything of this nature had been visited on the American public. Over that time an attitude of American exceptionalism had extended itself to the moral sphere to such a degree that the general assumption, a faith that, as it turned out, demonstrated a romantic naivete in the public perception, was that America was somehow beyond, or better, insulated from a kind of lawless violence that existed in the rest of the world. It could happen here, and it did.

2.

9/11, in much the same way, happened at a time when Americans again believed we had somehow achieved a comfort level beyond those who lived outside the U.S. The thought was that no one would dare attack us on our own shores, lest they bear the wrath of a world leviathan beyond their dreams. Our actions hence have proved that wrath to be a myth. Rather than resorting to a saber rattling that asked our enemies to imagine the consequences, we rushed headlong into a conflict that revealed our might to be all too human. In a recent interview, when Larry King asked Muammar Khadafi where we might find al Queda, his response was, “right here, in New York city.” (NOTE: Click and scan right for a "nose hair" close up, Mr. Mcgee)




Included here are some photos from Manhattan taken over last weekend. Not far from “Ground Zero,” which we had no interest in seeing, is Chinatown, which is way cool. Where else can you buy frogs, duck tongues and pig’s blood jello?








We stayed at the Algonqan Hotel, just down the street from the Broadhurst Theatre, where we attended a stunning production of Hamlet, with Jude Law in the lead role. WOW! The last play I saw was “Bye Bye Birdie” in 1964. The venue was Marquette, Michigans’s Graveret High Scool auditorium.

Speaking of Chinatown, the Swiss have finally stepped up to the plate in showing themselves to be something more than a whining bunch of neutrality mongers. It’s about time. Check out the criminal these two Swiss guards picked up loitering at a porn festival.


Until Next Time – Randall the Vandal

October 15, 2009

Orton's Badger Circus (1854)








A photo is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know.”

-- Diane Arbus 1923-71: Patricia Bosworth “Diane Arbus: a Biography” (1985)

Above painting by Charles Seliger, color photo, Harriet McBryde Johnson, B/W photo by Irving Penn.


What follows is a quote from William Grimes’ NYTimes’ 10/14/09 obituary describing Dickie Peterson’s singing style (vocalist and bass player for Blue Cheer):


“Pitted against Paul Whaley’s savagely thrashing drums and Leigh Stephens’s screeching guitar, Mr. Peterson, the group’s lead singer, adopted the only possible vocal strategy: he opened his mouth wide and emitted primal sounds at top volume.”


Next, an excerpt from Douglas Martin’s 10/13/09 Ben Williams obituary (circus performer) concerning Williams’s relationship with his life long partner, a Burmese elephant, named Anna May:

“Anna May, a stunningly intelligent beast, liked most people but fell hard for young Ben. She liked to hoist him high in the air with her trunk. By the 1970s, they were a hit act. 'She raised him, really,' Mr. Williams’s mother said in an interview on Wednesday. Mr. Williams returned the love, as was dramatically evident in 1982, when a 30-year-old woman in Wisconsin sneaked into a trailer where Anna May was sleeping. The startled elephant swatted the woman with her trunk, killing her. Mr. Williams panicked and fled with Anna May. He was worried that the authorities would kill the elephant, as often happens to animals that kill humans, however inadvertently, Mrs. Woodcock said. After initially being charged with murder, Mr. Williams was convicted of leaving the scene of an accident. He spent two weeks in jail.”








Finally, an excerpt from Peter Singer’s NYTimes years end obituary essay on Harriet McBryde Johnson (see color photo above):

“My lecture, ‘Rethinking Life and Death,’ was a defense of the position that had aroused such vehement opposition. I pointed out that physicians routinely withdraw life support from severely disabled newborns, and I argued that this is not very different from allowing parents to decide, in consultation with their doctors, to end the life of a baby when the child has disabilities so serious that the family believes this will be best for the child or for the family as a whole. When I finished, Johnson, who was born with a muscle-wasting disease, spoke up. I was saying, she pointed out, that her parents should have been permitted to kill her shortly after her birth. But she was now a lawyer, enjoying her life as much as anyone. It is a mistake, she said, to believe that having a disability makes life less worth living….According to her sister, Beth, what most concerned Harriet about dying was ‘the crap people would say about her.’ And sure enough, among the tributes to her were several comments about how she can now run and skip through the meadows of heaven. Doubly insulting, first because Johnson did not believe in a life after death, and second, why assume that heavenly bliss requires you to be able to run and skip?”

October 14, 2009

Q & A




“I’m as pure as the driven slush.”

-- Tallulah Bankhead 1903-68: in “Saturday Evening Post” 12 April 1947


“Prince or commoner, tenor or bass,

Painter or plumber or never-do-well,

Do me a favor and shut your face –

Poets alone should kiss and tell.

-- Dorothy Parker 1893-1967 “Ballade of a Talked-Off Ear”



Q: Sir, we noticed there are photos of barbed wire, women’s breasts, and marijuana on your blog. Do you think these materials are appropriate subject matter for an upright citizen and college instructor?


A: You forgot to mention the crucifix and Mother Mary.


Q: Well yeah, that too.


A: The tits you mention were taken from the British cover of Hendrix’s “Electric Ladyland,” (1967 Polydor) which, of course, couldn’t be released in the States given the graphic nature of the photograph. What I like about it is the diverse character of the women who posed for this shoot. There seemed to be no attempt to seek paper doll cutouts that looked like the typical fashion models of the day. I would have liked to use a more sophisticated camera, but you make due with what you have.


Q: Don’t you think the term “tits” is a bit politically incorrect, at best, and sexist, at worst?


A: Do you assume the word “tits” to be gender specific?


Q: Well, no…but it is a bit crude. Let’s shift gears. What are your thoughts on Obama getting the Nobel Peace Prize?

A: I think it’s great, this means I have a chance. Seriously, I’m with Russ Douthat on this. He absolutely should have turned it down. It could have shut up the spite mongers and separated himself from the liberal, as Douthat has it, “overzealous Obamaphiles,” who worship the ground he walks on, not to mention distancing himself from a European community bent on making us a part of the European union. Instead, he accepted a “peace” prize while waging a war on two fronts, and standing on the verge of implementing an ill-advised escalation of an un-winnable situation in Afghanistan. And yes, that is the same General McChrystal who covered up the friendly fire killing of Pat Tillman. Here’s an excerpt from Dave Zirin’s May 13th piece in “The Nation”: “The chickenhawks in charge, whose only exposure to war was watching John Wayne movies, claimed that he died charging a hill and was cut down by the radical Islamic enemies of freedom. Now the man who greased the chain of command that orchestrated this great deception is prepared to assume total control of US operations in Afghanistan: Lt. Gen. Stanley McChrystal. It was McChrystal who approved Tillman's posthumous Silver Star, a medal given explicitly for combat, even though he later testified that he ‘suspected’ friendly fire.” Here’s a final quote from Douthat, and we’ll leave it at that: “by accepting the prize, he’s made failure, if and when it comes, that much more embarrassing and difficult to bear. What’s more, he’s etched in stone the phrase with which critics will dismiss his presidency. Slick Willie. Tricky Dick. Jimmy “Malaise” Carter. Dubya the Incompetent. And now Barack Obama, Nobel laureate.

Q: How’s your health?

A: Itchy.

Q: Can you elaborate on that?

A: Yeah. Over the past year I’ve developed a common skin condition called eczema. It waxes and wanes, but when it flares up, usually from stress, dry air, and sweat, it can be tormenting. I’m not sure if it’s a consequence of the chemo or just old age, but I suspect the former. My recommendation for those of you who suffer this malady is a daily antihistimine, Zirtec (Cetirizine Hydrochloride), hydration (plenty of water), moisturizers (liberally slather on petrolatum ointments), and psychological vigilance (avoid scratching).

Q: How about your friends with the throat and kidney cancers?

A: They’re hangin. The Geester still has his sense of humor. He tells me he’s on the Bobby Sands diet. I know he’s sick of being sick, but as he would say, you play the hand you’re dealt. Professor S., a truly amazing dude, has been on a limited lecture circuit, and has a book that just came out on aesthetics and disability.

Q: It’s been said you’re a football fan. Can you give us a betting tip for this weekend?

A: It’s true. I’m an incorrigible gambler. Since I love the Bears, I’ll refrain from an Atlanta-Chicago prediction. Sorry Skip, the Pack’s gonna cover the 13.5. The game everyone will be watching is the Giants- Saints game. It’s true that the Saints are undefeated and coming off a bye week, and I do love Drew Brees, but take the G-Men. New York’s running game, especially Brandon Jacobs, is lethal. Oh, by the way, the spread is New Orleans -3.5.

Q: You haven’t been blogging much. How come?

A: Evaluating bad student writing is what I do at this time of the year. When you get literary essays that refer to the author of the poem, “The Road Not Taken,” as Jack Frost, you know you’ve got your work cut out for you.

Q: So what are you plans for the weekend?

A: Funny you should ask. The last time The Sweet B. took me to New York was on Thanksgiving two years ago, which was at the very end of the chemo regimen. She now admits it was a possible “farewell voyager” trip, since she thought it possible I might not make it, you know, die. On Friday we fly to Manhattan. We’re staying at the Algonquian Hotel. Google it (what a joint). Dorothy Parker was a regular there in the 30s. Rumor has it you have to be a celebrity to stay there, which is why we’ll be shacking up there.

Q: Any last thoughts?

A: No.


October 8, 2009

Harvest Moon in Electric Ladyland

After all the jacks are in their boxes
And the clowns have all gone to bed
You can hear happiness staggering on down the street
Footprints dressed in red
And the wind whispers Mary

A broom is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterday’s life
Somewhere a queen is weeping
Somewhere a king has no wife
And the wind, it cries Mary


The traffic lights they turn up blue tomorrow
And shine their emptiness down on my bed
The tiny island sags downstream
‘Cause the life that lived is, is dead
And the wind screams Mary

Will the wind ever remember
The names it has blown in the past
And with his crutch, it’s old age, and it's wisdom
It whispers no, this will be the last
And the wind cries












October 7, 2009

The Local Kind


"I experimented with marijuana a time or two. And I didn't like it, and I didn't inhale."
-- Bill Clinton 1946-- : "Washington Post" 30 March 1992











Posted by Picasa