Me with Grandma Gerlach, July 1977
After spending over fifteen years in a nursing home, we all knew it would only be a matter of time before my grandmother would fade away. When I last saw her -- shortly after the passing of my uncle Bill -- her mind was even less functional than when she first had the stroke, and generally refused to participate in any rehabilitation. (It was about six months after she went home that I had a dream: she could walk, with a cane, and was still the grandma who loved me like my mother would never do. I cried for hours.) She seemed to have almost no short-term memory. Still, she recognized me, and her joy made me feel sick in the stomach for all of the years that I didn't come. I could only put a few of the years down to my mother. The rest...I was a coward. I couldn't face my incredible debt to her.
Before my mother cut off all communication with me -- meaning, of course, that I could have nothing to do with her while she still sent mysterious messages and packages -- she said that, when her mother died, she would ensure that no one would know. She wouldn't run an obituary; there would be no service; she would tell no one. It was her grand punishment to her mother...and to all of us. Except that Uncle Bill understood, years ago, that this type of thing could happen. So he left a second phone number for the nursing home to call. And after endless days of no answer from my mother, they reached out to Aunt Marie. She then worked to track down my dad. He told me last night. We have no idea, yet, of what will happen to my grandmother's body or if we can somehow intervene and make the proper arrangements. My mother still hasn't returned the nursing home's phone calls, so perhaps they can claim negligence. But I have tremendous relief in knowing that my mother failed. We know. And we will mourn Marilyn Gerlach. And we will continue to love her. You couldn't stop that, you selfish, diseased bitch.
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 OK, so it's "just" the College of General Studies (at the University of Pennsylvania), but this is the big first step to finally starting my graduate studies. While I'll be checking out the Department of History and Sociology of Science this fall, I'll be taking:
BIOE 590 - Beyond Quality of Life: Examining Disability in Bioethics
The received view of bioethics and disability studies posits tension between the two fields of inquiry resulting from different orientations towards people with disabilities. Bioethicists are viewed as starting from a medical/pathological definition of disability; disability studies scholars typically begin with the assumption that disability is socially constructed. Although bioethics and disability studies are both relatively new fields of scholarship that emphasize interdisciplinarity, they seldom are brought into conversation with one other. By doing so in this course, we can ask about the effects these differences have on such foundational questions as how authority is addressed in each field: Who counts as an expert? Whose voices are included in the discussion? What issues are worthy of examination?
Most notably, bioethics discussions about disability have largely focused on quality of life analyses, especially regarding decisions about the beginning and the end of life; whereas, disability studies scholarship has traditionally taken a more comprehensive look at ethical issues affecting the lived experiences of people with disabilities. We will examine these differing centers of concern by asking the following questions: How are these differences shaped by varying conceptions of what counts as bioethics? Or by how disability is defined? What are the capacities of the philosophical framework of bioethics and of institutional structures that focus on acute medical care to accommodate ethical matters pertaining to disability? What are the capacities of other frameworks (narrative ethics, care ethics, rehabilitation ethics, everyday bioethics, the humanities, or the social sciences) to make such ethical accommodations? What contributions can placing disability and bioethics in dialog make to each discipline, to their relationships to the medical profession, to public policy, social justice, and concepts of the common good?
Aah, so good to feel like a proper nerdlinger again.
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OK, OK, let's see if this one gets you. [Cute Overload]
[Pats paws together]
He who run through airport naked is going to Bangkok.
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...proudly awarded to Cute Overload.
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Yeah. I check out CO. Whaddaboudit?
World's Tiniest Snake Discovered Under Tiny Rock
Moments later, he was skinned to make the world's smallest Louis Vuitton bag for a demanding hamster.
Wocka wocka wocka.
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Monday is my day in the office, and I'm separated from my music -- which is a particular shame because The Morning News highlighted an article, in The Believer, on U.S. black metal. And thank God, cos I'm bored as snot.
What was more interesting than the Scandinavian mythology that underpins black metal (not death metal, thank you, keep your niche terms straight) is how the American musicians reacted to those at-times ridiculous antics. ...as Blake Judd of Nachtmystium told me: "I just feel that those bands are marketed for what has happened outside of the music, not so much involving the music. Like ‘Oh, church burning and murder and [Gorgoroth vocalist] Gaahl kills or tortures guys,’ but the last Gorgoroth album was weak as shit. Who cares what he does, if he’s a criminal? There’s guys selling crack in Chicago that are scarier to me than that guy." [ MORE] In an unrelated note: please check out Candle For Tibet and light a candle for freedom on 07 August at 9PM.
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(I could swear that I MOGged this song before, but Google says I didn't...and, well, it's certainly worth hearing again.) I'm sure I'm tapping into some fragile place in my childhood when I start adding boxed sets of cartoons to my Netflix queue. I've started watching Rocky and Bullwinkle, Warner Brothers, and "The Muppet Show" all over again, signaling my deep understanding that I could always use a good laugh. And, frankly, these shows are far more intelligent than most comedy today. So I desperately needed an episode of "The Muppet Show" last night. During the course of the day, I had paid all of my bills. Set up a new regular donation to my local Tibetan Buddhist center. Renewed my lease. Tinkered with the finances. Applied to Penn. Which meant I had to update the resume. And write a personal statement. [ MORE]
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Cue the week-long heart attack. I just applied to the University of Pennsylvania's College of General Studies -- which is generally what one does when one wants to take only a course or three. See, there is a larger academic plan in play: the Department of History and Sociology of Science. While those conversations will be going on throughout the fall, I'll be taking a bioethics course. If all goes well, I'll apply to the graduate program in December. You know there's a Nervous Nelly under all of this cool reserve. It's been about 10 years since I graduated from Lehigh and I haven't even glimpsed at the GREs. And I'm applying to an Ivy-League school? Oh, for the love of geez, Nicole, what you you think you're getting into? ...if you're lucky. This morning, I'm running to the more beefy model of my music security blankets: British pop-rock, or whatever the hell is the acceptable phrase these days. Started with Blur's "Crazy Beat," and now iTunes is randomly popping up tunes from Super Furry Animals, Bloc Party, Supergrass, and even Coldplay. (Try as you might, you just can't deny.) You know, what college kids used to listen to. [ MORE]
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From the LA Times:
A telling image that something was very wrong at this year's NASCAR race at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway came before the race was even one-third completed.
As the 43 cars in the Allstate 400 at the Brickyard crawled around the massive track under a caution period, track safety workers were picking up dozens of rubber fragments strewn across the back straightaway.
The shards were residue from a ruptured tire on one of the cars, the latest in a spree of early tire failures Sunday that plagued the Sprint Cup Series' second-most prestigious race behind the Daytona 500.
Indeed, more than 200,000 saw reigning Cup champion Jimmie Johnson win his second Brickyard 400 from the pole -- or perhaps survive is a better word -- after one of the most bizarre Cup races in recent memory.
When it became clear that Johnson and the other drivers couldn't run more than a dozen laps around the famed 2.5-mile speedway without risking catastrophic tire damage, NASCAR repeatedly threw the yellow caution flag every 10 to 15 laps for teams to put on new tires.
The problem: The tires supplied by Goodyear were being chewed up prematurely by Indy's abrasive pavement.
This was the 15th running of the Brickyard 400, so NASCAR is familiar with the track's pavement. But it was the first race at Indy with NASCAR's new Car of Tomorrow, which causes more right-side tire wear than the previous car.
A trio of drivers tested the COT here early this year, but the tire Goodyear developed from that data was ill-matched for the race.
The race called to mind another controversial day at Indianapolis in 2005, when a tire problem prompted 14 of 20 drivers in a Formula One race to protest by pulling off the track just before the start.
Yeah, I was there for that mess of a "race" in 2005. Those tire failures had cars flying into the wall. Wonder what Indy's thinking with having such an abrasive surface (apparently compared to other circuits)...
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So here's one I've been chewing on for the past few weeks: I'm just about ready to make the jump to a smartphone. I'd like to be able to manage my calendars (two on Google, one on MS Exchange) and occasionally check work e-mail (also on Exchange) without relying on WiFi. Being able to update Facebook, etc., would also be nice. And if I can check out Autosport...woo hoo!
I'm sticking with Verizon Wireless, so there's no need to start that debate here. What I can't quite decide is whether to get the Blackberry Curve (full QWERTY keyboard), Pearl (not quite), or the Motorola Q9c (Windows! Eek!). I'm leaning towards a Blackberry...
Other info: I primarily work on my iMac but could hook into my work-supplied Dell laptop if necessary. But I'd rather not.
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Seed magazine online briefly describes a recently published abstract in Nature Neuroscience:
Whether or not one subscribes to the doctrine of free will, it is difficult to imagine that we're not responsible for most of life's little choices. ... In the 1980s, however, Benjamin Libet performed an experiment that seemed to show that areas of the brain responsible for certain body movements activate before we are conscious of our decision to move. Researchers in Europe recently decided to test Libet's conclusion again. A group of 14 volunteers was asked to press either of two buttons, one with the left hand and one with the right, whenever they wanted, so long as they noted the time when they made their decision. Watching the patterns of activity in the volunteers' brains, researchers could predict which button the individuals would pick up to 10 seconds before they had consciously made their choice [emphasis mine].
Gawd, I love this stuff.
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Making the rounds via e-mail:
A thief in Paris planned to steal some paintings from the Louvre.
After careful planning, he got past security, stole the paintings, and made it safely to his van. However, he was captured only two blocks away when his van ran out of gas.
When asked how he could mastermind such a crime and then make such an obvious error, he replied: "Monsieur, that is the reason I stole the paintings."
"I had no Monet to buy Degas to make the Van Gogh."
See if you have DeGaulle to share this with someone else. I shared it with you because I figured I had nothing Toulouse.
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From The Economist:
 Nine years ago, Ahmad Batebi appeared on the cover of The Economist. He was a 21-year-old student, one of thousands who protested against Iran’s government that summer. He was photographed holding aloft a T-shirt bespattered with the blood of a fellow protester. Soon afterwards, he was arrested and shown our issue of July 17th 1999. “With this”, he was told, “you have signed your death warrant.” During his interrogation he was blindfolded and beaten with cables until he passed out. His captors rubbed salt into his wounds to wake him up, so they could torture him more. They held his head in a drain full of sewage until he inhaled it. He recalls yearning for a swift death to end the pain. He was played recordings of what he was told was his mother being tortured. His captors wanted him to betray his fellow students, to implicate them in various crimes and to say on television that the blood on that T-shirt was only red paint. He says he refused. He was sentenced to death for “creating street unrest”. But after a global outcry, the sentence was commuted to 15 years in jail. He speculates that his high profile made it hard to kill him without attracting negative publicity. For two years, he was kept in solitary confinement, in a cell that was little more than a toilet hole with a wooden board on top. He was tortured constantly. Only when he was allowed to mingle with other prisoners again did he begin to overcome his despair.
He suffered a partial stroke that left the right side of his body without feeling. He needed medical attention. The regime did not want to be blamed for him dying behind bars, he says, so he was allowed out for treatment. Three months ago, on the day of the Persian new year, he escaped into Iraq. On June 24th he arrived in America....He is cagey about how exactly he escaped. But he says he used a cellphone camera to record virtually every step of his journey, and will soon go public with the pictures and his commentary. Meanwhile, he seems to be enjoying America. He praises the way “people have the opportunity to become who they want to be”. Shortly after he arrived, he posted a picture of himself in front of the Capitol on his Farsi-language blog, with the caption: “Your hands will never touch me again.”Oh, how lucky we are not to face such brutality because of our convictions. How lucky that we don't need such strength. How much we owe to those who do.
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From the LA Times:
Where are the hot-cool small cars, the drive-all-night cars, the panties-on-the-mirror cars? Where they've always been: In Europe.
For a generation of American Alfisti, the return of Alfa Romeo is the Christmas that never comes. The brand -- an upscale imprint of the Fiat Group -- left the American market in 1994 in a choking cloud of aggravation and mediocrity. It wasn't that the cars were particularly awful -- not particularly, anyway -- but that when something did go wrong with Alfas, the dealerships were insufferable, the electrical problems insoluble, and the fixes uneconomical. And scoring replacement parts was like trying to buy a human kidney on the black market.
It's a measure of how indelibly erotic, expressive and cool these cars were that people ever bought them or ever felt a twinge of nostalgia when they were gone. The fact is, you could fit all the Americans who ever heard of a Disco Volante or Vittorio Jano or Tazio Nuvolari in a high school football stadium.
The brand narrative here has never been about performance, motorsports or value. No, Alfa Romeo is, for most Americans, about a quintessential Italian style, an aching, blushing, toe-curling loveliness of line and profile. It is about the inconvenient passion of Dustin Hoffman in "The Graduate." It is about Fellini's moonlit "Juliet of the Spirits," in which Giulietta Masina is pursued by a man, a Romeo, in a Giulietta Spider (which may qualify as the most knotted meta-reference in film history). It is about youth, cool and the whispered promise of sex under the parapets.
...Aimed like Jove's thunderbolt at the BMW Mini, the MiTo was styled with all the brio the word conveys by Alfa designer Juan Manuel Diaz. The young Argentinian was in the studio one day in 2002, drooling over prototypes of the 8C sports car, feeling frustrated that he himself could never afford such a car. According to Automotive News, he began sketching the MiTo as an affordable version of the audacious and priapic 8C.
You have no idea: owning an Alfa, even this wee delicious hatchback, makes me feel...well, erm..."inappropriate."
How did it all start?
Well, would you believe that it's cos of James May?
Eepers. Makes my existential crisis over keeping the ol' Volvo 245 guzzler rather insignificant. Panties on the mirror, indeed.
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Lewis Hamilton poses with the rock band Kiss. Photograph: Craig Borrow/AP
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Oh, for the love of geez.
Thank God for nepotism: Petra Ecclestone, daughter of Bernie, showed off her FORM menswear on these walking coatracks for charity. Thank you, Gridcrasher, for all of the evidence.
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An incredible story brought to us by The B Side and made possible thanks to Jason Stone of Get On Down With The Stepfather of Soul! And no, it's not simply because every music guide and set of liner notes said he died in the 80's after an overdose.
He ain't dead. No, the wonders begin after Katrina struck the Gulf Coast.
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From the LA Times:
 After years of designing costumes for ballet and theater, Kermit Love found his way to "Sesame Street."
Working with Jim Henson, Love helped create Big Bird, Mr. Snuffle- upagus and Oscar the Grouch.
The funny-looking creatures became a magnet for preschoolers, pulling them in to watch "Sesame Street," helping them to learn.
Love, whose design work on one of the most influential television shows in history made him a partner in the early education of generations of children, died Saturday of pneumonia in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., said Arthur Novell, executive director of the Jim Henson Legacy, an organization dedicated to preserving and perpetuating Jim Henson's contributions.
He was 91.
Though most adults knew Love for designing characters, children who saw him on "Sesame Street" knew him as Willy the hot dog man.
Sigh. There goes another piece of the childhood. You wonder if future generations will be exposed to such wonderful imaginations.
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This is the story of a single that came and went, and was brought back again. I've been slowly digging myself into Soul Sides' Summer Songs. This in and of itself is hardly notable, but today was the first time that I allowed myself to delete songs from someone else's playlist. (Yes, I like to fancy myself an open-minded person, but no soul backing track is going to make me want to listen to Lil' Wayne. I don't care how much you like it.) This post is about the song that made the cut. 
Yes, it had another soul-flavored backing track. I get that. But the lyrics had -- wit. Character. I actually wanted to listen to them. "Well," I thought, "I might be able to stand an entire album of this. Could even enjoy it." Could even see myself in that stream of consciousness, taking it in with a cold beer in Clark Park. So I looked Little Jackie up. I should have known. [ MORE]
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[ED: This is a touch old.]
From good old 1951, and courtesy of the BBC... 
The music was played on the successor to Manchester's "Baby" A scratchy recording of Baa Baa Black Sheep and a truncated version of In the Mood are thought to be the oldest known recordings of computer generated music. The songs were captured by the BBC in the Autumn of 1951 during a visit to the University of Manchester.
[MORE]
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[Headline shamelessly pinched from Philebrity.]
Our mayor has launched a new summer movie series...
..and the first feature on the list is Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
Priscilla!
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