frogg files

Countdown

2010-03-08T22:58:00.001-08:00

Today was the first day of my last week of work. That sounds like it felt a lot more momentous than it was. Actually, it was a mundane Monday, like so many others. Which highlights a strange fact of life that I've noticed more times than I can count — the fact that it just, well, goes on. Like normal. Regardless of any chaos that has infiltrated one's individual situation.

Speaking of chaos, one of the first orders of business demanding my attention post-gainful employment is my bedroom. The details are simply too horrifying to go into here, but let's just say that in my own personal universe, entropy is alive and well.

Of course, since it's me we're talking about, procrastination comes before first orders of business, so this weekend I'll be heading out of town for a few days. No, not to Buenos Aires — not yet. (God willing, that'll happen in June.) This will just be a quick trip so I can rest and recharge after what's been a difficult few months. Also, I need to spend some time wrapping my brain around this new reality that's opened up in front of me, and what opportunities it brings with it.

One thing I can be sure of — entropy will be waiting for me when I get back. And then it will be so on.

Ack!

2010-03-03T21:16:00.000-08:00

I don't even know where to start with this blog tonight. It's been crazy around the ol' lily pad lately, and I'm trying to think what's the best way to sum up what's been going on. Well, how about this:

a) I got laid off.

b) Er, do I actually need a "b"?

So yeah, things have been interesting, and probably will continue to be for a while. But don't cry for me, Argentina! Because the truth is, after the initial shock and also my sadness at the thought of leaving some of the greatest co-workers anyone could ask for, and whom I will truly miss, I am excited for what the future might hold.

For example, a trip to Buenos Aires. (And here you thought that Argentina reference was just my usual pure randomness, didn't you? Tsk tsk.)

But more on that and other stuff in the weeks to come. In the meantime, I leave you with this inspiring thought for the day:

Just kidding. I don't actually have one; it just sounded like a cool way to end this post.

The Facebook Follies

2010-02-27T09:53:00.000-08:00

The other day I was chatting with my friend Drew about the evils of Facebook, a favorite topic of ours, and made the mistake of suggesting we both blog about why we both don’t like it. This was a mistake because Drew took me up on it, which meant that I would have to keep up my end of things and write about it, too. On a deadline, no less. And of course that meant that I a) procrastinated and b) when I finally did sit down to write, I suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

God knows I shouldn’t be having writer’s block over this, of all topics. Having never joined Facebook, I've had plenty of opportunities to explain my reasoning behind why I continue to eschew the most popular social networking site in the entire world. People are always mystified at the fact that I don’t have an account. The other day a girl asked if I was on Facebook and when I said no, her resulting expression was a unique blend of pity, awe and disbelief, accompanied by a single word: "Wow." I might as well have said that I used oil lamps to light my house, and commuted to work in a horse-drawn buggy.

So I eventually came up with a bunch of reasons ready to deploy whenever someone asked why I'm not on Facebook. I've said the site was causing people to trade real-life relationships for virtual ones, or that it was making us more isolated while giving the illusion of more connection. I've said it was a big distraction and that the last thing I needed in my life was another way to waste time, because I was doing way too well in that department already. All of which I believe are true. However, as Drew and I conversed the other day, it became clear that our biggest beef with the social media juggernaut could be summed up in a single word: Privacy.

Facebook has made eroding privacy into something of an art, if by “art” you mean “terrible travesty.” I mean, let’s be candid for a moment: It’s a joke to think that a company whose CEO, Mark Zuckerberg, got his start hacking into Harvard’s computer system and illegally lifting people’s private information to use without permission on a website he’d created would care one bit about your privacy.* Except insofar as caring about it could possibly make money for them. But since it can’t — since in fact it is your lack of ability to keep things private in the Facebook universe that provides the most potential for making money off of you — well, need I say more?

Probably not, but hey, I will. (Mostly because Drew will so not let me get away with leaving it at that.)

Recently, as many people know, Facebook changed their privacy settings. Their default mode is not that all your stuff would be hidden, but that all your stuff would be out in the open for anyone on the ‘Net to see. And even if you do choose to lock down every possible setting, there is some information that will still be publicly available. Like, your profile pic. Your gender. Your fan pages. Your networks. Your geographical region.

Well, so what, you’re saying. I have nothing to hide. Why should I worry?

To which I say, seriously?

Look. We’ve all heard the saying, “Knowledge is power.” Well, in this society, knowledge is equated, for better or worse, with information — and guess who’s sitting on the mother lode of it. (Hint: Facebook.)

Everything you do on Facebook is pretty much owned by Facebook. It’s also logged, tracked, saved. It’s already being used for potentially invasive research. All your photos, all your blog posts, all your wall messages, and yes, every silly quiz you take, it all becomes data that can be used to tell any number of things about you to people you don’t even know, and probably never will.

The point is, privacy isn’t about keeping stuff hidden anymore, it’s about controlling the information that belongs to you. And when you use Facebook, you cede control to Facebook. Ultimately, you’re handing over your personal information to a corporation headed by the guy who very recently said this:

People have really gotten comfortable not only sharing more information and different kinds, but more openly and with more people. That social norm is just something that has evolved over time.(from the Guardian)

That explains those new “privacy” settings, I guess. But it sure doesn’t make me feel any better, knowing my information’s under the control of 25-year-old Zuckerberg, who has decided for himself what people have gotten more comfortable with over time. And I’d beg to differ with his analysis anyway, considering the backlash that has greeted Facebook’s roll-outs of products like the ill-fated Beacon — a service which broadcast a user’s activities on external websites to that user’s network on Facebook, and which, I’ll just note, was initially implemented without user consent and only discontinued after protests. Lots and lots of protests.

Odd that anyone would have had a problem with it, considering the new social norms and all. Granted, Beacon was launched in 2007, and Zuckerberg's quote is from this year — no doubt a lot has changed in three years. Maybe if Beacon was launched today, people would just shrug their shoulders and not care. Somehow, though, I doubt it.

Now wait just a minute, I hear you saying. You use Google. You blog. Heck, you blog using Google! And what about cell phones, and IMing and all that stuff? How is any of that different or better than using Facebook?

Well, those are good questions, all of them! And if I weren’t so behind on when I promised Drew I would publish this post, I’m sure I’d be more than happy to go into a deeper analysis and provide informative explanations. On the other hand, that doesn’t sound like me at all, does it? Fortunately for all of us, there is a simple solution to this little quandary anyway. And here it is: Go read Drew’s blog.

* “Zuckerberg was charged by the administration with breach of security, violating copyrights and violating individual privacy and faced expulsion, but ultimately the charges were dropped.” (Wikipedia, pulling from The Harvard Crimson)

Simple Pleasures

2010-02-24T20:05:00.001-08:00

There's something to be said for coming home after a stressful day, running a hot bath, filling it with peppermint-scented bubbles, and reading poetry while soaking in the water.

And that something is, simply, "Thank you, God."

To The Person Who Left A Nice Big Dent On My Car Door This Morning

2010-02-22T08:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Whoever You Are,

I just wanted to express my deep gratitude, first of all for hitting my little sedan and second for your thoughtful self-effacement which no doubt prevented you from leaving a note. Kind of like a Secret Santa! Words cannot describe what a treat it was to come back to the car after my run and find that the driver and passenger side are no longer boringly symmetrical. I only wish I'd been there to thank you, profusely, in person.

Have a lovely day! I know mine sure is off to a great start.

With appreciation from the frogg princess...

Ash Wednesday

2010-02-17T23:05:00.001-08:00

Today I went to Mass at a Catholic church for the first time in my life. Contrary to what I might have expected, growing up as I did in a very strictly Protestant sect, I did not get struck by lightning the moment I crossed the Catholic threshold. A huge relief, since that would have put a big damper on the whole occasion. Instead, I really enjoyed the experience, apart from the rather severe wooden pews that had clearly been designed with the intention of keeping everyone in them as uncomfortable as possible and therefore wide awake. We'd barely been sitting for five minutes before one of my friends leaned over and whispered, "Now I know why Catholics stand so much."

The service was led by the fifth grade of the church's school, which was, of course, adorable. The kids had even made "Lenten Activity" booklets, which some of the children handed out at the entrance. Each page is a different color and represents a week of Lent. Each week features an activity, charmingly handwritten by one of the fifth graders (I presume).

Week 1: "Pray for young people this week." I note with interest that nowhere in the book does it say to "pray for old people." Maybe that would have sounded disrespectful, but it seems sad to just leave them out. On the other hand, maybe "Pray for everybody" was considered a little too vague. Or maybe they just tossed a coin and the young people won. Next year, old people!

Week 2: "Do a special act of kindness this week." At least they didn't say "random" instead of "special." Although I am a fan of the word "random" in just about any other context.

Week 3: "Get up 15 minutes early... to pray." Being a fan to a fault of ellipses, I applaud the trenchant use of them here. Also my own use of the word "trenchant."

Hmm, good thing "Be humble" isn't one of the specified activities in the booklet. On the other hand...

Week 4: "Practice being patient." Yikes. Well, I guess there's plenty of practice to be had on L.A. freeways. Unfortunately.

Week 5: "Give food to a food pantry." I don't know why, but every time I read that, I think of the food pantry as this giant mouth, waiting to gobble up the food you're going to give it.

Week 6: "Do not waste anything this week." I hope that doesn't include time, or I'm in trouble.

But if I can be serious for a moment (and yes, I know that's a big "if"), I actually really like the season of Lent. I know that probably sounds weird, if not spiritually masochistic, but I do. Maybe it's because I didn't grow up with it, so it seems somehow novel, but I think it's a fantastic idea, this setting aside of weeks to review life in the light of one's faith and prepare ourselves, body and soul, for Easter. When we participate in Lent, we are giving ourselves the opportunity to experience the wonderful mystery of that day in a deeper, richer way when it comes, because we took time in advance to contemplate its meaning, and to make space in our hearts for the Resurrection and the Life.

I don't think Lent is just about doing good works, nor is it about giving things up. It's about taking stock of who we are, and reflecting on who we want to be, and facing the hard truth that the former falls far short of the latter. It's about looking in the mirror and recognizing our failures, but instead of despairing, finding joy in the pursuit of the One who gives chance after chance; who says he can give us new hearts and new spirits; who says at last, "I make all things new."

And to that I bow my head and say, Amen.

Almost There

2010-02-12T10:15:00.000-08:00

"There" being Tahoe, of course.

The flight up to Sacramento, when it finally happened, was uneventful, which is just how I like flights to be. Now I'm here at the cowgirl's house, waiting for her and her husband to come home so we can load up the truck and get to our friend's cabin near the slopes.

Not sure if I'll get a chance to blog while I'm away, so I wanted to take the opportunity to wish you all a wonderful weekend, and a lovely Valentine's Day! With lots and lots of kisses from the frogg princess...

Waiting

2010-02-11T21:44:00.000-08:00

So, my flight has been delayed. I was supposed to leave around 9 p.m.; now I'm stuck here at the airport til midnight. Which means, I won't get to Sacramento until at least 1:30 a.m. Which means I won't be going to bed til something like 3 a.m., since I'm going to be staying with the cowgirl and she lives about an hour and a half away from Sac.

Which means, I owe the cowgirl one, big time.

Further bulletins as events warrant, or (more likely) boredom dictates.

Today

2010-02-10T21:29:00.000-08:00

I'm tired. And sick. I have a cold and my head is heavy. Tomorrow night I'm supposed to get on a plane to Sacramento, ultimately heading up to Tahoe for the weekend. I hope I feel better. At the moment, I'm simply feeling sorry for myself. As I usually do when I'm sick.

In other news, Monday was the one-year anniversary of the date when I discovered I had a tumor growing in my chest. Sometimes I can't believe it's only been a year. It seems like it happened ages ago. And it's still hard to believe it happened at all.

People ask me how I'm feeling, and mostly I'd say back to normal. My energy levels are back, but I still haven't managed to get into a running routine that is anything like what I was doing B.C. (before cancer). I experience pain in my chest from time to time, which the doctor said was probably due to internal scarring. My hair is super-curly now, whereas before it was just a bit wavy.

I look at pictures of myself B.C. and there are times when I feel like I'm looking at pictures of a different person who bears just a passing resemblance to me. But I also feel like that when I look at pictures of myself now. It's hard to explain. As is so much about the cancer experience in general.

But as much as I still don't always know what to make of the whole thing, I do know this — I'm so glad and thankful that, a year later, I'm here.

Brief Meditation On A Line From Hopkins

2010-02-07T22:08:00.000-08:00

Today I went for a walk. I saw a trail I'd never taken before, and followed it to a street I didn't know. For some reason, a single line from a poem began to run through my head: The world is charged with the grandeur of God.

The word "charged" means many different things, of course. You can be charged in the sense of being accused of something. You can be charged in the sense of being entrusted to carry out a task or duty. When you charge a battery, you cause it to store energy drawn from another power source.

I looked around.

There were a scattering of pink petals on the sidewalk, fallen from a flowering bush that stood taller than I ever will. Water drops on the petals winked back at the sun.

There was a tree with some kind of berry hanging from its branches. Large dark berries, like a cross between blueberries and olives, cast in silhouette against a golden light.

There were long swathes of grass growing out of the soil next to the sidewalk. Water drops on the grass sparkled like diamonds. I stopped, crouched down, stared, ran my fingers along the thin green blades. The diamonds melted away the moment I touched them. But everywhere I looked, there were more. If God so clothes the flowers of the fields, I thought.

The world is generous with its riches. God is generous with the world. And yes, the world is charged with His grandeur. In every sense of the word.

A Laid-Back, Totally Non-Road Ragey Note To Drivers In L.A., Yo

2010-02-03T11:15:00.000-08:00

The following is a public service announcement from your friendly neighborhood frogg.

To those who are going below 65mph on the freeway, please take a moment to look at the posted speed limit signs. You'll be able to read them just fine because no way are they going to be a blur at the rate you’re going. So you will see that they say 65mph. Consider what this may mean, not just for you, but for everyone on the road with you. Especially those who are stuck in the huge line of cars stacking up behind you in the fast lane. Which, by the way, you shouldn’t be in.

To those who are going exactly 65mph, you may be interested to know that you have a 5mph leeway. This is not written in any "official laws" per se, but we all know it. Except you. Until now.

To those who are conscientiously going 5mph above the posted speed limit, please take a moment to get out of the fast lane. You’re going too slow.

To everyone using the L.A. freeway system — the fast lane is the one on the LEFT.

I realize all this may sound a little more like a diatribe than a public service announcement, but I don't care.

Thank you for tuning in. Back to your regularly scheduled day now. With kisses, of course, from the frogg princess.

M&M Overdose Imminent—Intervention Please!

2010-01-31T23:46:00.001-08:00

OK, seriously, I think I am addicted to M&Ms now.

I blame my roommate (in, of course, the nicest possible way). She came home the other day with a giant plastic tub filled to the brim with M&Ms—a prize she had won at an anniversary party for some friends of hers. So maybe I should actually blame her friends. Anyway, there are enough M&Ms in there to last til Doomsday. Or whenever North Korea decides to fire their rockets at us, whichever comes first.

Er, wait.

Whatever, the point is, I can't manage a simple walk through the dining room without taking a scoop of M&Ms out of the little glass bowl that sits on the table. Or sit in the living room without having a few—or a few too many—out of another glass jar on the coffee table. I can't even eat oatmeal anymore. I mean, by itself.

On the other hand, I've been wondering what to give up for Lent this year. Maybe I have my answer.

The Breakfast of Champions...

2010-01-30T09:51:00.000-08:00

...can get a little old after a few days in a row.

Not that I would know from personal experience or anything.

In other news, I'm off for a hike near Malibu today. A much-needed opportunity to get outdoors and clear the brain after a tough week. Hope you all have a wonderful Saturday! With love, as usual, from the frogg princess...

Oatmeal + M&Ms

2010-01-28T07:42:00.000-08:00

= the breakfast of champions. Strange champions, perhaps; quirky champions that you almost kind of wonder if you should maybe worry about their mental health, but champions nonetheless.

Although I should clarify: you have to actually put the M&Ms in your oatmeal to qualify. Besides, if you don't, you won't see how many pretty colors your oatmeal can turn, and then what fun is it?

I'm going to go now.

Time For Another Frogg Award

2010-01-26T00:12:00.000-08:00

Haven't handed one of these out in a while, but I'm proud to announce that, in the "Most Embarrassing Moment of My Life" category, we have a winner. For those of you too lazy to click on the link (and honestly, how lazy are you, that you can't click on a link?!), our recipient was participating in a guided tour at the Met in New York when, for some unexplained reason, she stumbled and fell. On a painting. By Picasso. And tore it. In front of many other people.

Yikes.

As an expert in embarrassing moments, having played a starring role in more of them than I care to remember, I just have to point out that there's really no good way to ever live something like this down.

I also have to point out that the article kind of leaves a lot of unanswered questions rolling around in my mind. Not least is the question of what on earth Picasso was thinking when he produced that painting. And if you'd just click on the link like I said, you'd know exactly what I was talking about. But also right up there is the question of how the docent leading the tour reacted in the moment of the accident. I mean, museum docents have kind of perfected the art of looking vaguely threatening even at the best of times; i.e., times when you are not falling on an irreplaceable masterpiece and destroying it. So really, I can only imagine. After all, we're talking here about a painting which had been negotiated for a sale of $139 million.The woman is no doubt thanking anything but her lucky stars (which were clearly asleep on the job that day) that the museum did not enforce a "you break it, you buy it" policy.

Thoughts On A Rainy Night

2010-01-21T22:21:00.000-08:00

The long, stormy day is done. Earlier this evening I saw lightning through a heavy rain as I drove the streets near my house. Now I'm home again, sitting in my room with a cup of chamomile tea, the light dim and a few candles burning. Just thinking. I make a few false starts on the ol' blog, but nothing flows. Sigh.

I pick up my old journal and flip to the entry for this date last year. Turns out that on January 21, 2009, I was on a plane headed to Thailand. Strange. Seems a lifetime ago and then some. In a way, I suppose it was. Just over two weeks after getting back from that trip, I'd find myself starting chemotherapy. Life is full of surprises.

My hair has grown back very thick, and curlier than before. Darker, too. Meanwhile, the biopsy scar at the base of my throat is fading. I doubt anyone would notice it anymore, if they ever did. I see it, though. Every day.

I pause and listen. The rain has stopped. I wonder if it stopped a long time ago and I just never noticed until now. Everything is quiet outside. Inside, well. That's another story.

A Quote For The Day

2010-01-21T14:23:00.000-08:00

The following made me smile, for a number of reasons.

"God is not without mercy," said Toma vaguely.

"Toma, when you first came here three years ago, the year Annushka was born, you told me you were an unbeliever."

Toma's face relaxed into the creases of leathery goodwill which were a preparation for hours of aimless discussion.

"Not an unbeliever, sir, a free-thinker. Perhaps you've never thought about the difference. As a free-thinker I can believe what I like, when I like. I can commit you, in your sad situation, to the protection of God this evening, even though tomorrow morning I shan't believe he exists. As an unbeliever I should be obliged not to believe, and that's an unwarrantable restriction on my thoughts."

-- from Penelope Fitzgerald's The Beginning of Spring

Hope, Truth And A Dose Of Something That Might Be, But Probably Isn't, Quantum Physics

2010-01-16T11:40:00.000-08:00

I've been reading Rob Riemen's Nobility of Spirit: A Forgotten Ideal and today I came across a passage where he quotes Camus, who wrote to a friend,

Only one thing on earth seems to me to be a greater good than justice—and that is, if not truth itself, the pursuit of truth. We don't need hope, we just need truth.

I'm not so sure I agree. Can hope and truth exist without one another? Or no: better to say, can we as human beings exist without both? That is, exist in a way that does honor to what we are? Although even as I write that, I hear Jesus' words in my head, when he said to the disciples once, "You know not what manner of spirit you are of." So that leads me to the question, what are we anyway? Can we find out the truth without hope? I would think that hope provides the motivation to seek out and pursue truth. But what if we do find truth, and it teaches us that there is nothing to hope for?

Ouch, my brain hurts.

On a tenuously related note, I had an interesting conversation with a friend the other day on Gchat. We were talking about God and he was telling me about how his idea of God is inspired somewhat by his understanding of quantum physics (and here I'm pretty sure I'm about to mangle both my friend's understanding of God and whatever quantum physics is really all about, so I apologize in advance to my friend as well as any scientists who might, however improbably, be following this blog); that is, that God, existing outside of time in the realm of infinity, thus contains everything that not only has happened but that could happen. Every conceivable possibility is in God. So when I responded to that with, "My head just exploded," my friend said that somewhere, I guess in a parallel universe or something, that really happened and that in that parallel time and place, he felt bad about making my head explode and then HIS head exploded. Which made me laugh, in this universe.

Quantum physics is nothing if not very strange. And somewhat entertaining, at least if it's anything like the way I understand it, which I admit is highly doubtful. But anyway, I just hope I'm always living in the universe in which my head remains firmly attached to my body, intact. And that's the truth.

Not Comforting

2010-01-13T18:42:00.000-08:00

Just when I think I'm getting somewhat of a handle on the concept of prayer, something like yesterday's Haiti disaster happens and I'm at a loss. How do you pray for something like this? If I say, "God, comfort these people in their suffering," it sounds like I think He won't do it unless I tell Him to, which is absurd, unless He's generally as mean as we try to convince people He isn't. On the other hand, I wonder why He let it happen in the first place if He's as loving as we try to convince people He is.

Then I think, maybe it happened because God isn't actually omnipotent. Or because He doesn't exist in the first place.

I seem to lose my faith every couple months or so. The duration of my atheism, or at the very least agnosticism, varies, and I can't say for sure what brings me out of it. Each time is a bit different. At this moment, I happen to believe. I have my reasons and for now they are sufficient. But then there's Haiti.

The question of why evil and suffering exist in the world has been around for, well, pretty much as long as the world, I'd guess. I don't have any answer for it. What I do have is a weird little story in Luke's Gospel where a bunch of people come to Jesus to tell him about some Galileans who had been rounded up and murdered by Pontius Pilate for some unexplained reason. Here's Jesus' response:

Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered in this way? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish. Or those eighteen on whom the tower of Siloam fell and killed them: do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.

Uh, gee, Jesus, thanks for clearing up the problem of suffering and all. Oh wait, you didn't. Boo.

OK, so obviously this is not one of the warm-fuzzy Jesus sayings that gets inscribed on plaques and keychains and God knows what else, like, "Come unto me, all ye who labor and are heavy-laden, and I'll give you rest." But to be quite honest, most of what Jesus said was strange or scary or very uncomfortable, or a combination of all three. This statement here falls decidedly in the uncomfortable category, if you ask me. He's saying, look, death comes to all of us. Maybe it'll be cancer, maybe it'll be a car crash, maybe it'll be a devastating earthquake. But frankly, when it does come, the reason why really won't matter.

From where I'm sitting right now — coming up on the 1-year anniversary of my cancer diagnosis, looking through images of what's left of Port-au-Prince, pondering the unpredictableness of life on this crazy planet, and feeling kind of sad and freaked out — the only thing that could possibly matter is summed up in another question:

This whole Christian thing, is it for real? Is Jesus for real?

And all I can say right now is: I sure hope so.

Madness, I Tell You

2010-01-11T22:12:00.001-08:00

Today I read a fascinating article called The Americanization of Mental Illness. Here are a few key quotes for your consideration:

For more than a generation now, we in the West have aggressively spread our modern knowledge of mental illness around the world. We have done this in the name of science, believing that our approaches reveal the biological basis of psychic suffering and dispel prescientific myths and harmful stigma. There is now good evidence to suggest that in the process of teaching the rest of the world to think like us, we’ve been exporting our Western “symptom repertoire” as well. That is, we’ve been changing not only the treatments but also the expression of mental illness in other cultures. Indeed, a handful of mental-health disorders — depression, post-traumatic stress disorder and anorexia among them — now appear to be spreading across cultures with the speed of contagious diseases.
[...]
Cross-cultural psychiatrists have pointed out that the mental-health ideas we export to the world are rarely unadulterated scientific facts and never culturally neutral. “Western mental-health discourse introduces core components of Western culture, including a theory of human nature, a definition of personhood, a sense of time and memory and a source of moral authority. None of this is universal,” Derek Summerfield of the Institute of Psychiatry in London observes. He has also written: “The problem is the overall thrust that comes from being at the heart of the one globalizing culture. It is as if one version of human nature is being presented as definitive, and one set of ideas about pain and suffering. . . . There is no one definitive psychology.”
[...]
Some philosophers and psychiatrists have suggested that we are investing our great wealth in researching and treating mental illness — medicalizing ever larger swaths of human experience — because we have rather suddenly lost older belief systems that once gave meaning and context to mental suffering.

Interesting stuff, yes? But as I read the article, I found myself thinking more about another Americanized idea that has been exported to the world, also with perhaps mixed results — Christianity.

Understand, I have no problem with people proselytizing on behalf of the religion I believe in (though I may not always agree with the methods employed to do so). No, what I really take issue with is the way Christianity has become co-opted by such uniquely American ideas as the pursuit of happiness in the form of material wealth and the manifest destiny, if you will, of the individual. Ideas, I might add, that are antithetical to the Gospel as presented in the New Testament. (Joel Osteen, I'm talking to you.) And I don't like the idea of this particular brand (ah yes, the language of commodity—also very American) of Christianity making the global rounds.

But hey, it's not just problematic theology that gets spread out into other cultures. What about our institutional formats? When I was in Thailand I went to a church service one day and it was both comforting and disheartening to discover that it looked and sounded just like so many services I've been to here in the States. I even recognized many of the worship songs as ones written by Westerners (if not Americans), though sung, of course, in Thai.

Er, but wait. I just realized I'm talking about Christianity and mental illness in the same post, and the same context. Which, granted, many readers may find perfectly appropriate, but which bums me out a little, even though it's my own fault. On the other hand, it also reminds me of a funny story. I was living in the Bay Area some years ago, and the church I attended at the time would usually include a traditional hymn along with a set of more contemporary tunes before each service. One Sunday morning, I looked at the program and was startled by the title of the hymn for the day: "Come, all Christians, be committed."

Freud would, no doubt, be pleased.

A Trickle of Consciousness

2010-01-10T13:03:00.000-08:00

The following series of random thoughts were inspired by actual random thoughts I had while driving home after brunch with a friend near Hollywood.

1 Why does Robert Downey, Jr. look like Dustin Hoffman in all the ads for Sherlock Holmes? Did he look like Dustin Hoffman in the movie and I just didn't notice? I'm pretty sure he looked like himself. Also, why did they leave the comma out after "Downey"? Hmm. Jude Law is hot.

2. Is "judgemental" spelled with the "e" after the "g"? I'm pretty sure it isn't. Who proofed that billboard? Or could I be wrong? I can't believe I'm going to have to look this up when I get home.

3. I should blog these random thoughts.

4. It's kinda cool to see the Hollywood sign ahead of me while driving along the street. Wait. Argh, why did I drive up Highland instead of Cahuenga?

5. Why do I always take the long way to and from Mani's?

6. Writing in a notebook while driving is not a good idea.

7. I should really update my blog with something more profound than a series of random thoughts. After all, it'll be the first post of 2010 and... hey, a billboard for the "FINAL SEASON" of Lost! I wonder if I am the only person alive who hasn't seen even one episode of the show.

8. There's a The Simpsons ride at Universal Studios? How boring would that be.

9. Oh crap, did that cop just get me on his radar gun? How fast was I going? What's the speed limit on this street anyway? I hate L.A.

10. Does it make a lot of entrepreneurial sense to sell flowers on the same stretch of road as 10 other people, all within 15 feet or so of each other?

11. Seriously, why can't anyone in L.A. drive?

Let Me Tell You Why I Suck*

2009-12-23T14:47:00.001-08:00

... at being domestic. It's a long story, but no doubt very enlightening. Unless of course it isn't, in which case welcome to the frogg files! That's par for the course around here.

But moving on to the illustration of my point: On Monday, I did something so bizarrely out of character, I can only assume that chemotherapy had more far-reaching effects than I had ever imagined in that it must have altered some core element of my esoteric being. I spent the evening baking.

Wait a minute, I hear you saying. That's not sucky! That sounds like you might be actually be getting good at being domestic! That sounds like there's hope! Yay!

To which I say, O ye of little faith.

First, some background. The reason for the foray into Betty Crockerdom was due to the fact that I had a medical appointment the next day and wanted to bring some goodies for the wonderful staff who took care of me through my cancer ordeal. Second, a(n embarrassing) confession: my mom helped me. She let me come over and use her kitchen because I was too terrified to contemplate the horrors that would no doubt result in my attempting unsupervised domesticity (giving the old "don't try this at home" line a delightfully ironic twist). Anyway, the point is, I ended up with a batch of red velvet cupcakes for the nurses in the chemo treatment room and a few loaves of pumpkin bread — one for my doctor, and two more as extras. And I would just like to add that my mom cautioned me, as we put the cupcakes in a large tray and covered them with foil, about not letting the foil touch the cupcakes because it would mess up the frosting.

So naturally, the next day as I was headed out of my house to my car, my arms full of about a million different things including the cupcake tray, I rested something — oh so briefly! oh how gently! — on top of the aluminum foil covering the cupcakes.

It will come as a surprise to no one that the cupcakes got messed up. (Which, however, did not prevent them from being eaten.)

And that's not even the worst of it. That morning, I also had to wrap the pumpkin bread for my doctor, since I hadn't done it the night before because of wanting to wait til the bread cooled. But first I cut a small piece off of one of the loaves to taste it and make sure I wasn't about to give my doctor something that tasted like, oh, say chemotherapy. Thankfully the bread actually tasted awesome, so I wrapped them all in plastic wrap, but added an outside layer of tissue paper graced by a pretty Christmas ribbon and a card on the one for my doctor. Then I took that one out to the car, along with the aforementioned cupcakes and the loaf I'd cut into (which I'd decided to share with my co-workers), and drove off to my appointment.

My first inkling of trouble came after I arrived at work later that morning, when I stood in my office kitchen staring at the pumpkin bread loaf I'd just unwrapped and not seeing the place where I'd sliced it. The dreaded confirmation of my mistake came when I got home and discovered that the third loaf, which I'd put aside for someone else, also did not bear any telltale signs of violence. That could only mean one thing.

Somehow I had managed to give my doctor — for Christmas, and also as a thank-you for helping to save my life— a loaf of delicious pumpkin bread from which I had already eaten. Classy.

My mom, bless her heart, made me feel a tiny bit better about the whole thing after I wailed to her about it over gchat and told her I felt like an idiot. Turns out she was making pumpkin bread today, and after getting the bread pans in the oven, she walked through the kitchen and found the can of pumpkin still sitting, unopened, on the table. She had forgotten to blend it in with the other ingredients! And since pumpkin is kind of a key ingredient in pumpkin bread, she had to haul the bread pans out of the oven, dump the hot mix into a bowl, add in the pumpkin, pour the mix back into the pans, pop them back in the oven and then hope for the best.

"Now who's the idiot?" she typed.

Oh, don't you worry, Mom. It's still me. I'm just a slightly comforted one, that's all.

* bonus Christmas points if you get the movie reference!

We Interrupt The Last Weekend Before Christmas For...

2009-12-17T22:40:00.000-08:00

...a big sigh of relief! The CT scan went well on Tuesday, and (even better) so did the results. The doctor left me a voice mail on Thursday and let's just say it included the words, "great scan" and "no sign of cancer."

Just what I wanted to hear! Whew.

You may now return to your regularly scheduled holiday chaos. Thank you.

Health Status Update, Blah Blah Blah

2009-12-14T21:53:00.001-08:00

Actually I don't have that much to report. I'm doing pretty well, and feeling good, thank God. My CT scan is tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. — my first followup cancer screening since my all-clear PET scan back in May. I'm not as nervous about it as I thought I would be, thanks no doubt to the love and prayers of family and friends. (Where I would be without all those who have supported me throughout this past year, I don't even like to think.)

Anyway, I have to be up early to get ready for the test (i.e., to drink an entire bottle of contrast dye — yum!), so I'm heading to bed soon. Goodnight, with kisses from the frogg princess...

Cold Snap

2009-12-09T19:42:00.000-08:00

As the nations continue to deliberate in Copenhagen about what to do to stop the temperatures from rising all over the planet, I'm sitting here in my living room, bundled up in a long-john T-shirt under my regular T-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, a beanie on my head, and a thick cozy scarf around my neck.

The temperature in my town right now is 49 degrees Fahrenheit. Do you know what the temperature is in Copenhagen right now? 43 degrees Fahrenheit. In other words, DENMARK is only a tiny bit colder right now than SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.

Someone obviously forgot to give the Golden State the global warming memo.

Now that I think of it though, Copenhagen in winter seems like a strange choice for a global warming conference, doesn't it? Oh, I know they are calling it a "Climate Change Conference", but that's probably because Copenhagen starts with a "C" and so do "Climate", "Change" and "Conference." And everyone knows that alliteration is hot. But I mean, honestly, it's a little hard to swallow the idea that the world is about to burn up into a raging fireball when outside snow might decide to start falling at any moment. If I were in charge of the event, I'd run away to Tahiti. But if I were caught and forced to actually do my job of planning the conference, then I'd suggest meeting in the Sahara in July. Believe me, by the end of a week in the desert at the height of summer, some new policies would be in place.

In the meantime, I'm voting for any legislation that makes time travel legal, so we can speed up winter and get summer going again. Stat!