This has (mostly) worked out well for me. It got me a nice “Jesus” scholarship for undergrad (don’t judge me, if Jesus had wanted it to go to a true believer, then surely he could have arranged for that). But, while I have made lots of Jesus-loving friends, I’m bad at keeping them. I move a lot, and I lose touch with people. I recently reconnected (via facebook) with one of these friends is finishing her OB/GYN residency. She is over-tired, works long hours, but seems to truely enjoy delivering babies. Which is good. Except that it makes me sad when Jesus-lovers become OB/GYNs. Because it is one of those fields where jesus-y beliefs get in the way.

One of her duties is answering the preggo hotline. And she was apparently horrified by a caller who asked how long after giving birth before she could have sex “in the butt”. My Christian friend indignantly asked me, “How do you respond to that?!?”. My first thought was, “You give the medically relevant answer?” I mean, I’m sure there is some guideline. I’m not an OB/GYN, I’ve never given birth, and I find anal to sort of resemble having an indecisive turd (which doesn’t exactly get me all hot and bothered). So this isn’t a piece of information that I know. But I’m sure (as a doctor) she *should* know the medically relevant answer. And (in my opinion) she should probably give that infomation to the people who specifically ask about it. But apparently her recommendation is that you never have sex “in the butt”.

I wish (when searching for an OB/GYN), I could be guarenteed to find one who wouldn’t allow their religion to effect their advice regarding my vagina (or my pooper).

I didn’t want to wear spandex biking shorts (slightly chubby girls in black spandex shorts are not adorable). I was relieved to find that REI sold biking “skorts”. Someone had brilliantly thought to put a “modest” skirt over the padded shorts (yes, they used “modest” in the description). My chubby ass could be comfortably padded without being subjected to spandex bike shorts. Yays!

One of the reviews for the “Terry Flare Bike Skort” had noted that, “I work in downtown in a large, corporate building. Changing into my bike clothes to ride home and getting out of the building in a reasonably modest fashion is important to me. This skort is perfect!” (referring to: http://www.rei.com/product/765407). I was feeling better about my fitness decision already. I went to REI with high hopes for finding some non-ridiculous, non-spandex, ass-padding.

Sadly, the “corporation” the reviewer worked must have had “escort” in its title. When I arrived at REI I was deeply saddened to find that the “skorts” were as form fitting and as spandex as the dreaded shorts (and they were shorter). The brilliant person who decided to put a “modest” skirt over the spandex ass padded shorts had also decided that the skirt should be made out of turquoise spandex, and should not be more than six inches long. Clearly, the intended demographic for these skorts only included cyclist-hookers, teenage rockstars, and sarah palin’s daughters.

My ass (when clad in turquoise spandex) looked like a manatee coated in “electric blueberry” flavored jello. I ended up with a pair of men’s baggy cycling shorts (http://www.rei.com/product/781750). Apparently someone realized that not all bicycling men would want to look like 50-cent hookers with a rainbow bright fettish. So, yeah, I went bicycling this weekend. Maybe if I keep it up for the next year and my ass stops resembling jello, I will buy a turquoise “50-cent-hooker-with-a-rainbow-bright-fettish” bicycling skort to celebrate. Maybe not.

Living with my in-laws has taken its toll on me.  This has combined with the other “crazyness” in my life  (losing my friends/family when I moved 3,000 across the country, five “in-contract” house deals that have fallen through, and losing my grandpa to some evil combination of alzheimer’s and cancer).  And it has combined with the not-so-bad but still stressful things (new job, starting law school).  And the few “marbles” I had left, are now lost. 

To add insult to injury, it is BBQ season.  And there is nothing that  sucks more for a meat-loving vegetarian than BBQ season (except maybe watching people eat wings at Dinosaur BBQ in Rochester, NY - which almost makes me cry even when my sanity isn’t in a fragile state).  My husband makes the most fantastic garlicy teriyaki skirt steak.  It is tasty beef goodness smothered in sticky garlicy wonderful.  And I miss it.  Teriyaki skirt steak makes summer BBQs painful.  My stomach knaws away at itself while I watch my acquaintences devour their beef with smug satisfied smiles.  And if I’m “lucky” someone grilled some bell peppers that I can knaw on or provided a cardboard-like burger substitute (which, if smothered in enough guacamole, might be palatable). 

So this weekend I say, “Suck It Teriyaki Skirt Steak”.  I am determined to create something at this BBQ that is both vegetarian and edible.  While I might not be able to compete with skirt steak (what can?), at least I won’t be heartbroken in a corner knawing on mushy tasteless eggplant kabobs. 

I have sweet & sarah vegan vanilla marshmellows and scharffen burger chocolate for smores.  I’m armed with recipes for brown sugar glazed grilled peaches with fresh raspberry sauce.  And (because when they don’t try to resemble meat, veggie burgers can be tasty) I have recipes for three different (highly rated by epicurious) veggie burgers including: cayenne spiced bulgur burgers with lime mayonnaise, highly spiced southwest style black bean burgers, and garlicy chick-pea walnut burgers.  My goal is to survive a BBQ (in my fragile mental state) without having any sort of breakdown (or going into a psychotic range and branding people with my white hot smores stick as they stuff skirt steak in their pie-hole).

Sadly, I deal with “emotional” healthcare data which often gets taken out of context, misinterpreted or twisted in some weird way so that it is unrecognizable and in no way resembles the original “factual information” (I blame Fox News).   I started my career analyzing Substance Use in Veterans.  My office overlooked the Methadone Maintence Clinic.   I moved to a new position that involved assessing hospital mortality rates (because Center for Medicare/Medicaid services (CMS) was considering making risk-adjusted mortality rates for physicians and hospitals publically available).   And no hospital wants people to be able to see that patients die there despite the fact that many people don’t *want* to die at home and go to the hospital specifically to die.  I mean, do you really want your loved ones to clean up your dead body and the feces that you expel when you die?  Wouldn’t you rather have some anoymous hospital tech clean up your death poopies?  Aren’t you glad that your loved ones died at a hospital so you didn’t have to clean up their death-poopies?  But you don’t think about that when you  look at hospital mortality rates.  You think “OMG people DIE there!  They must be a crappy hospital”. 

Anyways, after spending 2 years reporting on hospital mortality rates, I had apparently found my niche market (healthcare analysis of crazy controversial topics that no one else wants to deal with?).   My third Statistical Programming position was at a newly created government center examining Suicide in Veterans (one more topic that no one wants to touch).  Male veterans in the general U.S. population are twice as likely as their civilian peers to die by suicide.  Sad, huh?  Upon leaving that position, I found what may have been the only more controversial healthcare topic than Suicide in Veterans.   Of course I can’t tell you what it is, or you could hunt me down and kill me.  But I promise, its not abortion, but its even more controversial than Veteran Suicides during a controversial “war”.

So, while I totally believe that making factual information available is never a bad thing, I’ve spent a lot of time dealing with data that gets a lot of “emotional” attention. And I’m overwhelmed by how frequently the news media, (and then the general population) take “emotional” healthcare topics and completely misinterpret the data.   Think for a moment about Swine Flu and the media attention it has received.  National Geographic states “Experts like Johns Hopkins’s Pekosz and RTI’s Layton say there’s currently no reason to lock yourself up in the house” but fox news says the swine flu “entered a dangerous new phase Monday as the death toll climbed”  DOoooooooommmmmmed.  I mean there are an annual average of 41,400 deaths in the US from influenza (regular flu).   Swine flu now has 80 deaths internationally.  Clearly Fox is not sensationalizing things when they suggest we are DOOOOOOOOOMMMMED.  DOooOOOOMMMMMMED, I tell you.  This is why I hate Fox News (and other organizations that sensationalize things that aren’t sensational).  And 80 deaths DOES seem bad.  Unless you look at IN CONTEXT. 

Anyways, that wasn’t really my main point. Perhaps partly because of my career path, but also because of current situations in my personal life, I’ve been thinking a lot about numbers and touchy health care subjects like death. And while there are probably a myriad of things that have created my “death-centric” current mindset, there are two main reasons for the focus. So I’m devoting some posts to death and healthcare and possibly my own personal brand of crazy for the following reasons:

1. There has been a cluster of Caltrain suicides. Suicide clusters and copycat suicides fascinate me. I’m not sure if this is because I spent so much time doing analysis of suicide data, because I’ve had two people close to be commit suicide, or because I have “treatment resistant major depression”.  But suicide fascinates me. And suicide clusters / copycat suicides are even more interesting.
2. There was a recent news article about the Medicare (CMS) making mortality rates for physicians and hospitals publically available.  And there has been a lot of media coverage of healthcare in general in the US lately.  And, having spent quite a bit of time assessing mortality/healthcare data, perhaps I have strong opinions. And (after working with one of the hospice coordinators) I think the US has a really unhealthy attitude towards death (and things that relate to death, like hospice care). And it might be one of the reasons that our healthcare is so screwed up. But really, the major reason that I have been thinking about death/hospice/healthcare at this particular moment is that my grandpa (who has Alzheimer’s and Cancer) is being moved to hospice. And on a rational level I realize that this is probably the right decision, but I am devastated.  And I use this blog to process my emotions (because contrary to popular belief, I am neither a Robot nor Noam Chomsky). 

This is already too long. If you care more about my current death-centric ramblings, the next post is on crazy suicide clusters and Caltrain. The following post is on screwed up healthcare and US views of death/hospice (with some anecdotes about the most wonderful pant-less Irishman to ever tell his granddaughter she had a lovely ass). Or maybe the hospice post will be first. Or maybe I will be too emotional to actually write either (or at least the hospice one). But you should check back, just in case.

I try not to interact with *any* people (it is why I picked a career path that involves sitting in a windowless office programming all day), but I have a specific dislike for people who are trying to sell me something.   Yesterday after work I went looking at homes with a realtor.  I’ve been interacting with a lot of realtors lately.  And I can’t think of a profession that has a stronger “used-car-salesman” vibe (except perhaps used-car-salesman or maybe electronics salesmen (but I’m probably biased because I used to date one of those)).  Anyways, if you do a google image search for “realtor”, the fifth image is “Lou”:

who looks like a smarmy used-car-salesman?

And while most of the “realtors” on google image search aren’t so obviously creepy-used-car-sales-people, there are a significant number of them with fake tans.

like this charming lady...

And I don’t get it.  Why do sales people think that we like fake tans?  Do they really help with sales?  Just so you don’t think I’m unfairly discriminating against realtors, I wanted to make it clear that I realize that the image associated with my profession isn’t much better.  I image searched “SAS programmer” and got this shining example of nerdhood:

Isn't he sexy?

But my point wasn’t actually to just make fun of realtors.   I’m actually curious why sales people become so smarmy.  I dated this guy who sold electronics once.   The more time he spent selling stuff, the more smarmy he became.   And apparently it worked for him.  He because one of the top salesmen in his region (and then he got a graduate degree in theoretical physics and became an academic or something - but from what I understand he retained all of his salesperson smarminess).  He also convinced me that smarminess sells stuff.

Why do consumers respond to fake tans and bleached hair?  It always creeps me out and makes me want to run away (without buying anything).  And I always sort of assume that most people have the same reaction that I do.  But if it didn’t work, salespeople (and realtors) wouldn’t do it.  So who are these consumers who flock to fake tans?    And why do they do it? 

Anyways, it turns out that the realtor I was dealing with yesterday was actually fairly competant.  But it took me a long time to realize that because I was distracted by his glowing orange tan.   And I think I would have taken him a lot more seriously (from the start), if both his skin and his hair were a more natural color.

This is why I was shocked to find Sweet & Sara’s Vegan Vanilla Marshmellows, because they are delicious *and* they perfectly replicate everything a marshmellow should be.  Seriously.  I wouldn’t lie about something like this. 

For those of you that aren’t vegetarian, you probably never think about the fact that many delicious sugary treats like marshmellows and gummi bears contain gelatin.  Gelatin is created by a truely disgusting process where collagen is extracted from the bones, connective tissues, organs, and some intestines of animals such as domesticated cattle, pigs and horses (yum?).   As a vegetarian, I crave many meaty things.   I rarely feel the desire to go out and munch an entire bag of marshmellows, but I am insanely saddened when my friends decide to have an improptu backyard bonfire complete with getlatin-filled, yummy gooey, smores.  Smores are delicious.  And normally I can’t have them.  Anyone who hates smores is clearly a communist (and not in the nice, hippy, sharing sort of way.  They are communist in the evil, violent, eugenics loving dictator sort of way). 

Anyways, some friends have convinced me to go backpacking this weekend.  This sounds absolutely horrible (why would I want to carry a 40 lb pack through 10+ miles of wilderness a day so that I could sleep on hard stoney ground in a make-shift shelter when I could be at home on a plush mattress?).  But, since backpacking is an occasion to have yummy smores, I let myself be convinced join the trip.  And the first thing I did was go online and order Sweet & Sara’s delicious marshmellow treats. 

I spent the next few days waiting for the UPS man to arrive.  But he didn’t.  Yesterday, I received an email saying that UPS couldn’t deliver my marshmellows.  I had used google checkout.  And even though I typed in my new address (which apparently was used for billing purposes only), google checkout is “smart” and sent them to my old address (which I didn’t type in, but google had on file).  I hate google. 

I actually cried when I found out that I was going to spend a weekend backbacking *without* smores to make it marginally OK (although it wasn’t really about the marshmellows, I’ve had a really bad week and it seems like *nothing* can go right).  After the crying and panic subsided, I went to the Sweet & Sara website and looked for local retailers that might carry delicious vegetarian friendly, marshmellow-goodness.  I was in luck.  According to the S&S website,  Whole Foods in Cupertino (which isn’t that far from me) carried them.  Yays! 

So, after work yesterday, I drove to whole foods.  Yummy marshmellows for me.  Yum, yum, yum!  Yays!  I could already feel my mouth watering.  But either the S&S website lied to me, or both me and the Customer Service people at Whole Foods are too retarded to find them.  And I looked *really* hard.  For a long time.  Now I am going backpacking and I don’t even get yummy, gooey, smores goodness.  This weekend is going to suck.  A lot.  I hate everything.

South Park did an episode that mostly sums up my feeling about Prius owners and their smugness.  They made fun of “progressive” San Francisco dwelling hybrid owners, implying that they all ”preachy talk” with their eyes closed, and like the smell of their own farts.   They demonstrate this repeatedly by having them stop in mid-conversation, fart loudly, then bend over and inhale with pleasure, before resuming conversation.  I know many Prius owners who aren’t like this.  But I know several who are.   And they make me want to taser things. 

A few (in particular) come to mind.  I have a coworker who no longer calls his car “my car”.  When our office goes out to lunch and we are arranging rides, most of us say “We could take my car.”  He says “We could take my Prius”.   It is (apparently) very important that everyone knows he has a Prius.  This is annoying.  I’m not quite sure why it bothers me so much, but it really, really does.  It isn’t even like he is unique in his Prius ownership.  We have a really small office, and there are multiple people are Prius owners.   We get it.  You own a Prius.  This doesn’t make you special.  But your farts smell pretty.

This is something that has been annoying me for a long time, but I decided to write about because I was wandering around the internet when I cam across this hippie “news” article.  Like all of the authors on this “news” website, the author has a one-sentence self description of herself at the bottom of her article: “Anonymous Blogger is a Prius-driving writer and photographer based in San Francisco.”  If I had to describe myself in one sentence, that wouldn’t be the sentence I chose (and not just because I don’t drive a Prius).  I wonder if she wrote the description herself.  I wonder if she realizes how smug and narcissistic it sounds. 

Nahgems is a judgemental b!tch and egocentric blogger who generally dislikes people, but likes puppies a lot. 

But doing *actual* good is hard work.  So, I thought doing some sort of fundraiser where we could generate money was probably the easiest solution.  Something like “Tofu Takedown” (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/13/dining/13cook.html) but with donuts instead of tofu (and with the entry fees going to charity).  Someone else could do the hard-work / acutal “good” with the money raised.  I could have yummy donuts (i.e. have a donut rave?) and feel good about myself (because the donut rave raised money for a worthy cause).  Then I started to think about what cause to donate to.  There were three obvious donut-day-related “do good” themes that were to me:

1. Cops: There are tons of cop related charities.  And (like it or not) cops are associated with donuts (and tasering pregnant women).  But I have some sort of weird hatred for cops.  I can’t really explain it, but I have a visceral negative reaction to cops.  I literally start shaking around them.  And then they think I’m guilty (or on drugs) because I am sweating and shaking.  And I know cops do good things and keep me safe and everything.  But for me, cops are like spiders.  They just creep me out.  Cops are the anti-gummi-bear in my life. 
2. Obesity / Healthy Diets: Because donuts (and gummi bears) make me (and everyone else in America) fat.  And fat is bad.  But it seems quite hypocritical to “celebrate” donut day by supporting healthy eating.  But in this scenerio I was kind of thinking about the charity as being “donut offset” (similar to carbon offsets - where I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about gorging on donuts because the charity donation would make sure someone else was eating healthy food).  And the SF Area has some cool “healthy” charities (like the Chez Panisse Foundation or Village Harvest). 
3. Salvation Army: Because National Doughnut Day started in 1938 as a fund raiser for the Chicago Salvation Army.  But the Salvation Army is tough for me.  They are one of the few large charities that I think generally does have an large positive impact.  They do significantly better than their major “competitors” (like the Red Cross). They tend to show up at disasters before the Red Cross.  And they have less administrative costs than the Red Cross.  And they rarely have evil scandels about waste (like the Red Cross does).  I can’t argue that the Salvation Army doesn’t do good things.  But they are solidly Christian (hence the “salvation” in their name).  And if you read the position statements on the Salvation Army’s website, their position on Marriage, Homosexuality and Abortion are henious.  

Anyways, finding a donut-day-related “cause” to support was harder than anticipated.  I like to support local charities, but I’m fairly new here in Cali, and not as familiar with the local charity scene.  So I started looking on the interwebz for local (potentially donut related) “do good” groups.  I didn’t find anything helpful.  I did find an article about http://www.myfreeimplants.com/, a service which (according to wiki) “purports to be an alternative to traditional cosmetic surgery financing methods. Models participate on the website with the main goal of raising money to fund a breast augmentation procedure through online donations.”.  I don’t know if they are actually a “real” (501c3 tax-deductible nonprofit) charity.  My work blocks their website so I was unable to learn more about them.  But even if I thought they were a “good” idea (and I don’t) they seem anti-donut-day.  Girls (and many guys) who eat lots of donuts already have boobs.  It is the 98 lb non-donut-eating girls who need “charity” like that.  If I was going to support a boob related charity (or I guess Charity Event), it would be “Hooters for Neuters”.  Because starving puppies are sad. 

So yeah.  In reality, I’m not the one tasked with “doing something” for national donut day.  So I’m not sure why I spent this much time thinking about it.  But if you have suggestions about how to “do something” for national donut day, I’ll pass them along.

Star Trek always seemed like “The Brady Bunch” of science fiction.  It was too idealistic, hopeful and cheesy.  Each episode tried too hard to make a “social commentary” on an important issue like racism, sexism, militarism or race relations.  I hate things that preach to me.  And the geeks that liked Star Trek weren’t the intelligent, sarcastic geeks that I enjoy.  They were the stinky (wanna-be smart) role-playing geeks.   They were the barnacles on the smart boat.  So I was mildly horrified when my husband wanted to see Star Trek.  Because Star Trek is preachy and stinky and icky and makes me want to curl up in a fetal position and eat paste. 

But we are living with my in-laws (hopefully for a very short time).  And I will use almost any excuse to get out of the house.  Maintaining what is left of my sanity depends on it.  So yesterday, as we were driving home from REI, I said, “I don’t want to go home”.  And we ended up at Star Trek.  And I’m totally embarrassed that I found the movie entertaining.  

But Star also exemplified one of my major problems with the current “movie star” system.  For some reason, people want to see “big stars” when they go to a movie.  They are significantly more likely to go see a movie involving Natalie Portman than one that doesn’t.  And I don’t get it.  Because I find the “big stars” distracting.  And it detracts from my ability to lose myself in a movie. 

I spent the whole Star Trek movie expecting to see Spock (Zachary Quinto) go evil-Sylar and start slicing people’s heads open and stealing their powers while Sulu (John Cho) smoked up with his friend Kumar.  And no matter how non-evil Quinto managed to be, every time he raised his eyebrow, all I saw was evil-Sylar-Spock.  And I kept thinking “and then they all die a horrible fiery death”.    I was unable to lose myself in the movie and was ultimately relieved when he attacked Kirk (Chris Pine).  I wish they had picked “nobody” actors (like Chris Pine, who may of played lots of other roles, but none of them were entertaining enough to “stick” in my head).   I would have enjoyed the movie more if I hadn’t spent the whole time waiting for Spock to slice people’s heads open.  Or maybe not.  Maybe that is the only reason I enjoyed myself.

I have spent the majority of this weekend with a “someone yoinked my hot-dog” look.  This weekend has been depressing.  And, like most good Americans, I ”fix” my depression with food (mmm… curry fries).  But every time I have tried to find that perfect snack to take the pain away, my hot-dog has been “yoinked” (I’m making the pathetic puppy dog face, but you can’t see it because this a blog). 

On friday I received two letters from the DMV (one from CA and one from NY).  Apparently insurance mishap in CA caused my registration to be revoked (the insurance company had the VIN wrong for my car, so electronic transmission required by the state of Califonia was incorrect.  California assumed I was uninsured and revoked my registraion).  A second error caused my license to be revoked by NY.  Apparently they never received my license plates when I sold my car.  Since they sent the notices to my home in NY, I never got them.   They revoked my license.  So,  I have no driver’s license and my car registration has been revoked. 

After sifting through the paperwork and spending an obscene amount of time on the phone with my insurance company resolving the registration issue (the license issue is more difficult, and will take some extended effort) I decided to throw myself a pity party.  This pity party needed yummy cheesy pizza.  But when my husband picked up the yummy cheesy pizza goodness, he didn’t check to make sure they gave us the correct yummy cheesy pizza.  And the not-so-yummy pizza they gave to us  had mushrooms and olives on it.  The tempting scent of pizza goodness taunted me.  It said, “Ha!  I smell like yumminess, but really I am covered with fungus spores!  Your craving will not be satiated”.  So I gave up and went to bed. 

I woke up this morning thinking of the delicious cinnamon bread tastiness that we purchased at the farmer’s market.  As I exited the shower, I imagined that I could already smell it toasting.  Then, suddenly, I realized that I *could* already smell it toasting.  Someone else was popping the last slice of delightful-yumminess out of the toaster.  I stumbled to the cupboard hoping to find another slice.  Surely there was more cinnamon tastiness hidden somewhere.  Alas, it was gone.   No cinnamon toast for me. 

Luckily (by some miracle) I was ready for work early.  I decided to drive a bit out of my way to pick up some more cinnamon deliciciousness.   I looked up the bakery location on Yelp (we had purchased it from the farmer’s market, so I hadn’t actually ever been to the bakery) and set out on my journey.  I got mildly lost, but persisted in my search.  Finally, I located Ester’s German Bakery.  But none of the lights were one.  I did a double-take.  What kind of bakery isn’t open at 8 am?  Apparently Ester’s.  She doesn’t open until 9.   Once again, my hot-dog got “yoinked”.  Stupid bakery. 

I hung my head in defeat and decided not to look elsewhere for pastry (so that I wouldn’t be too late for work).  I could just grab a snickers from the vending machine on my way up to the office.   After all, snickers claims to satisfy you.   I made it to work (only slightly late).  As I trudged up to my office, I passed the vending machine.  It had a large “out of order” sign posted over the change slot.  No snickers for me. 

No pizza.  No cinnamon bread.  No snickers.  I am incapable of being a responsible adult (maintaining a drivers license and registration).    Now I know how Harold and Kumar felt on their trek to White Castle.  Except, unlike the laudable heros who completed their journey, I did not reach any of my delicious destinations.   And I can already tell today is going to be one of those days.