Jack Bauer and Ari Gold

Can you dig this? In some version of reality (and reality is used loosely), I see a beautiful pairing of these two kick-ass kinda dudes. Now, their educations and skill sets are quite different. Jack has extensive training in weapons and hostage negotiations; he went to SWAT school for crying out loud! He does have a Masters in Criminology and Law, but his book learning is more than supplemented by time spent in the Army Special Forces.

Ari on the other hand benefits from the special kind of combat training that is unique to Hollywood; feeding the hungry press, dancing with impatient studios, and cultivating actors. Interestingly though, along with his MBA from the University of Michigan, according to Wikipedia.org, he picked up a nice little JD. Somehow this makes sense.

They are both direct, brutally so. They say what needs to be said, although Jack delivers much less BS than Ari. And since Entourage airs on HBO, Ari and the rest of the boys can fling the f*cks, sh*ts…well mostly it’s the f*cks…and get away with it. In style, I might add especially in Ari’s case. To borrow from A Christmas Story, he can work “in profanity the way other artists might work in oils or clay.”

A sampling courtesy of IMDb:

“Is that the way they drive in Tiananmen Square, bitch?”

“The next one after "Queens Boulevard" is a studio picture: I'm talking franchise, baby. We'll get you the lunchbox. And an action figure with a monster cock.”

“You can have it if you want to live in Agora fucking hills, and go to group therapy, but if you want a Beverly Hills mansion, a country club membership, and nine weeks a year in a Tuscan villa, then I'm gonna need to take a call when it comes in at noon on a motherfucking Wednesday.”

Although Jack Bauer is constrained by the sensibilities of network programming, he therefore must resort to more violence than swearing. He may only be able to say “damn”, but he’s quite gifted with sticks, stones, and breakin’ bones. Though Ari may talk about cutting off someone’s Matzoh balls, you’re pretty sure that Jack would actually do it.

They don’t dress the alike, although Jack cuts a fine figure in a proper suit, he tends to do his best work in Levis and a hoodie. Mr. Gold dresses beautifully; surely he’ll keep Mr. Blackwell at bay. But they accessorize the same; they both favor the Treo 650 mobile.

Mostly what they have in common; is a lot of brains, never enough time, and the ability to make snap decisions without a lot of fuss. Probably what’s the most crucial shared trait is a sheer force of nature that can tame terrorists, Washington and Hollywood bureaucrats, and all the office assistants in Southern California.

This is the Power Couple of the new Millennium.

The other day I was searching through TicketMaster, hoping to find some interesting shows coming up. I ended up on some national pages, so I was viewing venues across the country, and their offerings. It took a minute, but I eventually noticed that the theaters, arenas, and other centers all looked way too…too, oh what’s the word – stupid.

U.S. Airways Center? American Airlines? Continental? Are these bloody airports or entertainment venues? How about the Allstate and Nationwide Arenas? Sure, it’s a sign of the times, commerce, capitalism; all those things that make the world go ‘round, I Get That. But surely there has to be a line drawn somewhere?

Seeing these names, Verizon, Xcel, RBC, 1st Mariner, and Dunkin Donuts? – I am left feeling as I just consumed too many donuts and washed them down with sugary Pepsi (yet another center in Denver). I feel ill and a victim of over consumption. Just who the consumer is – is unclear.

Here in New England, two of our major sports centers were totally rebuilt, and renamed. It took a long time to get used to changing the name of The Boston Garden to the Fleet Center. But Bostonians got used to it eventually; having a large center named after a bank wasn’t that bad. And we got used to Gillette Stadium replacing Foxboro, (even though the stadium was still in Foxboro). But although Fenway Park could use some refurbishing, I can’t imagine the uproar in on Lansdowne Street if that piece of history was renamed.

As I continued my perusal of TicketMaster’s offerings, it was refreshing to see familiar names such as Dodger, Giants and Dolphins Stadiums still surviving. But McAfee Coliseum? Is this for real? Oh sure, they still call it “The Coliseum”, and ignore the McAfee, (or previously Network Associates Coliseum – which they just called “the Net”), but what was wrong with the original Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum for a name, besides being a little unwieldy, it made sense, for crying out loud.

A few years back, I wrote this piece on professional sports and renaming rights as part of a larger chapter on sports in the U.S.

“In the “old days” athletes might indeed stay on a team for the length of their career, much like in any employment situation of the same era - you stayed with your company until retirement. Things changed though. A new reality surfaced and many fans wondered if the ‘bottom line’ was becoming more important than the goal line. The last few decades in sports have seen players signing contracts worth millions of dollars, huge ticket increases, labor strikes, and corporate marketing that seemed to jeopardize what sports used to mean.

Gone were the days of The Boston Garden, Candlestick Park and Jack Murphy Stadium. Those revered old institutions were replaced with The Fleet Center, 3Com Park, and Qualcomm Stadium. True, these older ballparks or arenas were aging and not as structurally sound as they used to be. But what these and many other cities gained in new shiny new stadiums, they also gained in corporate labeling.

Re-naming rights were a bitter pill for fans to swallow. They sometimes fought back however, like the citizens of Denver, CO., to stop the renaming of their much-loved “Mile High Stadium” to “Invesco Field at Mile High”. Though the name was eventually changed to Invesco, even the Denver Post newspaper had stated reluctance to use it in their sports reporting.

In more recent years though, those cash-rich companies started to fade, as the expenditures of owning sports stadiums wreaked havoc on balance sheets. The Walt Disney Co. who - in their search for the elusive business synergy - had purchased both the Angels baseball team, and established the NHL’s Mighty Ducks. Hoping for tie-ins from merchandising and film projects, Disney’s plan lasted about five years. Since revenues did not meet expectations, they have now since sold the Angels to an Arizona businessman for the bargain price of $183.5 million and would like to sell the Ducks as well.

The sale of the Angels illustrates a change in the business of professional sports. As corporations not only had to answer to fans, players and coaches, they also had to answer to shareholders. Recently both business and sports analysts have reported on the trend of teams returning to family ownership. This makes American fans happier, enforcing what they love so much about sports.”

I fear most times I am the simpleton, not fully aware of the ways of the world, not savvy about sustainable competitive advantages, aware of aggressive advertising strategies or a brainiac about branding. But I’ve learned a thing or two about greed and avarice.

Corporate renaming of all these big beautiful venues smacks of both.

Goodbye D.J.: Former Celtics Guard Dead at 52

I heard the news last night, one of those moments that bring instant nostalgia mixed with sadness.

Dennis “D.J.”, Johnson, dead at the so very young age of 52.

Now, many are more qualified to write about his stats as player and coach, but I know as a Boston Celtics fan from the ruling days of the mid 1980s, I am just as qualified to write about what #3 meant to me and the rest of the NBA. You see there was this extraordinary group of players, way back then, who worked parquet chemistry that has rarely been replicated since.

I never followed professional sports much before or after those glory days, but to me the band of brothers known as Ainge, D.J., The Chief, McHale, Bird; these men absolutely defined ‘Dream Team’, even before the ’92 Olympics. And now the dream has been diminished as if there was a funky rift in a sports version of the space-time continuum.

Of course, Dennis Johnson was not a cancer researcher or on his way to be canonized for selfless work in the name of humanity, he was just an average guy from Compton, but he developed into an outstanding ball player, an outstanding team player. One of the best moments of Celtics lore (and memorably called by the iconic Johnny Most) was during game 5 of the 1987 Eastern Conference finals. Larry Bird stole a pass from the Detroit Pistons’ Isiah Thomas and whipped it to DJ, who laid the ball in the net for a one point lead in the final seconds of the game.

“…Oh MY, this place is going crazy…”

I remember that moment so vividly – but now the overall image of those days has just had a significant piece ripped away.

Dennis Johnson leaves his wife Donna; and three children Dwayne, Daniel and Denise.

The Cancellation of The OC: Ryan, I hardly Knew Ye

Yeah, there was this show, not sure what network – but it sure generated some buzz among generation – what is now, Y? Z? OK, anyway, the kids liked it. Being the sort of person who at least pretends to be up on all things current, I had an inkling, a whisper, a gauzy bit of cognizance that this was some new show, starring some young hot things, and that sort of handsome guy with the eyebrows, Peter Gallagher. Mischa Barton was another name that floating in and out of my awareness, either for her achievements in being thinner than an 8 ½ by 11 sheet of copy paper or for the fetching purse she carried to some happening Hollywood fête. Other than that, I paid little attention to the show.

Now I hear it’s being canceled, and strangely the news gives me a little pang.

Why? I won’t exactly miss it. Now, please don’t get up in arms about this statement. I barely watched it – so I can really not miss something I didn’t see. And, it should be made clear at this juncture that I had no pretensions or snobbish intent. I wasn’t above watching it – I just didn’t feel I should make time for too many extra shows. I already have a few favorites that I feel I have already ‘committed to’ and it’d just be a bit too much to add one more show to my schedule.

But here’s the thing, one night a week or two ago, I watched nearly a whole episode. It was especially freaky, because two of the characters were yakking about alternative universes, or something equally nutty. I kept checking the ‘info’ button on my remote control. Yes, this was The O.C. No, this wasn’t Charmed. Nor was this an old episode of Sliders, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or Quantum Leap where those kinds of popping in and out of ‘multiverse’ situations are common occurrences. And it certainly wasn’t The One with the wonderful Jet Li and the delicious Jason Stratham.

So, there were those two young-uns, typical privileged California types carrying on as if they were stuck in one of the above-mentioned Sci-Fi classics. Not that I minded either way, just trying to get my bearings. Thankfully, because of a much needed scene change, I realized that these two kids were actually lying in hospital beds, each in some state of coma type non-awareness.

Wow!

Hey, this was neat, if not a little – or a lot – contrived. I knew that because of the extra monkey wrench of the whole parallel world deal that I may not actually figure out who was who, or why they cared or hated one another. But in that short 40 minutes or so, I found that I actually had begun to care about those bright shiny kids and their parents and assorted other peeps, alternative or not.

So, though I’m not greatly saddened by the cancellation, I’m hoping that some version of The O.C. will live on in television’s answer to the multiverse – the re-run.

Half Time Show:

Prince.

Or should I say, Austin Powers. Though I thought it was a pretty good show, and "Purple Rain" was pretty cool with actual rain - the whole phallic symbol guitar playing behind the scrim sheet thing - was preettty damn phallic. Who knows if it was intentional, and suggestiveness aside it was an interesting effect.

The glow-stick marching band was a nice touch too.

Coke is having some kick-ass commercials. Career Builder dot com's new campaign is good as well. Very funny.

Superbowl:

First thoughts.

Didn't like the pre-game show. Not sure why. Had definite strong points. Colorful (though the color combination grated on me.) Cirque du Soleil - looks good on paper. But I was not impressed. What was wrong? I'll have to work on this.

Commercials though, looking good. Even that Ford pick up one. Especially that one. Visually tight and intiguing.

File this under: Didn’t See That Coming.

This hasn’t been the best week. At all. I feel as if I’ve had a few of these lately, but this week had some totally new challenges. Yes, I guess we can call them that. No need to elaborate on everything now, but let’s say that self confidence has been sizably compromised of late.

Now, what I want to relay next is something I debated about posting. I really am not fond of confrontation and fights and I don’t see the need to make a big who-ha out of this. Seriously. Yet something about this whole thing makes me angervated. (This being a ‘sniglet’ I came up with on my own. A mutation of ‘anger’ and ‘aggravated’. When you’re not full on angry, but you’re more than aggravated.) I guess throw in a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and a healthy pinch of sadness.

Anyway, one day this week I had to pick up a sick child at school. This pick up was coincidently at the regular dismissal time. My son was feeling nauseous, and didn’t want to take the bus home for fear of the big public upchuck. Never a cool thing at any age. As was discussed with the school nurse, I would drive to a particular section of the parking lot, and meet my child there. OK that’s fine. I drive to school, and as I’m pulling into the parking lot, I see parents outside their vehicles, waiting for their children to be dismissed.

Now, the thing is, this ‘parent pick up’ is all new to me. I’ve either picked up my kids before the end of school, or more commonly, after the regular hours, due to this activity or that.

So, I’m having a running conversation in my head.

“Hey, do I get out and go get him?”

“Hmm, maybe I do, I see other parents there.”

“OK then, I better find a parking spot.”

Now, granted this dialogue happened a lot faster in my head, no matter – the point was moot – my son was in sight, walking over to my truck.

“OK wow, here he is.”

I slow down, and wait for him.

Now, here’s where it gets weird. All of a sudden there’s a police car behind me, lights flashing. I don’t remember if the siren was going, but I think it was.

“Oh man, what’s going on? Hope there’s not a bomb threat or something; I better get out of the way”

Then I am confused, why didn’t she go around me? There was room. I wait for a second, and I figure that I better drive a little further down, to ensure a wide berth. And I should add that driving away from my son, even just a few feet away, weirded me out. Sure, he’s not a little tiny kid, he’s nearly 12. He can figure out that I’m not far. I don’t even consider myself especially over-protective. But still, the mom in me hated that I had to do that.

The officer does not go around; she follows me until I am further away from the other cars. Then she goes around and is rolling down her window, and I roll down mine.

“You cannot double park back there, you must park your car and go and get your child”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I never do this Parent Pick-up and wasn’t sure”

“Well you were given a notice at the beginning of the school year”

“But he saw me and was coming over!”

By now, my son is getting in the truck. “My stomach hurts” He looked pale. I turned back to the officer.

“I’ve never done this before”, I repeated. “My son is actually sick, that’s why I’m driving him home.”

“You were doubled parked” “You can’t put the children’s lives in danger” (I’m paraphrasing that last part)

Well heck, she had a good point. And I know ignorance of the law is no excuse. (OK, I think it should be an excuse sometimes) But my point was, not about right or wrong, just a little understanding. But she was so stern – so…well, I can’t actually think of the right term (strange for me!). I guess this was unsettling because there was a sense of – ‘dear God, this got totally one-sided, I’m not being heard, I am not being understood.’ And this, dear friends, is like a knife in my gut.

To be in the middle of something of import, to be deep into an emotionally charged situation – whether that situation lasts for 5 minutes or several years – and to be not understood, is the worst kind of frustration. It’s distressing, to say the least. Even in this mini-event with the police officer, that feeling was there.

But to her last statement, I knew that it wasn’t worth getting into a whole big deal with, she was right.

“You’re right, I am sorry.”

“Damn right.”

Well, honestly, I’m not sure that’s what she said, but, it sure sounded like it. And I was incredulous. I actually stared at her for a second or two. And so help me God, I nearly called her on it. So bad I wanted to say, “Did you just say damn right to me?” Damn Right. Wow. I was beginning to feel a little pissy, right then and there.

Now, of course there’s a chance she didn’t say that. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Why would she want to get snarky with me? But if she had said it, that was totally uncalled for, and there wasn’t any reason for me to be treated like that.

Now, I suppose I’ll never know IF she said that. Whatever those last words of hers were, it wasn’t coming from a place of “OK, M’am, just don’t do it again” or even a “Thank you”. Whatever she finished up our tête-à-tête with, felt just as bad, just as embarrassing; as the vibe of the whole episode.

Actually, this frustration of not being understood, not given a chance to explain just a hair of what was going on, reminded me of that odd, nearly one-sided, but hilarious conversation between John Candy’s Buck Russell and Amy Madigan’s Chanice Kobolowski in the 80’s classic, Uncle Buck:

Just let--

No, but-- You don't--

Would you just--

Give me--

Let me get--

You're not-- Give me a--

Good-bye.

The exception being that that bit from the movie was funny. What was happening in the school parking lot wasn’t funny at all.


Cops aren’t perfect. The Shield aside, we just know this because we know that no one is perfect, it’s part of the human condition. But I try like hell to not give grief to anyone (except tele-marketers), and I want my kids to remember that the Police truly are our friends, even when they are writing up a speeding ticket. They’re trying to save lives by this sort of thing; it’s not always just to fill a quota

To close, this was yet another challenging parenting moment. How do you talk to you child about your frustrating interaction with a person in authority, retain honesty, yet not corrode their sense of respect for the law? Nobody likes being disciplined. Nobody. However, if there’s any modicum of maturity, we’ll maybe grumble a little, but accept, pray learn from it, and move on.

And hopefully, treat each other a little nicer.

As I was sitting around eating bon bons, I started reflecting on the show 24. Now, as many of you know, I've been covering the show for Blogcritics Magazine, waxing ever so eloquent on the comings and goings of Jack and the rest of his Scooby Gang.

I thought about the show, and the dialogue, and what fun I and my fellow columnists have with it. Now, 24 is fairly jargon heavy, and we have had many a giggle at the expense of the poor "perimeters", the harried "hostiles", and the woebegone "work-arounds".

I don't know why we do this, I've never dreamed (or McDreamed) of making fun of my favorite medical shows, and their "lactated ringers", "gastric lavage", "Chem-7", or "IV push". Or cop shows - I mean, really "Book 'em" is like every day talk, isn't it?. Or the legal shows too, seem fairly ordinary, just about everyone I know can utter AND understand "writ of habeas corpus" sure as they were ordering a hot dog from a friendly street vendor.

I suppose it could be that doctor, cop, and lawyer shows been around for as long as we have - and we're used to them. Also, we have a personal connection. Everyone and their brother has either been to a doctor's office and/or a hospital. Many of us have spoken with a lawyer and served on a jury. And plenty of us have had some sort of interaction with the boys in blue.

But who all hangs out in a counter-terrorisim joint?

Colts 38
Patriots 34


After the late touchdown, with a minute or so to go in the game, we still could have done it - but Marlin Jackson intercepted Brady's last pass of the 2006 -2007 season.

Oh well. I guess there's next year.

Back with the action. My Adam - OK, he's not my Adam anymore, but he just evened things up with his own damn FG.

Damn!

OK, a few sips of beer later (Yes, a Corona with Lime. Shut up Sir Mark.) and a few Rosemary and Olive Oil Triscuits later - Gostkowski kicked a close field goal now we're 34 to their 31.

I am having hot flashes. Of course, it could be due to this lap top cooking away here, and the nice fire going in the fireplace.

Oh man - this is nerve wracking.

In case anyone wonders why lil Frodo's pic is here on this blog, I took a liquid generation test and found that as far as movie heros go, I'm Frodo. And for villians, I'm Jack Nicholson's alter ego in The Shining, Jack Torrance. Sweet, eh?

So, I'm watching the Pats VS Colts, and the Colts just scored again. 21 to 19 - not good. Oh, and now they just got the 2 pt. conversion. Double Drat.

But at least Ellis Hobbs just ran a ton of yards. Nice!

And now Gaffney just caught a nice touchdown, and got pushed out. But Tony Dungy didn't like the looks of the play, so he threw the challenge flag. But thankfully, they ruled to keep the touchdown. Whew!

Sheesh, I toggle away for a few minutes and Indy scored again.12 minutes left in 4th quarter and we are 28 - 28.

I think I'll have a beer.

Great, while I'm gone - Caldwell dropped the ball in the end zone. Again.

Gostkowski kicked us a 3 pt. field goal, but Indy just got first down. Grrr!

Be Kind to Yourself

A friend, Eowyn, has asked me to post this piece I wrote, reprinted from Hot Psychology's November issue. It's titled "Be Kind to Yourself", though I don't think I'm really thrilled with that title. However, I am OK with the actual article - anyway, here you go Dear Readers.

I don’t remember the year exactly; it was in the mid 1980s. I think I remember what I was wearing though, at least the pants, gray linen-type slacks. I remember that because after it was all over, the pants were bloodstained.

What I do remember first – was the shrieking. The sound of a man being zapped by over 200 volts of electricity was definitely out of the ordinary. The next thing I remember was the quiet. A roomful of 10 or so women was stunned and silent. It seemed as if they too, were rendered immobile by electric shock. But it wasn’t something physical keeping my co-workers motionless – it was fear.

We had been sitting at our desks toiling away at paperwork or data entry. A maintenance worker – and I don’t remember his name, but I’ll just call him Bob – was on a stepladder doing some routine repair work to an emergency light fixture. He was at the front of the room, but his presence wasn’t all that disruptive, that is, until his tools made contact with a wire connected to a live circuit. Then he started howling.

His legs were thrashing, knocking over the stepladder. He was attached to the fixture by virtue of the electricity that was charging through him. And the rest of us were attached to our spots. The scene seemed to go on forever, Bob being hit with this current, and no one doing a thing. I looked around at everyone, disbelieving that not a soul was reacting. Finally, I got up and ran to the front of the room. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew that it wasn’t the time for inaction.

First I knew that Bob had to be released from the source of the electricity. I also knew that I couldn’t just grab him, or I’d get zapped too. I looked around, trying to find something non conductive. The closest thing was a roll of paper towels. Not very strong, probably wouldn’t be all that effective – but I was panicked, and didn’t have many options. As I picked up the roll Bob fell to the floor, the charge had released him. I gradually became aware that there was movement in the room, and others were beginning to give assistance.

A woman was next to me as I knelt by the non-responsive Bob. We saw he was bleeding; his arm I think. I directed her to take some paper towels and press them on his wound. I was trying to remember everything I could from a college First Aid course. The ABC’s. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Bob seemed to be breathing, no obstructions. The blood we were dealing with.

But he was unconscious. I called his name, and loosened the belt at his waist. This is when I started to feel helpless. I just didn’t’ know what else do to! Thankfully, others had been taking action outside of my immediate awareness. While I was rushing to assist Bob, others had started calling for help – on the phone, and into the warehouse below. So by now, Greg* from Shipping & Receiving had joined us.

I remember him calmly asking me if I was a “certified First Responder”. I was thrown by the question, and all I could answer was, “I took a First Aid course once”. Turns out that Greg knew what he was doing – he was also an EMT. He noted that I had done pretty well, but he thought that Bob might have been going into shock. I wonder if I too, went into shock, because I don’t remember a lot of what happened after that. Greg pretty much took over until the firefighters arrived.

Bob survived fine, and was released from the hospital, and actually came back to the warehouse that same day. We found out later that circuits had been mislabeled and he was supposed to have been working on a disconnected device. I’m assuming the company we worked for had since made the appropriate safety corrections in the electrical system – but who knows. It dismays me to admit it, but the whole affair left me with a sour feeling towards my employer – and not just for their negligence.

Within a few weeks, the owners of the company made a big deal about recognizing the warehouse worker, Greg, who had given first aid to Bob. Which is great. Greg did a wonderful job; he was calm and thorough. But yet, I couldn’t help but wonder, what about me? I know, my ‘reward’ was really that Bob had been OK. But yet, I couldn’t help but feel very disappointed by the higher-ups – especially since the owner of the company actually saw me at Bob’s side, doing what I could. Anyone could have told him what had happened, that I had been the first to reach him and actually had started first-aid procedures. I tend to believe that the boss, Mr. J., was a chauvinist. Or maybe that the fact that Greg was the better trained aid giver impressed him more than a young woman who tried to take action, when everyone else around her was in panic.

What then, was I going to do with that feeling, that realization that I would have liked a little recognition? Did that mean I was grubbing for ceremonies and certificates of merit? To that part, I honestly can answer, “no”. But yet, what bothered me so much? I remember that Greg had approached me later on. He told me that he tried to explain my part in the whole episode. I do appreciate that. He too, felt that something wasn’t quite fair in all of this.

We are all taught the values of altruism as children. As I was brought up in a Christian family, I learned the Biblical lesson of the Good Samaritan. Without getting into the nitty-gritty, basically the Good Samaritan was a man traveling from A to B, and came across a fellow traveler in trouble. This other man had been beaten and robbed. Now, unknowing to the Samaritan, other travelers had previously seen the poor fellow at roadside, yet ignored him and continued on their respective journeys.

The Samaritan, being a good sort of man, immediately stopped and gave aid to the traveler. He brought him to an inn, cleaned him up, fed him and left money for his care with the innkeeper. The thing of it was, in those days, the Samaritans had a long history of not getting along with the Jews and were thought to not have pure lineage. To put it in a more modern context, a Samaritan today represents a social group that is feared or misunderstood – say, someone from a biker culture, or Islamic sect.

Thinking back now, that story seemed, if not scary, at least a little exotic. It certainly wasn’t the only story in either Testament that involved doing good, ‘for goodness sake’. Yet, it’s the one that sticks in my mind the most. And for me, it creates a most interesting parallel. The novelty of the story wasn’t all in the fact that someone gave of himself without expecting compensation – what surprised the people of the day, was that someone of an supposedly objectionable group was capable of doing this. Of course the Samaritans were capable of good. We know that now. We also know that today the odd Hells Angel, ex-convict, or homeless drug addict could show kindness and compassion.

What is also unexpected is what goes on inside the “Samaritan’s” head. In my case, I felt slighted. And I hated that feeling. But, human that I am, I understand that we are not built to be pure good, nor pure bad, and I’d do the whole thing over again, if I had to. Even knowing I might get slighted again. Helping someone who desperately needs it overrides any pride I might have to deal with. But still, there are consequences.

A distressing phenomenon tracked over the last few decades, is the occurrence of rescuers and first responders suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), and other troubles such as depression or alcoholism. Those who are involved in rescues or other heroic gestures can have trouble coping with either all the attention, or the “Hero” brand. In 1987, Richard O’Donnell pulled 18-month-old Jessica McClure out of the 20-foot well she had fallen into. The paramedic’s patient efforts at pulling and nudging Jessica out of the well gave him much more than 15 minutes of fame. Problems with migraines and depression eventually tore up his marriage and ultimately he sought relief with a shotgun in 1995.

The Quecreek, PA mine disaster of 2002 left the survivors grateful, yet still having problems adjusting to life after the Disney movie, and all around media flurry. Robert Long, the man who was most visibly instrumental in the rescue, killed himself 11 months later. Similar stories in the aftermath of other events such as the Oklahoma City bombing and the attacks on September 11th are just as heartbreaking.

Undercurrent themes of these and other disasters are fear and panic. Also at play are the triggers of PTSD, factors such as fatigue, hunger, and sleep deprivation. But there is an emotional component that cannot always be measured, that affects our long-term outlook, either as victim or rescuer. Whatever human frailties or problems we have before such an event, will carry through and influence our reactions. The hero brand may be too difficult to wear if we can’t reconcile our self-views with the world’s views.

It can’t hurt to strive towards doing good, while not expecting a reward. If we truly embrace altruism, we don’t expect compensation or even a thank-you. To borrow from the Bible again, “But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.” (Matthew 6: 3-4) But as true as that is, it is still important to remember and acknowledge that we do need to be appreciated. And when we are not valued the way we’d hope; as humans, we’re going to feel the hurt.

Life is random. We don’t know when a car will crash, or a bomb will drop. We cannot live in constant fear of the world, nor of our own reactions. So, as we give aid to others, we need to remember to be kind to ourselves.




*Not his real name

Hot Psychology, November 5, 2006.
Page 26, Volume 2, Issue 11

New York State of Mind

Who would have thought that I'd enjoy it so much and want to go back so badly? Ah, let me explain. Family and I went to NYC this weekend (Friday to Sunday). I was glad to come home, but I want to go back.

Please - don't get me wrong. Home is fine, home is great. The Merrimack Valley area has lots to offer, and beyond that, there's Boston and what a fine city it is. I'm glad to live here. I don't want to live in New York, but I want to go back soon.

It's a kind of place, for me anyway, that takes so much time to absorb and enjoy.

New York is BIG.

Not just big in acreage, population, and number of taxis, NY is enormous in concept.

Entertainment - how many novels, movies, television shows or plays were set and/or filmed in this city? So many. Songs inspired by this place? You get the idea.

Finance - I walked on Wall Street. No, I'm not a closet financier or day trader. But man, Wall Street!

Advertising - I didn't get to Madison Avenue, but still --

Publishing - No one was as interested as I, but still, for me it was cool to walk right by McGraw Hill.

Museums - Now, Boston has some super museums. I've been to the MFA a few times, and of course the Science Museum in Cambridge is always a good visit. Didn't get to ANY museums in NY, save the 9/11 Tribute Center (more on that later). But if I had been to the Morgan, I could have seen Charles Dicken's original manuscript for A Christmas Carol. Imagine that!

Obviously I could go on and on, but I don't have a NY size blog.

A California Christmas

No, not in Cali. I'm right here in good old New England. It's December 1st - and damn it, I feel like putting out my Christmas decorations. Actually, I've been putting out a few things here and there, but today I'm really feeling the joy. Got some holiday CDs in the player - set on shuffle.

So, big deal, right? Well no, not a big deal. But I must discuss the irony of this day, as the temperature is an unseasonable 67 degrees. It's been rather warm the last few days but the forecast calls for dropping temperatures, and perhaps snow by Sunday or Monday.

So, warm temperatures and decorating for Christmas. What's the big deal? Nothing really, but it just feels funny. It's been gloomy all day, very dark and looking like rain. It'd be easy to let the grey seep in and start some serious seasonal affective disorder type baloney. But perhaps because it's been warm, or because of the tasks of arranging evergreens and holly, and lighting candles keeps away the Grinch, but this just feels good.

Joann Weber

The co-owner of The Lowell Spinners, Joann Weber lost the game to pancreatic cancer this Wednesday night, November 29, 2006. Before owning a Minor Leauge team with her huband Drew, Weber was involved in charties and the arts in New York.

The Webers' love of community continued as their team grew in both talent and popularity in the Lowell, MA area, and they were both very visible at the games. Through the Spinners organization, the Webers became involved with various charitable groups, and Joanne Weber's loss will be felt by so many.

Random Thoughts.


Just like a day ago, I either read or heard someone referring to Dan Brown and his novels Angels and Demons and The DaVinci Code. The comment had to do, not with religious controversy, but with the protagonist’s penchant for being a frickin’ know-it-all. Robert Langdon is this neato cool Harvard bred symbologist that ends up in all kinds of predicaments. But because of his experiences, for example with – and I’m not kidding here – water polo, he is able to prevail in an underwater struggle with a bad guy. Or, Langdon’s extensive knowledge of Renaissance Masters ended up being more than useless trivia. So, this makes me wonder, what do I bring to the party? What can a 40something mom offer up in a pinch if things got dicey?

Taking stock, I begin with the obvious:

Panic.

Yeah, I can do that one very, very well. But that gets old quick, and when my fellow, ah, victims, comrades, or people I’m stuck in an elevator with get bored with slapping the white out of me – what can I do to help?

Well, the next obvious thing is my martial arts training. Sure, I’ve been doing it for over eight years, and learned a thing or two to be sure. But what if I’m on a runaway freight train? What am I going to do, use the Five Point Palm Exploding Heart Technique on the rail lines? Hop into a crane stance in an attempt to channel my chi and calm down the other passengers?

And what about the ‘Mom’ thing. I can yell at people – ohh yeah. I suppose you want me in your group if we all fall in a cave or something. I can yell for help, and yell at everyone else to play nice and share the water – or else I’ll have to pinch the disobedient castaways, or something.

But what about all those little life experiences, like my horseback riding lessons. I really can’t see me having to saddle up anytime soon. What about my several years spent in the warehouse/office of a national mail order lingerie company? Besides causing some chuckles and nudges at parties, my ability to discern between “Home of the Whopper”, and “Home for the Whopper” is not going to get me any closer to an incarnation of MacGyver.

And sadly, my love of movie and TV trivia probably won’t get me any closer to Alex Trebek nor keep me from being voted off the island. I’m just not equipped to run with the likes of Robert Langdon, James Bond, or even Nancy Drew.

TV Review - 3 LBS

(Originally posted on Blogcritics.org)

Television audiences love a good medical show, comedy or drama, from M*A*S*H to ER; they always seem to go for the unique mix of healing and the human condition.

3 LBS is a visually captivating show. The opening scene of a string recital is lush in its lighting and setting. We see a young woman, Cassie Mack, playing her violin superbly, accompanied by her mother on the cello. Suddenly, the girl falters and her fingers stop working properly. Next, the camera begins to slide through Cassie’s layers: clothing, dermis, subcutaneous tissue, bones, and then travels the path of nerves from her fingers to her brain.

So, we see that this girl’s brain is ailing, as lights flash around her gray matter. Then, the camera backs out just the same way it went in, until we see Cassie’s worried face, as she too realizes something is very wrong. Finally, the focus settles on her violin, slowly falling out of her hands, and dropping to the floor. The beauty of the gleaming instrument striking the floor produces not only discordant sound, but image as well. Simple, but powerful.

As the scene cuts to a busy New York street, we are jolted back to reality. Dr. Seger (Mark Feuerstein) has just arrived from the West Coast. Seger is to join a neurosurgery team headed by the famous (or infamous) Dr. Doug Hanson (Stanley Tucci). Seger is greeted by one of Hanson’s assistants, who politely, but pointedly remarks that “he’s late”. She brings him into the hospital, and as she guides him to the Neuro wing, she casually mentions that the staff turnover is high on Dr. Hanson’s team, and advises him not to unpack all his things just yet.

Even before Seger enters the patient conference in Dr. Hanson’s office, we already know that there will be conflict, or at the least, tension. Dr. Seger has been portrayed as the empathetic eager beaver; while we’ve been made aware that his soon-to-be mentor has sent lesser men packing.

Oh, and we are not disappointed. Tucci’s Dr. Hanson is not a bad guy, nor boor, yet he states his findings and his solutions without handholding or any evident compassion. Dr. Seger senses Mrs. Mack’s growing alarm and confusion during Hanson’s discussion of her daughter’s condition, and he attempts to translate the medical terms into simpler language, and to inject a little comfort into the situation.

While Drs. Hanson and Seger prepare for a mapping procedure on Cassie, a side plot is introduced. A beautiful neurologist, Dr. Adrianne Holland (Indira Varma) is examining a patient in her office. While he submits to some standard tests, he quizzes the Dr. on why she does her exams barefoot. So here, we learn that not only is Dr. Holland is not only beautiful, but a bit eccentric as well. We also find out that her patient, Mr. Wills has been getting lost, and becoming forgetful. He also cannot distinguish between certain items when held in his hand. Dr. Holland used a fancy term for that problem; I’ll just say his tactile sense is messed up on the left side of his body.

Now we have two patients who need top-notch care, or is it three? The great Dr. Hanson is evidently mortal, he suffers from visual hallucinations, and during his brain scan (to test a new piece of equipment), an abnormality appears. However, he seems to be on top of his game, until his patient Cassie loses her expressive language skills after he completes his mapping procedure.

Again, the creators of 3 LBS use some unique and beautiful visual techniques to illustrate Cassie’s loss of speech. There is a dreamlike scene here that is very compelling. The camera work is one of the strengths of the show, right along with the writing, direction and acting. Feuerstein and Tucci are set up to play a bit of Good Cop – Bad Cop, but neither is drawn to such extremes.

Dr. Seger is kind and articulate, but is not above flirting with Dr. Holland, despite his acknowledgement of his girlfriend back home. On the other hand, Dr. Hanson is distant and abrupt. As much as I adore Hugh Laurie’s portrayal of the over the top grouchy Dr. House – Dr. Hanson is a bit more palatable, and is very capable of showing humanity when it is needed.

I shall not give spoilers, but there are some very intriguing twists at the end of the episode. One gives a sort of closure, and the other, makes us ask more questions. Those questions, along with the fine work helmed by Peter Ocko (Boston Legal) should bring viewers back for more.


3 LBS makes its network debut, tonight at 10:00 PM (ET)

Coffee

Ah, the great elixir, savior to man-(and woman)kind, a treat for all the senses (gotta love those scalding drops on one's thighs while navigating rush hour traffic).

I have received much teasing, scorn even from my Mondo Project and Blogcritics brethren for my taste in coffee. As much as I love coffee, I try not to be a snob about it. Yeah, I drink 'light' beer too. But I have my limits.

I do not care for the flavored stuff. French vanilla, hazelnut, apple-fricken-strudel? Now, sure, I have had a flavored coffee. It's OK. But for me, it's like food scented candles. Aside from cinnamon, I really don't want to smell food unless it's acutal - like - food. Too damn frustrating otherwise. I'd much rather have pumpkin spice in a muffin or bread, rather than in my damn coffee.

If i'm going to indulge in flavors, I'd rather discern from the nuances of Sumatran, Kona, Columbian, Arabica, or Jamica Blue. Today I wandered into a local bakery, not looking for a pastry, just a cup of New England Coffee. I've had this brand before, and it's OK. Sure enough, on the board listing of flavors, I see all the fancy hazelnut, pumkin and whathaveyou. So, naturally I picked 'Breakfast Blend'. Nothing fancy.

More like, nothing like coffee. I took my first sip on the way home. Not only wasn't it hot, but it wasn't even coffee. Now, no matter how comforting warm milk is for some, there is nothing at all appetizing about warmish half 'n half, that had a distant, vague relationship to something that might have been (in a former life) a coffee bean.

Ugh.

So, I poured it out when I got home, and brewed up some Dunkins. I have to go teach karate to some six, seven, and eight year olds - and I need something more than lukewarm, weird, fake coffee!

I just read an excellent piece by the excellent Rick Reilly. Reilly is a long time columnist for Sports Illustrated - and he's one of my favorite writers. In this column, Reilly is apparently dealing with writer's block or some variation of such - until he reads a letter from an athlete's dad.

Please take a moment to check it out.