Journal Ecstasy's Open Salon Blog

Dan Rome's American Healthcare - A Four-Napkin Explanation

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 23:09:48 -0400

I'm Going to Need a Bigger Hoe for the Python Invasion

Thu, 25 Jun 2009 01:06:44 -0400

Tonight one of Atlanta's local TV stations hinted that the Burmese python, one of the world's largest snakes (known to have killed large animals and even people), is apparently not only breeding and doing well in the Florida Everglades but it might be able to survive mild Georgia winters.

Oh, no.

I am not prepared to try to save our three cats or my husband from a big-ass snake that can literally sqeeze the life out of me.

My husband, who used to be terrified of snakes, has somewhat conquered his fear during hikes and visits to the reptile "house" at Zoo Atlanta. I have never been afraid of snakes, although I have a keen respect for snakes and all other wild creatures that have the capacity to hurt, maime or kill me.

How did a non-native snake get such a toe hold in Florida? Certainly people who had them as pets have set them free when they grew too large for their owners to handle. Others have pointed out that hurricanes in Florida have inadvertently set dozens of snakes and other non-native species free.

Here's a photo of a Florida park official capturing a python within Everglades National Park:

Make no mistake about it. Burmese pythons have no natural enemies here with the possible exception of alligators. And humans. I'm sure Peta will be all over any efforts to rid Florida and even Georgia of this invasive species if such efforts involve deadly force, but it's perfectly okay with me if some of them go to snake heaven instead of living a life of leisure in a cage.

If this is beginning to sound a lot like the plot of a Carl Hiassen novel, you're thinking what I'm thinking. Carl, buddy, can you stop writing teen novels long enough to write a new novel involving hurricanes, big-ass pythons, an ecology disaster from all that eating the snakes are surely doing, some stupid tourists and maybe some mobsters or drug dealers getting their just rewards? Oh! And be sure to include Skink, your recurring "former Florida governor gone native" character, in the novel just because he's my favorite.

And if Carl is too busy, well, James W. Hall, another favorite Florida author, could probably tackle this topic nicely. (After all, one of his bad guys once had some kind of giant crab claw "attached" to his hand for almost an entire novel.)

Or maybe Tim Dorsey, whose hysterically funny recurring serial killer character, Serge A. Storms, and his none-too-smart sidekick, might figure out a way to erradicate the Burmese python (or just feed it a bunch of victims). Serge always works up a good rage at anything that threatens his home state.

According to an article on Buzzle.com: "The Burmese Python is a popular—and legal—pet snake in the United States. In the last five years, there have been nearly 150,000 Burmese pythons imported into the US, and hatchlings can sell for as little as $20. But once the cute baby snakes turn into 15-foot-long beasts that eat more than their owners do, many people decide to just get rid of their pets by releasing them into the wild. The snakes are perfectly at home in the Everglades’ water, heat, and vegetation, and they have no predators."

Maybe I should get a gun carrying permit in anticipation of the invasion. I don't think my garden hoe is going to have anough chopping power or a long enough handle.

Body temperatures and popsicle hands

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 02:06:38 -0400

I'm freezing my husband to death these days…or so he says.

What can I say?

It was 97 or 98 degrees Fahrenheit in Atlanta on Sunday. In the shade. With humidity. I set the thermostat on an overly hopeful 73 degrees. But at the hottest point of the day, the best our air-conditioning seemed to manage was about 76 degrees. (I don't know yet if that's normal for such a hot day or if I'll be calling a heating and air repair company in the near future.)

Sometime after lunch, I turned our two ceiling fans to their top velocity and camped out under one to do a little computing and reading. Gene, was surfing and playing some addictive farming game on his computer and thinking about watching Nascar, which I planned to pretty much ignore as usual. (Note: I periodically do look up from whatever I'm doing to root for Jeff Gordon in order to start a "discussion," but it's working less well these days. I need to figure out which other drivers he doesn't like.)

A while later, Gene came over to "wrestle" and warm up his hands on my body. His hands were like popcicles. And so were his nose and ears. So I did what a good wife should do—let him warm them on me.

Maybe we're just at different temperature phases in our lives.

My always warm body temperature seems more than a few degrees hotter at times these days, and there's no one to blame but mother nature. Gene has always been colder natured than me, and his sensitivity seems to be increasing as the years pass. In his case, I blame 10 years in the Army and a job that means he's out in the heat (and cold) are year round.

I sit and work in air-conditioned comfort all day. Gene does not, so the temperature difference of 20-plus degrees probably does feel cold and make him chill. (Sorry, darlin', but I'm not willing to sweat while doing nothing more strenuous than blogging or tweeting in our own house.)

This means that there's an impasse of sorts, which luckily is easily remedied by Gene wearing socks, lounge pants and a t-shirt and using a blanket at night. I will remain mostly bareskinned and barefooted, and sleep with only a sheet and a ceiling fan to keep me cool. (And perhaps the odd cool shower when mother nature really starts to wreak havoc.)

With a long hot summer ahead of us and mother nature against at least one of us, I don't expect our inner body temperatures to align any time soon. However, maybe in another 20 years we'll be one of those old couples wearing long sleeves on hot days and cranking the thermostat up to 80 or higher like my maternal grandmother did during the last quarter of her long life.

To deal with the extra heat in Mamaw's house, most of us observed the 15-minute rule. Inside for 15 minutes then out on the porch (or next door at my parents' house) for 10 minutes or more, depending on how many children and grandchildren were visiting. We'd rotate in and out, listening to the ends of conversations and stories, then starting our own. It was a pleasant way to spend a day—even though I sometimes felt like falling to the floor and suck in the cooler air that must surely be near a surface that felt cool to the touch of an inquisitive finger or toe.

My father, who died last August, always seemed to be cold during the last few years of his life. It was the cancer, mom said, because Dad had always been a robust and warm-natured person just like me until his health began to deteriorate. I remember how we both used to keep at least one arm and/or leg outside of the covers when sleeping—no matter the season—to "equalize" the temperature difference. We liked to be warm, but never too hot or cold.

Hot or cold. That perfectly describes my feelings on Sunday throughout Father's Day. It was my first Father's Day without a father. I kept meaning to write about Dad, but I kept ignoring the impulse because I couldn't figure out how to pour all of my feelings and memories of such a wonderful man into one little essay.

And now, as I think about Dad while writing a somewhat lame piece on differering body temperatures, I realize that all I really needed to say is this: Dad, I miss you, and I will always love you.

When 30 Minutes of Nightly News Was Plenty

Wed, 27 May 2009 01:05:03 -0400

As usual, tonight I've been surfing and reading all kinds of news—including politics, business, science, technology, entertainment and music—from around the world. (And I tweeted the more interesting items in Twitter as I went along.)

I can't help it. I've always been a "news hound" with a great curiosity about the world around me. And I don't just want to know; I want to know who and why and how and where and...you get the picture. My husband says I'm "nosy." I say "once a reporter, always a reporter."

A journalist who has believed in and applied the journalistic ethics I learned in college to every article I've written or edited, I find myself wondering where so many so-called journalists went to college and how many classes they must have skipped to watch soap operas or Jerry Springer. (Don't even get me started on all the talk show hosts—aka actors/mouthpieces—who now masquerade as journalists on cable news networks.)

Maybe that's why I read and watch the news with a bit of a jaundiced eye. Yet even when I can't look away or stop reading, I'm sometimes a bit horrified at what I see when I look past the jaundice and finally focus in on the heavily slanted headlines or leads, biased content, lack of real substance, distorted facts, etc. In an effort to scoop each other or find yet another "angle," journalists now regularly create "news" and "stir the pot" in ways that would make Edward R. Murrow and so many other great journalists roll over in their graves.

There's also a constant barrage of news—as much as you can stand 24/7—that either seems to draw people in (as it does me) or send them scurrying for the cover of satellite radio, video games, books and hobbies to drown out the cacaphony. I know people who take the latter road, and some of them seem happier for it.

That's not my road; however, I fondly remember the simplicity of the big network news days when we knew less about the world around us but believed we could trust the reporting and news delivered by Walter Chronkite, Chet Huntley/David Brinkley/John Chancellor, Max Robinson, and their heirs apparent: Peter Brinkley, Tom Brokow and Dan Rather. (Of course, Dan eventually decided to try something "different" when he added that "Courage" comment at the end of the newscast. I remember thinking afterwards, what the hell? Apparently, CBS had the same reaction.)

Maybe I was genetically predisposed to love news. My dad never missed the evening news unless there was a good reason. After he retired, he became a huge fan of CNN and MSNBC, but not so much FOX News since he was a die-hard Democrat. He also loved the Weather Channel, watching it for hours during the day when they run those tornado chaser and tsunami specials (i.e., Storm Stories and Full Force Nature).

A couple of years before my dad died, I was home visiting the 'rents and really wanted to watch some show on "the big TV" in the living room. Dad had his usual death-grip on the remote. The TV was tuned to the weather channel and Stephanie Abrams was talking about the weather in Kansas.

I said, "Dad, can I change the channel? There's a show that I really want to watch."

His fingers clenched even tighter around the remote. "I'm watching the weather."

"Local on the 8's was just on. I'll change the channel when it comes back on in 10 minutes. They're talking about the weather in Kansas right now," I said.

Totally seriously and without looking away from the screen, he replied: "I might know someone in Kansas."

At that point, I knew I'd be watching my show on "the little TV" in my old bedroom at the back of the house. At least I could lay on the bed while I watched. Too bad the screen was a little blurry and all the skintones had a green cast.

So here I am, reading, writing and contibuting to the cacophany via this blog, Twitter, MySpace and Facebook. Thanks to all the "feeds" on those sites plus the normal sources of news, I sometimes wonder if I will drown in the resulting news and data stream. I also sometimes wish I could transport back in time to when 30 minutes of nightly world news was plenty.

Bring on the Barbarian

Wed, 20 May 2009 00:05:12 -0400

I'm watching The Tonight Show With Jay Leno. Only nine more days of Leno. Weird to think about.

I remember when Johnny Carson was at the helm. And after Leno took over, like many people I remember thinking and stating: "Leno is no Carson."

Speaking of "the helm," Leno just did a comedy segment called Blockbuster where he and a video crew supposedly knocked on apartment doors and convinced the occupants to act out scenes from this summer's blockbusters—the new Terminator, Transformer, Wolverine and Star Trek movies.

The latter was the best skit, partly because of the four recent film graduates who lived in the apartment and partly because when Jay left the bridge William Shatner—the real William Shatner—took over the skit. After giving out a few orders to the gang, he asks: "What am I doing? I'm not even in this movie. Oh, yeah. I'm hear to hawk my new book!" (And he holds up a book for a closeup while giving the audience his trademark "Kirk"...uh, Shatner...grin.

Truth be told, I've probably watched The Late show With David Letterman more often than The Tonight Show since Leno took over. I preferred Carson, who was funny in a different, more natural (not standup) way that appealed more to me.

Letterman reminds me of a favorite great uncle—same grin, laugh and facial features. Uncle Howard even licked his lips a lot like Letterman. Uncle Howard could also wiggle his ears, together and independently, which fascinated me and my cousins. (I've never seen Letterman do this, but it wouldn't surprise me to learn that he can.)

And now Conan O'Brien is taking over.

I actually like Conan. He's never been afraid to try new things or laugh at himself, which are two qualities I admire. He has crazy, unruly, red hair, and he doesn't let some hair and makeup artist give him helmet hair in an attempt to tame it. He's tall, clumsy and awkward-looking--like another Irish guy (and his dad) that I know—but there's something endearing about that when a sense of humor accompanies it.

This means I'll give Conan and the new Tonight Show a try, but I'm not making any promises. Letterman will easily lure me back with the right guests and musical acts.

As for Leno's new show, I read that it will be on five nights a week in the same time slot. That's at least four nights too many. I guess NBC can make four episodes of Leno's new show per week for a lot less money than the cost of four great hour-long dramas. But looking at the list of 2008-2009 shows that got the ax, I'm not feeling charitable. Every time I get into a really intelligent and well written show, it gets cancelled. (And it's not just NBC that does this. ABC is a culprit, too.

Boo. Hiss.

Bring on the Barbarian!