Ugh. Well, I finally am home again, home again, and this time only an hour and a half past my intended curfew. The joys of med school and hanging around whipper snappers (most of whom I believe are older than me. Then again, I'm the cheapest drunk in the group, so huzzah? Huzzah. We'll go with a rollicking huzzah on that one.), even on a school night like this very night.
There are many things I wanted to discuss once upon a time. First, there was the talk of my famed unicorn shirt. It's okay if you haven't heard of it- it's pretty underground, but the story behind it, and the wonderful luck it has given me doesn't lie. But that's a story for another time when I'm not making noises with my mouth.
Likewise, there was a possibility of speaking about those who delete themselves from e-mail chains unnecessarily. I mean, the e-mail chain might just be there for your amusement. I get that maybe it's not funny, but, dude, it totally is. Stop hating on the business, man. It's very un-dudelike. Nobody likes an un-dudelike dude.
There was probably something I was actually going to talk about. I might figure it out while I take out my contacts, because I am extremely sleepy right now (but I know that sleeping now will not end well for my condition tomorrow).
Well, I took out the comics and read through some webcomics, and still no idea what I was going to write about. I'm sure it was something inspiring AND invigorating, like a textual cold shower, or a verbal dip into a brisk pond on a cold December morning. Not that I've done things like that (well, cold showers happened in France due to the lack of water heater. Well, maybe not so much the lack of water heater- I believe that there was a water heater that worked just fine once upon a time. The problem was more the degree of control over the temperature of the water. Apparently a single degree change on the rotating temperature control would change things from, "Well, thank God I brought these three sweaters, because it's going to be a cold winter in Siberia until Comrade Stalin finds out about this grave injustice and brings me back to balmy Moscow," to, "Well, Padre Torquemada certainly has been putting the coals to these baths today, because I'm going to get some serious scalds."), but I can imagine the invigoration. It's almost palpable.
But, alas, I cannot recall the glorious post I surely had in mind for you. This in no way is a means of stalling for time as I develop a new idea of what to write on this barely imitable Tuesday evening (now a Wednesday morning- where does the time go?). Even if it were, it would be a rather poor means of doing so, as my mind is mostly occupied by the sentences I'm writing rather than the subject about which I might have the opportunity, nay, the privilege of writing.
Of course, now I've gone and Google Mapped the place I stayed in France. I've been having some freaky weird nostalgia about it. I mean, I guess nostalgia about France in itself isn't too weird, but the fact that I'm having nostalgia about my experience living there might be. Working was great, traveling was great, but living there? I was dealing with Bev, the landlady who a.) regularly insulted my future profession, b.) didn't vaccinate her kid and was surprised when (who would have ever thought) her kid got measles, and c.) TRIED TO INSIST I GO TO THE DOCTOR WITHOUT INSURANCE WHEN I HAD A COLD.
Oh. OH. I think we have a subject.
That's right. We're doing another installment of, "Oh, Bev." For those of you that are new to the whole Rob blogs about his troubles thing, Bev is the term I used for my landlady. There's a nice story about that, and I feel like I'm far enough removed from it all to say what it is.
See, Bev's real name is Claire. She means well, and down South, we'd probably regularly use the old, "Bless your heart," on her. Unfortunately, she was a bit stressed, so I'm sure I didn't see her at her best, and she tended to rather... unscientific understandings of science and medicine. But I digress. See, her name was Claire, and one of the first conversations with her involved finding out that she had gone into menopause. This was not something she told me, but she DID tell her son in a voice that I could hear while we were all at the table. Yeah. She apparently forgot that I spoke French and could pick up on context clues. Maybe they don't teach context clues in French elementary school? I couldn't speak to it.
However, that made me think of, "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret." by Judy Blume.
Unfortunately, my years in Knowledge Bowl and Quiz Bowl did not prepare me for books on menstruation, because somehow I made an ill-advised leap from Judy Blume to Beverly Cleary (writer of the Mouse and the Motorcycle, AKA Ralph, The Magical Toy-Motorcycle Riding Mouse Who's Like Stuart Little But Less Useful and With a Happy Ending That Doesn't Leave You Wondering If He Ever Finds Margalo, And What Was The Deal With Harriet Ames? He Just Kind Of Left Her In The Lurch. Why Is This A Kid's Book, And Why Do I Suddenly Have A Beach Worth Of Sand In My Eye? No, It Will Just Take a Minute For Me To Get It Out, Don't Worry. I'm Not Crying.). That leap brought some serious inspiration, because what does Claire translate to? Clear. Like Cleary. Beverly Cleary. Bev.
That's right. From me not knowing who the authors ACTUALLY were of various books, and from a single conversation, I came up with Bev. But, hey- it speaks volumes about her. I mean, doesn't it just FIT someone who breaks the law by not vaccinating her kids and then, AND THEN railing on the medical establishment (it's really a mafia, you see) and how all doctors and pharmaceutical companies are only in it for the money.
These things, okay. I can work with it. I get the feeling on some doctors, and certainly pharmaceutical companies (it's their goal to make money, after all, even though that implies that they need to make a solid product that does something nominally new). Heck, even the vaccinations I can deal with. It's her life, and she has the right to some degree of autonomy (though not based on the French legal system, but whatever), so if she's not going to let herself be vaccinated or get her kid vaccinated, I suppose that it's her (INCREDIBLY ill-advised) prerogative. Groovy. Hug a rainbow. Hug several rainbows.
Once your kid gets measles, well, okay. A bit of a public health risk, so maybe some of that autonomy might not be necessary. But, I mean, surely she'll tell the doctor that Elmo (Elmo's her daughter, you see- one of my friends commented on her son having googly eyes in a baby picture, and he's quite an eater, so he is therefore Cookie Monster, and his sister had dyed her hair a bit red when I got there, so she's Elmo. IT MAKES SENSE, DAMN YOU) hasn't had her vaccinations. That way, (s)he can treat Elmo appropriately, and problem solved, right?
Oh. She didn't tell the doctor.
She didn't tell the doctor. She lied to a health care professional about her daughter's vaccination status (which the doctor probably could have (and hopefully did) check with a quick set of titers), and so her daughter had to get her measles treated the hard way.
You know, I could deal with this. I could deal with the whole "Okay, so I don't like established medicine and really prefer the remedies, because that's what has worked for me, and I think that's really best." I might not agree with it, but I could deal with it and understand where she was coming from. It would at least be consistent, you know?
Then came the cold.
See, as part of the whole "I'm teaching in France!" thing, I had a visa, which was pretty great. Looked a whole lot better than my passport picture (or at least more like me). Yes, there was a whole lot of paperwork and visits that I had to go to, but I got a clean bill of health as an immigrant for the 9 months I was there. In theory, I was supposed to get a social security card that would entitle me to the super-cheap health care that comes with the French system. Of course, bureaucracy being what it is (and what it is being invented by the French) meant that I sure as shit wasn't going to see that card anytime. And sure enough, I didn't. Thankfully, I have a pretty good immune system and avoided injury, because that would have meant an awkward talk with a doctor about how, no, I'm not insured, but I will be any day now, because by golly, the system works!
So while Bev and Elmo are dealing with the freaking measles (MEASLES. THIS ISN'T SOMETHING YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SEE IN THE DEVELOPED WORLD ANYMORE.), I come down with a cold. Heck, maybe it was even the flu- I wouldn't really understand the difference, because I just knew that I was congested and coughing. However, I DO know my body, and I knew that this was something that would resolve without issue, because it's just a cold/mild flu. Bev sees me one day and says that I should go see the doctor. I respond that it's a cold. She responds with, "Well, you should see a doctor anyway."
I do NOT say that, first off, I'm uninsured. Second off, what is a doctor going to do for me? If it's a smart doctor, MAYBE I'll get some decongestants or a recommendation for cough drops. If it's a bad doctor, I'll get a prescription for some antibiotics that I certainly won't use, because I'd rather not be responsible for creating a super-bug (even though it would be a pretty cool way to go down in the history books, I guess). Either way, problem not solved, whereas handling it myself (as I was doing, mind you) will take care of the problem soon enough. And do you really need to be worrying about a cold? YOUR DAUGHTER HAS MEASLES. But, of course, medicine can't fix that, with its fancy "vaccines" and "evidence." Nope. That would be unthinkable.
Anyway, here's some puppies to hopefully cool down that rage that may have rubbed off on you.
There are many things I wanted to discuss once upon a time. First, there was the talk of my famed unicorn shirt. It's okay if you haven't heard of it- it's pretty underground, but the story behind it, and the wonderful luck it has given me doesn't lie. But that's a story for another time when I'm not making noises with my mouth.
Likewise, there was a possibility of speaking about those who delete themselves from e-mail chains unnecessarily. I mean, the e-mail chain might just be there for your amusement. I get that maybe it's not funny, but, dude, it totally is. Stop hating on the business, man. It's very un-dudelike. Nobody likes an un-dudelike dude.
There was probably something I was actually going to talk about. I might figure it out while I take out my contacts, because I am extremely sleepy right now (but I know that sleeping now will not end well for my condition tomorrow).
Well, I took out the comics and read through some webcomics, and still no idea what I was going to write about. I'm sure it was something inspiring AND invigorating, like a textual cold shower, or a verbal dip into a brisk pond on a cold December morning. Not that I've done things like that (well, cold showers happened in France due to the lack of water heater. Well, maybe not so much the lack of water heater- I believe that there was a water heater that worked just fine once upon a time. The problem was more the degree of control over the temperature of the water. Apparently a single degree change on the rotating temperature control would change things from, "Well, thank God I brought these three sweaters, because it's going to be a cold winter in Siberia until Comrade Stalin finds out about this grave injustice and brings me back to balmy Moscow," to, "Well, Padre Torquemada certainly has been putting the coals to these baths today, because I'm going to get some serious scalds."), but I can imagine the invigoration. It's almost palpable.
But, alas, I cannot recall the glorious post I surely had in mind for you. This in no way is a means of stalling for time as I develop a new idea of what to write on this barely imitable Tuesday evening (now a Wednesday morning- where does the time go?). Even if it were, it would be a rather poor means of doing so, as my mind is mostly occupied by the sentences I'm writing rather than the subject about which I might have the opportunity, nay, the privilege of writing.
Of course, now I've gone and Google Mapped the place I stayed in France. I've been having some freaky weird nostalgia about it. I mean, I guess nostalgia about France in itself isn't too weird, but the fact that I'm having nostalgia about my experience living there might be. Working was great, traveling was great, but living there? I was dealing with Bev, the landlady who a.) regularly insulted my future profession, b.) didn't vaccinate her kid and was surprised when (who would have ever thought) her kid got measles, and c.) TRIED TO INSIST I GO TO THE DOCTOR WITHOUT INSURANCE WHEN I HAD A COLD.
| This is more what it looked like if I turned right out of the place, and was about 10 feet taller, but it's not inaccurate. It really was a nice place, all in all, but I was sharing it with some rather terrible folks now and again. |
Oh. OH. I think we have a subject.
That's right. We're doing another installment of, "Oh, Bev." For those of you that are new to the whole Rob blogs about his troubles thing, Bev is the term I used for my landlady. There's a nice story about that, and I feel like I'm far enough removed from it all to say what it is.
See, Bev's real name is Claire. She means well, and down South, we'd probably regularly use the old, "Bless your heart," on her. Unfortunately, she was a bit stressed, so I'm sure I didn't see her at her best, and she tended to rather... unscientific understandings of science and medicine. But I digress. See, her name was Claire, and one of the first conversations with her involved finding out that she had gone into menopause. This was not something she told me, but she DID tell her son in a voice that I could hear while we were all at the table. Yeah. She apparently forgot that I spoke French and could pick up on context clues. Maybe they don't teach context clues in French elementary school? I couldn't speak to it.
However, that made me think of, "Are You There, God? It's Me, Margaret." by Judy Blume.
 |
| She bears a striking resemblance to the love-child of Skeletor and Evil-Lyn. |
Unfortunately, my years in Knowledge Bowl and Quiz Bowl did not prepare me for books on menstruation, because somehow I made an ill-advised leap from Judy Blume to Beverly Cleary (writer of the Mouse and the Motorcycle, AKA Ralph, The Magical Toy-Motorcycle Riding Mouse Who's Like Stuart Little But Less Useful and With a Happy Ending That Doesn't Leave You Wondering If He Ever Finds Margalo, And What Was The Deal With Harriet Ames? He Just Kind Of Left Her In The Lurch. Why Is This A Kid's Book, And Why Do I Suddenly Have A Beach Worth Of Sand In My Eye? No, It Will Just Take a Minute For Me To Get It Out, Don't Worry. I'm Not Crying.). That leap brought some serious inspiration, because what does Claire translate to? Clear. Like Cleary. Beverly Cleary. Bev.
That's right. From me not knowing who the authors ACTUALLY were of various books, and from a single conversation, I came up with Bev. But, hey- it speaks volumes about her. I mean, doesn't it just FIT someone who breaks the law by not vaccinating her kids and then, AND THEN railing on the medical establishment (it's really a mafia, you see) and how all doctors and pharmaceutical companies are only in it for the money.
 |
| Come at me, Bev. |
Once your kid gets measles, well, okay. A bit of a public health risk, so maybe some of that autonomy might not be necessary. But, I mean, surely she'll tell the doctor that Elmo (Elmo's her daughter, you see- one of my friends commented on her son having googly eyes in a baby picture, and he's quite an eater, so he is therefore Cookie Monster, and his sister had dyed her hair a bit red when I got there, so she's Elmo. IT MAKES SENSE, DAMN YOU) hasn't had her vaccinations. That way, (s)he can treat Elmo appropriately, and problem solved, right?
Oh. She didn't tell the doctor.
 |
| She didn't tell the doctor? |
 |
| Really? She didn't tell the Doctor? (But with a Scottish accent, see.) |
She didn't tell the doctor. She lied to a health care professional about her daughter's vaccination status (which the doctor probably could have (and hopefully did) check with a quick set of titers), and so her daughter had to get her measles treated the hard way.
You know, I could deal with this. I could deal with the whole "Okay, so I don't like established medicine and really prefer the remedies, because that's what has worked for me, and I think that's really best." I might not agree with it, but I could deal with it and understand where she was coming from. It would at least be consistent, you know?
Then came the cold.
See, as part of the whole "I'm teaching in France!" thing, I had a visa, which was pretty great. Looked a whole lot better than my passport picture (or at least more like me). Yes, there was a whole lot of paperwork and visits that I had to go to, but I got a clean bill of health as an immigrant for the 9 months I was there. In theory, I was supposed to get a social security card that would entitle me to the super-cheap health care that comes with the French system. Of course, bureaucracy being what it is (and what it is being invented by the French) meant that I sure as shit wasn't going to see that card anytime. And sure enough, I didn't. Thankfully, I have a pretty good immune system and avoided injury, because that would have meant an awkward talk with a doctor about how, no, I'm not insured, but I will be any day now, because by golly, the system works!
So while Bev and Elmo are dealing with the freaking measles (MEASLES. THIS ISN'T SOMETHING YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO SEE IN THE DEVELOPED WORLD ANYMORE.), I come down with a cold. Heck, maybe it was even the flu- I wouldn't really understand the difference, because I just knew that I was congested and coughing. However, I DO know my body, and I knew that this was something that would resolve without issue, because it's just a cold/mild flu. Bev sees me one day and says that I should go see the doctor. I respond that it's a cold. She responds with, "Well, you should see a doctor anyway."
I do NOT say that, first off, I'm uninsured. Second off, what is a doctor going to do for me? If it's a smart doctor, MAYBE I'll get some decongestants or a recommendation for cough drops. If it's a bad doctor, I'll get a prescription for some antibiotics that I certainly won't use, because I'd rather not be responsible for creating a super-bug (even though it would be a pretty cool way to go down in the history books, I guess). Either way, problem not solved, whereas handling it myself (as I was doing, mind you) will take care of the problem soon enough. And do you really need to be worrying about a cold? YOUR DAUGHTER HAS MEASLES. But, of course, medicine can't fix that, with its fancy "vaccines" and "evidence." Nope. That would be unthinkable.
Anyway, here's some puppies to hopefully cool down that rage that may have rubbed off on you.
 |
| OH MY GOD I WANT ONE What was I talking about? |
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