Why I Love California

by Aaron Norton

The other week, I was invited to go to a party at my landlord's house a few blocks from where I live. This is a two-story, historic home that he purchased a couple of years ago when it was being inhabited by multiple undergraduates, both renting and non-renting. It was called "turtle-house" and known as a party venue, filled with artsy, musician types, with a nearly open-door policy for anyone to come and crash on the floor, in the basement, on the porch. True to his political activism and principle, said landlord vowed to renovate the house, but continue renting it to undergraduates, preferably vegetarians, musicians, artists and the like, and to keep the gatherings and impromptu concerts alive (perhaps minus the random squatters, but hey, there's a line for everyone!).

I went to the party and had a fantastic time. I decided it was sooo California. It was such an interesting and diverse group of people. Undergraduate students mingling with people who had helped to renovate the house (and who had become close friends of Mike, the landlord), mixed with people in their 50s, 60s and maybe even 70s. There were people there from city council, and this very cool band from Sacramento called "Good girl blues." They were playing in the basement, and when I went downstairs to check them out, I was immediately impressed again by the diversity of people. The band was rocking out and there were folks of all ages--and I mean ALL ages. I looked to my left and there was a woman breast-feeding her baby! Old and young, from all walks of life, just being, together.

A little later, a friend of mine who I met through my landlord, and who must be in his early 50s, introduced me to his new boyfriend--emphasis on the boy. He was about my age--around 27. They were so very cute together and what was so beautiful about the whole thing was that my friend was so excited to introduce his new man to everyone at the party, which was a clear testament to the type of people there--not only free of judgment over the gay thing, but didn't even bat an eye at the age discrepancy (I had the genuine sense that these people valued happiness where and when it can be attained). Some of his friends made special trips to the party just to meet the new bf. One guy, probably in his 60s, arrived with his wife, and when he heard that the boyfriend had already left, exclaimed, "Why on earth did I even come here, then?! Where is he? Is it past his curfew? Is he 15?! He's 15, isn't he, Bill?! You dog!" It was so hilarious and wonderful. This guy proceeded to crack me up with just about everything he said, and I thought it would be nice to be like him at his age. Hell, it'd be nice to be like him at any age.

After gorging myself on the delicious pot-luck food, I went home, lit some incense and popped in the new CD I bought from the lead-singer of "Good girl blues". Ah, California.

Scientific Histrionics

A recent article in the Washington Post reports on the latest scientific research linking an increased risk of HIV infection in uncircumcised men compared to their circumcised counterparts. This particular study appears to confirm earlier reports made about two years ago (unsure of exact time of earlier reports, but I remember working at Whitman-Walker Clinic when the first of this series of studies was released). Before I go any further, please take a look at the post article:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/12/13/AR2006121301155.html

As you might expect, I take a critical stance on this issue, not because I take issue when any particular methodology leading to the conclusion of increased risk (although having not read the study, there certainly may be room for critique), but because it seems a rather hysterical leap to conclude that because of the increased risk of infection, men should have a particularly vulnerable piece of their bodies lopped off.

Citing the statistical power of the research and ethical imperatives, the article recounts how the researchers ended the study early, offering circumcision to all of the uncircumcised participants. This is remenicsent of early research on aspirin when a small, but significant correlation was revealed between use of the drug and lowered risk of blood clots and stroke. The study was cut short and participants on the placebo arm encouraged to daily doses as a preventative measure.

Most of my friends probably know that I am horrified by the practice of circumcising unconsenting infants, except in cases when not doing so directly results in medical complications (and yes, I realize that HIV infection could be considered a medical health complication/risk, but a slightly hyperbolic analogy might be removing somebody's stomach to prevent alcoholism). In the vast majority of cases, circumcision is a strictly cosmetic procedure. In the present case, I will grant that the participants are presumably consenting adults, who have the legal option of refusing surgery. But given the powerful rhetoric of scientific data and the rather dramatic (in my opinion) recommendation from physicians, I bet that a large number of people will acquiesce. So, what's wrong with that, besides ethical issues surrounding subjects' ability to consent given a rather specific target message from the scientific community? Don't we want to lower infection rates? Well yes, but my first response is, "Give the guy a condom!" The post article, and I'd be willing to bet many of the scientists themselves, offer an unquestioning interpretation of what action the results warrant. It's as if the data themselves are demanding that something be done, and fast! More uncircumsized men are getting infected at alarming rates. The only possible solution must be to dispose of that which is different in these men--that pesky foreskin.

A brief review of some of the older literature (and at this point, I'm assuming this is true of the current research b/c it isn't mentioned in any of the news coverage) leads me to believe that the study does not assess whether uncircumcised men who use condoms are at higher risk of HIV infection via insertive penile sex than circumcised men who use condoms. Pending data that suggests this is the case, why aren't the results of the current study simply reinforcing the imperative for protection? While having a circumcised penis may reduce the risk of infection by some 53% (as reported in previous studies) compared to uncircumcised penises, there is still an unacceptable risk of infection among the circumcised that is easily and effectively addressed without surgery. Besides, as long as we are talking about "sending the wrong message" might not making such a big deal of the reduced risk of a circumcised penis implant the idea that without a foreskin, a person can continue to have unprotected sexual intercourse with little chance of infection with HIV, not to mention a host of other STI's?

I think this is yet another time when we need to step back, breathe, and think about what logical leaps we are making.

NJ Supreme Court decision: A response to Dan's recent blog entry

First, in order to understand anything I'm talking about, please read Dan's recent blog entry:

http://www.danielpwilliford.com/2006/10/speaking-of-marriage.html

Brilliantly written, Dan. You have captured most of my major sentiments regarding this decision, yet I can't help but wonder what the practical implications are of the NJ legislature's future remedy to the court's decision. My position for some time has been that same-sex marriage, as you note, reinforces the institution of marriage, and in a contradictory way, creates fewer options for same-sex couples in how they define their relationships. This ideological position is one that I struggle with and that which others have suggested is one of privilege and a bourgeois mentality. That is to say, while I hold onto my ideological goal of refusing the sanctification and privileging by the state of certain forms of relationship over others, the economic situation, etc, of many same-sex couples requires a more practical avenue (not to mention the crossroads the "gay and lesbian community" finds itself in)

So, I guess my question is what happens if and when NJ decides that equal benefits be conferred upon same-sex couples (but not heterosexual ones) under this new form of “union,” whatever its name? If Dr. Chambers (secondamericano.blogspot.com) is correct about the role of heteronormativity in explaining the disconnect between “protecting” marriage while simultaneously upholding equal rights for gays (which I certainly agree with), what does this separate form of union (i.e. separating the homos from the heteros) do to undermine that heteronormative worldview? In a very practical way, it seems heterosexual couples in NJ need to demand entrée into whatever form of union is granted to homosexuals—to demand that whatever form it takes, it includes not just same-sex relationships. And then what does that mean? What label is claimed, and does this necessitate any kind of equal treatment under the laws of other states (for example, when that couple applies for benefits in a state that does not have an alternative form of marriage)? Would it have any practical implications for the cause of non-heterosexually-unioned couples?

Anyway, I realize my comments are somewhat fuzzy. I hope to return to this topic soon when I can write coherently.

Thanks to Dan for his amazing entry!

Part II: The land of gouda and startlingly throaty g's

Well, unfortunately, it has been much longer than expected since I posted the last entry. Ozzie's new apartment was supposed to have internet access long before this point in time (and still does not), which has completely thwarted my sincere commitment to writing regularly. As such, I am currently writing this blog entry while hanging over the ledge of the apartment balcony, connecting rather tenuously to the university's wireless signal off in the distance. Hopefully, I won't be cut off mid-sentence.

So, where was I? The last episode ended with a cryptic reference to a homeless woman and an "attack." Much has happened since this point, but to avoid anachronistic references, I think I will rewind a bit to one of the more memorable events of my time here. Ozzie and I were walking in the center of the city, when we were approached by a woman in the red-light district (obviously, we were walking through rather than to this part of town). She first spoke in Dutch and then, realizing I do not speak Dutch, switched over to English. She was small woman, rather thin, about 35 or so, and quite disheveled, really. I knew what was coming, of course, so I continued to walk, but slowed down enough to look at her. I answered that I did speak English (mistake numero uno), and she proceded to tell us that she had missed her train (what she was doing this far from the train-station in a touristy section of town, who knows...oh wait, well yes, it was clear). When I continued to walk, perhaps surmising that I was really not taking her seriously, she asked me, rather nicely in fact, if I could just speak to her for two minutes. I nicely, but matter of factly, said, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't." At this point, the sweet puppy-dog face she had previously been sporting contorted into a surprisingly vicious grimace and before I could blink, she was raising her arms, emitting a frustrated growl, and moving toward me at what seemed like lightning speed. At this point, my innate biological programming (that's funny if you know me) must have kicked in, because all I can remember is reflexively turning my shoulder to her and covering my face with my hands, not knowing what to expect. While extremely brief, moments like these have a way of extending their lives by a hundred-fold. The impact of her arm(?), fist(?), body(?) was not painful, but it was jarring, and in the moment, I was reduced to that single emotion of fear that is both debilitating and motivating at once. The blow caught me in the shoulder I had turned toward her. I could feel the force and frustration behind it, but there really was no pain--perhaps it ordinarily would have been but was suppressed by the adrenaline, or maybe she was really just too slight to do much damage, even to my own "frail" frame. Before I even knew what had happened, the woman turned, scowl intact, and made her way towards her next target. I was left there, thankful I hadn't been pushed over the side of the canal (or stabbed for that matter--the way she had raised her fist, in retrospect, seemed like she may have had a knife) but sort of sauteeing in the mix of adrenaline that was now coursing through my body. I was not hurt at all, but shaken to the core. In a way, it was just a minor event, no harm done physically, no insulting words exchanged, but the look in the woman's eyes and face, her Smeagol (Gollum)-like features, remained with me for the rest of the evening. I sure hope she was able to catch the next train.

Part I: The land of Gouda and startlingly throaty g's

As many of you who no longer read my blog because I rarely post know, I am now in Amsterdam with Ozzie as he prepares to re-enter the world of academia. I've been here now for one week and as one would expect from any new foray into a different culture, much has been taken in, and much remains to be processed. I will begin with a few observations and an accounting of some particularly odd experiences.

As anyone who is even remotely familiar with Amsterdam is aware, the city contains some of the most interesting architecture in all of Europe. If you look up at the rowhouses, you'll see that every one of them has a hook at the top, through which a long rope can be strung and furniture hoisted to any of the many-storied windows. One will also notice that the buildings all seem to be tilting outwards, the top front of each buildings jutting out noticeably more than the bottom. This is so that as furniture is being hoisted upwards, it doesn't bang against the front of the structure. Simple, yet ingenious. The Dutch are like this in just about everything they do--simple, yet ingenious. Even the hundreds of bridges that criss-cross the canals are obviously built with great care in both design and efficiency. And this attention to design does not stop when it comes to ordinary household appliances. Think Ikea only with substantially more class and substantially less chance of snapping in half after just a few months. All of this is why I am completely dumbfounded by their toilets.

Let's begin with a review of familiar toilet construction, at least as it is known in the good ole' US of A. Round (or sometimes oval) bowl, filled about half-way with water, with a hole at the bottom back of said bowl. You may not have realized this, but the water is a very important feature of the Number 2 evacuation process, decreasing the amount of unappealing vapors that escape into the air. More explicitly stated, the poop drops into the water and, depending on diet, either floats or sinks to the bottom, and then is quickly and efficiently flushed away to never neverland. Or is it the nether netherlands. Except for the occasional splash, the system works pretty well. Now contrast this will the most popular toilet in the land of smoked salmon and legal marijuana. Round bowl at the top, but look inside the bowl and you will find a flat shelf with an edge that drops down to a hole at the front bottom of the bowl. That hole has a bit of water down there, but the shelf I mentioned has barely a puddle. Now I'm all for water conservation, but think about this for a moment. In case the above description is not lucid enough, let me bring it home. Due to the design of this toilet, one poohs onto a shelf(!) The pooh then sits there, almost completely free of water, until one of several possible hidden buttons in the room are pushed so that the pooh is washed off of the shelf and down through the hole. Meanwhile, the vast pooh-to-air exposed surface area allows for the maximum degree of vapor escape, creating a sort of Chamber of Excretions (Rouling's next title), in which you must steep until finished. I won't even get into the efficiency or lack thereof with which the water is able to fully wash the undesirable, mortality-reminding, material away. Don't even get me started on that inspiring design feat. Every time I need to use a toilet, I simply cannot understand how this made it through the boardroom. If it were the US, I would speculate on the influence of air-freshener lobbyists to the toilet industry, but that would be too cynical here in "Old Europe."

Next installment: Attack of the Strung-Out Homeless Woman.

Bush gropes Andrea Merkel

I certainly can't take credit for finding what I am about to report, but I wanted to bring it to my readers even though I don't have any readers because I almost never make any posts to this blog. The story is all over the blogosphere, but once again, has barely made any mainstream press. But it appears that Bush attempted give an unwelcome shoulder massage to German Chancellor Andrea Merkel at the G-8 summit. I find it absolutely creepy and hilarious that he thinks he can just walk up and start massaging another head of state. When she throws up her arms in protest, he simply keeps walking.

Worst is that the LA Times reports that Merkel simply smiles in its report, leaving out the cringe, wince, and arm-throw she emits. From the article:

"Bush gave a less formal greeting to German Chancellor Angela Merkel when he encountered her Sunday in the more modern pavilion on the Konstantinovsky Palace grounds where the afternoon meeting of the G-8 leaders was being held.It was a lesson in body language.

On his way here, the president spent much of Thursday with Merkel in her Bundestag district in northeastern Germany, building on a friendship that began with her earlier visit to the White House, a welcome guest after her conservative coalition turned Gerhard Schroeder out of office last fall. Schroeder's opposition to the war in Iraq had made him a thorn in Bush's side.It's safe to say the former chancellor never got the treatment Merkel received from the president.Entering the meeting room, as relayed by a Russian television camera, Bush headed directly behind the chancellor, reached out and, placing both hands on the collar of her gold jacket, gave her a short massage just below the neck.

She smiled."

Check out the still shots on this blogger's site:

http://www.docstrangelove.com/tag/angela_merkel

Also, a short video clip can be viewed here:

http://www.bild.t-online.de/BTO/news/aktuell/2006/07/18/merkel-bush-liebes-attacke/merkel-bush-liebes-attacke.html

Convolutions

I had this amazing dream last night. I dreamt I was in class of some sort (totally far removed from my real world...and they say dreams are just consolidated memories!) and the teacher/professeur was Christiane--my lovely French superviser from the clinic. She had just finished up class and upon departing, uttered, "Okay, well, I guess you're all fired home--metaphorically speaking!" As she was leaving, we all sort of looked at one another dumfounded, and I exclaimed, "That doesn't make any sense. 'Fired home?'" Another student (a friend by the name of Max from high school) said, "Well, she just never makes any sense." He didn't realize she had forgotten something from the classroom and was coming back at that very moment, so she overheard him. We all sort of downplayed Max's comment and just admitted we were confused by her little expression. So she explained that back in her village, whenever an employer wanted to fire an employee, it was required that he/she go to that persons house to do it, and this fact lead to the expression "fired home" which basically just means "you're dismissed." Okay, so my dreams are not terribly exciting, but what I found so cool about it (as Ozzie pointed out) was that my own brain manufactured something it (my brain) did not understand and then explained it to itself! Isn't that weird? How could I not have understood what "fired home" meant or at least heard it as a familiar phrase when my own brain had just manufactured it? And then--to repeat myself--my brain decided to clear up the misunderstanding that it had just created by creating an entire context for the expression that it did not understand. Those are some levels of metacognition, and I feel I had nothing to do with it. I was just an outside (yet inside) observer to the intricate (and bizarre) workings of my own brain.