I hate Tom Brady so much it makes my nose bleed

Well, not quite that much, but almost.

The man is smug. And too pretty. And left his baby-mama for a supermodel (with the mama ‘just’ a gorgeous model/actress, but not famous enough).

I went to school in the Boston area and my father was a die-hard Patriots fan. In my teens, I was on the 50-yard-line at Foxborough watching grown men get piss-drunk and yell at least three times per season. Wrapped in my blanket, clutching my hot cocoa, and mainly watching my dad’s dreams get crushed year after year.

Initially, I was excited about the Sox and the Pats. Now, I’m thinking a few people sold their souls to the devil to get Boston out of the years-long losing slump. If the Bs (the Bruins) and the Cs (the Celtics) start winning cups and going to the finals, I’ll know for sure that something fishy is going on.

Boston fans are great losers. Unfortunately, they are not good winners. I suppose they haven’t yet learned how to be.

I’ve seen so many caps, shirts and just ridiculous, overzealous nonsense since the winning streak started that I’m beginning to hate Boston teams.

Tonight, I tuned in – like everyone else – to watch the undefeated Patriots play the Giants, who barely scraped themselves into the playoffs this year. Much to my delight and surprise, the Giants gave the supposedly “unbeatable” Patriots a good whipping in the first half. Then, much to my chagrin but not to my surprise, the team from New York blew it.

Still, it was a good game. It was, in my opinion, probably better than the Superbowl will be this year. You know, that hyped game that takes forever to play because of commercial breaks and usually ends in a disappointing blowout? Yeah, that one. I prefer games that still have a little heart, with players that worry less about money and sponsorship opportunities and more about playing a great game.

Tonight, the Giants didn’t really have anything to gain and yet they played their hearts out. I don’t even root for the Giants (I’m a Bears fan myself), but I found myself screaming and cheering at them via my television set. If I had one, I would have put on my Giants shirt and run through the streets.

Tom Brady reminds me of Roger Clemens, and will probably end up the same. As he ages, he will continue to play well, but not as well, and will not know enough to bow out gracefully. He’ll end up doing commercials, moving around to whatever team pays him enough money, and trying to stay in the spotlight as long as possible. All the while, he’ll remember his glory days (which no one will argue weren’t great), but greed and ego will keep him in the game too long.

My last Christmas wish is that someone will beat the Patriots, if only to teach New England fans and their team a lesson. No one is unbeatable. And no one should be. Unlimited success doesn’t make for a generous team or a good personality.

Why XDR-TB is a problem that’s not going away

Last night, I was watching the news and saw a brief (and, of course, over-sensationalized) story about a woman who flew from India back to the U.S. with a deadly strain of TB. Since the initial portion of her flight was so long, authorities are guesstimating that she potentially infected about 45 people sitting near her. This will require them to be monitored themselves and tested to see if they develop the disease. Imagine waiting from 6-10 weeks for the results of an HIV test. Yikes. That is a lot of time to panic.

TB is a problem because of several factors – poverty, HIV and incarceration not being the least of them. The trouble is that people with already weakened immune systems (poor nutrition and/or having HIV) can contract TB repeatedly, increasing the chances that a particular, normal strain of TB will evolve into a drug-resistant strain. Also, like in prisons, hospitals, or homeless shelters, when people are clumped together, the likelihood of a resistant strain developing increases.

TB, or tuberculosis, has been with us for centuries. It is probably as old as our written records. Just a century or so ago, it was referred to as ‘consumption’, since people who have it tend to ‘waste away’. More interestingly, it was kind of a sexy disease. Poets, impossibly beautiful women, writers, aristocrats and famous people got ‘consumption’. The wealthy patients got to spend their last days at a big resort for consumptives called a sanitarium. The poor people got to go to a sanatorium, or a fancy term for a hospital. Funny how a few letters can make all the difference. (Personally, I would have preferred the former, particularly the ones in Switzerland.)

(For the ‘readers’ out there, check out Thomas Mann’s Magic Mountain, for a portrayal of TB and life in the sanitarium.)
Fast forward to the present.

XDR-TB is resistant to most drugs used to treat it. It got this way through a variety of ways, but at least one of which is that some people do not take the full course of antibiotics prescribed for them in the first round of having TB. Believe it or not, not finishing your course of antibiotics – or taking them without cause for something like a cold – is a huge part of the problem. Which is why, in large part, I am a medicine Nazi. I try to underline why people shouldn’t share their prescriptions with each other (this means you, Aunt Grace, unless you’ve gotten your MD since last summer), or stop taking their medication when they feel better (just because you feel better, doesn’t mean the infection is gone).

Sometimes, in the past, I would try to scare people into caring more about taking antibiotics sparingly and taking them correctly by telling them that their grandchildren would be faced with a world much like the old days before penicillin came along. Translation? A lot of child deaths. A lot more early and unnecessary deaths, period. I was sick a lot as a child, and I simply wouldn’t have made it to age 10 without effective antibiotics.

Now, however, it looks like I don’t have to make up boogey-men tales to scare people. We’ve got one ready-made in this new, scary strain of TB.

To scare yourself, go here: http://www.cdc.gov/tb/pubs/tbfactsheets/xdrtb.htm

And the next time you take a long flight, wear a mask. It looks a little Michael Jackson-ish, but it might save you from months of hellish treatment.

Do something good while being a dork

I found this on NPR. It’s a site from Indiana (go, Hoosiers!). Of course it is. I can still tell what week of summer it is by how high the corn is, how the soybeans look, and how busy the farmers are.

Anyway, this is a vocabulary quiz. Just like the SAT or GRE. For each word you get right, the computer adjusts the level of difficulty and keeps overall track of how you are doing. I know this sounds like a NIGHTMARE to most folks, but to a dork like me it’s manna.

For each word you get correct, the site will donate 10 grains of rice to hungry people. It’s terrific. It’s addictive. It’s helping the world by doing nothing but improving your vocabulary.

Check it out by clicking on the icon:

How Duran Duran ruined my world (and still secretly rocks it)

While poking around the internet on a lazy afternoon, I came across the VH1 online box set of Duran Duran videos. Interspersed between the videos are commentaries from band members. I think I was 11 when I first fell in love with Duran Duran, and I’ve never looked back. Well, I have, hence the perusing of online nostalgia, but you know what I mean.

I almost never come across a woman who lived consciously through the 80s that doesn’t remember this band. Love them or hate them, they were everywhere. You couldn’t pick up an issue of Teen Beat or Tiger magazine without staring at one of their handsome mugs. Thank God.

Duran Duran were responsible for shaping, in large part, my view of the world outside of Rensselaer, IN, my hometown. Rensselaer is a small town in the middle of farming country, population severely limited. Here are the details, for anyone interested in seeing what living a version of “Footloose” was like: http://cityofrensselaerin.com/.

You can fill in the details of small town life with your own imaginations. (Think loads of boredom, peppered with cruising down main street and hanging out at the tennis courts with wine coolers.)

Anyway, to make a long story short, I was a bona fide dork. GEEK. I wore glasses and fit into ‘pretty plus’ size clothing. I sucked at gym class, won the 7th grade math award, and I pretty much thought I’d go to my grave without ever having been kissed. To me, the world of Duran Duran videos were OZ. I may as well have been wishing to be Dorothy, whisked away in a storm to the heart of New York or London, to battle the evil reigning fashion models for the heart of John Taylor. (Oh, sure, I went through a ‘Simon LeBon’ phase, who didn’t? But, it didn’t last. My eyes and tiny preteen heart stuck like glue to John.) Instead of ‘Over the Rainbow’ I had ‘Save a Prayer’. (Needless to say, it took me awhile to figure out what a one-night stand was, but they made it seem romantic.)

Here’s a peek at why they were so exciting:

So, what did I do? I got it into my head that to have a good life you had to be or have these things: be model pretty, have oodles of money, live in a big city, travel to exotic places outside of the U.S., and have a rock-star boyfriend. Smarts and a sense of humor? Well, they might help you get there, but let’s face it – people only say they want intelligence and someone to make them laugh after they’ve experienced a bad or boring fling with a vapid, but gorgeous, person. And by 7th grade I had already learned the cold, hard truth: being smart was not going to get me a boyfriend. Period.

Anyway, flash forward a million years, and I’m living in New York City. Duran Duran is basically responsible for almost every decision I made until the age of 28. Why lie? Here’s the proof:

Which is me trying to look sexy/angry on a photo shoot in St. Maarten in 1995. Or how about this:

Get a load of those SHOES! Wow. Or, doing my best Rio impressions:

I spent the better part of my youth figuring out that life is definitively NOT a Duran Duran video. First off, New York was great, but not all that cheap. Secondly, being a model was fun for awhile, but not all that glamorous (maybe the 1000 models who have actually made it big would disagree with me). Third, while I came THIS CLOSE to actually meeting John Taylor before a solo gig in 1998 while I was also working as a reporter (I still have the taped phone conversation, where I desperately tried not to gush), I never dated a rock star. Or any stars, actually. A lot of bankers and business types, but no stars.

In other words, it took me a long time to recover from my love affair with Duran, and the rest of the 80s if we’re completely honest (I’m still holding out for my Sixteen Candles birthday cake with Jake scene). But, in the long run, I’ll probably always have a tiny shiver when I hear the first chord of one of their songs. Shit, I dated British guys exclusively throughout the 90s, in part so I could hear the Duran accent. (I’m sick, I realize.) And, truth be told, there’s nothing really wrong with the occasional hit of Duran Duran, it keeps me young-ish and sexy. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Duran Duran is, for better or for worse, part of the soundtrack of my life and the birthplace of my wanderlust for life outside of the borders.

Quote for the end of 2007

I stumbled upon this last night, reading Barbara Kingsolver. I think it sums up my experiences exactly.

“How pointless life could be, what a foolish business of inventing things to love, just so you could dread losing them.”

Amazing stain remover

OK, at the risk of sounding like a ridiculous late-night commercial, I have to share this story.

After placing some lovely stargazer lilies in a plastic vase (thus, not very sturdy or stable), I put the vase on my kitchenette bar. They lasted about a day before one of my cats, who shall remain nameless, decided to investigate. For those of you who don’t have cats, they mark their territory by rubbing the sides of their faces along the edges of things. My cat, whose name dare not be spoken, decided to mark the vase. In a not-surprising twist of events, she knocked it over.

For my own part, in slow-motion, I tried to catch the vase and ended up pushing it further over and onto the carpeted floor beyond the kitchen bar. There was water everywhere, which I expected. Here is what I didn’t – pollen stains. Yes, there were orange-yellow pollen stains from the lilies all over my BEIGE carpet.

I panicked and tried to scrub them out. Nothing.

I went online (on the phone with my friend, Martha, who was my instant info), and discovered that there is a veritable worldwide epidemic of lily pollen stains on carpeting. Rule number one, don’t try to rub them out or wet them. Terrific. Mine were already wet and I rubbed. Solution? Screwed.

So, I toddled off to have brunch (what any self-respecting woman does in a crisis), and bought some generic looking stain remover that had a list a mile long of things it could remove. Like blood (who has the need to get blood out of carpet except a serial killer?), rust (who has rust on carpet – old bike enthusiasts?), and wine. OK, I figure, it’s guaranteed and been in business for 35 years.

I get home, spray the stuff on my carpet and VOILA! No stains. Seriously. Just like that.

Nothing else worked (and I had tried some other, name-brand carpet cleaner to no avail).

So, seeing as it’s Christmas, I decided to share my good cheer.

If you have stains of any kind, I recommend the following:

Folex can be found at your nearest store. If not, then go to their website: http://www.folexcompany.com/index.html

The Tradition of the Christmas Letter

I’m not sure how many of you have written or received a “Christmas Letter”, so let me start off by explaining this ubiquitous literary genre. First, I’m uncertain how to categorize the traditional family Christmas letter – is it fiction or nonfiction? Generally speaking, let’s call it a little bit of both. Basically, it’s a list of things you’ve done throughout the year. The Christmas Letter is written for a variety of reasons, ranked in no particular order:

1. To update your friends and family, clearly the people that you don’t speak to all that often, about what you have done throughout the calendar year.

2. To let your acquaintances (code for all of the people you know and/or work with but don’t like and/or care enough about to make your real friends) know how good you have it: that you purchased a new house or car or dog; that you became the proud new father/mother or grandmother/grandfather of the newest-cutest-funniest-smartest baby ever; that you got that promotion and are now making over 6 figures; that you got that cool new job that allows you to make 6 figures and work from home; that your sex life rocks. [Oh, wait, that last one is not technically allowed into the Christmas letter format.]

3. To brag. Just a little bit. To your real friends. And family. [Screw you and your new job, Cousin Jenny. I just got married!]

4. To let everyone know just where you stand in the social order. Bonus points if you can name drop or use high-end brands like Gucci in your letter.

That being said, people tend to omit things that weren’t so great (like divorce or lay-offs), and accentuate the positives (like engagement or finding that perfect vacation spot). It’s not lying, exactly, or even like writing pure fiction. It’s more like embellishment and a careful selection of details. [Exception to this rule: People writing about their illnesses. You get sympathy points for that.]

The Christmas letter is very American. It paints a rosy picture of the past and shares its unabashed hopes for an equally rosy future. Really, you can’t blame it. Like all things traditional, it’s mired in its own regulations. You can’t really screw with the Christmas letter format, and at some point, you become ensnared in the need to carry on the tradition yourself, like it or not.

I’m not quite there yet, so I can still buck the trend. Just for fun, here’s my own rebellious Christmas letter. Which is, really, me doing my best to channel a great satirist, like Dorothy Parker or Oscar Wilde.

Dear Friends,

This year was a busy one! I’m sorry that I didn’t have the time to write you an individual letter, thus leaving you with this generic letter, but really, we both know that we’re not close enough for me to have spent 10 minutes of busy Christmas-season time searching for the perfect Hallmark card for you. Maybe next year!

Anyway, let me fill you in on 2007. This year, I filed for divorce from my husband. I’m not sure I told you this, but he cheated on me with 18 other women in just under 18 months! Wow, was he busy! Anyway, he’s living in Singapore and is doing well. We remain friends and no hard feelings. The divorce became final in September, on our old anniversary. Isn’t that ironic?!

In the summer, my boyfriend moved out from New York City. We moved in together and have gotten engaged. He’s the best! So handsome! So smart! And great in bed, too! We have sex all the time, and it’s amazing!

Our new apartment is great. We only pay $1500 a month, which is really cheap for the Bay Area, and we have a distant view of the Golden Gate bridge. With me being a graduate student, and him being a writer and a teacher, we won’t be able to afford the 1 million + price tag on most houses here – ever. Oh, well! If I quit my program and got a real job, maybe. But then I wouldn’t have any time for myself or travel or that great sex – so I don’t think so.

Academic life is terrific. All I do all day is drink lattes, read philosophy, theory and current events. I even have time for fiction! Sometimes, I like to mix it up and play video games. Next year, I’m hoping to buy the new PS system, which is still too expensive for me (see the note about my income prospects above). I still manage to go out to bars and karaoke nights, which is fun, and I’ve started to learn how to cook. Most of my friends have screaming babies at home, and can’t even talk on the phone when I call them. I feel really lucky to be childless.

But, we do have two adorable cats. They’re just the most adorable cats you have ever seen. They’re always doing something funny, like tearing up an important document or waking us up at 9:30 to be fed. We can’t even sleep in until 10am anymore! Those crazy cats. But, really, I wouldn’t trade them for the world. They are categorically the best thing that has ever happened to me. I didn’t know how to really love before they came along. My fondest hope is that one of them will give me kittens someday.

I just finished my academic semester, and let me tell you honestly, I kicked ass! I got straight As this semester (as always). Chinese is still my most difficult subject, however. Sadly, I think most of you probably think being in school until you are 35 is a waste of time, but I don’t think so. I’m constantly learning and using my brain and expanding my thoughts. Plus, someday I’ll be a professor and your kids will probably need a recommendation letter from me to get into a good college, so don’t knock it.

Anyway, that’s about all my news. Hoping you are all doing well!

Wishing you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Cheers,

Theresa