My family doctor referred me to a specialist (nothing serious) from whose office I have received a form to fill out and bring with me to my appointment next week. It wants all the usual information about me and my medical history and, especially, my insurance, but then there is a little section that asks for my race, ethnicity, and the language I speak at home. This is required, it says, to satisfy the requirements of the "new government regulations for electronic medical records."
Seriously?
From what I can find on the Internet, tracking this information is intended to help medical organizations understand the needs of the population they serve (if, one presumes, the numbers for each group are large enough to allow generalizations) and to point out disparities in care that might occur among certain racial/ethnic groups.
Seriously?
I looked online for an explanation of the difference between race and ethnicity, which are generally used synonymously. Mostly I found tedious philosophical discussions that boiled down to race being more or less physical and ethnicity being more or less cultural. Nobody gave any examples, but I do recall seeing surveys that ask (for demographic purposes only, of course) for my race or ethnicity (but not both) and sometimes give me a choice between white and Hispanic or white and non-Hispanic. Maybe that's why it asks for both.
So, okay, but what am I supposed to put on those lines? Caucasian / Bohemian? White / American? Actually, I think I'll put this:
Race: Human
Ethnicity: Baby-Boomer
Language spoken at home: Pig Latin
Seriously.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Take Your Pick
Since I've decided to refer to the year as "twenty thirteen" instead of "two thousand thirteen," I have been paying attention to how other people say it, especially on radio and television news broadcasts where years get bandied about a lot.
Predictably, it's a mix. Some people say it one way and some the other way. The same is true for other years too, but I started to notice a trend. It seemed to me that when referring to the years 2001 through 2009, people usually said "two thousand n," but for the years since, "twenty n" was used more often.
I got confirmation of that this morning when I heard both used in the same sentence. A reporter on NPR was talking about things that happened "in two thousand eight and twenty ten."
I wonder if they had this same kind of confusion back in the 11th Century, in the years between, say, one thousand four and ten sixty-six.
Predictably, it's a mix. Some people say it one way and some the other way. The same is true for other years too, but I started to notice a trend. It seemed to me that when referring to the years 2001 through 2009, people usually said "two thousand n," but for the years since, "twenty n" was used more often.
I got confirmation of that this morning when I heard both used in the same sentence. A reporter on NPR was talking about things that happened "in two thousand eight and twenty ten."
I wonder if they had this same kind of confusion back in the 11th Century, in the years between, say, one thousand four and ten sixty-six.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
I wish I hadn't
The other day when writing about the vanishing cocktail lounge, I noted a drink that Lesley M. M. Blume had talked about called the Godmother. It is to be imbibed with a list of wishes one hopes will be granted. It's a simple recipe -- equal parts of vodka and amaretto stirred (not shaken) with ice. I decided to try it last night.
Vodka is never a problem at my house, but the amaretto was. First I had to dig it out from the back of the liquor cabinet. The dust on the bottle indicated how long it had sat there unused. After wiping it down, I found I couldn't unscrew the cap. I ended up running hot water over the neck of the bottle until it would finally budge. That should have been a hint.
I poured an ounce of each over ice, stirred conscientiously, strained the result into one of my small, round, old-fashioned champagne glasses, and took a sip. And about gagged. It was so sweet I could feel my teeth rotting. Did I say sweet? A dash of lemon juice took the edge off and I was able to choke it down, but I won't be doing that again.
I hope my fairy godmother grants my wish -- never to have to drink anything like that again.
Vodka is never a problem at my house, but the amaretto was. First I had to dig it out from the back of the liquor cabinet. The dust on the bottle indicated how long it had sat there unused. After wiping it down, I found I couldn't unscrew the cap. I ended up running hot water over the neck of the bottle until it would finally budge. That should have been a hint.
I poured an ounce of each over ice, stirred conscientiously, strained the result into one of my small, round, old-fashioned champagne glasses, and took a sip. And about gagged. It was so sweet I could feel my teeth rotting. Did I say sweet? A dash of lemon juice took the edge off and I was able to choke it down, but I won't be doing that again.
I hope my fairy godmother grants my wish -- never to have to drink anything like that again.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
New Year Greetings
It was probably inevitable that iSomething would get me sooner or later. And, sure enough. Due to sale prices at Walmart and a generous gift-giver for a partner, I am now the proud owner of an iPad.
I was told it was pretty much self-explanatory. Oh, yeah? It comes with absolutely no instructions whatever. You can get all the help you want online, but you first have to figure out how to get to the Internet on the thing. I used my desktop computer to get the info I needed, but I'm doing all right with it now. In fact, I have set up my email, downloaded a number of apps (mostly free), and -- hold on to your hat -- I have Skyped. (!)
I have now moved into the 21st Century, and it only took me 12 years.
Which reminds me that I am trying like heck to remember to call this new year "twenty-thirteen." Since Y2K, I have been calling the century "two thousand," as in "two-thousand six" or "two-thousand twelve." I think I did that because "twenty-oh-one" sounded too weird to me, even though "nineteen-oh-one" doesn't. It's all what you get used to, I suppose.
Happy two-thousand thirteen, everybody.
I was told it was pretty much self-explanatory. Oh, yeah? It comes with absolutely no instructions whatever. You can get all the help you want online, but you first have to figure out how to get to the Internet on the thing. I used my desktop computer to get the info I needed, but I'm doing all right with it now. In fact, I have set up my email, downloaded a number of apps (mostly free), and -- hold on to your hat -- I have Skyped. (!)
I have now moved into the 21st Century, and it only took me 12 years.
Which reminds me that I am trying like heck to remember to call this new year "twenty-thirteen." Since Y2K, I have been calling the century "two thousand," as in "two-thousand six" or "two-thousand twelve." I think I did that because "twenty-oh-one" sounded too weird to me, even though "nineteen-oh-one" doesn't. It's all what you get used to, I suppose.
Happy two-thousand thirteen, everybody.
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Yes, Let's
Someone named Lesley M. M. Blume writes a column called "Let's Bring Back" for the Huffington Post in which she apparently waxes nostalgic about things. I'm not entirely sure about it as I couldn't find many examples of such columns. Nevertheless, she has expanded the idea into at least three books that I can find, the latest being the one I heard about on NPR this morning called Let's Bring Back: The Cocktail Edition (subtitled, "A Compendium of Impish, Romantic, Amusing, And Occasionally Appalling Potations From Bygone Eras.")
Having resurrected for myself the WWI-era sidecar, I had an empathic moment when listening to Ms. Blume's interview on the radio as she lamented the neglect of vintage cocktails such as the gin fizz and the DuBarry.
Well, that's fine, but if it were up to me, I'd want to bring back cocktail lounges, which are disappearing like buffalo. I'm not talking about a tavern, or a bar, or a restaurant that serves liquor, but a real honest-to-God cocktail lounge where the lights are low and so is the decibel level; where there's no juke box, no piped-in music, no one-man-band, no live entertainment except maybe, just maybe, an unobtrusive piano player; a place where you sit on comfortable chairs, not stools, at tables of regular height, and where there are no pool tables, no video games, and no food served except perhaps a dainty bowl of high-class snack mix on each table, and where bartenders actually know how to make a sidecar, a really cold martini (up), and a vodka sour that doesn't taste like vodka and lemonade.
Ms. Blume (and don't I wish I was cool enough to have two middle initials) did mention a cocktail called a Godmother that sounded interesting. It calls for equal parts of vodka and amaretto stirred (not shaken) over ice, strained into a cocktail glass, and served with a list of wishes to be grand by, one presumes, your fairy godmother.
I may try that. Maybe I can wish up a cocktail lounge.
Having resurrected for myself the WWI-era sidecar, I had an empathic moment when listening to Ms. Blume's interview on the radio as she lamented the neglect of vintage cocktails such as the gin fizz and the DuBarry.
Well, that's fine, but if it were up to me, I'd want to bring back cocktail lounges, which are disappearing like buffalo. I'm not talking about a tavern, or a bar, or a restaurant that serves liquor, but a real honest-to-God cocktail lounge where the lights are low and so is the decibel level; where there's no juke box, no piped-in music, no one-man-band, no live entertainment except maybe, just maybe, an unobtrusive piano player; a place where you sit on comfortable chairs, not stools, at tables of regular height, and where there are no pool tables, no video games, and no food served except perhaps a dainty bowl of high-class snack mix on each table, and where bartenders actually know how to make a sidecar, a really cold martini (up), and a vodka sour that doesn't taste like vodka and lemonade.
Ms. Blume (and don't I wish I was cool enough to have two middle initials) did mention a cocktail called a Godmother that sounded interesting. It calls for equal parts of vodka and amaretto stirred (not shaken) over ice, strained into a cocktail glass, and served with a list of wishes to be grand by, one presumes, your fairy godmother.
I may try that. Maybe I can wish up a cocktail lounge.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Came and Went
This business about the world ending tomorrow got me to thinking about famous dates that were once in the future. We've lived through all sorts of doomsday predictions, some relatively recently -- anybody remember the flap over Y2K?
It's funny how people who write books about the future pick dates that seem at the time to be way in the future -- Orwell in 1949 chose 1984, Arthur Clark in 1948 figured 2001 would be a good year for a space odyssey. When those years come and go, it just sort of loses something.
In the spring of 1961 when I was a freshman in high school, the teacher I had for General Science wrote in my yearbook next to his picture, "Remember Halley's Comet in 1986." He wrote that in everybody's year book, and we all laughed because -- 1986? Are you kidding? That's a real long way off!
But now all of a sudden it's a real long way ago.
It's funny how people who write books about the future pick dates that seem at the time to be way in the future -- Orwell in 1949 chose 1984, Arthur Clark in 1948 figured 2001 would be a good year for a space odyssey. When those years come and go, it just sort of loses something.
In the spring of 1961 when I was a freshman in high school, the teacher I had for General Science wrote in my yearbook next to his picture, "Remember Halley's Comet in 1986." He wrote that in everybody's year book, and we all laughed because -- 1986? Are you kidding? That's a real long way off!
But now all of a sudden it's a real long way ago.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Amendment Number Two
I do try to stay away from politics in this here blog thing, but it's time for me to weigh in on this subject, so here goes.
In order that the powers of the new federal government of the United States not be misconstrued or abused, the Congress passed and sent to the states for ratification ten amendments to the Constitution on March 4, 1789. Their purpose was to spell out specifically certain rights that were dear to the hearts of those who had fought to free the North American colonies from British rule. It came to be known as the Bill of Rights, and its ten provisions have been staunchly defended ever since, especially the second one, which goes like this:
Amendment II
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
The other nine amendments simply state what is guaranteed without any explanation. For example, we are entitled to protection from unreasonable searches and seizures, although there is nothing to explain what is to be considered unreasonable or why it is prohibited. We are also protected against cruel and unusual punishment, but again, what exactly is cruel is not specified, nor is any reason given for this protection.
The first amendment grants us what may be considered the hallmark of liberty for a free society, but there is no statement that explains why we are allowed to assemble peaceably or to petition the government for redress of grievances. We just are. And we are promised freedom of religion, and of speech, and of the press. Period. No reason given.
We must conclude that the drafters of these amendments assumed that the reasoning behind these protections was obvious and could be taken for granted. Except in that one instance, the second amendment, which provides a specific reason for its inclusion.
And it is a very good reason that the right of the people to keep and bear arms is guaranteed. Not because people need to be able to shoot animals for food, although lots of people did in 1789, nor to protect themselves and their homes from attack by angry Indians, something that might well happen in those days. No, people may keep and bear arms because a well-regulated militia is necessary to the security of a free state.
We have a well-regulated militia. It's called the National Guard, and the kinds of weapons National Guard soldiers need to ensure our security are not the sort anybody needs to have in order to kill an animal for food. And I think the last Indian scalping raid was a long, long time ago.
It's time to give up the guns. They can keep their animal-shooting rifles, but it's time to give up all military-type weapons and all hand guns, for the security of a free state, a free movie theater, a free college campus, a free shopping mall, and a free first-grade school room.
In order that the powers of the new federal government of the United States not be misconstrued or abused, the Congress passed and sent to the states for ratification ten amendments to the Constitution on March 4, 1789. Their purpose was to spell out specifically certain rights that were dear to the hearts of those who had fought to free the North American colonies from British rule. It came to be known as the Bill of Rights, and its ten provisions have been staunchly defended ever since, especially the second one, which goes like this:
Amendment II
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
The other nine amendments simply state what is guaranteed without any explanation. For example, we are entitled to protection from unreasonable searches and seizures, although there is nothing to explain what is to be considered unreasonable or why it is prohibited. We are also protected against cruel and unusual punishment, but again, what exactly is cruel is not specified, nor is any reason given for this protection.
The first amendment grants us what may be considered the hallmark of liberty for a free society, but there is no statement that explains why we are allowed to assemble peaceably or to petition the government for redress of grievances. We just are. And we are promised freedom of religion, and of speech, and of the press. Period. No reason given.
We must conclude that the drafters of these amendments assumed that the reasoning behind these protections was obvious and could be taken for granted. Except in that one instance, the second amendment, which provides a specific reason for its inclusion.
And it is a very good reason that the right of the people to keep and bear arms is guaranteed. Not because people need to be able to shoot animals for food, although lots of people did in 1789, nor to protect themselves and their homes from attack by angry Indians, something that might well happen in those days. No, people may keep and bear arms because a well-regulated militia is necessary to the security of a free state.
We have a well-regulated militia. It's called the National Guard, and the kinds of weapons National Guard soldiers need to ensure our security are not the sort anybody needs to have in order to kill an animal for food. And I think the last Indian scalping raid was a long, long time ago.
It's time to give up the guns. They can keep their animal-shooting rifles, but it's time to give up all military-type weapons and all hand guns, for the security of a free state, a free movie theater, a free college campus, a free shopping mall, and a free first-grade school room.
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