What Do I Know?

Writing Without Whining

Sparky hiding from flies, which sound like too much like bees, which are Dangerous.

I was going to write a blog post about the plague of flies that have visited our part of England (I blame the new composting scheme and the warm winter) which is keeping us trapped indoors during our heat wave (that's Brit Speak for 72 degrees) with no open windows. 

But I decided to challenge myself to write without whining, henceforth known as WWW. Instead, I think I'll brag. My book Temptation was named Best First Book in the Golden Quill Contest! I was extraordinarily thrilled, especially since it is, well, my first book. 

Then more good news: Temptation was named a finalist in WisRWA's Write Touch contest for Single TItle Contemporary. (For those of you who don't follow the book trade, a single title is a book that's not part of a series, a la Harry Potter.) Again, pretty thrilling news. And then I checked Amazon last night and discovered that the print copy of Temptation has a placeholder. In other words, it will be released soon! (I have no control over when, and my publisher is at the mercy of Macmillan, the distributor.) 

My next book should be out in the fall. It's called Redemption and is set in Philadelphia. If any book can be said to be the book of my heart, Redemption is it. 

I'll have more to say about it on my author blog, where I hardly do any whining. Maybe I'll even venture out amongst the rotting compost and take some flower photos this week. 

June is my favourite month, despite the flies, and I'm looking forward to my favourite day of the year, the Summer Solstice, when morning people like me get to enjoy the sunrise around 4 am.

Oh, and if you're still following my plumbing saga, I'm waiting for the arrival of Number Five right now, who has promised to install the tile today. Life really can't get much better, here on the 51st parallel. 

You've Read the Blog; Now Read the Book: What Am I Doing Here?

New release!

For the last few months, I've been working on a non-fiction project called What Am I Doing Here? I've kept it under my hat, since I wasn't sure I'd be able to pull it off. It's self-published, under my own imprint called Lavender House Publishing. (More about that later.) 

What Am I Doing Here? is a collection of blog posts from this site, plus a few extra bits, including a glossary. It focuses primarily on my experience here as an expat, an American slightly bewildered by Britain. There are chapters on the assimilation process (rocky), driving (smooth), language (still incomprehensible at times) and, of course, my dog.

In fact, I've dedicated the book to Bailey, my Golden girl and I'm donating the proceeds to the cancer charity Animal Cancer Foundation. Cancer in canines is similar if not identical to the same cancers in humans, so research in one species adds to our knowledge of cancer in other species. 

What Am I Doing Here? will be available in both print and digital. If you buy the print edition at Amazon.com, you can get a digital copy for only $.99 through Amazon's MatchBook program. They don't offer that at Amazon.co.uk yet. But the digital edition has some really colorful photos (as long as you have a color-enabled device), which aren't available in the print edition. 

I got the idea to compile my blog posts well over a year ago, and around that time I designed the cover, using a stock photo from iStockphoto.com. The rest of the book I edited, copyedited, and proofread myself, which I would never recommend to anyone. I used a Word template for the print edition, and made modifications to that as needed. The ebook editions were made using Jutoh, a program I highly recommend. 

In order to avoid the dreaded "Sold by Amazon Digital Services" in the product listing, I decided to create my own publishing imprint. I'd intended all along to call it Canterbury House, since that's the name of my house (isn't it charming how houses in Britain have names?). But when I searched the internet, I discovered there was already a Canterbury House Publishing.

So I scrambled for an alternative. While pondering several possibilities, I looked outside my office window at the row of lavender I planted, right in front of my house. Thus was Lavender House Publishing born. 

One day I may publish more non-fiction through Lavender House. I doubt I'll ever publish my fiction there, as I value the editing I received from my publisher far too much to want to go it alone.  

Here's how to find WAIDH?: 

Print:
Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk

Digital:
Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk,  Kobo, Barnes and Noble Nook, and iBooks USA / iBooks UK

It's Always Best From Behind

What this photographer doesn't know is that photos are always best from behind. Otherwise you'd never notice the moles on this guy's backside.

From the description: "The athlete, naked according to the Greek sporting ideal, is represented at the moment when he adjusts his position before throwing the discus, frozen in the instant before he gathers momentum."

You can see the rest of him here. 

Morning Rituals

Every morning, around 4:30 give or take a half hour, I come awake from whatever dream I've been lost in. Just as I'm aware I've regained consciousness, I hear Sparky jump off the sofa where he sleeps, on the other side of the bed. 

I don't know how he knows I'm awake. He just does. He's a dog. They know these things.

He comes around to my side, stretches, shakes his collar just in case my keen hearing has been lost overnight, and then makes a happy gasping noise. I hear his tail wag—yes, that's a discernable sound—and he settles his head on the bed. If I don't respond with a touch, an ear rub, he nudges his nose into my side, rather forcefully. 

"Get up!" he seems to be saying. Or maybe "GET UP!"

I often do. But sometimes, I want a few more minutes in bed, just enough to come fully awake if I've been dreaming especially hard. So I tell him, "GoBackToBedIt'sTooEarly". Exactly like that, uttered in the same tone every time. 

And he does. 

He trots over to the sofa, and jumps back in "his bed". Five minutes later, he remembers that I'm AWAKE! and he tries again. 

Sometime this repeats a few times, but then I think, if I were a dog and hadn't been able to pee for eight hours or so, I'd want to go out and do my business. And if it had been twelve hours since I last ate I'd be thinking, too, of my empty belly. 

And I also think of all the things I could be doing that are more interesting than lying awake in bed. I mean, just imagine what my Twitter feed looks like! And my Facebook friends have probably posted photos of their children, or their food, or their pets.

There was a time, pre-Sparky, that I'd be awakened at 5:30 by the sound of Rule Britannia on the radio, followed by the Shipping Forecast. (My ode to the Shipping Forecast is here.) That leisurely morning ritual is long gone, due mainly to the BBC's decision in 2006 to do away with playing the "UK Theme" during their a.m. switchover from World Service to Radio 4. (You can listen to it here if you're nostalgic.)

So now I get up at 4:30. After all, if you can't listen to the stirring full orchestral version of Rule Brittania, followed by a general synopsis of the pressure areas around the British coast, what's the point of lying in bed until 5:30? 

Sparky doesn't care about weather in Cromarty and as he's Irish, Rule Britannia probably wouldn't move him either. The thought of a meal, though, rouses him even more than the percussion section of the BBC Northern Symphony Orchestra. 

And after he goes out for a quick pee and gobbles the food I put out for him, he's ready for another nap, this time in my bed, where he snoozes until my husband wakes up.

And I sit down to my computer and catch up on the night's news. 

All Your Spam Are Belong To Us

Just a note on how I deal with spam comments: I leave them in place, and remove the URL link. (Yes, I can do that. I am all-powerful.) I also include the words "is spam" after their name so that you can be amused by how clueless they appear.

This is only for the ones that break through my spam control, which is apparently pretty tight: I don't get too many. But I figure if someone went to all that trouble to compose a comment that has some tangential bearing on the topic being discussed, the least I can do is leave it there. 

No, not really. I'm actually just a bit sadistic and I like messing with their minds. 

Carry on.

Welcome To The Damp Olympics!

Along with our miserable weather, we now have one more thing to add to the Worst Summer Ever: The Olympics. 

Athletes began arriving at Heathrow yesterday, making it the busiest day ever at the world's busiest airport. Not even the prospect of getting off this gloomy island would make me venture anywhere near the M4 exit for H'row now. 

Likewise, traffic lanes leading into London have been designated "Games Only". Ordinary mortals and their ordinary cars must keep to the slow lanes, which will undoubtedly move slower than the passport control line at Heathrow. Wait times for the Underground are predicted to be an hour in some places. I can't even imagine what it will take to get a table at a restaurant. Probably a medal of some sort.

And it's not as if I even like sports. My anti-competitive nature is repulsed at the idea of humans pitted against each other in a game involving athletic skill. Perhaps I'm resentful because I possess no athletic skill myself: I'll never forget how that "D" in PE class brought down my GPA.

Serious injuries can occur in team sports. When my daughter played basketball, I always brought a magazine and dark sunglasses to her games, so no one would see me cry whenever one of the girls went down. That part where the opposing team's fans clap when an injured player walks off the field? Makes me want to curl up in a ball and weep at the sheer goodness of humanity. The emotional highs and lows of sports—who needs it? I'd rather watch a soap—there's less melodrama in Hollyoaks than in any Wimbledon match with Andy Murray.

I used to be a fan of college sports—in particular the Lady Techsters, my college women's basketball team, who were perpetually nationally ranked. I remember shouting myself hoarse when they came to play in Austin while I lived there. Later, I felt silly. Especially when they lost the Final Four. Who cares, anyway? It was just a game. A silly, stupid game, and winning it isn't important, it's how you watch the game. Or something. 

After that I gave up sports altogether. Living in England, it's easy to hate sports: I don't understand the rules for most of the games they play here. Add befuddlement to my general loathing of competitiveness and I end up with plenty of free weekends, when I can shop in peace while the locals gather in front of TV's to watch overpayed men adorned with corporate logos kick a ball around something called a pitch. 

Women here are too smart, apparently, to play any team sports. Or maybe it's the lack of a Title IX, which guaranteed girls in the US equal opportunity to sports in school. (There's a lack of a written constitution here, too, but I notice someone did bother to write down the rules of croquet.)  

I was pleased to read that Saudi Arabia is finally sending female athletes to compete in the games. Two women will be arriving with the Saudi team. They'll be the only ones dressed appropriately for the weather. 

I don't even want to think about those beach volleyball players, freezing in their skimpy costumes at the Horseguards sand pit. Temperatures haven't broken out of the sixties here since our warm-ish spell in May, and rain has become a permanent component to our atmosphere. Even when it's not actually raining the air is damp, clinging to your skin like a sweaty O2 jersey. 

I might watch gymnastics, if there's an underdog to cheer for. Some kid who hasn't been training under some dire coaching regime, a natural talent from a poor family in a sunny country where athletes aren't supported by corporations or a repressive government. Does Greece have a team? Portugal? I made it a rule to only root for PIGS countries during Euro2012, the European football/soccer tournament that recently ended.

That's because I've replaced a love of sports for a love of politics, and instead of admiring a team's strategy I admire a country's economic pluck. So, while you guys watch the games and admire the athletes' skill, speed, and ability to attract corporate sponsorship, I'll continue to worry about important stuff, like who's winning among Ohio female voters in the important 35-50 demographic. And whether or not Hollande has arm-wrestled Merkel to defeat in Brussels.

But if those Saudi girls come on TV, someone let me know, okay? I'll be happy to cheer myself hoarse for them. 

Triumph Over Modern TV: Rocking the Morning With Dr Quinn

I have griped before about my inability to deal with the latest TV technology. Since then we've acquired even more TV boxes and remote controls and satellites and even an iPhone app that turns your mobile device into a remote control. I think that gives us an even dozen remote controls. 

Including a universal remote, which only works for half our TV equipment, thus making it a hemispheric remote. 

Since getting an iPhone for Christmas, I've adapted seamlessly to mobile phone usage. (My previous phone was a 2004 model that once belonged to my daughter; two of mine were stolen/lost so it seemed pointless to invest in a new one.) The iPhone is simple for anyone raised on a Mac to adapt to, and besides, it works much like my iPad. But the remote feature turns it into yet another remote control, with funny shaped controls and the necessity to remember acronyms and a required order of clicking on various AV boxes and channel selectors. 

Anyway, this morning I needed to fold clothes in the living room (a task which seems to have bypassed Man's need for technological improvement). I thought it would be nice to watch TV while I was folding. So I picked up a few remotes (my iPhone was upstairs and again, teleporting objects hasn't been invented yet) and tried to match the devices to the proper box by the company logo. The Panasonic obviously went to the TV, so I tried that first. A red light came on, signaling success! Then I knew I had to select an AV, so I hit that and chose one (there are five to choose from). No go. So I choose another one, and finally got a picture to come up. Unfortunately, it was only to inform me that BBC Four wasn't currently operating. So I moved up a few channels (apparently BBC's whole operation is inoperable for some reason) and found ITV. And there's the familiar face of Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman, wearing her homespun dress and talking earnestly.

Bonanza! I'd managed to turn on the TV, ALL BY MYSELF! What an accomplishment! Except that, I didn't really want to watch Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman (who my youngest daughter always referred to as "Madison Woman", since we lived in Madison at the time). 

Ironically, I was only able to watch a program that aired in the nineties on my newfangled 2011 television. I thought back to the good old days, when I could pick up a remote, hit a red button and turn on the TV, then select a channel and volume that was appropriate and carry on with folding clothes. Not any more. By the time I was done examining all the remotes and pondering the possibilities I was mentally drained. 

So I turned to modern social media and complained on Facebook. I feel much better now. Modernity has some uses after all.

Why I Loathe Mobile Phones

Mobile phones may not cause cancer, but they do cause something far worse: distraction. Not from driving—I presume anyone reading this is smart enough not to talk on a phone while driving—but from the moment. 

The other day I was queueing for entrance to Highclere Castle. A phone rang behind me. The woman answered, gave a few polite responses, and then told the person on the line that she couldn't talk right now, and hung up. Then she told her friend it was a marketer from a bank. 

First of all, I would have hung up straight away if a marketer had rung my private phone, but then I'm American and not given to excessively polite exchanges. Actually, first of all, I'd never have answered my phone if I was in a public place, unless I was expecting a call from someone I was meeting there. 

Maybe I'm a technophobic curmudgeon, but the idea of preferring to talk on a phone when in public, rather than doing whatever you went there to do, perplexes me.

I've always been fascinated by the rudeness ordinarily polite people exhibit when I'm having a conversation with them, over lunch or at an event, and they answer their mobile when it rings. Whoever is calling has their complete attention, while I sit and twiddle my thumbs. 

I'm not talking about emergency calls—they do exist, but are rare. Remember, billions of students made it through 12 years of school without Mom or Dad being instantly available. I'm talking about ignoring the friend you're with to talk to a friend on the phone. Even worse, talking to a telemarketer on the phone. 

That's just rude, people. 

I do understand people needing to take work calls or who expect an important call from some other source, but there's always voicemail. And rarely do events require an immediate response—too many calls are not important at all, yet we've trained ourselves to believe every ringtone means we stop what we're doing—even if we're doing something very important—to attend to a call.  

When I'm out, whether it's shopping, working, travelling, or touring an interesting place, I have no desire to chat to anyone on the phone. That's sort of the point—I'm already doing something more important. If I'm on a train, or waiting at some event, I might be bored (if I've forgotten to bring something to read), but I woudn't want the people next to me to hear my conversation with you—if you've ever been in a semi-quiet train car and heard someone talking on a phone, you know how irritating that is. I don't want to peek in your windows, nor do I want to listen in on your phone conversations, which invariably are louder than a conversation you have with a friend sitting nearby. 

Now, if you ring me while I'm at home, or if I happen to call you, I'm all ears. I can talk for hours on a landline. In fact, I'm one of those people who always thinks of one more thing to say, when you're trying to hang up. (Another kind of rudeness altogether.) 

I try not to give out my mobile number, because not only do I not want to talk to anyone on it, but I rarely turn it on. I've found important messages left on my voicemail from people who somehow have my number—days after a reply was needed. As for texting, I find it less intrusive, but an almost impossible chore on my 2004-era phone. (Also, my phone is set to not ring—a setting I can't figure out how to change. Did I mention I was a technophone?)

So if you're still worried about cancer and phones, you can continue, especially if that means you don't interrupt my in-person conversation with you to answer a non-important call from your bank. 

And if you ask me why I don't turn on my phone, I'll just tell you I'm worried about cancer. It's easier than explaining why I loathe mobile phones. 

Belgian Phone Company Mobistar Gets Pwned

Those Belgians really know how to pull off a prank. (There's a reason they were named one of the 12 coolest nationalities.)

See what happens when a TV program decides to serve Mobistar, a hated Belgian phone company (is there any other kind?) with a sample of their own customer service. They deposit a large steel container, a "customer service" number printed on the side, in front of the entrance to the company headquarters. Inside the container are—, well, watch the video, especially the final twist of the knife. (English captions, for the Flemish impaired.)

The Brits should try a similar tactic. I know a BT customer service rep I'd like to subject to that synthesizer.

I Love You, Twitter

Time Magazine has just named Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg its Person of the Year. The problem is, it's a couple of years too late. Facebook started changing the world several years ago; these days, posting photos, playing games, and gossiping on Facebook is standard issue for around half a billion of the world's population. I don't disagree that Facebook has changed the way we interact with our fellow humans (and even other creatures: have you become a fan of Bernadette the Weather Duck yet?). But as a useful source of information, Facebook is limited, in its very personal nature.

What was needed was a less personal social medium, one where people could make endless connections to others around the world, and pass on, simply and slightly anonymously, tips, links, advice, etc.

That's why Twitter co-founder @Biz gets my vote for Person of the Year. As an online tool and social medium, Twitter suits my needs far better than Facebook.

Just in the last couple of weeks, Twitter has provided me with valuable information. When I was planning a drive to Kent on the day of the snowstorm, it was the Kent Police who personally advised me on Twitter that the alternate route to the closed motorway wasn't a safe alternative. I cancelled my trip, and let a fellow Eurotunnel passenger I came across via @kent_police know about the fact Eurotunnel was offering to reschedule bookings. My taking a moment to help out a stranger saved him a booking fee; he replied that he hadn't been inclined to wait on hold until he saw my tweet mentioning him. (He didn't follow me, nor I him, but we both had similar queries in to the Kent Police.)

When I had trouble with a delivery from Argos, I tweeted my displeasure, and within minutes, @Argos-online was following me and helped to resolve the situation. I've seen friends who had trouble with airlines whose issues were similarly resolved, due to their "vocal" complaints on Twitter. That's much easier, and more effective, than starting up a Facebook page or group devoted to complaining about bad service. 

I love the snippets of information that come across my Twitter feed every day. Just now, I read that a University of Oxford study has determined that if everyone ate their five-a-day of fruit and veg, there'd be 33,000 fewer deaths each year. Last week a fellow traveller posted about some unknown museums in Paris I'd like to explore one day. And the archaeologist in me was thrilled to discover how a Roman statue was uncovered during a storm in Israel

My interests are eclectic, and ever changing. Right now, I'm really into dogs and dog training. I've found valuable dog training information via Twitter, watched countless dog training videos, and the veterinarians I follow are available for 140 character advice when or if I need it. I've followed political tweeters, and during the crisis in Iran I followed several of the brave Iranians who dared to tweet about what really was going on. When the crisis du jour dies down, or when my interests change, I simply unfollow those whose tweets no longer interest me. 

Economics is another hobby of mine. I was thrilled to discover Nouriel Roubini on Twitter, @Nouriel. I follow econ bloggers like @ezraklein and Kevin Drum @kdrum. For people like me, who follow many different types of twitterers, you can divide the people you follow into lists according to subject matter (which you assign). That way if I want to see what political tweeters are saying, I click on the politics list. Likewise, if I'm in a vegan mood, I click on my vegan list.

I've made many friends on Twitter. Right now, my good friend @Gooddogz' dog Finn is going to the vet to have a lump examined. I've got my paws crossed for him, and for her. 

Twitter, unfortunately, is not immune to death. A Dutch man who followed me (probably after I tweeted about how much I love The Netherlands), and who I followed back, was in a cancer hospice. One day I noticed his tweets had ceased, and when I checked his profile, sadly his brother had updated it with the news that he had died, a few days after his last tweet. I never met him, but I spent some time grateful for the exchanges I shared via Twitter with my Dutch friend. 

But good news travels fast. When a friend gets a publishing contract, I'll read it on Twitter first. Likewise, when England lost its bid for the World Cup I read it on Twitter several minutes before my husband saw it in the next room on BBC.

The problem with Twitter, for most people, is they don't know who to follow. Starting out is hard, I admit. It's a process of serendipity, more than anything, that nets valuable tweeters. Just now, someone I follow, @ChRuins, RT'd (retweeted) a message from @EnglishHeritage. While I follow the National Trust, I'd never thought to check if English Heritage was on Twitter. Now I follow them, too, and expect to find more news I can use. 

If someone follows you and has placed you on a list called "dogs", for instance, check out who else is on that list, or see who else your contact follows. You may find others with similar interests who you can follow. Many organizations now use Twitter—see if one you are interested in (Museum of London, say) is on Twitter. (They are; I just checked: @MuseumofLondon.)

For writers who spend a lot of time ferreting out research, Twitter is invaluable. Have a question about whether or not doorknobs existed during Georgian England? Crowd source it. (Yes, they did.) Want to know specific information about a country you've never been to? Follow someone from that country, and ask them directly.

There is, admittedly, a lot of junk on Twitter. While I'm a social tweeter—I'm very likely to tell you how I'm feeling, how drunk I am, or what I ate for breakfast—I'm not interested in similar information from anyone I follow, except for my friends, who I'm happy to hear are having a good time. This means I don't have a lot of followers, but then, my Twitter feed exists to inform me, not to earn me thousands of followers. (Notice my profile info still says "I'm not selling anything", which, sadly, can't be said of most people who follow me.)

I follow around 300 people (and other animals), and try to read all their tweets most every day. I get annoyed when people constantly tweet the same message, usually a link to their blog or website. I've unfollowed otherwise good tweeters for such self-promotion. 

But that's a minor annoyance. There's a reason I check Twitter before I check email, and more often, too. Most days are filled with good tips I wouldn't have found anywhere else. In fact, every day I want to start out the morning by tweeting "I love you Twitter." But I refrain from doing so. (See above.) 

Instead, I'll publish this post and then tweet it to my followers. 

Sunday Masterpiece Blogging

Starry Starry Painter

But I could have told you, Vincent,  
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you.

Musee d'Orsay, Paris

Snow Day

We woke up to snow this morning, one of the worst snowstorms in recent history. When we looked out our front door, we saw these tracks:

The creature walked up our front sidewalk, turned around at the front door and headed away. I can't tell, but is that a cat's footprint? It could also be a fox, but I can't imagine a fox using the front entrance—they usually come round the back. The service entrance, as it's known here. Foxes don't put on airs like cats do.

On the other hand, I can't imagine anyone letting a cat out in this weather, but our neighbors have three fluffy white cats they let roam (and sometimes they go missing). So perhaps fluffy white cats are drawn to fluffy white snow.

This is the end of our cul-de-sac, covered in snow:

And the back garden:  

 
On days like this I really miss my dog. She'd have been outside first thing, running around in big circles, kicking up snow, gobbling snowballs. Dogs are so much more fun on snowy days than cats. 

Although, who knows? Maybe Snowball was having a dandy time in the snow.

2009 Can't Be Gone Soon Enough

This year is almost over and frankly, I can't wait. The other day I was talking to a friend whose husband had a heart attack the day after Christmas. She's recovering from cancer and two broken feet, and has a beautiful dog who's got some health issues as well. After that I talked to another friend who has a scar on her face from the melanoma she had removed a few months ago. 

Other friends have lost loved ones this year, both humans and canines. One friend whom I recently reconnected with on Facebook lost her puppy to a terrible accident the same day we lost Bailey. Another lost her lovely three-legged Honey the day before Christmas. One friend lost both her dog and her mother within two weeks—how does one recover from that? 

In October, my world was shaken when I learned that another friend, while crossing a street in Amsterdam, was hit by a motorcycle, causing brain damage that resulted in her death. Her family, including two young sons and the dog they'd just adopted, was devastated.

And Michael Jackson died, which I know upset a lot of people but I didn't know him so that one didn't bother me so much. Still. I think it speaks to the total suckiness of the year 2009. 

Let's just turn the calendar over a page and be done with it, shall we? 

Is the Investor's Business Daily Really This Dumb?

When I read this Washington Monthly blog post "Stephen Hawking is Alive and Well" just now I thought something had to be wrong. I mean, people aren't really this dumb at the Investor's Business Daily, are they?

But then I clicked on the link and yes, they are that dumb.

In the article "How House Bill Runs Over Grandma" the writer, who doesn't give his/her name, claims that in the UK health care is rationed. Not the way I would describe it, but wait...it gets better.... After plucking some lines from the Nice (National Institute for Clinical Excellence) guidelines regarding quality of life (although no link is given, so who knows where the information came from?) the writer claims:

People such as scientist Stephen Hawking wouldn't have a chance in the U.K., where the National Health Service would say the life of this brilliant man, because of his physical handicaps, is essentially worthless.

Well, it's a good thing Stephen Hawking doesn't live in Cambridge, England!

Oh wait. He does.

And was recently hospitalized, where he received excellent care and recovered.

My advice would be, don't ever take advice from the Investor's Business Daily. They obviously have never heard of Google, which is currently a pretty good investment.

P.S. One of the commenters at the Monthly notes that, if Stephen Hawking lived in the US, he'd never be eligible for private health care, as he has a pre-existing condition, namely ALS.

If I Could Only Tweet...

Twitter's down. But here's what I would tweet if I could:

• Am considering attending my high school reunion in September. Problem: No summer clothes.

• When did Casual Corner close? No one told me! #onlineshopping

• Anyone know any place to shop online, US or UK? Along the lines of Casual Corner, Ann Taylor, etc.

• Anybody know what's going on with Twitter?

• My dog looks very small next to a Great Dane. #walk

• Oxford's colleges only admitted women in 1974. Before that they had to go to separate women's colleges. #research

• Getting a lot of research done while Twitter's down. #TwitterFAIL

• Am considering making up a new women's college rather than using an existing one as a setting. Thoughts?

• I hate to shop, even online. This is why I buy most of my clothes at Tesco, along with grocery items.

• Too bad this book isn't available until April: The University of Oxford, A New History

• Anybody ever used Scrivener? Doesn't feel at all intuitive to me. Maybe I'm a lunkhead.

• The pound hit $1.70 (Oh no!) then dropped; more quantitative easing from the British govt. #Econ101

• Just realized I'd get a lot more done if Twitter didn't exist.

I can't believe I once existed without Twitter to answer my questions and express my thoughts in 140 character snippets.

Just Dance

No, not THAT dancing video...

Eyes vs Ears

I just had another duh! moment, while watching this video at New Scientist on the scientific reasons for reforming health care. No, this has nothing to do with reforming health care, it's about my being annoyed with having to sit through a video to learn information that is much more swiftly and easily conveyed via text.

It's a personal pet peeve. Lately I've noticed a lot of websites insist on placing their content in video form. Sometimes they offer interviews with experts, or conversations between two of their regular writers. Often you have to listen to people introduce themselves, and introduce the topic, and maybe banter for a minute or two—all those bits you'd skim over if you were reading online. I find it annoying and rarely click on videos, but I really wanted to hear this scientific argument for health care reform so I clicked on the video.

And watched an ad. Bingo! That's why so many web magazines try to steer their readers toward becoming watchers. They need the revenue from the ads you're forced to watch.

I don't have a problem with websites that try to make money—my own website runs ads, after all. Ads are the only way, just about, for many news organizations to stay in business and pay journalists. I really don't mind clicking on ads now and again, or even watching them, if that's the only way the fine journalists at New Scientist can get paid.

All I ask is that the information be presented to me in a form that doesn't waste my time. I didn't even watch the video; it played in the background while I typed this blog post. If anyone wants to sit through it and tell me what it says, I'm all ears. Err, eyes.

Department of Duh

So was anyone surprised to read in the New York TImes this morning that texting while driving is dangerous?

Or maybe I was less surprised than others, who think nothing of texting while driving down the M1.

When Americans Attack: Fourth of July in England

Last night we had a party for Independence Day, and someone (a highly educated pyromaniac) brought armaments fireworks. Anyone traveling down the M25 surely saw them rise over the pasture behind our house, and must have wondered if the Americans were launching an invasion of southern England.

These were no puny Roman candles. With Diwali and Guy Fawkes providing a market, the Brits really know their stuff when it comes to selling fireworks.

We didn't get good photos of the amazing sky display, as rockets shot through the trees, but from the ground the setup was pretty awesome.

 

Fortunately, my dog is not afraid of fireworks. We actually had to stop her from going up to them to see what was making that interesting sulphur smell.

Daughter Number Two made cupcakes, and decorated them in the shape of a flag. I arranged the red, white and blue flowers, which is pretty much the extent of my flower arranging abilities.

We played croquet, and decided the one who ends up with the ball wins.

Ground zero: So this is what was making all those interesting smells!

Swine Flu: Time to Panic?

A couple of years ago, when bird flu was discovered in England, I went on a knowledge expedition, reading everything I could find out about influenza, pandemics, and their causes. What I learned scared me, enough so that I prepared a "bird flu emergency box", with candles, soap, and other emergency rations.

The scary thing about pandemic influenza is its propensity for morbidity among the young and healthy. Before, whenever I'd read about infectious diseases, I'd give myself a mental pat on the back, thinking with my healthy immune system—a product of my healthy diet and the gallons of green tea I drink—I won't be at risk. After all, I hardly ever get sick with the usual cold viruses.

But then I read about the virulent 1918 influenza pandemic, when young, healthy people were the most likely to die—exactly the opposite from what occurs in usual flu epidemics, which are deadly for old people and immune compromised individuals.

The reason this happens is because an excellent immune system is the means by which the virus kills. The body's immune reaction causes the lungs to fill with fluid, and the patient to expire from lack of oxygen. This process of overreaction by the immune system is called a "cytokine storm".  Here's a more technical description:

Once infected with a pathogenic influenza, the blood vessels in a patient’s lungs become porous and fibrinogen—a protein involved in blood clotting—leaks into the lungs. The protein clogs the lungs’ alveolar sacs, where gas exchange takes place, and an acute respiratory disease syndrome results. In a desperate effort to save its charge, the immune system recruits such a storm of immune cells that the lungs suffer oedema. In effect, patients drown in their own fluid only days after infection. Patients with the most responsive immune system produce the greatest immune storms. It remains to be seen, however, whether the same mechanism explains the age distribution of the current outbreak.

I've read horrible descriptions of patients dying during the 1918 pandemic, first turning blue, then black, coughing blood, their lung sacs bursting—truly scary. Scary enough to wipe the smug look off my face, as I thought of my healthy young daughters, my own super charged immune system, hopped up on green tea and antioxidents.

We'd be the first to die in a pandemic.

So with the advent of a novel swine flu virus, which has the potential to become a pandemic, I wondered: is it time to panic? Or is this a false alarm? And most importantly, will modern medicine save us?

There are some puzzling aspects of this new virus. First, it's a combination of a bird flu virus and a swine flu, both of which have the ability to infect humans. There is speculation it may have been hatched in a large hog producing plant in Vera Cruz, near a poultry processing plant. That's no surprise, for anyone aware of how the close proximity of industrial farm animals contributes to the likelihood of serious pathogens evolving. (Again, this article explains that very well.)

Its mortality among the young and healthy in Mexico is the most frightening aspect of the current swine flu. Again, not that unexpected, if you've read about the 1918 pandemic, which killed many young men fresh from the trenches of the First World War.

But the oddest thing I've read about this new flu is its lack of morbidity elsewhere. As I write this, early in the afternoon on April 27, there are no reported deaths in any location other than Mexico. That could change, and very likely will, but for now no one has had a serious case outside of Mexico.

What does that mean? It's unlikely due to poor health care in Mexico versus the rest of the world. Mexico City, where most of the deaths occurred, has access to health care, same as any large city, and to treat a serious case of flu all you really need to do is get to a hospital—no fancy medical equipment is needed. Tamiflu, an antiviral drug (NOT a vaccine, as some reporters in yesterday's White House news conference seemed to think) is effective against this flu, so far. But curiously, no one outside of Mexico seems to have had a serious enough case to call for it. Indeed, it's likely few patients with mild flu symptoms would have gone to the doctor if there hadn't been reports of swine flu in Mexico.

Reports suggest that during the 1918 pandemic, an earlier, milder, wave of flu hit, then months later, the pandemic became more virulent. It's possible we're seeing a first wave of mild severity, but that doesn't explain why Mexico has been hit by such a virulent strain.

Has the virus already mutated to a less virulent form? Viruses can't kill their hosts too quickly, or they don't get passed on to other hosts. Their chance to replicate is nipped in the bud when they kill their host. So it's to their benefit to only make a host mildly ill. Perhaps this is a very intelligent virus, that quickly learned to lay off the morbidity. (That's a joke; viruses aren't really intelligent, though the natural selection process makes it seem as if they are.)

The virus seems to be spreading around the globe pretty fast. This morning a case was confirmed in Spain. Canada has several cases, as does New Zealand—all traced to Mexico tourist travelers. But if all it does is make people mildly ill, then it's no worse than the typical seasonal flu.

Unfortunately, that's likely to change, as the acting director of the Center for Disease Control, Dr. Richard Besser, warned yesterday.

When it does, I'll make sure my Pandemic Preparedness Box is up to date. I'll buy new batteries, fill the bathtub with water, buy cough medicine and fever reducers. And I will panic.

But for now, I'm not panicked. Just curious. 

Places where I go for information:

Effect Measure
H5N1
Aetiology
Breaking news

And what started it all: The Bird Flu Book.