Friday, January 29, 2010

my body and i had a disagreement


i wanted to run a marathon; my femurs did not. the green arrows are pointing to half moons of increased bone activity. my legs had been bothering me for a couple of weeks and stretching hadn't been helping, so i decided to go see the sports medicine doctor i saw my junior year of high school (two stress fractures right tibia, one stress fracture left tibia). upon seeing that x-ray on the left, dr. moeller felt awful, not just because the half-moons indicated fractures in both femurs, but because he hadn't thought to x-ray above the knee on my first visit and had instead sent me for a bone scan, which was unnecessary intense radioactive exposure.

(quick aside one: i scoffed while my mother and dr. moeller went on and on about excessive radioactive exposure. i stopped scoffing when my mother told me the reason my cousins' grandmother had such bad arthritis, among other foot problems that resulted in the amputation of a few toes. when she was a child, her father had owned a shoe store, and apparently back in the day someone had decided that the best way to fit shoes was to measure each customer's feet with x-rays. little patsy mccracken (her real name, i promise, though she changed it to lynn when she was older) had come home from school and x-rayed her feet every day.)

(quick aside two: the bone scan did reveal a fracture in my ankle. in the only intermural soccer game i played in, i had accidentally tripped this guy really hard during a corner kick. it never occurred to me that i had tripped him hard enough to break my ankle...woops)

dr. moeller's mistake, if you will, is no reflection on his competence as a doctor. in addition to being the largest and longest bone in the human body, the femur is also, along with the temporal bone of the skull, one of the two strongest bones. the reason he didn't expect mine to be fractured is because it's pretty hard to do, given femurs can support up to thirty times an individual's weight.

the thing is, dr. moeller's reading and interpretation of those two little shadows only served to give a name to the pain i was experiencing. there's nothing much to be done about femoral (not in any way ephemeral) fractures. his advice: take two tylenol in the morning and walk it off. my legs hurt just as badly as they did prior to the sensation's categorization, but at least i had something to tell my friends who had described and mocked my labored limping gait as, "walking like [i] had a stick up my ass." their sympathy was fleeting and they still thought it was hilarious to imitate the way my knees didn't bend.

ha. ha. ha.

there is a larger point to all of this. what's fascinating about the human systems of spoken and written language is their use of abstraction. abstracts differ from referents in that they serve to represent things that may not exist in reality (physically), or, exist only as sensory experience. from an ontological perspective, abstract is about properties and relations to mark the fact that, if they exist, it isn't in space or time, but that instances of them can exist in many different places and times.

think about it this way. if an abstract is visceral (to know what red means you have to have seen something that color), until you've experienced it, the word is irrelevant and useless. imagine my situation. it demonstrates that it is also possible to have a visceral experience without knowing that a word exists to describe it, and that abstracts can be finicky because of their subjective nature. although the pain i described to the doctor was actually that of femur-stress-fractures, my lack of familiarity with the term necessitated an alternate means of communication or mediation (the x-rays) for us to understand each other.

let's go back to the ontological definition for a moment. abstracts don't exist temporally, but instances of them do. my broken legs taught me what femur-stress-fractures feel like, but i can't recreate that sensation. in fact, despite how awful it was to walk for three months, the physicality of the sensation is gone for good, unless i somehow manage to injure myself the same way again.

abstraction can be an excellent means of communicating about the conceptual aspects of human existence, but it's clear that there are limitations. i'm not worried much about the experience-dependent part but the potential loss of specificity troubles me a bit. our interactions with the world are mediated through our own specific umwelts, or self-centered worlds. the way we interpret or perceive stimuli depends on the structure of our semiotic world, which contains signs and symbols for all meaningful aspects of our world; when we interact with other individuals with their unique umwelts, we create semiospheres in which signs are simultaneously and continually creating a new environment. the single largest problem is that our signs and symbols are socially constructed attempts at describing sensation.

maybe i'm getting overly worked up about something that's not so important. maybe every experience does not need to be communicated in explicit detail, or maybe there just isn't language ready to do that YET. in my other project, which i'll go into more later, i'm trying to explore just that dilemma, or rather, how to navigate other forms and combinations of expression in search of some yet to be defined understanding of something yet to be defined. as far as i'm concerned, there are no limitations to human experience, only the ways we choose to describe or depict them.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

in the multi-planar sphere, all functions are simultaneously one and zero

last night, i had a dream about quantum physics.

when we lived in mexico, someone told me that you knew you knew a language when you dreamed in it. in mine, at the bottom circular drive at valle escondido, (if you chuckled, even a little, the other part of the neighborhood is hacienda valle escondido) monica was there, but her hair was still long so she didn't have cancer yet. it was easter.

my cousin goes through food in phases. they are always gross things, such as cheez-whiz and that yogurt that comes with a capful of little oreo pieces and is definitely not a healthy snack. well, neither is cheez-whiz, i suppose. you have to be careful with cheeze in strange states of matter, and make sure that when you look at the label it doesn't say "cheese food" or "cheese product". i think innovations in the field of cheese food are the reason we can buy a five dollar hot and ready.

it all started last thursday, when i decided to go listen to a guy called Christopher Payne talk about his book, Asylum. the premise of his lecture, as paraphrased by me, was that he was an architect who got bored and decided (thanks to an idle suggestion by a friend) that his new creative project would be photographing mental institutions/abandoned buildings. how original. before he opened his mouth, it seemed as if it would be at least slightly intriguing, but, unfortunately, not only was he irritating and slightly offensive at times, it was apparent that he was not really interested in what he was doing.

i stepped out for a drink of water and didn't go back in, partly because it was hot in there and we were standing awkwardly in the back of the auditorium and partly because i was busy thinking about what i had heard before leaving. Payne apparently spent a bit of time at the Pilgrim Psychiatric Hospital in West Brentwood, New York. he gave some historical background on the place, noting the thousand acres of farmland purchased by the state of New York in 1930 that would less than one year later open as the largest hospital of any type in the world (a size yet to be surpassed). bizarre sidenote: the largest haunted house in the world is abandoned-mental-institution-themed. it is in japan somewhere.

later that night, i decided to look into Pilgrim a bit more, largely because i'd spent an hour fuming about the guy's inaccurate portrayal of the historic trends of psychiatric care with a friend of mine (as an architect, she was particularly aggravated with his use of the word 'picture' rather than 'photograph', and postulated that he most likely had a trust fund, what an ass). as it turns out, the place was a spectacle in and of itself, without even considering its actual purpose.

essentially, it was a self-contained city, complete with police and fire departments, courts, post office, Long Island Railroad Station, power plant, swinery, potter's field, cemetery, and staff housing. at its peak in post-WWII 1954, Pilgrim had 13,875 patients and over 4,000 employees.

unfortunately, the 1960s brought about a shift in attitude in the field of psychiatry; institutionalization was losing its footing as the predominant form of psychiatric treatment as pharmaceutical interventions gained momentum (it's always about money), and the hospital was forced to downsize, even selling off some of the land to Suffolk County Community College.

what does quantum physics have to do with this hospital? maybe nothing, maybe everything. i got a little curious and decided to look into the concept of being a pilgrim as well as that of engaging in a pilgrimage. that story is worth holding out for.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

don't ask don't tell

we had already gotten spooked at a gas station that served as an end point for some kind of a strip mall resort schlumped around the border of a shitty, manmade lake. i had tried to beg dan not to stop there because i didn't like the way that only the end was lit up and i didn't like how much the mouse and cheesewheel statue felt a little too possum pete's. i never liked those jerky dancing robots. it was scary then, when the excuse of extreme overcaffeination fully covered such seemingly irrational paranoia, but when we (three, this time) accidentally ended up there in october, i felt just as bad about it.

it was too late, we had left too late, my exam had run too late, cleaning out my room had started too late, i turned in my room key too late. dan had just opened can number seven and i was shaking through number ten. the gas light had been on for awhile, so he decided to take the next exit off. there were no lights on the off-ramp, so he hit the brights, not expecting them to reflect back off a flash mob of traffic barrels, cones, signs. left, right, left again and neither choice seemed correct and both seemed terrifying. left was not the right choice.

they must have filmed house of wax at this exact gas station, and also that one movie where paul walker and that other guy had a ham radio and pretended to be into some truck driver's solicitations for sex. from a little ways away, it was possible, maybe, that the gas station was open because it looked like a light was on inside; it was one of those little tiny ones with a glorified shack for a mini-mart, the kind that only sold marlboro reds and cans of pop. we were both already speaking in the running donkey clip of auctioneers, the voice where calm has clearly been overshadowed by panic, but the only reason to try to control it is because it might be the only thing to control in that moment.

the lights were on in the gas station shack, but weren't nobody home. imagine the hysteria of teenagers watching a horror film. when we slowed next to the pumps, which were turned off and chained together, we looked across the street at the same time. it was a trucker's restaurant, an a-frame shithole with a five football field lot for the trucks that were bigger than it, just like the one in pontiac, by the silverdome. there was one semi, idling with its lights shining right onto our faces, which were slowly morphing with the frantic terror of tweakers, fully actualized the moment we both realized there was no one in the cab.

when dan screams, his voice gets higher and thinner, except when he does his yawp.
we were both screaming, and i was also flailing around, thrashing around in flight response.

WHAT THE FUCK DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK GET OUT OF HERE GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE I'M TRYING JUST GO.

as we were booking it towards the entrance ramp as quick as a 2005 nissan maxima (dan's sensible mother's sensible car as a sensible means of transportation), i jerked my head right for just a moment. i immediately wished i hadn't.

DAN WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WE'RE IN FUCKING COUNTY ZERO!!!!!!!!

after our screaming had slowed with our pulses, we decided. county zero was the scariest place we had ever been. ever.

Monday, June 22, 2009

11:15 am

At the moment, I am in the kitchen at Christ church Cranbrook, the same church I've always gone to. During high school, I used to do the embarassingly easy task of setting up the coffee hour every Sunday for forty bucks. It doesn't take me long to get ewrything ready, especially at this point, so I usually wander around the lower level of the church while I wait for the service to end and, as mr. John zabriskie just said to me, wait for the herd to descend hungrily on the various forms of generally pretty crappy baked goods people bring. Occasionally, some of the old biddies that essentially run this place bring homemade things which tend to actually be quite good. Today,it doesn't seem that many people were in church, but that could be due to the extreme humidity and lack of air conditioning upstairs. During the summer, it is expected that a few old men and women will drop from the heat during the service. There must be some sort of arrangement with the nearest hospital, a panic button or something that brings paramedics around the front, silently and without disruption, to cart the geezers off. Oh shit, just saw this irritating woman who loves to run her big mouth off at me. I really hope she thinks I'm my sister. She wouldn't be the first person today. Literally just happened again. The woman seemed quite perplexed. It really is sweltering down here and all I'm doing is waiting for everyone to leave so I can clean up. This, by the way, is not in fact a damn fine cup of coffee. Must leave this kitchen to avoid chatty annoying woman. I'm going to take you guys on a photographic tour of my favorite places to hide from people.



-- Post From My iPhone




































Saturday, June 20, 2009

Hey y'all. I'll be in new york July 3 till sometime before the 10th. Undetermined thus far. Carrie and Chanel are also coming, perhaps scott too.


-- Post From My iPhone

Sunday, June 7, 2009

i have not bitten my nails for three whole weeks


despite the fact that no one is really doing much with these anymore, it's sortof all i want to do right now.  my brother graduated from high school today, but i wasn't at the ceremony for a number of reasons.  primarily, i didn't want to go because i felt like it was going to be slightly traumatizing given my own fucked up experiences surrounding my own graduation a couple of years ago.  essentially, i was locked away in this hell hole of a "rehab" center, where every day i worried about getting my ass whipped by one of the foster kids who'd gotten dumped or native kids off the rez or watched other girls beat the shit out of each other until the staff came in and beat the shit out of both people and made them go into this room that was more or less the chokey, with plywood walls, shitty fucking carpet, blood, piss, shit, everything all over the place, about a hundred and ten degrees of utah desert heat, and just left them there to rot or punch walls or roll around on the floor or threaten to kill themselves or everyone else.  i really, truly hated nearly every second of being there, and wanted nothing more than to get out at the end of thirty days to just go the fuck home and walk in my graduation ceremony.  it wasn't so much that i cared that much about the actual act of it, but rather that it seemed like the one chance that my parents would bring me home and ignore the money-hungry, aggressive, unconcerned "therapist", who, i will add, spent our sessions reclined in her cheap computer chair, the kind with scratchy, plasticky fabric prone to ripping, staring at the ceiling, and twiddling her thumbs atop her extraordinarily ample (read:  morbidly obese) stomach.  it did not happen.  i did not go home, nor did i go to graduation.  in fact, i spent another month there, sweating my ass off, fucking playing volleyball in the goddamn sun while the maniacal coach actively tried to peg people in the face with the ball, reading the books my parents had sent me for hours in the morning, and being really damn tired of the bullshit of the other people on my unit, which happened to be green.  one of the girls on my unit, i can't remember her name, but i can remember her strangely proportioned, freckly (but not in a cute way) face as well as the rumors that she had fucked her brother, believed herself to be a vampire and was serious about it.  she also seemed to be under the constant impression that she would be leaving soon, and upon finding out that she was not, would flip her shit and act like an enormous idiot, resulting in punishment for the whole group.  also, one time, my native friend florentina and i decided that we should try to bum a cigarette from one of these people from NA that happened to be standing outside of the gates.  yes, there were actually fucking gates with spikes on top, just in case you managed to book it away without being noticed.  so anyways, vampire bitch tries to rat on us, telling our group leader or whatever the fuck her position was called that we were trying to talk to people outside the fence.  i lied my ass off and bitch got in trouble.  actually, now that i think of it, this may have been the day that i actually came extremely close to getting beaten by this big black lady on staff.  regardless.  

<
at this point, i'm back at home home, in bloomfield hills, sitting in the kitchen, drinking my second beer.  my parents and brother are at the all knight party or some shit, and i have no idea when they will be back.  i am not certain as to whether emily is asleep or not, but i don't really know what i want to do right now.  BUG 8990 needs to get serviced tomorrow and i need to go buy like milk and toilet paper and shit, though i hope my mother will pay for it.  apparently i'm paying my own rent this summer, so it would appear that i will be making practically no money, and definitely cannot afford to go to new york, at least not when i was thinking.  i wonder how many of you have actually read this entire post, though i guess i wouldn't be surprised if most of you did.  sorry for my rambling.  also, my nails are the longest they have EVER been.  i think i may go outside now to smoke a cigarette.  my aunt and uncle got my father these citizens of humanity jeans for his birthday.  he made a joke about if he put them on right then, he could go head on over to ferndale and march in the pride parade.  tsk, tsk for the gay joke.  though i suppose that was one of the more tame things that was discussed at the dinner table.  other topics discussed by the entire family, including my grandparents, include strippers and the strip club, masturbating, and penises.  good lord.  okay.  i have to pee.  

Monday, June 1, 2009

HEY ALL OF YOU


oi, buckos, we need more updates!