I Just Don't Get People

Despite years of practiced cynicism and disdain for my fellow human being, lately I have been wandering around in a bit of a haze, repeatedly shocked at the state of affairs I find the world in right now. Yes, yes, yes. World history is full of man's cruelty to man: slavery, war, genocide. From the very beginning, if we believe the Bible, man was inclined to kill to get what he wanted. In the name of God and Country people go out and spill the blood of millions. The fact that we are continuing in this righteous tradition should be no surprise.

But somehow it is.

I'm not some bright-eyed Pollyana-like optimist who thinks that everything will eventually be OK. I'm also not a conspiracy nut who is convinced that our government is out to get us and you can't trust the Man. I'm somewhere in the giant grey area in between. I'm not expecting the bomb anytime soon, but I keep a sturdy hand on my purse while in public. All this is colored with a very snarky attitude, mind you. Yet I'm still amazed when I read the headlines.

For example, today the NY Times informed me that Moscow now has terrorist bombers and that they killed around 12 people. Then, in an even less surprising article, I read about how there were two suicide bombers on buses in Be'er Sheva in Israel, home of the suicide bombing. In the Israel article, Israel reported that earlier, they had stopped another Palestinian strapped to the gills with explosives. His plan was to detonate the bombs when he was close to a large number of Israeli soldiers.

Neither of these stories are really "news". This happens everyday. The only things that change are the details. I should open my email and expect to read this. The surprise should always be when the top headline isn't about death and destruction.

I don't really have any answers. I feel I'm just asking the same questions that are being asked around the world by people far smarter and far braver than I. I don't pretend to have any insight into the way people work or why. I don't imagine that I'm being particularly perceptive by even bringing up this issue. Today something in my mind just snapped when I read those two articles one after the other. I don't understand the sort of person that would feel the need to blow up a bus in order to prove a point. Maybe I don't believe in anything enough or maybe I'm too much of a coward.

Since I am a pessimist, I'm not going to make the Rodney King plea, "why can't we all just get along", because that just won't happen. But there has to be a middle ground between getting along and blowing each other up, doesn't there? Probably not.

What? Me Read?

A few months back it was reported that Americans are reading for pleasure less and less. This is the sort of news that makes the English major in me cry quietly in a corner for a bit. But this news also infuriates the avid reader in me. For as far back as I can remember, I've been reading a book, or two, or sometimes more. This isn't to say I'm any sort of literary snob; one of my all time favorite authors is Stephen King. Of course, I'm also a huge fan of Melville, Chaucer and Theodore Dreiser, so it balances out a bit.

I praised Dan Brown's "The Da Vinci" code for getting adults to read in number heretofore unseen since the latest Harry Potter book. But apparently there aren't even enough people buying into Brown's pseudo-mythic-religious bullshit that will pick up another book that doesn't involve murders in the Louvre and centuries old conspiracies. Oprah had inspired housewives, but they aren't enough to drive up the numbers. We live in a country with a frightening growth rate of willful adult illiteracy. Sure, most American adults can read. They read for business purposes, and perhaps even occasionally to help out a child with homework. They'll read the instruction manual to the new DVD player and if we're lucky, the latest political article in Playboy. It is the lack of novel reading that has gotten everyone's panties in a bunch.

While I have not yet heard the Cassandras of our time predicting the end of civilization, it's probably just a matter of time. Between the continued reign of the reality show and the lack of recreational reading, we really should start preparing ourselves for the proverbial rapture. And what has convinced me of this more than ANYTHING else is a poll I just saw tonight on the New York Times website. The site puts forth the following question: Is the fact that Americans are reading less a bad thing? OK. Now that, while a somewhat stupid and pointless question, would appear to be an easy thing to answer. What has shaken me to the core is the fact that 6% of the people polled answered "No". 6% of New York Times readers seem to feel that Americans reading less is not a bad thing at all!

I'm praying that 6% is just a collection of TV and movie execs who don't want to lose their bread and butter.

But, sigh, I know that's only wishful thinking.

Don't Worry Ma, I'm only Bleeding

For as long as I can remember, I've been afraid of needles. When I was 9, the doctor had to chase me around the exam room to try and get a blood sample. At the age of 20, I needed an MMR (measles-mumps-rubella) booster. It took 2 nurses to get this done: one to give me the shot and another to talk me through it. Oh, and I cried. A lot.

However, this year I was diagnosed with a condition that requires that I go for blood testing several times a year. News of the condition was bad enough, but hearing that I'd have to get stuck with big giant scary needles more than once a year was oddly more frightening than anything else. I braved the first blood test like a trooper--it only took me ten minutes to get up the nerve to walk into the lab. No one there could believe that at the age of 27, I was a blood test virgin. 4 vials of blood later, I walked out feeling accomplished and very much an adult.

Last week I had to go back for another round of tests. Slightly emboldened by my previous experience, I soldiered through it and openly mocked my fear with the phlembotomist. This time I walked out relieved that I wouldn't have to go through this again for another 6 months. All was semi-right with the world.

However, the god of needles and other sharp things has a wicked sense of humor. Due to complications, my doctor had me go back in yesterday for more poking and blood letting. This time, rather than the usual 3 or 4 vials, they needed 6. As such, they needed to use "the big needle." This is something a aichmophobe does not need to hear. However, I had little choice in the matter and suffered in silence as the BIG needle poked its way in. Ouch. At one point I actually heard my blood splashing into one of the containers. It was an eerie sound and even thinking about it now puts me ill at ease. Leaving the lab this time was a bit less triumphant than it had been in the past; my arm hurt and my ego was bruised. Apparently I can be brave for only the little needles. But thankfully, it was over ... again.

Now here is where things get amusing. Checking my voice mail late last night, I hear a message from the lab to call as early as I can the next morning. Assuming it was a problem with my insurance, I called today, insurance card in hand and ready for a fight. To my unpleasant surprise, it turns out one of the vials from yesterday had cracked and could I please come back later today. I won't lie. A wee tear escaped my eye. I had spent all last night feeling woozy and making sure not to bang my right arm into anything. But what else was I going to do? Back I went to the lab, knowing that at since only one vial was problematic, I'd only have to brave the little needle. Once I was settled in the throne of blood (as I like to call it), the very same technician as yesterday began to lay out one small glass tube after another. Five in all. This meant the big needle again. Oh joy.

Of course I'm still here. Granted now my left arm looks like it belongs to someone who is trying on a heroin habit, but I've checked my voice mail and no call from the lab. Barring any more unforeseen events, I should have around five months to heal up and garner all my courage to face that big bad needle again. Unless I'm told they need to use the really big needle. Then we're all in trouble.