On New York and the Dark Cloud

New York was lovely. I was so ready to come home, though. The flight back was miserable, compounded by the woman behind us. Imagine all of the stereotypes about people from Queens (yeah, the negative ones), and then multiply them by 10. It was ear-splitting, nails-on-a-chalkboard unbearable.

Alas, I arrived home to a very anxious boyfriend and a beautiful bouquet of roses. (I haven’t gotten roses since high school – this was unexpected and wonderful.)

I will make you a lovely post and show you pictures, but until then, I’ve got a darker cloud hanging over my head. I’m in a state of terribly unhealthy uncertainty.

There are so many wonderful things. There have been so many wonderful moments. My life thus far has been a very beautiful place to be. Ever since I found out that I didn’t get into grad school, I’ve been anxious. Not the kind of anxious that threatens to overwhelm you at any moment, but the kind of anxious that creeps through your body, ever-present in your blood, your thoughts, your dreams. I’m uncertain of the future, and I am well aware that I stand on the edge of a great divide. It’s now or never (sort of). Where I am situated offers me a wide variety of options and it’s time for me to do some soul-searching and figure out where I want to belong in this world. That’s the easy part, even though at the moment, I am entirely overwhelmed. After that, I have to set forward and strive to accomplish the goals I haven’t set yet. You see? It’s all so much and I’m finding myself incredibly jealous of my friends who know exactly what they want to do.

On the plus side, you can look forward to more years of panicky blog posts and overstated melodrama, so that may or may not be a plus.

On choosing

Sometimes making choices is easy. There is a right and a wrong. There is at least enough to sway you to choose one option over the other. And sometimes, it’s not easy. There is no right, wrong, or otherwise. Everything is equal.

I’m staring my choices straight in the face and I’m torn. Stability, security, comfortable vs. unknown, unproven, possibly uncomfortable.

It’s terrifying. I know that no matter what the choice is, I will win. But I also know that not everyone involved will.

Sometimes there’s nothing wrong, but there could be so much more right.
Is that enough to make the leap?

Pictures of Chicago from Nick Debono Photography!

Nick Debono Photography's avatarNick Debono Photography

My trip to Chicago, IL…. Where do I begin haha

As a photographer there are certain locations, places, and destinations that will spark your interest and fit your style.. Chicago, was one of them. I had always wanted to go to Chicago, I heard so many things about this city good, and bad. I wouldn’t let the bad stop me. To star off here are some cool & interesting facts about Chicago:

1. Chicago was one of the first and largest municipalities to require public art as part of the renovation or construction of municipal buildings, with the passage of the Percentage-for-Arts Ordinance in 1978.

2. The Willis Tower (formerly Sears Tower) is the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere at 110 stories high. Its elevators are among the fastest in the world operating as fast as 1,600 feet per minute.

(continues below)

3. The first televised U.S. presidential candidates’ debate was…

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On Chicago, belatedly

I have a giant project wrapping up at 5pm today, so until then, you’re going to have to wonder why I found myself in Chicago wearing a wig and a ton of makeup on Sunday afternoon.

You’re also going to be curious about custardlist.com (yeah, it exists and it’s awesome).

On Drug Addiction

Drug addiction is serious business.

It starts out at a party. It’s just once. You’re not going to become one of those people….but then you do. Life is a very fragile thing, and the slide into addiction is steeper than most people think. It starts out so innocently, and suddenly, you’re lying and stealing and cheating (my three big no-no’s for living a beautiful life) your way to your next fix, chasing the high that will fix everything, for now. Battling an addiction is a lifelong commitment, and it’s sad to realize that losing just one battle could be the last battle you ever fight.

This issue is close to my heart. I know several people who are either struggling with an addiction of their own or who are struggling to cope with the addictions of their family members or friends. Even those not so far removed from the situation are deeply affected.

We as Americans don’t do enough to highlight drug addiction as an epidemic. It’s not just drug addiction, though. Homelessness, mental health, education…they’re all connected. I argue that so much of addictions, regardless of whether it’s pills, alcohol, whatever, are caused by the attempts of the addict to fill voids, to self-medicate. There’s not nearly enough mental health help out there – there’s still a stigma attached to all things mental-health-related. There isn’t easy access to treatment facilities and counseling.

We need to have better systems in place to help catch these people before they fall…we need to stop being such voyeurs and start getting real – addiction isn’t nearly so fascinating in real life as it is in the movies. It’s not glamorous, nor is it hopeful. It’s dirty and disgusting and sad. It tears apart families. It hurts parents. It leaves children alone. Addiction is a quiet killer, and it’s one that we have the power to try to stop.

from the Huffington Post: 

 

Whitney Houston and the Media Celebrity Death Watch

Posted: 02/22/2012 9:54 am

Every few months, the death of a celebrity sparks a new media maelstrom about drugs. But more concerned with spectacle than substance, much of the press ignores the real issues behind America’s deadliest epidemic, as well as its last famous victims.

Just minutes after Whitney Houston was found dead in a bathtub at the Beverly Hilton last Saturday at the age of 48, a caravan of network trucks began slowly encircling the plush hotel, morbidly eager to document her untimely demise. Since then, it’s been nearly impossible to turn on the TV or log on to the Web without witnessing a tribute to the singer, often including depressing video footage of her long, painful decline. Her memorial on Saturday had the pomp and pageantry of a state event — complete with dignitaries, crying onlookers and flags at half-mast.

But while speakers talked movingly about her battles, mention of the word ‘addiction’ was curiously scrubbed from the event.

It’s no surprise that the singer’s death has struck such a chord in the country. Incredibly talented, beautiful and ambitious, Whitney Houston was a rare kind of legend who changed the face of American pop music. In her later life she also became an addict whose cruel struggle with the disease unfolded in full public view. That she lay dying for hours in a luxe bathroom suite while her bodyguards cooled their heels outside is a sad commentary on the state of modern celebrity. That it took less than 10 minutes for the press to begin broadcasting her death is an even more searing indictment of contemporary media culture.

Houston, of course, is not the only celebrity whose problems have received rapt press attention. Last month it was Demi Moore. The week before that it was Disney’s Demi Lavato. Meanwhile, the weekly travails of Charlie Sheen and Lindsay Lohan have been breathless fodder for fleets of paparazzi. And for over a year before her death last year, fans of Amy Winehouse received daily updates of her ups and downs. One British tabloid even went so far as to embed a pack of paparazzi at her favorite pubs.

As someone who has suffered through my own experiences with through alcoholism, I’ve found myself growing increasingly frustrated by the failure of my colleagues to get beyond the superficial details of addiction. Indeed, much of the mainstream media has been lazy — even downright derelict — when it comes to covering what has become the nation’s most deadly health crisis.

As a longtime editor at several magazines over the past two decades, I’ve admittedly been an active participant in this game — keenly aware that for ordinary readers grappling with the mundanities of daily life, stars offer a few rare moments of transcendence. But their intoxicating effect on the American public also gives them outsized power to shape public perception. In the 1980s, Rock Hudson and Magic Johnson forced the media to finally pay attention to AIDS only after it had already killed an army of Americans. Michael J. Fox’s battle with Parkinson’s helped bring invaluable attention and funding to the disease, while prompting a debate on stem cell research that promises to have profound effects on the treatment of other illnesses.

But substantive stories about alcoholism and drug addiction remain largely outside the media purview — focused on the tribulations of A and C-list celebrities, they’re often ghettoized in gossip sites and channels like VH1. For all the daily hand wringing about celebrity overdoses and DUIs, there is precious little real reporting on the growing scientific understanding of the disease, the tragic lack of access to treatment or insurance coverage, or even the growing number of promising drugs that have begun to make real progress against this condition.

For a long time, I regarded this kind of journalism as business as usual. But my own perspective began to change as I was forced to confront the fact of my own addiction. For most of my early thirties I fancied myself a young version of the late Christopher Hitchens, a literary legend rarely spotted without a drink who once bragged that he couldn’t write without a hangover. Alas, I soon learned that I possessed neither his talent nor his hardy constitution. As a result, I spent two years in a series of rehabs and sober living facilities, witnessing firsthand the ravenous toll taken by addiction and the abject failure of our medical and political system.

My first roommate was a 23-year-old violinist from Iowa who had cycled through five detoxes and five rehabs in just 11 months. At the same rehab, I befriended an ad executive whose proclivity for Absolut eventually landed her in a homeless shelter. I met an investment banker whose weekend crystal meth binges led to a lifelong HIV infection. At one sober living facility I played poker with a rum-loving Catholic priest who led one of the largest congregations in Nigeria. I met countless others who maintain publicly productive lives while suffering though their own private hell. You can be certain that none of them will ever show up on CNN. But neither will the pernicious behavior of the insurance companies and Big Pharma, who have often illegally profited off the scourge while accumulating blockbuster profits.

As someone whose seen the effects of alcoholism close-up, I’ve grown increasingly frustrated by the failure of my colleagues to get beyond the superficial details of addiction, or to empathize with the lives of people who aren’t regulars on Perez or Page Six. Much of the mainstream media has been lazy — even downright derelict — when it comes to addressing the nation’s most pressing health crisis.

When I ask my journalist friends about their failure to take on the larger issues behind these stories, they usually reply that reporting on struggling stars is a teachable moment for many Americans. But that’s not much of an answer. It’s not really breaking news that drugs can be harmful and sometimes deadly. The real questions are: What can we do about it? And how exactly did we get here?

Ultimately, the torrent of coverage of the Whitneys and Winehouses of the world is little more than a distraction, a game of mirrors that deflects attention from millions of farmers, bankers and college kids who are also suffering and dying of drug-related causes at a record rate. It’s easier not to have to confront the reality of our drug-slammed towns, or jails full of untreated addicts, or high-school kids who swallow up to 50 Oxys a day. Entire regions of middle America have been decimated by poverty and crystal meth. America’s seemingly ravenous appetite for drugs raises questions that demand deeper explanations.

The fact is, while most major causes of preventable death in the U.S. are in decline, drugs — especially pharmaceutical drugs — remain a dramatic exception. A 2010 national survey by the Department of Health and Human Services found that over 22 million Americans suffer from alcohol or drug dependency. Drug overdose rates have more than tripled since 1999, claiming a life every 14 minutes. In fact, it’s hard to imagine a single person in the whole country who hasn’t been directly or indirectly affected. Rehabs and sober livings around the country have become a vast $20 billion business, many of them operating under woefully inadequate oversight. Many Americans under the age of 30 have become hooked on opiate painkillers like OxyContin and Vicodin, buying them on the street for prices as high as $80 a pill. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the abuse of these painkillers was responsible for close to half a million emergency room visits in 2009, a number that has nearly doubled in just the past five years.

Our nation’s seemingly ravenous appetite for drugs also raises problematic questions about the larger culture the media has helped create. Why is it that a nation that enjoys one of the highest standards of living in the world also suffers one of the highest rates of drug abuse? Why are so many of us driven to substances to obliterate reality? What does this continuing scourge say about the values and morals that underlie our society?

Given the expensive impact of drugs and alcohol on our medical and prison system and addiction’s massive impact on workplace productivity, the continued lack of serious discourse on the issue remains surprising. Certainly it’s not just reporters who are to blame. Though the Obama administration recently doled out extra funding for drug prevention programs, it still spends several billion more on a drug war than seems as unwinnable as Vietnam. To its credit, starting in 2014, Obama’s historic new health plan will mandate insurers for the first time ever to treat addicts the way they treat victims of other diseases, putting an end to decades in which desperately ill addicts were denied life-and-death treatment.

For their part, however, the Republicans have been uncharacteristically more restrained on the subject. Not long ago they could dismiss the drug epidemic as symptoms of urban permissiveness and decaying inner-city neighborhoods. But as drugs intrude deeper and deeper into the leafy middle class suburbs and the wide-open ranges of America’s heartland, the law and order types at the GOP have become tongue-tied. During the season’s endless series of GOP debates, not a single candidate was quizzed about their policies on drugs or treatment. While Ron Paul has been an articulate advocate of drug legalization, Mitt Romney and Rick Santorum’s websites devote not a word to their drug policies, even though Bain Capital, once run by Mitt Romney, is one of the leading owners of the nation’s 20,000 rehabs and sober living facilities. Newt Gingrich, a one-time pot smoker who has lately taken to extolling the virtues of AA’s Big Book, has maintained a hardline anti-drug stance, even though he’s backed down on his former pledge to put drug dealers to death. Last year, in Florida, newly-elected Tea Party Gov. Rick Scott mounted a crazy and ultimately doomed campaign against an effort to regulate the state’s pill mills, which produce the vast majority of the country’s illegal prescription painkillers. Not to be outdone, the Tallahassee Republicans recently voted for a bill that would dramatically slash funding for drug prevention in a state that has one of the highest percentages of drug abusers in the country.

In short, there’s no lack of important, compelling stories out there that could benefit from a little media attention. And while some enterprising reporters and bloggers have risen to the challenge, they’re the exception rather than the rule. What’s responsible for their continued reluctance? The continuing stigma around addiction undoubtedly has something to do with it. Even though decades of research proves addiction is a condition with complicated genetic and chemical roots, far too many journalists continue to see it as a sort of moral weakness. Their failure to actively report on the issue represents both a lack of initiative and funding. After all, covering Whitney’s last moments is a lot easier (and less expensive) than going up against the wrath of formidable lawyers and lobbyists employed by corrupt pharmaceutical behemoths. It’s also a lot more comfortable than venturing into the ravaged small towns of Iowa and Montana to witness first-hand the devastation wrought by poverty and crystal meth.

The senseless death of one of America’s most outsized talents is undoubtedly a cause for mourning. But tragic as her death may be, Houston is just another person lost to an epidemic that has also killed thousands more in just the path month. It would be a fitting coda to her impressive legacy if her death ended up provide a genuine ‘teaching moment’ for America: one that would encourage the media and public to look beyond the scandals and personalities to the complicated causes and consequences of this miserable disease. But that’s probably wishful thinking. More likely, in a couple of weeks the hysterical pundits and satellite trucks will roll on to the scene of the next tragedy. As Truman Capote famously noted, “The dogs bark and the caravan moves on.” Meanwhile the 22 million people affected by this disease will stay exactly where they are.

On Putting Holes in Your Body

I’d so much rather my kids go crazy with piercings than with tattoos. You can totally take piercings out, regardless of scarring, but a tattoo is forever. (Not that I’m anti-tattoos – obviously, I couldn’t be, I have two – but I think that your taste in body art at sixteen is going to be much different than your taste at forty.)

I’m going to encourage my kids to get piercings when they’re determined to express themselves via the mutilation of their perfectly wonderful skin. I’ll protest, of course, and agonize a little over coffee with my girlfriends, but in the end, I’ll have to meet them halfway. And then I’ll go with them to make sure they don’t go to some sketchy piercing parlor, or worse, let their friends do it for them.

I remember the incident when I pierced my belly button with only a safety pin. If I was in an interview and they asked me what accomplishment I was  most proud of, I’d honestly have to bite my tongue before that one slipped out. I’m serious. I know it’s incredibly gross, immature, all of the bad things, but it literally took me hours to do it and I still look back and think, damn, that’s determination. Idiotic, absolutely, but it was a great show of perseverance. (This is also a prime example of the infections, etc. that they discuss in this article. Again, another reason why I’m going to go with my kids. I’ll take pictures, just to embarrass them. I’m learning from my own mistakes – or perhaps anticipating the moves of my as-yet-unborn-and-therefore-not-yet-rebelling children.)

But are kids really getting so many piercings these days? I would argue that the trend died out quite a while ago, just after the emo scene came crashing down. But maybe I’m just old. Or a square. Either or.

Ah, well…

From NPR

When Body Piercings Go Bad

by NANCY SHUTE

12:37 pm

February 21, 2012

Will it look as good with a scar?

EnlargeiStockphoto.comWill it look as good with a scar?

Thinking about getting a body piercing? Who hasn’t, right?

Well, one thing to consider is that about 20 percent of the time there are complications from the procedure, such as infection or scarring, a fresh review of the medical literature finds.

Piercings of the bellybutton and upper ear are especially prone to problems.

“I think piercing can be quite dangerous, actually,” says Anne Laumann, a professor of dermatology at Northwestern University’s Feinberg School of Medicine, who was a co-author of the review. “I would not encourage it in a teenager.”

Indeed, a 20 percent complication rate with a medical procedure would make many patients think twice.

But given the popularity of piercing, that’s a message that might not keep a young person from putting metal to flesh. So Laumann hopes that people contemplating piercings will become educated enough on the health issues that they can avoid the most common problems.

Prevention is paramount. And enemy No. 1 is infection. “You’ve got an open wound,” Laumann told Shots. “You’ve got germs on your skin, like we all do. That’s where the problem comes.”

Most piercing-related infections are local and get better with time, the analysis found. Still, it’s important to make sure that the person doing the piercing uses sterile equipment and cleans the piercing site, Laumann says. Then it’s up to the piercee to keep the site clean.

Bellybutton piercings can take a year to heal, according to the analysis, which was published in the American Journal of Clinical Dermatology. Maybe that’s why bellybutton piercings are particularly prone to infection. “Is it terrible? It’s not terrible,” Laumann asks. “Is it comfortable? It’s not comfortable.”

The study recommends that during that healing period, owners of navel piercing refrain from sit-ups, and cover the area during exercise or intimate relations to reduce risk.

She’s also down on piercing the upper ear, because it’s easy for the cartilage there to get infected. That can lead to necrosis, or death, of the cartilage, and collapse of the upper ear. Piercing the earlobe doesn’t cause those problems, Laumann says, because there’s no cartilage involved.

OK, what else should you know about? Scarring, for one. Some people form large, disfiguring keloid scars after piercing. (The nasty lump on the earlobe in this slide showof problems is a piercing-caused keloid.) Permanent hole marks or bumps are more typical.

Then there’s the fact that piercing jewelry needs to be removed before medical procedures, playing contact sports, and other activities. Removing the jewelry frequently for those reasons, or to hide it from bosses or relatives, can slow healing and increase infection risk. When it comes to nipple piercings, the study reports dryly, “The recommendation is to remove jewelry before breastfeeding.”

Despite her warnings, Laumann is philosophical about the fact that the fad for piercing shows no sign of abating. And her paper suggests that body piercers take a careful history of their customers to identify factors, such as some allergies, that may predispose someone to have complications.

And she does see some positive applications. Right now she’s working on using tongue piercing jewelry to help quadriplegics drive wheelchairs and computer cursors.

On Tea

I have loved tea ever since I got that wonderful farm animal tea set at some point during my childhood. I remember the little cow cups, and the little sheep cups, and the fact that the teapot was a barn. I loved adding sugar and milk. I felt very sophisticated, sipping tea out of a pig. No, seriously. I did. I relished the afternoons where we would pull the set down from its home in the top of cupboard.

 

I am still a tea drinker. To be honest, I prefer it to coffee. I find tea to be a simple pleasure, perfect and incredibly hard to ruin.

Of course, incredibly hard to ruin means that there’s still a shot for doing it – and the combination of loose leaf tea with chunks of bark in it and this plastic tea-strainer have managed to do exactly that.

The Barry family Christmas gift exchange this year offered us a variety of choices. There were numbers drawn, and gifts chosen at random from a pile in the center. You could steal someone else’s gift or take a wrapped one from the pile. I ended up with tea and a tea strainer. I was so excited! Tea! Strainer – for all of the tea that I’ve consumed during my life, I’m surprised that I’ve never taken the plunge into loose-leaf tea. (To be honest, they make teabags for a reason…)

So I brought it to work the other day and began attempting to make tea. I scooped the tea leaves (and chunks of bark and other bits of forest) into the blue plastic spoon-ish contraption meant to strain my tea. Then I tried to slide the screen enclosure around the scooped tea leaves (and chunks of bark and other bits of forest). This led to piles of tea leaves (and chunks of bark and other bits of forest) all over my desk. It also led to a tea strainer that had more tea outside than in. So I plunged the strainer into my mug. Ugh. All of the tea that had somehow become attached to the exterior of the strainer was now floating in my water. I was imagining smelting gold (too much Gold Rush, can you tell?) and having to skim the bits of rock off the top.

The other unfortunate part was the pile of tea that made it look like I was rolling blunts at my desk. Luckily, no one walked in during the fiasco that was trying to steep tea sans teabag.

In conclusion, I will be trying this again, although I think I’ll do it in the kitchen next time rather than at my desk. I’m still pulling tea out of my papers.

On Embracing “Cat Lady” (but not actually embracing it at all)

Two years ago today, I went to the animal shelter in Chicago with my friend Becky just to take a look at the animals.

Two hours later, I walked out with a very grumpy pit bull-panther mix (I believe we should shorten that to  “pitther” or “panbull” or “pittpan” – all ring equally of faux-pretension and violence, which suits him perfectly).  At that time, he was named York, but he would later spend nearly half a year being called simply Cat (put your best Borat accent on it and you’ve got it halfway right). And now he is Carlos, AKA Mr. Beast. That cat adoption was simultaneously the stupidest decision I’ve ever made and also the best. I would do it again in a heartbeat.

My two favorite things about Carlos (besides his eyeballs) are his half ear and his snaggletooth. Adorable!

But honestly, I have a cat with as much personality as me, and that’s not something you find every single day. We’re a good match and I hope that the life he lives now is so much better than the life he had before. They told me he’d never survive a major surgery (at the time, it was a selling point) but he’s gone through two and come out no worse for the wear. He’s tough as nails. He’s fiercely protective and insanely ballsy – I wish I had a video of him attacking Ely’s golden retriever, Archie. (Archie was okay in the end, just a little scared.) He’s also a wonderful snuggler, a serious investigator, a lover of shower curtains and clean sheets, and usually very hungry.

My favorite stories are the butter story, the glass of water, and the night before I moved away from Chicago.

Quickly, because I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s nearly impossible for anyone who doesn’t own that particular cat to love it and therefore none of you care (I don’t like any of my friends’ cats; I don’t like any cats I see on the street; I just like Carlos):

The night before I left Chicago, we had people over. At the end of the night, I opened the back door that led to our back  porch and down the back stairs and there was Carlos, sitting patiently outside the door. I have no idea how he got out. I have no idea why he didn’t run. But I am eternally grateful for the fact that I got to bring him back to Denver with me the next day. Let me tell you, cats love spending 18 hours in a car. Just love it.

John always used to have a water glass with him. When he’d come visit, he’d leave his glass on my desk. Carlos loves to explore – there’s nothing you can bring into a house that he doesn’t want to investigate. So he had his nose in the water glass and John yelled at him to get away. Carlos looked directly at John, and then swirled his paw around in the water, shook the paw off, and walked away. It was brilliant.

And there you go.

I’m going to be stuck with this small monster for a very long time, and I’m okay with that. He’s the best.