Predicting Next Month’s Crisis Today

The St. Louis Post-Dispatch spends a lot of pages in it’s A1 section today, including two thirds of the front page, thumping on the desk with this shoe: Lives on the line: Organ donors which tells the horror that can befall live donors. Live donors are people who give blood marrow, kidneys, and whatnot without having a motorcycle accident first.

The gripping lead:

Healthy people who donate organs to those desperate for transplants enter a world of unknowns.

Even the medical community does not know how big a risk they face.

Some get hurt. Some die. Some need transplants later.

The Post-Dispatch spent a year examining living donations. The newspaper interviewed about 200 donors, family members, transplant surgeons, hospital officials, government officials and scholars, and studied medical records and transplant research.

The newspaper’s investigation found:

  • No one knows how many donors have died or suffered serious injuries or complications, because donors are not systematically tracked.
  • The lack of comprehensive data makes it impossible for donors to assess the risks of what is portrayed as an ultimate altruistic deed.
  • There is no agreement on who can donate an organ or how to evaluate potential donors. Those approved to donate include children as young as 10, drug addicts, mentally ill people and people who might be selling their organs, which federal law prohibits.
  • The government does not regulate organ donations from living donors. Each hospital that performs transplants makes its own rules, which vary widely.

Excellent work, Post-Dispatch. As a result of your fearmongering, perhaps we can look forward to you treating us, in a couple months or a year, to a fearmongering expose on the declining number of live donors.

With a clear conscience, of course. Organizations don’t have consciences, and some don’t even have consistency.

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The Unasked Question

Because I’m just crass enough, I’ll ask this question: Would Helen Harcombe be alive if she lived in a nation with a free market health system?

Michelle Malkin links to the BBC weepy about a woman who died from cancer and left instructions for her husband on how to raise their daughter. However, amid the tissue-sopping prose, we get this glimpse of her health care decisions:

Mrs Harcombe, who was 28, died shortly after Christmas 2004. She was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002, nine months after finding a lump in her right breast.

Her family said she had been initially told she was a “low-risk patient” because she was just 26.

She had undergone a mastectomy, but by last year the cancer spread to her liver and she was told she had six months to live.

Nine months from lump to biopsy, friends. Because “she had been initially told”–by her government health care provider, no doubt–that she was low risk.

In America, we can still get that second opinion and get that damn thing checked out in a week or two. Before it gets the opportunity to gestate into a death sentence. Whether you’re a “low risk” patient or not.

Well, most of us have that chance for the second opinion. Until the government ensures that all of us get a chance at its provider’s opinion. For The Children. The Children of everyone but the Helen Harcombes.

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Pocket Change

Rumor has it that the St. Louis Cardinals baseball team will leave the radio station that has broadcast them for over 50 years to purchase, yes, purchase, the other leading AM talk station in the area:

The Cardinals’ contract with KMOX (1120 AM) expires after this season, and team officials have talked with KTRS (550 AM) owners about buying that station and moving the broadcasts there.

It’s good to see that the impoverished Cardinals, who couldn’t build their new baseball stadium without tapping government funds, have enough money in reserve to buy and run a baseball station while fielding a competitive team. I’m also looking forward to public/private “partnerships” in the future to build transmission towers and buy outrageously-painted vehicles with the call letters on the side. Memo: Please just change your name and mascot now to the St. Louis Crony Capitalists. The corporate fans for whom you’re building new boxes and clubs into the new stadium at the expense of inexpensive seats for families will enjoy the joke.

Here’s my bet: they will buy the other radio station. How am I sure? Because in every instance where the new MBAs running professional sports organizations must choose between tradition and business-school pabulum like:

If the Cardinals bought KTRS, the team would sell its own advertising as opposed to receiving a traditional rights fee. The Cards then could incorporate the broadcasts into a consolidated marketing plan that includes opening their new stadium next season, and placing their top two minor-league affiliates within a four-hour-or-less drive of St. Louis.

Building the brand through a consolidated marketing plan by putting the broadcasts on a small radio station that most Cardinals fans cannot hear? The MBAs love it!

And when the fans in Iowa, Kansas, Tennessee, and Indiana can’t get the broadcast on KMOX, don’t spend money for satellite radio, and eventually stop making the pilgrimage to Busch stadium, the MBAs won’t understand how the loss of tradition in a longstanding sport franchise ultimately hurts more than it makes hip.

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Ironically, It Probably Worked

Forest fire ‘biggest in 20 years’: Landowner clearing burning site of grass ignited blaze:

A landowner clearing grass from his campfire and debris-burning site to make it safer ignited a massive forest fire that consumed 3,900 acres in central Wisconsin yesterday, the state Department of Natural Resources said today.

Now that he’s burned everything around his campsite to the bare earth and has removed the natural diet for herbivores which dangerous predators eat, he’s probably got the safest campsite in Wisconsin. But nothing to do there.

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There’s Reality, and There’s Administration

Benton Harbor, Michigan, school officials prohibit a marching band from playing “Louie Louie”:

A pop culture controversy that has simmered for decades came to a head when a middle school marching band was told not to perform “Louie Louie.”

Benton Harbor Superintendent Paula Dawning cited the song’s allegedly raunchy lyrics in ordering the McCord Middle School band not to perform it in Saturday’s Grand Floral Parade, held as part of the Blossomtime Festival.

In a letter sent home with McCord students, Dawning said “Louie Louie” was not appropriate for Benton Harbor students to play while representing the district – even though the marching band wasn’t going to sing it.

That the lyrics aren’t really raunchy didn’t factor into the decision, apparently.

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Another Surveillance Camera Triumph

Small explosions outside the British consulate in New York:

Two “improvised explosive devices” made from “novelty-type grenades” have exploded in front of the building that houses the British Consulate in New York City, police and officials said.

Surveillance cameras, on duty, didn’t prevent anything:

Authorities were reviewing video from security cameras in the area, and no arrests have been made, Kelly said.

There, citizen, do you feel safer knowing that governments and other entities are putting cameras throughout public spaces for safety’s sake? They didn’t prevent this “bombing” and they haven’t even provided leads yet.

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Marquette’s Mascot Symbolizes Its Ideal

Marquette Warriors mug

My wife hates this mug. I’ve had it for over ten years, and it’s been the workplace mug. You know the one, the one that gets rinsed out some days, but some days that step’s overlooked. As a result, the inside bears the stain of thousands of cups of coffee. The outside’s fading, too, and some of the images are flaking off. But I won’t replace it this year.

I graduated from Marquette in 1994, the last year that Marquette used the Warriors as a mascot. The leaders at Marquette felt that Warriors was demeaning to Native Americans; just remember that when you call a Native American a warrior, it’s like calling a black person a, well, one of those names. Or so the leadership of Marquette thought.

So in 1994, Marquette’s mascot changed to the Golden Eagles. Because eagles don’t sue, I guess. The move angered a number of alumni and certainly didn’t impress the students. The controversy had percolated for a number of years, including polls among the students for new names (somehow, suggestions such as Jumpin’ Jesuits and Fighting Octopi didn’t make the student poll, and the most innocuous mascots did).

So I’ve held onto this cup, and a t-shirt that no longer fits, because it had the image and mascot which I associated with Marquette. Now that the university has put on a show of considering a new mascot, including a return to the Warriors, it has come up with something more abstract and more inane than Golden Eagles:

Marquette Gold

(story)

I guess it is important that your mascot symbolize and make concrete your ideals. Once, it was tenaciousness, hardiness, and other admirable traits. Then it was, what, freedom? Flight? Now, it’s just….gold.

I even wrote a column for the Marquette Tribune in 1992 defending the Warrior:

Through These Eyes #6: The Great Mascot Controversy

In the interest of saving the university some money, I would like to make my contribution to the “Name the Mascot” competition. There’s no need for them to go throwing away money to a private consultant, even though I realize they just stuck us for ten percent more for just such academic emergencies. Let that much-needed cash go to making some dean’s office more competitively decorated like that of other schools.

Okay, the Native Americans got a little bent out of shape that the university used an image of a Native American for a while there. I know what great strain and emotional upset some of them must have gone through attending basketball games and seeing the mascot, even if it was a descendent of the original Native Americans. This great debate is not limited strictly to the campus. All over the country, groups of Native American are protesting the use of their heritage on athletic teams. I mean, I can understand. I abhor the New York Yankees. How dare they?

So now the university needs a new, non-offensive mascot. Something that can be identified with the Warrior. I humbly submit the following.
How about a white man dressed in skins carrying a club? Think about it, a nice barbarian figure for our sporting events. No, wait. That might be deemed too something-ist for our school if we featured a White European Male mascot like that. Besides, it is not a sort of figure easily identifiable with a Warrior. We’d hate to be mistaken for the Marquette Neanderthals.

Okay, idea two. A nice knight figure. In armor. A chivalrous warrior. No, wait. That’s still a European figure. Besides, some Arabic or Islamic groups might get angry because every few years a bunch of these guys would get together and try to take over the Middle East, or select parts thereof.
Okay, check this out. An African tribesman. With a spear and paint. No, can’t do that. The African Americans would have the same objections as the Native Americans.

Well, how about a samurai in his battle robe and armor, helmet adorned with ox horns, quiver, gold-studded sword, his ancestral crest, the whole bit? Maybe a neat little pseudo-seppuku when the sports team is down? Oh, there’s that blasted heritage argument again.

How about that lone American warrior, the cowboy? Why not, Rick Fields classifies that historical figure as a warrior in his book The Code of the Warrior. Since I’m running low on ideas, why not? A six-gun and ten gallon hat, idealizing the American spirit of independence and swift justice. Uh-oh, wait a minute. Cowboys tended to shoot Native Americans, didn’t they? Maybe this version of our mascot wouldn’t placate them so well….

I have to admit, I’m getting a little frustrated here. When I think of a Warrior from history, I tend to think in terms of different heritages like that, and that’s already proven to be taboo. Either the Warrior was the member of a distinct ethnic group that can and will be offended, and/or they killed people of an offendable group.

I mean, that’s the way I see it. Of course, that is ignoring the common denominator among all Warriors, which is some sort of hardiness and bravery, a willingness to risk their very lives in pursuit of what they thought was right, the skills of life and death intertwined into a person who would kill or die for honor and justice. The Native American Warrior did this. Maybe having a brave as our mascot is not so much a way of spitting on a race of man and saying “Nyah nyah, you injun,” as it is a way of showing respect for a gallant breed of our species and the finest their culture produced.
Or, I guess we could have Patty Smythe mousse up her hair and paint her face up and start singing, “Shooting out the walls of heartache, bang-bang…” But that might get a bit expensive.

Sorry, honey, the mug will go on for at least another decade. But I won’t make you wash it.

Other thoughts:

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Dr. Brian Performs a Humor Transplant

Laura Bush at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner:

He’s learned a lot about ranching since that first year when he tried to milk the horse. What’s worse, it was a male horse.

Blogosphere reaction:

  • But on Saturday night, Laura Bush set a new standard. After interrupting her husband and telling him to sit down, she did a stand-up routine that included what was probably the first joke told in earshot of a president that involved him and a horse’s phallus. (John Tierney, New York Times)
  • The First Lady resorting to cheap horse masturbation jokes is not much better than Whoopi Goldberg trafficking in dumb puns on the Bush family name. Unlike many Beltway and Manhattan commentators, I do not think the Wonkette-ization of the White House is a good thing. (Michelle Malkin)
  • So, thanks, Laura, for leaving us with that picture of George with a horse’s penis in his hand! (Ann Althouse)
  • (countless others)

Good gravy, people, get a …. well, control of yourselves. Do I need to diagram this humor on the blackboard?

  1. He tried to milk a horse, but grasping the teats of the animal didn’t produce milk because it was a horse.
  2. What’s more, it was a male horse. You see, even if it had been a cow, Bush’s folly would have been for naught!

For crying out loud, the teats and the phallus are at different ends of the beast, and the joke makes no mention of handjobs or masturbation.

JFC, what kinds of things do you have in your DVD players that led you to this conclusion?

Personally, I am outraged enough with the whole concept of milking which requires manually grasping bestial teats. Perhaps this explains the preference I have had for beer over milk ever since elementary school. But do we have to always drag the level of discourse into the gutter when we could leave it, well enough alone, in the udder?

(Unfortunately, I have Wonkettized this post, since hers is the blog where I found the transcript without, surprisingly, added sexual connotations.)

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Rasputin Lives! Well, Not Quite

The Madison County, Illinois, Coroner is awful quick to call it suicide:

Franklin E. Carver, 67, of the 2700 block of Greenwood Lane, shot himself five times – three times in the head and twice in the chest – inside his home Wednesday, but none of the shots was immediately fatal, authorities said. Carver then got into his customized van and drove 10 minutes to the Clark Bridge, where he parked in the bicycle lane and jumped off the south side of the bridge as a frantic motorist called 911 from a cell phone.

“This is probably the most unusual suicide case I’ve ever seen in my career,” said Lt. David Hayes of the Alton Police Department. “It’s a bizarre case; it really is.”

The Madison County coroner said Monday that preliminary autopsy results indicate Carver, who had several convictions, died of drowning. During the autopsy, performed Sunday, doctors pulled five small-caliber bullets that had lodged in Carver’s body. The three shots to the head did not penetrate the skull, while one shot to the chest missed vital organs and the other struck the liver.

Mystery readers and writers want to hear more about this “frantic motorist” who called 911.

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More Brains

Special nod for creative presentation to the folks at the St. Louis Post-Dispatch who chose an unflattering picture of Pope Benedict XVI to accompany this story in Sunday’s “News Analysis” section:


Pope Benedict XVI
Click for full size

Jeez, I would have guessed that as a movie still from a zombie movie. What the heck? Would it have hurt so much to include a dignified photo?

Eh, probably. Akin to sunlight on undead journalist flesh.

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Book Report: Paul Harvey’s The Rest of the Story by Paul Aurandt (1977)

I inherited this book, but it is marked fifty cents, so my aunt must have gotten a fairly good deal on it at a yard sale. It’s probably worth that much, but not more.

For those of you who don’t know, you damn kids, Paul Harvey is the Internet for radio. His news programs are full of folksy, mostly true eye-twinkling stories of Americana interspersed with drop ins for macular degeneration medicine and expensive bed systems. Sort of like Charles Brennan’s show on KMOX, except with wit, charisma, and intelligence. Paul Harvey’s The Rest of the Story features longer bits that tell an anecdote or story about a known or unknown historical persona. Once again, the stories Paul Harvey tells are as true as the Internet: probably true, but don’t base a doctoral dissertation on the premise or anecdote.

This book captures 81 stories of that nature. Paul Aurandt, Paul Harvey’s child (not a love child left behind in Indiana, either; Aurandt is Paul Harvey’s last name) collects them, and although I don’t know if it’s really the case, I suspect he wrote them. Did Paul Harvey read them on the air? Who knows? The style, unfortunately, reflects that tone and pacing, though.

Unfortunately, the pacing of a short radio program doesn’t translate well to the page. It’s too short and choppy. I’ve a similar complaint to Charles Osgood for his collections of The Osgood Files. It’s odd, though, that radio doesn’t translate well, whereas television vignettes of similar duration–such as Dennis Miller’s rants or Andy Rooney’s minutes–do. Were I that interested, I would break down and scan the programs for variations in rhythm displayed when the speaker knows he cannot see the audience and they him.

At any rate, the book was a quick read, easy to pick up for a short duration of reading, and engaging in that these stories want you to guess before the conclusion whose story you’re reading. So it’s a short time waster, brain fodder, and probably eighty percent or more accurate.

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