Serenity, Firefly, and alignment drift
In the past, I’ve argued that the Dungeons and Dragons concept of “alignment” provides a useful framework for character development. Alignment describes a character’s intrinsic ethics and morality. There are two axes: lawful-neutral-chaotic, and good-neutral-evil, providing a total of nine character types. Lawful good = Superman or Dick Tracy, Unlawful evil = The Joker, and so forth. By “character development,” I mean both the author’s first conceptualization of the character, as well as the character’s moral and ethical evolution over the course of the story.
In D&D speak, “alignment drift” refers to the way a character’s behavior might change over the course of a game — usually because the player develops a deeper understanding of his character. But in fiction, “alignment drift” might be a useful way of looking at deep-down changes a character undergoes, those subtle and not so subtle shifts which make for a satisfying novel.
Still with me? Then follow past the cut . . .
A fistful of ferrets
Hands over your heads where I can see ’em and don’t move a muscle.
These ferrets are loaded.
D.
The Lapses of Lynch’s Locke
I don’t want to piss off protected static and SxKitten, both of whom recommended The Lies of Locke Lamora, so let me first speak this novel’s praises. First: phenomenal cover art.
Either the artist read the book, or he received (and paid attention to) specific directions from the publisher. Look! Five towers! And they’re the right colors, and they have those little gossamer threads between them representing those thingies the nobles use to travel between towers! Damned impressive.
Somewhere in the world, it’s Thursday
Today’s Thursday Thirteen:
Thirteen Things I’d Rather Do Than Get My Eyes Examined.
Photo by Joshua Heller, who would probably agree with today’s Thirteen.
Famous Last Words
I know I’ve been a drag lately. Illness does that to me. I’d do a whole post of sobs if I could: Waaah! I’m coughing up a lung! Waaah! My colon’s trying to turn itself inside out!
To make it up to you, I thought up a fun quiz. Below, you’ll find the last words of works which are considered classics of their genre. Read the words, guess the author. Answers in the Comments.
No prizes for this one; you cultcha geniuses will have to be content with the newly reaffirmed knowledge of your intellectual superiority. Mensa will be contacting you posthaste.
Oh, one complication: in cases where a name would give away the answer, I have substituted a different name. Ain’t I a son of a bitch?
Hosed frog.
Frog on Hose by Brenda Anderson
I’m not a greedy person. If I were greedy, I would jump at those headhunter offers from the deep South, offering guaranteed incomes over $500K; or I would have become a facial cosmetic surgeon, something I very well could have done, except I didn’t care much for the patient population. Because some things are important, you know? Like living in one of the most beautiful areas of the country, living in a place where my family is happy, even if the majority of my patients are Medicare or Medicaid.
But this is depressing:
Potential Medicare reimbursement cuts worry doctors
By LIZ FREEMAN
December has rolled around and doctors nationwide are in limbo, as they have been this time of year for the past six years.
They are left to speculate whether Congress will act in time, before the year’s end, to halt Medicare reimbursement cuts slated to take effect Jan. 1. For the most part, Congress has done last-minute reprieves and frozen cuts in prior years.
Doctors face the prospects of a 10.1 percent reimbursement loss next year on average depending on specialty, with no regard to increasing practice expenses. If the cut goes through, more physicians are expected to follow in the shoes of others fed up with the reimbursement system and say enough is enough.
It’s depressing because I’ve cut damn near all of the fat out of my practice already, and I have ratcheted up my patient load to the point that I’m already rushing through the day and feeling like road kill by the end of it. But what else can I do? My overhead costs get higher every year, insurance reimbursements get lower every year, so my only defense is to see more patients, work harder and smarter and cut what little fat is left to cut.
That article goes on to discuss the AMA’s bright idea — legislation that would allow us docs to bill over the Medicare rate and recoup money from our patients. Yeah, that’s right, the fixed income folks. Sure, some of them can afford it, but some can’t. Guess that would give me more opportunities to play Mr. Nice Guy, eh?
But the really depressing part is the primary care angle. We’re already strapped in this region; many of my patients can’t find a primary care provider. If this thing goes through as planned, it will be even harder for patients (the elderly and the disabled, that is) to find primary care.
And, yes, it’s depressing that I might have to squeeze more patients in, which in turn would mean cutting back on time spent per patient, or cutting back on services (like cleaning ear wax, which can be time consuming and reimburses poorly).
On my ENT mailing list, a lot of the older docs are saying this will push them into retirement. One guy said he already works gratis — everything he makes goes into his overhead. This, I suspect, is a fellow who hasn’t cut his overhead as well as I have. The older generation of doc, they’re used to having a nurse, an audiologist, maybe a few other ancillary staff. I have a staff of two. No audiologist, no nurse. Ours is a tidy ship, but of course that means I have already restricted services.
Bear in mind that Medicare reimbursements have already fallen 20% since 2001, and that when Medicare cuts their payments, private insurers soon follow.
It feels like I’m treading water, and I’ve never been very good with that.
D.
Midlife crises
celebrating midlife crisis, originally uploaded by Orrin.
Orrin writes,
This got a little out of hand. I had no idea that birthday candles could “go inferno” so easily. The look of horror on my face is nearly spontaneous. It turned out okay. Eyelashes are overrated.
My midlife crisis isn’t about the loss of youth. Like Orrin’s eyelashes, my youth was highly overrated, and I’m well quit of it. I’m in better shape now than I’ve ever been, I’m in control of my destiny, and, for the most part, life is good.
My midlife crisis isn’t about some newly detected awareness of mortality, either. I’ve been death-obsessed since my early twenties — thanks in equal parts to med school and my wife’s way-too-young baptism by serious illness.
I’m thinking that my midlife crisis, if I have one, will be about the choices I’ve made, could have made, could still make. Because I keep thinking that I should have done more than this.
Maybe it’s science fiction that left me with impossible expectations. Not only have I not saved the universe from transdimensional collapse, I haven’t even saved the planet. I haven’t walked on Mars, haven’t contacted extraterrestrials, haven’t traveled through time. And, sure, as I got older I understood that some things simply didn’t happen (no one gets their own personal starship, not even Bill Gates’s kid), yet I kept thinking I’d make more of a difference.
I know I should be content with what I have. I make a difference to my family and to my patients. Isn’t that enough? But the world is so fucked up and I don’t feel like I’m doing anything about it! After all, there are plenty of things a doctor can do to act on the global stage — take a job with WHO or Doctors Without Borders, to name a couple.
But I couldn’t do that without putting my family through some serious grief.
Well, anyway, sorry to whine. It’s Jewish guilt, that’s what it is. It’s a consequence of God not telling you what He wants from you, not when you’re a teenage believer and certainly not when you’re a middle-aged agnostic. So you’re always wondering if you chose wrong.
When I searched Flickr for “midlife crisis,” I found lots of car pictures, a few motorcycle pictures, and only one cute young woman.
Heidi’s Midlife Crisis: Braids!
Yeah. That’s what I need — braids.
D.
Sunday Sermon
I think the best sermons are the ones which stir us to be better people.
Devilstower: With God on Our Side.
When you’re too busy trying not to lose, you may win elections now and then, but you rarely advance those causes you’re supposed to care about. Â We’ve reached the point where Republican voters can claim the philosophy of absolute greed.
“I make a great deal of money through my own hard work. Â I don’t want to pay for someone else’s child to eat breakfast at school anymore.”
Get that? Â She makes not just enough money, but a “great deal of money.” Â How dare anyone take it away for something so frivolous as feeding a poor child? Â And yet Republicans, through their actions in blurring the lines between church and state, have become the “party of faith.” Â Because they say so. Â Because they are bold in their actions and snarling in their defense.
We need to be just as adamant. Â We need to not hide behind any abstraction or evasion. Â We need to be unafraid to address this voter and say “I am going to take some of your money, and give it to that poor kid, because it’s more important — both to the child and to society — that he eat, rather than that you have an extra week in Cabo.”
Sure it’s political. But politics is just personal morality (or immorality) on the grand scale, right?
D.
Man vs. Shuffle
Now that a certain former roommate of Karen’s is hanging around my blog, I thought I would indulge in a bit of memoirist BS.
When Karen and I were first dating, I knew she had had a previous boyfriend, but I didn’t know a thing about him. I didn’t feel particularly comfortable asking, either, because what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me, right?
But there was one guy who kept appearing, both in conversation and in person, so I figured he had to be the guy. Karen’s roomie, Kira, once went so far as to compare me to him. “Ah, a Renaissance man,” she said. “Remind you of anyone, Karen?”
So who was this guy? Turns out Bill was an old classmate of Karen’s and Kira’s, not an old love interest. (I think Karen was a bit shocked when my misunderstanding came to light.) Just as I made a nice life for myself at Berkeley melding the hard sciences with the humanities, Bill had found a way to meld computer science with linguistics. And now he’s some sort of Linux guru.
What does this have to do with the iPod shuffle? Well, Bill and I might both have been Renaissance men, but our skill sets scarcely overlapped. I was, and I remain, nearly computer-illiterate. And while Bill once professed to me with near-religious fervor, “Music is very important to me,” I still can’t bring myself to such an exalted state. Nowadays, I might reply to Bill, “Yeah, there are some songs I like.”
A few weeks ago, I won an iPod shuffle at our local grocery store’s “grand re-opening.” How exciting! I took it home, plugged the ISB cable into the ISB slot, docked my shiny new iPod, and waited for it to do shit. And waited. And waited.
My iTunes files were still there, so what could be the problem? For the life of me, I couldn’t find the button to “sync” my iTunes with my iPod. The iPod didn’t come with a CD, nor did it come with much in the way of instructions, and the online help was a masterful exercise in unhelpfulness.
This morning, I decided to give it another try, and once again, it was a non-starter. Then I slid a few things around on the iPod, plugged things in, unplugged things, and plugged things backed in, undocked the iPod, re-docked the iPod, and all of a sudden the little beast wanted to sync with iTunes.
So I’m wired, kids. Man vs. Shuffle, and Man wins! Fuck technology! Hallelujah, technology! Bill would be chortling if he could see 1/10 the grief this silly thing has given me.
Playing right now: Depeche Mode, “Enjoy the Silence.”
Live-blogging tonight: sometime around 7 to 8 PM PST. See ya soon.
D.
PS: these “ear buds” suck big time. I’m using headphones.
Friday Flickr Babe: Curves
Searching Flickr for “curves,” I found this. It’s out of focus. The framing is odd and the lighting is bizarre. Did someone shoot this with an old box camera? I don’t know. I don’t care. I love it. This isn’t a photograph; it’s a memory, something stolen from patterned synapses and emblazoned on paper.
Oh, hell, I’ll just say it, even if I do risk starting another religious flame war. This image is holy. And no, it’s not just the distant bright light (although that helps). The love bestowed upon the subject speaks more of worship than of lust.
D.