back-porch synthesis: the news
Still percolating like a fish-flavored coffee, stewing between distant peaks, coagulating the finest primordial chili powders in the valley of my abdomen—In the meantime, some news:
New Jersey politics/theater: "Corzine and Forrester, both multimillionaires, spent upward of $70 million to succeed Codey, who assumed the office last year when Democratic incumbent Jim McGreevey resigned over a homosexual affair." For the past four years, I have lived in New Jersey, a balloonish melodrama. That one sentence is at brim with possiblities for general mockery and distasteful television movie plots.
The Great Pharmacist Shortage: Sounds to me like it’s out of hand. Apparently people are "requiring" more drugs these days, whether to manage their heart and/or their mood, and pharmacists are being pressured to help the growing number of prescribed pill-poppers to manage their candies. On one hand, this makes sense; on the other, shouldn’t the doctors prescribing the stuff examine what other drugs their patients are taking? This, of course, could dredge into a shouting about the shrinking presence of doctors seen at "doctor" appointments. On the third hand, should patients be trusted—or be burdened—all doped up, to keep track of their complicated chemical concoctions? There are gaps in this jenga. Meanwhile, budding pharmacists can make $80,000 right out of college, and employees are fighting over them before that time comes.
I’ve begun reading a book called The Brief History of the Mind by William H. Calvin, subtitled "From Apes to Intellect and Beyond." In reference to the mental capacity of early hominids, Calvin writes (paraphrasing since I can’t find the exact quote this minute), "Certain aspects of intelligence don’t have much effect unless you have the attention span to go with them." Attention span, my dwindling one, distracts me, without pun. Have we modern media hounds regressed into the cave, to before anyone had the attention span or planning capacity to think to peer out and see the things creating the shadows on the wall? I hope not. Here is what Flak Magazine has to say about stories in the news.
Several months ago at a rummage sale I stumbled upon a used copy of John Fowles’ The Magus: "…a part-autobiographical account of an Oxford graduate who moves to a Greek island and becomes drawn into a psychological 'godgame'. Complex and disturbing, it became a cult best-seller in the US." I had no idea it was a "cult best-seller" in the States. I have no idea what prompted me to pick it up, but I started reading it right then and there and could hardly stop until I finished. It kicked the wily ass of an apathy toward reading that had grossly infected me. John Fowles died two days ago.
So what do we have here? A homosexual multimillionaire politician doped up on cholesterol meds, Prozac, Viagra, and Valium, flipping channels and laughing inappropriately when he doesn't understand the jokes on every other channel jab at his pomposity and incompetence, while another engaging writer dies. On that note, I have manuscripts to edit.
This just in, from Pitchfork: possible hope for saving our attention spans! The rock opera, the novelistic album. How do I know? My own attention defecit caused me to stray from an editing task to an e-mail message to a totally other editing task and back to this article which I'd started reading earlier but forgot about.
New Jersey politics/theater: "Corzine and Forrester, both multimillionaires, spent upward of $70 million to succeed Codey, who assumed the office last year when Democratic incumbent Jim McGreevey resigned over a homosexual affair." For the past four years, I have lived in New Jersey, a balloonish melodrama. That one sentence is at brim with possiblities for general mockery and distasteful television movie plots.
The Great Pharmacist Shortage: Sounds to me like it’s out of hand. Apparently people are "requiring" more drugs these days, whether to manage their heart and/or their mood, and pharmacists are being pressured to help the growing number of prescribed pill-poppers to manage their candies. On one hand, this makes sense; on the other, shouldn’t the doctors prescribing the stuff examine what other drugs their patients are taking? This, of course, could dredge into a shouting about the shrinking presence of doctors seen at "doctor" appointments. On the third hand, should patients be trusted—or be burdened—all doped up, to keep track of their complicated chemical concoctions? There are gaps in this jenga. Meanwhile, budding pharmacists can make $80,000 right out of college, and employees are fighting over them before that time comes.
I’ve begun reading a book called The Brief History of the Mind by William H. Calvin, subtitled "From Apes to Intellect and Beyond." In reference to the mental capacity of early hominids, Calvin writes (paraphrasing since I can’t find the exact quote this minute), "Certain aspects of intelligence don’t have much effect unless you have the attention span to go with them." Attention span, my dwindling one, distracts me, without pun. Have we modern media hounds regressed into the cave, to before anyone had the attention span or planning capacity to think to peer out and see the things creating the shadows on the wall? I hope not. Here is what Flak Magazine has to say about stories in the news.
Several months ago at a rummage sale I stumbled upon a used copy of John Fowles’ The Magus: "…a part-autobiographical account of an Oxford graduate who moves to a Greek island and becomes drawn into a psychological 'godgame'. Complex and disturbing, it became a cult best-seller in the US." I had no idea it was a "cult best-seller" in the States. I have no idea what prompted me to pick it up, but I started reading it right then and there and could hardly stop until I finished. It kicked the wily ass of an apathy toward reading that had grossly infected me. John Fowles died two days ago.
So what do we have here? A homosexual multimillionaire politician doped up on cholesterol meds, Prozac, Viagra, and Valium, flipping channels and laughing inappropriately when he doesn't understand the jokes on every other channel jab at his pomposity and incompetence, while another engaging writer dies. On that note, I have manuscripts to edit.
This just in, from Pitchfork: possible hope for saving our attention spans! The rock opera, the novelistic album. How do I know? My own attention defecit caused me to stray from an editing task to an e-mail message to a totally other editing task and back to this article which I'd started reading earlier but forgot about.
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