Monday, August 25, 2014

What is TMD?

It occurs to me that I’ve written about the experience of having temporomandibular disorder, but not what this poorly-understood affliction actually is.  And as some sources suggest a commanding fraction of adult humans have some sort of jaw dysfunction, looking into this strange affliction is a worthwhile exercise.

Thursday, August 21, 2014

Dysfunction Defined

[TW: chronic illness, depression, suicide]

We are our bodies.

That sounds obvious, but it isn’t.  Cartesian dualism thoroughly infiltrates the English language and many others.  Many of the ways in which we talk about our bodies describe them as things we own, or carry, or inhabit, as though we were somehow distinct from the skeletons and meat.

My sense of my own consciousness is firmly anchored in my eyes.  Everything else is ancillary, a wall of sensation at a distance or a weird intrusion from the outside.  When I dream, I rarely have legs.  My dream avatar pushes itself through crowds with its arms, or it is nothing but disembodied eyes, watching more than participating in the dream’s events.  When I am more than that in dream, I am watching myself do things from the outside, a lucid vantage point on third-person adventure.  In those dreams, my oneiric body is usually someone else entirely: a minotaur, a Mexican woman, a robot.  I don’t have a sense of touch in my dreams, even when I have hands.  Those differences are how I tell when I’m dreaming, or when I’m recalling events that happened in dream: I can’t touch anything, I don’t have feet, and people don’t have faces.  And the world is usually in hazy grayscale with flashes of red or green to indicate the assorted Chekhov’s guns my dream-narrator likes to set up on my behalf.

There may or may not be anything to diagnose in those patterns.  But all of them are illusions, the fantasies of a mind that often feels estranged from and confused by the letters its frontier outposts deliver to it.  For the rest of us, our bodies and minds are not as distinct as my oneiromancer wants me to think they are.  Within this lipid-rimed assembly of motors and struts is a complex of sensors and wires, connections that make the events of the hands and intestines and small of the back as real and immediate as any thought or emotion—and every thought and emotion as real as leaving one’s hand too long on the stove.  The brain is only the largest and foremost organ of the self, anchoring and integrating the activities of all the others.

We are our bodies.

And when those bodies go wrong, it attacks the very definition of us.

Tuesday, August 19, 2014

The Mover Out of Time

It does not take much to demonstrate the impossibility of many gods.  The bigger a god is, the more of the universe its devotees claim is within its sway, the more improbable its powers have to be to make what we do know about the universe compatible with its existence.  A river spirit or trickster that hides your socks when no one is looking has a small effect on reality, and can hide in the statistical noise that keeps our world de facto unpredictable.  A huge god, though, needs to be simultaneously of massive import, so that its influence permeates many facets and phenomena in the world, and utterly minuscule, so that it has an excuse for when it inevitably doesn’t show.  Thus, we get gods defined as controlling the weather, the course of wars, and whether anyone lives or dies, but whose influence is indistinguishable from the sum of the hundred and one worldly factors in and causes of all of these events; gods who can be expelled from their controlling niche by humans having the temerity to document and measure, as if God were mere quantum uncertainty; gods who use mortal movers as their proxies, merely shifting the problem one layer of agents upward with theological sleight of hand.

Christianity, between its native Abrahamic grandiosity and its wholesale lifting of neo-Platonic idealism, offers some of the largest gods.  Many versions of Christianity have gods so massive that they not only inflict weather events on people totally unrelated to whatever ostensibly displeased them, but they also, the soothsayers tell us, transcend time and space.  This god, even Jewish dreamers like to claim, exists outside of and independent of time, such that past, present, and future are all the same to it.  Events at any point in the universe’s progress are like the pages in a book this creature is reading, and flipping backward or forward is as easy for it as the analogy implies.  It created the universe and now sits outside it, a cosmic voyeur that may or may not ever interfere with unfolding events, depending on the version.

It will not surprise my readers, I am sure, to learn that this god is incoherent with both logic and the facts of our universe.

Sunday, August 17, 2014

It is still murder!

((Follow the links to find black voices saying it better than I ever could))

For the last several days, I, along with many others, have been following the situation in Ferguson, MO. For those not familiar with the story, an 18 year old was walking to his grandmother’s house with his friend when he was accosted by police. He was unarmed and despite that fact he was shot ten times, and his body was left on the street for several hours.

After the shooting, the people of the Ferguson community, devastated by the state of our world that makes police committed murder of black men an excusable offence without any serious punishment, took to the streets to protest. The police response was to don riot gear and use rubber bullets and tear gas. They shot many of the protesters. One woman even had to have surgery to remove the bullet put in her head by police officers. Throughout all of this we see a mourning community being harassed by an over-militarized and untrained police force.

The media played into the drama, characterizing the situation as “hostilities on both sides” and playing into thoroughly discredited attempts by the police to justify the killing after the fact by playing a game of character assassination. Throughout all of it though, one thought became obvious: racism is alive and well in the 21st century.

One thing that has been bothering me the most is this consistent implication that there is ever a justification for the unprovoked murder of a person by the police. It seems that the moment the victim is revealed to be a person of colour, the various rationalizations come up.

This boggles my mind. In the US, the right to due process, to a fair trial, is protected by the constitution. There exists no crime for which the punishment is execution without a trial. When police kill someone, they take away that right to due process.  It doesn’t matter if the person who died was a straight A student headed for college and taking care of his grandma, or a drug addicted criminal. The reasonable expectation of not having your life cut short by a person of authority is a RIGHT and not a privilege. If that expectation doesn’t exist, then you are not living in a free country. That is a level of tyranny that should be reserved for the worst dictatorships and not happen in a country that parades itself as the bastion of freedom!

When people claim that what happened wasn’t a race issue,they ignore one simple truth. Most people in the US have an expectation that if they ever have to deal with cops, that they will come out of the encounter with their lives. That if something were to happen to them that was unprovoked, that they would find justice. This is not the case for black folk in the US. Every encounter with the cops is not just a risk, but also if the worst should happen, they have to deal with the truth that they will be vilified and find no justice for their needless deaths.

No one should have to fear for their life. No one should have to fear for their life because of the colour of their skin. No one should be treated as disposable or unworthy. No one should have to earn the right to have their untimely death seen as a tragedy. No one should have to prove they are worthy of life! Of freedom! Of safety from a tyrannical authority.

As white people, we are not and can never be Mike Brown. We are not Trayvon Martin. But what we can be is a support for these men and their community. What we can be is an amplifier for the voices calling out for justice, for an end to tyranny, for an end to racism. When necessary we can be a shield, using our privileged flesh to block the slings, arrows, and bullets of a corrupt authority. Not just can be but MUST be! Because when we stand idly by and watch the murders without comment, when we pretend there is any justification for death, when we allow the media to tar and feather a community just because we don’t want to feel guilty about an accident of birth that left us safer in a land that pretends to be free, when we do that, that blood is as much on our hands. Our silence gives consent for death.

Politics in the ER: Five Ways Doctors Decide You Are a Drug Seeker

On June 26th, I had my gallbladder removed in an attempt to lessen the frequency with which I get pancreatitis. For those unfamiliar, pancreatitis is a condition where for some reason, bile and digestive enzymes back up into the pancreas causing inflammation and pain. In a colloquial sense, my pancreas basically tries to digest itself. The leading causes in North America are alcohol abuse and gallstones.
Three weeks later, I started experiencing extreme pain in my upper abdomen. When the pain reached a level 10, I knew I had to go in to the hospital. What followed was a cumulative 20 days of admission, which included three separate trips to the ER. As sometimes happens, my second and third trip were marked with the stigma of being treated like a drug seeker. This is a snap decision made by doctors that can seriously impact the quality of care you receive.
Even before this I have a lot of experience with ERs and doctors. I have been in and out since I was 18 and began to experience serious joint symptoms. After all my experience, I have a better idea of what doctors look for when determining whether or not you are there legitimately or if you are there to score. The problem is that these are not always within your control.

Thursday, August 14, 2014

Confessions of a Bagman 2: Three More Things I Learned Collecting Beer Cans for Money

The first two things and the introductory statement are here.


3.     You Develop a Weird Relationship with Homeless People

Humans, especially Western humans, produce enough refuse that there really is more than enough to go around.  There are still places where it’s harder or much, much easier to collect lots of it at once, though, and those spots get “claimed” very quickly.  A kind of turf system is at work in the scavenging game, and people like me were competing with every other kind of vagrant for the same prime trash-collecting spots.  There’s no “turf war,” or even negotiating over territory.  If you get good enough at collecting in one area, it stops being lucrative for the other people who were doing it, and they leave on their own for less contentious places.  On the handful of occasions that I met someone else who visited my building for refuse that the tenants helpfully left bagged by the outside door, it was always tense.  Were we sizing each other up to see who would keep this area as theirs?  I tried to give them some of what I found whenever this happened, because I knew most of them would be much worse off than I was.  They’d never outdo my collection efforts, though—I could afford to come to that room daily with a shopping cart, and they showed up occasionally with a bicycle, or just bags.

Monday, August 11, 2014

Confessions of a Bagman 1: Two Things I Learned Collecting Beer Cans for Money

As some of you may know, Ania and I spent a long time in a very difficult financial situation.  Between when she needed to stop formal employment for health reasons and very recently, we officially had only my income for our survival.  Unfortunately, that income was not quite sufficient for our fixed expenses, let alone buying groceries, so we had to scramble to make the necessary extra money…every month…for over a year.  We did what we could to reduce our expenses and put off a lot of eventually necessary purchases until her Ontario Disability Support Payments began, including writing expensive things like seafood almost completely out of our diets, but there was no getting around the need for more money.  As I am legally prevented from taking on much employment by my visa status (and it would have been a bad idea for my schooling anyway), a lot of this fell on her, and she did her level best to sell art and food and run errands for our neighbors, all the while looking for work she would survive doing.  For my part, I took on the unenviable task of collecting alcohol containers to return for deposit.  And in the year and change I spent doing that, I learned a few things.


Thursday, August 7, 2014

Shifty Lines 14: The Western Arctic

Earth is a huge planet, far larger and impossibly more complicated than any fantasy realm.  Its vastness is often concealed from us, particularly in the way that common map projections section the Pacific Ocean and stretch and warp Asia.  One region has the opposite problem—common maps make it look far larger and wider than it is.  The Arctic Ocean is the world’s smallest, surrounded by landmasses so close together that, in colder times, every one of them was linked by a single mass of ice.  The eastern Arctic is defined by Russia steamrolling over a multiplicity of indigenous peoples speaking languages from numerous families.  The western Arctic, by contrast, is the story of two specific tribes expanding, colliding, and deciding how best to maneuver around one another: the Norse and the Inuit.

And because North American map-readers can’t seem to make heads or tails of that one huge island next to Canada in particular, it’s worth a look.

Map of North Atlantic showing Greenland, Ellesmere Island, Iceland, the Faroe Islands, and the surrounding area.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Black Humor in White Hats

For those who have been in hermetic seclusion for the past year or so, Cards Against Humanity is a crowd-funded spin on the popular card game Apples to Apples.  Rather than the decidedly benign associations Apples to Apples is meant to evoke, Cards Against Humanity banks on the violent, the sexual, the political, the religious, the sacrilegious, and every flavor of bizarre deviance its assortment of writers can muster.  Instead of simple word associations, the game comes with question or fill-in prompts and a variety of often lengthy answers.  The possibilities range from the tragicomic:

I drink to forget...sobbing into a Hungry Man frozen dinner.

…to the surreal:
In 1000 years, when paper money is but a distant memory, uppercuts will be our currency.

…to the darkly political:
This is the way the world ends / this is the way the world ends / not with a bang, but with former president George W. Bush.

…to combining all three in the kind of humor trifecta one usually has to find in webcomics with just the right comedic je ne sais quois:

Lifetime presents I Am Doing Kegels Right Now: The Story of Glenn Beck convulsively vomiting as a brood of crab spiders hatches in his brain and erupts from his tear ducts.

This is a crab spider.
A crab spider from South Carolina, USA.

This game is fun.

When I play CAH, my favorite combinations are always the bizarrely sexual ones that involve weird props, historical or mythological figures, and/or horrible things happening to world-renowned racist clown Glenn Beck.  I also have a soft spot for two-part answer prompts.  When, “in M. Night Shyamalan’s new movie, Bruce Willis discovers that Justin Bieber had really been Glenn Beck catching his scrotum on a curtain hook all along,” I thrive.  But I also get a kick out of answers that sound like what real-world horrible people might say if they didn’t speak in dog-whistles, or that are only a little more absurd than things they’ve actually said:

1: White people like...not giving a shit about the third world.  2) When I'm in prison, I'll with ass cancer smuggled in.  3) Exchanging a slippery slope that leads to...whipping it out.

Not to mention things so cartoonishly overwrought that they’d be rejected as quips from Skeletor or Droopy Dog:

1) Next from J. K. Rowling: Harry Potter and the Chamber of...Auschwitz.  2) I drink to forget...a lifetime of sadness.

A game of Cards Against Humanity creates a different, insulated context for all of these things.  Almost anything that happens during a CAH session would be wildly inappropriate in any other, and most of it would get someone ostracized from even marginally progressive company thereafter.  But inside a game of CAH, the point is to produce satirical, absurdist commentary on and parody of the world’s awfulness, preferably via accusing it of using its collection of high-tech sex toys to sex up Bert and Ernie while the Buddha and Abraham Lincoln arm-wrestle for sloppy seconds.  Used properly, Cards Against Humanity is a way to rob the world’s evil of some of its power, by making it the subject of humor and declaring this or that villain’s antics the same kind of ludicrous as Pac-Man uncontrollably guzzling cum.  Rush Limbaugh and Ken Ham are essentially real-life cartoon characters as it is—Cards Against Humanity only holds them to that standard.

The problem is, this particular segment of the humor-scape is where it’s very, very easy to do harm, and even easier to hit nerves.  This game’s default options include (or included; see below) a number of unsavory punchlines that become much worse when paired with certain question cards:

1) What ended my last relationship?  Date rape.  2) It's a pity that kids these days are all getting involved people.  3) Major League Baseball has banned...the profoundly handicapped...for giving players an unfair advantage.

To say nothing of the chance of encountering something personally significant in such a jagged game, and having to explain a reaction other people would rightly not have.  The best CAH sessions I've been part of include the stipulation that if a player doesn't understand a reference, finds something personally hurtful, or otherwise can't find the humor in a particular answer card, they can trade it and discard or return the old one, no questions asked.

Cards Against Humanity has been rightly criticized for too often punching down rather than up, and treating the existence and difficulties of many real-world marginalized groups as the stuff of mirth.  This has the exact opposite effect from the scenarios discussed above, and is a major detriment to the pleasure that many groups derive from this game.  Perhaps no card in the series is more notorious for this attribute than the “passable transvestites” card in the original set, showing all the tact and class of Grand Theft Auto and inspiring a rather graphic disposal from at least one CAH fan.  The creators of Cards Against Humanity are aware of this failing and, to their credit, periodically purge cards from the game’s massive accumulated archive as they reconsider whether they cross the line from edgy to cutting.  This willingness to admit that finding a particular Cards Against Humanity combination hurtful isn’t the same thing as lacking a sense of humor, “looking to be offended,” or some other strawman of typical progressive attitudes means that the Cards Against Humanity team understands the role that their game plays in our ecosystem.  Here’s hoping that the “the profoundly handicapped” card is part of that same rejected set.  (Of course, there are other factors at play that could make one queasy about participating in this game or buying it, of a different nature.)

Cards Against Humanity has earned its place among the pantheon of progressive party games, and I look forward to further opportunities to use CAH to laugh instead of rage or weep at the world’s injustices.

Also, the custom sets I’ve been consulted to help create are more than capable replacements for all the old cards that tend toward marginalization.  Just saying.

If enough people as me nicely, I might decide to put my custom options together into a .pdf like the original Cards Against Humanity set.  Ask away :)

Thursday, July 31, 2014

Yams for All

We need to change how we think about childbearing.

Having a child is probably the single most expensive decision someone in the developed world can make.  Once a child is born, one becomes responsible for that child’s food, shelter, emotional support, education, and a thousand and one other needs harder to anticipate and describe, sometimes through socialized systems that ease access to various goods.  The guardians of children become their first and fastest path toward accumulating the possessions that they will then use to gain their first taste of independence.  Parents and other caretakers and among the most important fonts of culture, moral growth, and personal development that any person will ever have.  The enormity of the caretaker’s role is so well understood that it routinely features in sexist writings that insist that women should be content with that specific influence on the future and desire no additional option or greater agency than that.

But there is one situation in which that understanding is ignored: the decision to have a child.

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