Fickle Fate

The other day I was poking at random through the This American Life archives, as I am wont to do if I spend any length of time doing non-computery things in the room that contains my computer.

Let me first say: I love this radio program. Love. It. It pretty much perfectly encapsulates everything I love about stories and storytelling. If you're not familiar with this gem of the airwaves, here's a little rundown of what it is. Each week, the show follows a theme, and the stories that are told follow that. The stories are mostly true, and mostly told by the person or people involved. They're at once hilarious, sweet, intriguing, and touching. It's hard to explain what makes them so appealing, so I highly recommend you go to the website and listen to some of the shows online for free. (choose the "full episode" option, and it will open a player.)

The point of this post, however, is that I, at random, chose an episode that contained a section about a semi-documentary film that won some awards at Sundance Flm Festival several years ago. The film is called the Beaver Trilogy, and is actually three separate short films that were stuck together. The first is a documentary made in 1979. It's a chance meeting between the film maker and a young man who's an absolutely entertaining character. Without going into too much detail, he's an average kid from the town of Beaver who just happened to be in what might have been the right place at the right time. As the story progresses, the film maker does something that affects the kid, and he later regrets it. It haunts him so much that over the years, to clear his conscience he has to remake the little documentary movie in 1981, with an actor, and add a happy ending-- the ending he wanted for the Beaver kid. But that's not enough. He actually makes the film for a third time in 1985, with yet another actor. These are the stories that are cobbled together. So it's not just the story of the Beaver kid, it's the story of this director trying to clear his conscience, and failing.

As with many This American life shows, I felt compelled to research. The film's not available anywhere. It screened only a few places, it's never been sold on dvd (except for on occasion when the filmmaker personally has sold a copy he's made to someone) and it's no longer available on Youtube to watch. So I have a little mission to find a copy.

Also interestingly, in the process of poking around, I found that the Beaver Kid passed away just recently. RIP, Beaver Kid.

I'm not sure what it does, but it does *something*.

I admit that I have a weakness for "home brewed" beauty stuff. My sisters and I used to make our own facial masks out of oatmeal and god-knows-what-else, and we'd steam the heck out of our faces using my mom's big mixing bowl full of hot water. Ah... those were the days.

I have to give credit where credit is due, here. It was actually The Boy who showed me this. He stumbled over it on the vastness of the internets, and immediately knew I'd be fascinated with it.

Remember how Beta Hydroxy Acid became one of the big catch phrase in facial moisturizers and cleansers a few years ago? Also, remember Salicylic Acid--the active ingredient in all kinds of expensive facial cleansers and products that tout abilities from clearing up acne to preventing razor burn to "resurfacing" skin? Well, surprise--both of those are basically the same thing. And double surprise--they're basically both aspirin. I suddenly saw my budget bottle of plain Target brand aspirin in a whole new light.

It looks like people are starting to catch on to this fact, and I found a bunch of places talking about using uncoated aspirin tablets to make an exfoliating facial mask. Of course, I had to try it.

What I did:

I used just one tablet--put a few drops of water on to it, and it started dissolving into mush almost immediately. I dampened my face a bit, and used my fingers to smooth some of the mush around my face, concentrating on where I tend to get redness from a mystery allergy. The aspirin mush is just grainy enough to exfoliate pretty nicely. I left it on for a few minutes and rinsed with warm water.

The verdict:

Okay, I might be imagining this, but I felt like the redness in my face had evened out noticeably. My skin was nice and smooth, and felt just a bit tight, so I moisturized right afterward. I'll definitely try it again.

Oh--Also, I guess you're not supposed to do this more than a couple times a week or it becomes less effective.

Comeuppance

I was poking around RateMDs.com today at random, checking out some of the doctors in my area. I found one who seems like kind of a jackass, but he's kind of good-looking, and everyone agrees knows what he's doing. As long as I don't mind submitting to random, seemingly unrelated tests, being condescended to, and having MRIs like they're going out of style, I think he'll be fine.

Here are some of the reviews (both positive and negative) people gave this doctor:

“I just came home from a two-week stay in the hospital. My initial complaint in the ER was pain in the inside elbow. Next thing I know I awake in intensive care with a tube in my nose, 5 IVs and a foley bag that Dr. House bumped with his cane. I developed this funny rash on the opposite elbow. Then I get a call from my husband wondering why two people in lab coats were trying to break in our house to look for anything suspicious. He tearfully let them take one our koi from the backyard pond for any clues to my illness. I fall asleep to the words, "this may sting a little bit." After I awake I see Dr. House looming over me inspecting the inside of my eyelids. With a big grin he looks at his staff and orders broad spectrum antibiotics, IVG, Interferon, steroids and Kool-aid (for himself). I ask through my grogginess, "What did you find?" Dr. House replied, "You have Koipondimylitis. You've been using too short a fish net to clean out your pond." And he left. And I got better.”

“House is brilliant! After the much-repeated lumbar punctures, MRIs, CTs, 14 incorrect diagnoses (including the ever-present vasculitis), Cameron's amateur physchotherapy, Foreman's condescending crap, and Wilson's very very soft hands (you can do that test again, Doctor!), my problem was finally resolved. I needed new glasses.”

“This is a doctor who understands chronic pain.”

“First of all, this guy was late. Then he said I was obviously a hypochondriac. However, his staff noticed several symptoms I couldn't possibly make up, even subconsciously. After fifteen diagnoses and the removal of an equivalent number of vital organs, I was pronounced to have a terminal illness. Thank God I don't have to live with the pain of losing everything. Now, that's my family and the government's problem. “

“I was amazed at the way Dr. House treated everyone. But he did cure me. They thought it was Lupus but turned out to be an in grown toe nail. Thank you Dr. House. “

Hymns of the Deep

It's clear and cold, and the carillon bells are ringing out songs, as they do every Sunday afternoon here. For some reason the carrilloneur is playing an old ocean hymn my father became familiar with while living in Newfoundland--land of sailors, whalers, and their often grieving families after sea tragedies.

Eternal Father, strong to save
Whose arm doth bind the restless wave,
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep--
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee for those in peril on the sea.