Cold Spaghetti

Friday night, Paul and I went to a bar, drank beer, and socialized. We were pretty sure that it was the signal of the Apocalypse; Paul clutched his chest and hyperventilated when I seemed disappointed that Buffa’s was out of Abita’s Summer Wheat. But yes: we ventured out Friday night to meet some of the city’s bloggers.

In post-K NOLA, blogging has taken on a bit of a life of its own, becoming a source of “real” news, saying what other civic minded (but paycheck bound) citizens cannot, reporting on local recovery meetings, throwing out leads to local media outlets for potential stories, serving as a place for political organizing, and even showing up en masse to gut homes. You can even call it a “community”… with its own cliques, heroes, and established social order. Whatever you call it, you can’t call it aside; it is loud enough to warrant a degree of respect and in the least, some interest. Without question, I missed much of the meat of the weekend (particularly the advocacy and activist forums) but would have been happy just to pay registration to show financial support and make an attempt to see the folks behind the curtain, so to speak. So the fact that I got in a little Saturday morning action is an achievement.

I wasn’t expecting a particularly diverse crowd, since the internet itself it still a pretty white bread sort of place. (Note to self: re-connect with Guerrilla Girls for updates.) But it rekindled in me something I’ve been chewing on for awhile: where is the voice of the newly arrived Latino in post-Katrina New Orleans?

I’ve mentioned blogging to folks in “the community” (code for: newly arrived Latino community), which is a term that, in itself, irritates me; as if reinforcing this idea of difference within the city. That we exist in these separate (but unequal) spaces that are homogeneous within themselves and decidedly apart from whatever mainstream “community” is running the show. Granted, the folks I work with are often clandestine by choice (hence, one of my interests as a social scientist, health advocate, and concerned human) yet, I do believe that there is place for their voices to be heard here — in NOLA politics and recovery, online and other.

A hundred times I’ve started to write about an experience… a person… a combination of the two to get some information out there. But I don’t publish it, I struggle with voice, and I come up with nothing. Writing about what I have seen or experienced comes too close to writing about the lives of others in ways that give me pause. Rather than write myself, maybe it makes more sense to help reduce the socioeconomic barriers and socio political isolation that quiet these voices from being heard in our city. Or maybe I underestimate myself (something Paul says I do more and more the further I get up the academic food chain) or maybe I haven’t explored the right places to find what I think is missing.

Or, maybe once my “formal” research begins in earnest, I’ll have more official things to say. As for now, these are just thoughts in my head.

Substitute the progression of themes of this discussion to “health,” “illness,” “bacteria verses viruses,” “vaccinations,” “herd immunity,” and “epidemiologic transition” — and it is just like a conversation I had with Will last week.

I won’t use words like “good” or “quality” or even “well-written.” There are probably some conceptual holes, gaps in clarification, or even a few random sentences, ideas, or arguments that just hang out there in space.

Considering there is no model to work from and I’ve not seen a prospectus defense that was based on completely independent research using qualitative methods, I figure that it’s at least something to work from.

So I’ll say the word. It’s a draft. An actual draft. I finished something and I’m calling it a First Draft.

I’m not worried about whether it’s good… I am interested in whether it’s good enough to DEFEND.

One of several random aversions I have developed as a result of the study of epidemiology
has been related to water. Specifically: unless given no other choice, I do not drink tap water. In part this is due to my own idiosyncrasies, in part due to getting used to the whole bottled-water -all-the-time thing while overseas, and mostly, due to studying public health at Michigan where many of the professors are leaders in water quality and environmental toxicology. As a result, many of studies we read, dissected, and used for learning were in those areas of science.

Another part of my water-peculiarity came from the water in Ann Arbor, which I thought had “a smell.” (Warning: detailed health event to follow.) A few weeks after moving to Michigan — on the very weekend we were moving into our house from the apartment we leased while we house-shopped — I came down with sudden, incredibly severe abdominal pain and diarrhea. Followed by blood. I literally pooped solid blood for two days before getting directions to the UM hospital. (Stick with me here, the story will eventually tie in.) I presented to the ER with a highly elevated heart rate, anemic, and with internal bleeding (that pain was my insides hemorrhaging). Four days hospitalized, a range of tests, and a billion biopsies and I received a diagnosis of Crohn’s Disease, was put on meds, scheduled for more tests, and sent home. Before having the attack, we had gone to dinner at Max and Erma’s, a nearby chain restaurant. Paul and I had shared vegetable fajitas and I had (unbottled) water to drink.

About three months later, I returned to the hospital for a follow-up scope. The physician was shocked to find that my colon and large intestine were absolutely perfect: no sign of the illness he’d previously diagnosed. I was so healthy and healed that he reversed his diagnosis, giving me a clean bill of health. We chalked it up to chance occurrence and were thankful.

Exactly one week later, my parents were visiting and we went to dinner… at Max and Erma’s. I had a salad (no dressing), baked potato, and drank water. Two hours after dinner, the incredible pain came back. Followed by blood. By morning, I was back in the hospital. This time the diagnosis was permanent (ulcerative colitis) and was followed by over a year of tests, challenging medications, and eventual healing. The question of what set off the flares would be discussed at length for months — with many jokes about Max and Erma’s. But both times, the only thing that I had which was unique to everyone else was unbottled water. (Incidentally, we’d been there other times before and after when I’d had diet coke without problems.)

After my diagnosis, a friend pointed me to an article that showed a link between molecules living in tap water and flaring of GI disease — specifically, colitis. The study pointed out high levels of chemicals (related to run-off) whose presence in water was a concern. Although we never can be sure, I have always thought that there was a darn good chance that Ann Arbor water (and that odd “smell”) were contributors to my disease… the little nudge that set my stressed body into attack. My thoughts on this issue were brought to mind when I read this post by Fluffy, who specifically talks about endocrine disruptors in the Huron River, Ann Arbor’s water supply.

The point of all of this: water is pretty darn important. And we do really bad things to it.

When I did my coursework in reproductive epidemiology and toxicology, I chose to study herbicides (specifically, glyphosate, the active ingredient in Roundup) as my focused research. I’ll spare the details, but let’s put it this way: if you want to be sterile, give your kids cancer, and just generally be ill, give Roundup a place in your yard. Think that herbicides, pesticides, and fertilizer are good? That their safety has been tested? That you can trust those “family-friendly” labels? Think again. The FDA (the agency responsible for approving use of everything from prescription drugs to cosmetics to pet food to garden chemicals) does not have the resources to test these products themselves. (While I was a student, I remember noting that the FDA’s yearly budget was less than that of the University of Michigan.) Without the funds to conduct the extensive testing necessary for approval, the FDA relies on the companies who MAKE the product to show it’s safety. (Hello, conflict of interest!) That means that the folks who tested glyphosate for market use were HIRED by Monsanto, the company that makes the chemical. Are there serious problems with those studies? You betcha. I’ve read them: scientific method wasn’t on their minds when they were pulling together their data. Have these studies been questioned and refuted by other, more neutral, scientists? Yup. But the product is still on the market. The active and inactive ingredients in Roundup are consistently thought to be endocrine disruptors — although controversial due to the power of Monsanto-sponsored studies and political lobbying. (And the fact that it is very difficult to show clear causation between isolated and interacted environmental chemicals to negative health outcomes.)

Side note: have I mentioned that in studies of male sterility, concentrations of sterile men (those with dysfunction in sperm count, motility and/or morphology) is highest among guys who work as lawn-service technicians for golf courses?

But I digress. There is something a bit closer to home that is making me think about all of this.

On our visit to the park this morning, we were confronted with the incredibly think algae which covers the water in Audubon Park, growing thicker and covering more water as the summer presses on. The algae is part of a chemical reaction occurring in the water, chemicals soaking in from the golf course which surrounds it.

But run-off can make a big environmental impact hundreds, even thousands, of miles from its area of application:

Every late spring, it forms 12 miles off the Louisiana coast and lasts for months: a sprawling, lifeless band of water known as the “dead zone.”

Shrimp trawlers steer clear, knowing the low oxygen in this part of the Gulf of Mexico makes it uninhabitable for fish and other marine life. It starts at the mouth of the Mississippi River and can extend all the way to the Texas border, many years growing to the size of Connecticut.

It’s not a natural phenomenon. Waste water and fertilizer runoff from farms and towns hundreds of miles up the Mississippi pour billions of pounds of excess nutrients into the Gulf, sparking unnatural algae blooms that choke off the oxygen needed for the food chain to survive.

Just as I learned while trying to treat my colitis: there is no perfect medicine, no perfect chemical. You cannot take a medication or use a chemical to treat one symptom without having a negative side-effect occur somewhere else. My response: treat everything as holistically and naturally as possible. In my experience, it’s a win-win.

So as summer descends and we wish for those perfect lawns, consider what you’re putting on them and where it goes. (Also consider that studies have shown that in homes where yards are chemically treated, there is a higher concentration of hazardous chemicals in the carpets of those homes than in the actual grass itself.) Maybe we’d all be a bit healthier if we cared more about the green in our hearts than the green in our lawn.

Louisiana doesn’t need wetland restoration. It doesn’t need a protective levee system. It needs TO CONTROL WOMEN’S BODIES.

Blakely is concerned that the city, which is down from 430,000 to 260,000 residents, has 40,000 school-aged children, but no public school system.

“Birth control is probably something needed in Louisiana,” he told the audience.

Let’s go with this! The answers to rebuilding an impoverished city ravaged by corporate greed and personal profit are obvious: JUST STOP WOMEN FROM HAVING BABIES.

Thanks to Baggage Carousel 4 for humoring me on this fun thread. It was really fun to think about over this cold snap; something to occupy my mind while we get through the 4-day weekend (i.e.: no school for 4 days!) I’ll happily comply with requests from others to continue it… it’s a bit too tempting to pass up, I admit. Her questions, my answers (my favorite pseudo-question is the “ps” at the end):

uff. okay, let’s see. five questions, tailored for you. and with dissertation pressure!

1. you and i have both spent a lot of time in school, some of it even on similar subject matter. one of my biggest hangups has always been writing in textbooks – i just can’t do it. on the upside, you get more money from the bookstore when you sell them back. what’s your academic hangup? and what benefits (minor or major) does it have?

A tough one. I am similarly very specific about my note-taking: in-text/articles always, underlined, starred, or bracketed with pencil (preferred), pen, or highlighter of the warm yellow variety (NEVER any other color). Notes are written in the margins and arrows, blocks, and lines are used. The text itself is NEVER highlighted. In fact, when I look for used books, if the used book is highlighted on the text, I will contemplate buying new – it’s too distracting. An upshot is that I know my system and it works for me. Drawbacks? I can’t read without a pencil or pen in hand. I’m not sure if this is a hangup or evidence of anal-retentiveness.

I do have significant psychological blocks towards upper-level coursework organization and teaching style. I strongly prefer well-moderated, thoughtful discourse on intelligent, relevant literature. Using class to review readings, play “teaching” games, or “study” for an exam is like nails on a chalkboard to me, and if in an off mood, the responsive moaning from the depths of my tortured soul may actually be audible.

2. the answer is “cherry pie, stuffed dinosaurs, and a nickel.” what’s the question?

The question: What are three things you’d take to entertain the kids during a boring trip the doctor’s office? The cherry pie is from Hubig’s, a local pie shop that sells fresh pocket pies (nothing like the hostess stuff). The pie is their “treat” for being good at the appointment, although it is likely that when they get an opportunity to eat it, they will use it for finger paint more than food. The purpose of the stuffed dinosaurs is self-explanatory. They will use them to torture each other, which keeps them out of my hair. William will make his dinosaur ROAR in Kate’s face, Kate will laugh and use hers to beat him on the head. The nickel is in Will’s pocket. It’s his pirate money.

3. write a the most positive review possible of the worst hotel you’ve ever stayed in. be factually accurate.

The Stanley Hotel (Estes Park, CO) may have provided the inspiration for the novel “The Shining” and the Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood (OR) may have provided the exterior shots for Kubrick’s 1980 film, but the Mammoth Hot Springs Lodge in Yellowstone National Park is the real deal. Every detail –- the dusty collections of photos showcasing the hotel’s past splendor and drama, the guest rooms which mysteriously heat up like large ovens, the eerie hall bathrooms which are oddly empty, even when you distinctly hear showering and laughter from within, to the macabre stains lining your ages old in-room skin — harkens back to a time when you believed there were monsters under your bed, waiting to grab your exposed ankle in the night. Its forest setting in the beautiful mix of explosive geysers and quiet wilderness within the National Park heighten the feeling of isolation as you prepare for sleep.

If you are ready for a thrilling night — hoping to open your eyes and see rats when you hear those footsteps race across your room — then this is the place for you. A personal suggestion: even if gets unbearably hot, don’t stick your ankle out from under the covers.

4. what is absolutely, positively, non-negotiable in your life? why?

The “Alice in Wonderland” coffee mug is mine alone. (Okay, that is sometimes negotiable.)

Seriously, though, I am torn with this answer because I fear sounding cliché. But truly: my family. I grew up in a military household, my father gone for months at a time. I’m told that I understood “Da-Da” to be a tape recorder, from all the time my Mother spent pointing at it saying “Da-Da” when we would listen to the voice recordings my Dad sent from sea. I have little to no memories of my Father being a part of my daily life as a child – only homecomings and goodbyes. So, as an adult, I’ve made it a point to not separate my own family. I did not marry or have children to be separated from them, I made a family because I wanted to share my lives with them. Paul and I constantly work within compromise to determine how to progress both of our interests and careers without having to deal with separation. Since my academic and personal pursuits are strongly tied to vulnerable areas of the world -– and he is a high-level software engineer/architect –- these needs are often at odds. Because the last 4 years of my life have included being pregnant or nursing (or both) I’ve had to make even more compromises (i.e.: pulling myself from the pool of applicants for short-term jobs). Now that I am nearing the end of those physical complications, I am testing putting myself back into those opportunities. While I love the challenges of New Orleans and am fascinated, engaged, and absorbed in the study of this changing place and the enormous potentials here… I worry that my lack of multi-lateral consultancies and related experience is ultimately hurting my career. It remains to be seen how I will handle this in the coming years. I am eager for a short-term assignment abroad –- not necessarily for a dissertation, but for a JOB — so eager that Paul has actually received go-ahead to again telecommute from another time-zone if the right opportunity should arise. (Anyone working in IH know of anything??)

5. the requisite inanimate object question: you are a textbook. describe yourself, your subject, where you hang out, etc. (hey, full circle to question #1, sort of!)

I’m an ethnography, or monograph, depending on how you think of them. Usually I’m read in anthropology courses, but I occasionally pop up in theoretical, multicultural, or intersectional studies (feminist theory, Latin American studies, etc.) I hang out in local coffee houses (I may show up in a chain place, but usually only within the bag of someone more likely to show off my cover than to actually read me). I’m most likely read by chapter, copied by a professor and put in a coursepack. My content includes direct, real-life experiences of individuals and theoretical context that many within applied fields look at (to their professional loss) as irrelevant. For others, I am the book that gave them the “aha!” moment of clarity that opened up new doors for looking on the world.

and the bonus question that i didn’t make up: how much wood would a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood? and what does it mean to chuck wood, exactly?

How much? I’ve heard that he would chuck as much as he could. Wasn’t there a study about this awhile back? What does it mean? I’ll approaching it from an existentialist perspective: chucking wood means something different to each woodchuck, for whom ‘chucking wood’ symbolizes something that they want or need from an indifferent world. It could be displacing as much dirt as possible to borrow deep into the ground in escape of winter cold. It could be endlessly searching for food and eating as much as is available. Or, maybe ‘chucking wood’ is just those woodchucks gettin’ some.

p.s. between you and me, i really really tried to figure out how to work the broad street pump and living in louisiana into a question. couldn’t seem to do it. if the spirit moves you, describe what you think the two might have in common.

An excellent, inspired idea! It works on many levels.

Before the Broad Street Pump was identified as a source of cholera, London’s topography was a key suspect. Lower lying land collected more mist and fog, which were heavily suspect as sources of disease. These maps, initially for topography, lead to the identification of pumps as key factors in collections of disease (as I understand the story to play out). Topography is an obvious issue within New Orleans, where mere inches can make a huge difference in risk (perceived and realized). After Katrina, topography is a major factor in media reports and city planning – coming up for discussion when politically advantageous. However, pointing to topography as a sole source of risk among any city’s population would be missing a huge piece of the puzzle (as seen by the example of the Broad Street Pump). Assessing London via topography may tell a story, just as it tells a story in Louisiana – but in Louisiana (as in London) it will not necessarily be the source of a solution. The Broad Street Pump may be a lesson to Southeast Louisiana: the risk of disease within a population may best be measured through the services it uses to survive. Perhaps the very life-lines of a population could be what cripple it.

I’m not suggesting that the vulnerable in SE Louisiana be cut off from services, ala “breaking the handle of the pump,” but I am suggesting that the ‘well’ may in fact be a factor in how poverty and risk play out in this environment. Ending the epidemics in this city may take the kind of bold and brash move John Snow did as he broke the handle off the pump supplying the city with tainted water — we may need someone to end the forces that supply the city with an anemic social service sector, a failing, for-profit health system, and an unequal distribution of aid, rebuilding, and homemaking… for starters.

An unexpected, but not completely irrational, semi-offer passed in front of me today.

Before seeing the doctor for my quickie-surgery, I met with my committee chair. We talked about my prospectus, my committee, and the little side work I’m doing for him (ridiculous stuff that gives him an excuse to have me on payroll), when he causally mentions that his GAP partners need someone in India.

My ears perked up. “Really? Where in India?”

Unfortunately, the job is not in Delhi, it’s in Chennai. It’s a short term contract (4-6 months). It’s a good job, one I’m very interested in (Project Manager for a GAP project using RDS with MSM geared at HIV prevention). And it would pay well. And I could negotiate some data to use for my dissertation (that’s right, get paid to do a dissertation. That’s the usual way it’s done at Tulane.) And I could probably get done in the next school year.

I don’t know where this will lead, if they’ve already filled the position, or if I could negotiate what I’d need to make it happen. But it really gave me pause.

Hans Rosling of Gapminder has a wonderful presentation (right on the gapminder site) showcasing how animation technology may be used to, well, make data more interesting. The data presented follows global trends in health, fertility, mortality, and wealth — but the way it’s animated helps to show the dynamics of these changes over time. It is a good reminder of how data actually reflects life and all of its contexts. What impressed me was the ease of disaggregating data to show variations within groups — very, very cool.

I would seriously LOVE to use this stuff once I have my dissertation data…!

Hat tip to Baggage Carousel 4!

Paul spent the last week in Sierra Vista, Arizona, leaving me as a single mother with two children and no bathtub. Lucky for me, our friendly neighbors were more than willing to let us use their tub. Even luckier for me, Violet spent a few days here during her vacation tour of the Gulf Coast.Violet was our neighbor in Michigan and she and her husband, Millard, are friends and role models. It was a bummer that Paul missed her visit, but frankly, she came at the perfect time. As a research-minded, academy-familiar, professional mother of two, Violet is just about the only person I feel completely comfortable talking to about my professional endeavors because She Gets It. I found out Monday afternoon that my Wenner Gren application did not get advanced, mostly because the reviewer felt it lacked in “theoretical anthropological significance.” Considering my committee chair, a Wenner Gren reviewer for several years, felt it was easily one of the top he’s read, I felt a bit wounded by the letter. But after an evening of licking my wounds, I was able to brush it off and move on.

So Tuesday, I had a meeting with another committee member, who was shocked at Wenner Gren’s decision, but felt it a good thing for two reasons: my focus is so much changed that it may have been worth taking a new funding direction and increase the budget. Current literature on RDS suggests using a Deft (design effect) greater than 2, greatly increasing sample size. That, combined with recent changes in focus, was putting things in a different light. I felt better after discussing all of this with Beth. But I felt even better after talking it over with Violet, who immediately advised brushing it off and going for more. *sigh*

Wednesday, I spent the day with Violet. We went to a local gym, where I oogled the FOUR outdoor pools (two just for kids) and contemplated how many organs I’d have to sell for a summer membership to take the kids to the pool. We enjoyed breakfast at Oak Street Cafe while Charlie entertained in the background. In the afternoon, we toured the 9th ward (particularly the lower 9, downstream from the industrial canal) — my first time in going post-Katrina (more on that in another post). In the evening, we left the kids with favorite babysitter and friend Michelle and had an UH-MAZING dinner at Dick and Jenny’s. And each night, Violet helped me get the kids bathed and in bed. It was wonderful.

Thursday, we took a walk in Audubon Park. We noticed the egrets and ibis (and maybe others?) mating and nesting in the trees at Ochsner Island, passed the violin player practicing under the oaks, and regrouped. Before leaving, Violet came to Abeona to take a few pictures with the kids.
Thanks, Violet, for a wonderful visit!

“Want to read one of the exams? You can read my answer key.”

“Okay… although it’s not very exciting.”

“Not exciting? The logistics of what to do when 50,000 people come pouring into another country… I think it’s fascinating!”

“I already know what to do.”

“Yes?”

“Give 1.5 billion to Halliburton.”