January 31, 2006

She's Back!

On Friday, when the packing material was removed from my nose (in a fascinating moment that I won't describe out of deference to the reader), I still looked very strange. The swelling hadn't gone down much at all by the end of the day. In fact, it had spread to my upper lip, so that I had not just an enormous beak but a mouth that looked like a cartoonist's interpretation of a feminine smile.

But the same ears, eyes, hairline and jaw I always carry around.

Saturday I was halfway back, and went into Attila the Hub's office to show off my nose—only somewhat oversized by then. "Wow," he told me. "I haven't seen you in a while." I hadn't, either.

On Sunday I looked like myself, which was delightful. At that point I admitted that I'd been afraid something might go terribly wrong, and I'd always look like the product of a funhouse mirror.

Now I still have to wear the bandage on my face, but I can take it off for as much as an hour at a time, and even breathe through The Organ In Question a little bit.

I can see people's eyes pivot to the bandage, and then away as they realize it isn't polite to stare. A woman went up to me to say hello today, and just as I was wondering whether I knew her, she explained "I've been there." Ah, yes. It was that gauze chic look I was sporting. We're sisters in facelessness.

"Deviated septum?" I asked.

"And other breathing problems," she told me.

"I get the stints taken out of my nose this coming Friday," I remarked.

"It'll be great then. That's when you can really start breathing out of it."

Good to know. Until then, I've instructed my husband to call me Mistress Mucus. He likes that. "I'm out to do errands, Mistress M. See you later," he'll call over his shoulder on his way out the door.

I'm just so lucky to have had the opportunity for a procedure like this. I'm grateful, and happy to be living in a time and place where these problems can be fixed.

And grateful to my husband, who took a crappy union job last year that got me back onto the Luxurious Health Plan long enough to take care of my dainty (but apparenly malformed) schnoz.

Now go eat something. Enjoy the whole set of flavors, including those you need a sense of smell to perceive.

I'll be there soon.

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State of the Union

Nice work, overall. I enjoyed the shot the President took at Teddy Kennedy. (Oh, come on. Do you think that segment on the importance of civility in debate was random?)

Bush is trying so hard not to smirk, and it just isn't in his nature: that goofy grin keeps sneaking back onto his face.

I'm wondering if anyone out there who voted for John Kerry perceived this, or whether perhaps it's a sign of bias on my part, but I really felt that G.W. at least tried to act the part of a parent adjudicating a dispute between children when he spoke of current Republican-Democrat tensions. With the mood so tense in the Senate lately, I felt he was attempting to communicate a sense of "don't make me stop this car!"

Most of my GOP friends won't be happy with his approach to immigration, but I am. Malkin, for example, probably gagged when he spoke about the guest worker program.

Energy policy: the olive branch here was in his not uttering the phrase "drilling in ANWR," but I found the "green" segment of the speech less startling than many probably will. Some of these government subsidies will indeed turn into boondoggles, but the fact remains that we need to lessen our dependence on foreign oil, so there is a need for a multipronged approach. And it wasn't like Bush was out there wearing his metaphorical Birkenstocks, either: he emphasized the fact that nuclear energy has to be part of the new game plan.

Hamas and Iran: These were both compelling moments in the speech, and the only two times that W. looked directly into the camera. He sent the same message twice ("do not fuck around with us, because we're serious"). And he delivered it forcefully.

And it was a nice touch, saying a few lines to the Iranian people. It's critical that we make the distinction between unfree people and the governments that oppress them.

And watching Mrs. Clinton, who could barely keep from rolling her eyes as she usually does during these addresses, I began to think some of us have exaggerated the threat she supposedly poses to the GOP: this pose of being above it all is not one that wil endear her to the American people. Her conduct on these occasions makes it harder to believe she's learned anything from her indisputably brilliant husband.

She is not, at heart, a real politician. She just happened to marry well.

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Scott Ott

The author of Scrappleface has lost his grandmother, who raised him and his three brothers. She sounds like a remarkable woman. It's decent and sweet of Scott to give us a glimpse into his family history—particularly while they are dealing with this enormous loss.

Please remember his grandmother—and the rest of his family—in your prayers. (Or send positive energy, for those of you who have difficulty anthropomorphizing God.)


(h/t: Cassandra.)

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Steyn on the Cumulous Clouds of Hamas

. . . and their hammered sterling linings.

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The Way I Figure It,

Teddy Kennedy and Samuel Alito are having a passionate affair. It's really the only explanation that makes sense.


(h/t: Goldstein, who as I understand it does not endorse my theory)

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The Day You First Got This

. . . would be a bad day, indeed.

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January 30, 2006

Just Heading Out to the Store.

Does anyone want some cheese or furniture while I'm out?

How about some beer? Or candy?

Alternatively, you know—I could get you some sort of breakfast pastry.

Laurence says we can stop now, but I happen to like breakfast pastry a lot.

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Foster

. . . on the possibility that we're breaking through on solar power. (Yes; the subsidies will have to go, but go read: there may be some real potential there.)

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Making Cindy Sheehan Your Paper Doll

. . . is almost as good as making her your punk. So, go.

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January 29, 2006

Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,

Oh, what a beautiful day:

John Lasseter, the creative chief of Pixar Animation Studios, has wasted no time asserting who is boss after Pixar's takeover by Walt Disney - by stopping production of Toy Story 3, the controversial sequel to the two wildly successful animated films.

The original Toy Story, completed in 1995, was the first major collaboration between Pixar and Disney. Thehighly lucrative partnership went on to produce the hits Toy Story 2, A Bug's Life, Finding Nemo, Monsters Inc and The Incredibles.

However, the joint venture became strained, partly because of personality clashes between the then Disney chief executive, Michael Eisner, and Pixar's chief executive, Steve Jobs, and partly because of Disney's desire to keep the Toy Story franchise running with a third and forth movie.

Mr Lasseter was deeply opposed to the idea but Disney went ahead, as it owns the intellectual property, putting 100 scriptwriters, animators and other creative staff to work on Toy Story 3 at its own Walt Disney Studios animation complex in Burbank, California.

On Wednesday, less than 24 hours after Mr Jobs and Disney's new chief executive, Bob Iger, unveiled the merger, Mr Lasseter went to Burbank with Pixar's president, Ed Catmull. He announced that Toy Story 3 would now be scrapped, without a word about the fate of the animation team.

According to talk in Hollywood, Disney was struggling with a script in which Buzz Lightyear, one of the two stars, developed a fault and had to be recalled to Taiwan for repairs.

According to regulatory filings in the US, the Disney-Pixar deal gives Mr Lasseter creative control over all of the two studios' animated film output, while still maintaining Pixar's independence.

Emphasis mine; the sun's coming up.

The Observer has this piece, which was obviously written by a business writer who doesn't get the often-ignored truth that entertainment is an industry unlike all others. (This is one of main reasons studios can be destroyed by freshly minted MBAs with no concept of how paramount storylines are to the telling, of, well, stories: in the words of my freakin' brilliant scriptwriter spouse, "for all they care, some of these executives could be making widgets. All 'product' is the same in their eyes.")

Disney's new chief executive, Bob Iger, has wasted no time restoring some lustre to the Magic Kingdom. The multi-billion-dollar acquisition of Pixar, the studio that inherited its reputation for making blockbuster, family-friendly films, is part of his plan to place animation back at the heart of the Disney empire. It also signals the end of a long battle between the two studios, in which Pixar's better use of new technology ultimately proved decisive.

No. Pixar's movies are not better than Disney's from the last decade because of technological superiority. After all, anyone can hire the best special-effects shops in town to produce whatever they want. Pixar's movies are superior because they are better written. And you can go back to the shorts they were making back in the 1980s—before Steve Jobs came aboard, and before they ever turned a profit—and see the commitment to quality productions. Not productions that look good as still cels lining the walls of high-end galleries in L.A., New York, and Santa Fe: quality productions with engaging characters and intriguing story arcs.

If Jobs and Lasseter may really create a "student rebellion" against the autocratic mullahs of Disney Animation, it will be a beautiful day indeed.


(h/t: K's Quest)

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Rule Number One: Know When You're Fucked Up

It's not always so easy. When they woke me up Thursday a few minutes after the operation, I was fascinated by my surroundings: I wanted to know why the thingamabobs suspended from the ceilings had so many hooks in them. I wanted to know why I was in the bed to the left, rather than the bed to the right (this was because I was in the recovery room, which other than its lighting was a bit like the operating room: but I was in a different "slot" therein). I wanted to know the race of the man next to me, and why his moans sounded more like they came from pleasure than from pain.

But I didn't want to be much trouble. I did ask why I was now to the left of the room, and I enquired about the hooks. I figured out, however, that when I was too active I tended to alarm the nurses and attendents milling about. So once they took my oxygen mask off I kept trying until I could raise my head and shoulders a bit and look around. And as soon as the nurses turned their heads, I lay back down and returned to staring at the hooks in the ceiling, like a good patient.

I was taken back to my room, and there was a delay about informing my husband and my mother that I was out of surgery. So I asked another nurse about his shark tattoo, and requested cranberry juice, and tried to call my mother's and husband's cell phones, which weren't receiving very well in the hospital. Finally, my husband came looking for me, and we had a grand little reunion while I told them how absorbing all the equipment was, and how lucky a person I am.

And there were a lot of blessings in this experience, such as having a private room to recuperate in for a few hours after surgery. And the Latino nurses who provide "muscle," and specialize in moving patients from place to place. They had nice tattoos as well, and one of them was full of compliments, keeping me well supplied with warm blankets and telling me how beautiful I looked after the operation when I knew darned well I didn't. ("And why is that important?" I hear you ask. Because at the Motion Picture and Television Hospital there are a lot of aging actresses who have essentially been seduced and discarded by elements of the entertainment industry. If they are treated kindly and decently by their health-care providers—and flirted with just a little by the hospital staff—it's a humane and marvelous thing.)

I'd always been raised to aspire to stoicism, so when my husband asked me whether I was in pain I attributed my headache to being dehydrated and assured him it would be over soon. It wasn't, of course, as I'm sure he realized, as he stood over me, wiping the blood away from my eye, which was oozing a little. Another hour later a second wave of pain made me realize there was more going on than dehydration: getting the inside of your face carved up eventually makes your neurons hum fairly loudly.

Why now?I thought, and realized what would have been obvious to anyone blessed with a little common sense. "Oh, I must have been high as a fucking kite for the first two hours after I got out."

"Well," my husband conceded, "you were a little loopy when we arrived."

"What was the tipoff?—when I told you that I longed for my keyboard in the recovery room, so I could live-blog the experience of waking up from surgery?"

"Well, you know. Any time you have an operation and wake up really interested in your surroundings, the chances are that you're stoned out of your mind."

Attila the Hub, you'll note, has a healthy relationship with the practical world. I'm really glad that someone around here does.

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Google Is Your Friend.

And, as with most friends, there's a point when you want to say, "fuck you."

I'm still mulling the whole thing over. I most certainly don't think the stance Google is taking here vis a vis the DOJ obligates them not to cooperate with the Chinese government: after all, privacy is a different issue from free speech. I think there's something to be said for Stephen Green's contention that this may not turn into a big deal in the long run. And of course there is the argument that the Chinese may be better off with half a Google versus none at all.

But the capitulation to "local standards and laws" leaves a very bad taste in my mouth, and makes me eager to try other search engines.

Goldstein has some thoughts, as does Esmay and his crew. And, of course, Malkin is furious in a fun way.

"Don't be evil," indeed. Try not being dickweeds, Boys.

Anyone know how to change the default search engine on Safari?

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January 28, 2006

Tunnel of Love

Paging Michael Connelly.

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Progress, of a Sort (Warning: Disgusting Post)

My nose is now producing more traditional fluids, in addition to those we might associate with emergencies.

And under the bandages I look a lot less like a corpse and a lot more like I'm just ugly.

I actually have two meetings on Sunday, though, so I'm hoping the swelling goes down and the biological material is less copius. Otherwise I'll have to show up sporting the bandaged look. Very chic.

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January 27, 2006

On "Palestine."

Neo has some thoughts; the anti-Semites come out to play in her comments section. Also, keep scrolling: she's got a roundup of blogger reactions on her main page.

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January 26, 2006

Yes.

Everything went well. I'm trying to take it easy on the Vicodan—a decision I'm almost certain to regret at some point.

I look extraordinarily ugly, of course, even if you discount the bits of dried blood under my nose and one eye. Attila the Hub got one frame off with his phone camera; I'll try to remember to post it over the next several days.

They tell me, however, that uninhibited nose-breathing can be utterly intoxicating.

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Least Successful Singles Profile Blurbs

I suppose you think youÂ’re better than me--just like the rest of them
Looking for someone to share the wonder of desperate, clawing loneliness
I have a really big heart! In the refrigerator
Could YOU be the one to help me forget my pain?
Have successfully completed three straight months of Pier One papasan chair payments
I want to end my parade of lies with someone special

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Okay. Goodnight.

I'm going to bed, and I'll be gone/drugged-up most of tomorrow, getting reconstructive surgery done to the inside of my nose. Which means I will not live up to one of my life's ambitions: keeping sharp utensils away from my mucus membranes.

They'll put me completely under for this, so I'll probably be away from the keyboard most of the day. Hubris has some goodies here for you from his lovely, twisted mind, and Rightwing Sparkle will probably be by at some point to say hello.

Sweet dreams. See those knives? Get 'em away from your nose: I can still save you from my mistakes.

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I Lost My Podcast Virginity

to Glenn and Dr. Helen, who were interviewing Norah Vincent, of Self-Made Man fame.

Vincent's story is fascinating; I want to read this book immediately, though there are a few ahead of it in the reading queue.

The Glenn and Helen Show couldn't be more homey; it's without pretense, as the Instapundit blog is. I was surprised at Dr. Helen's Southern accent, which was stupid of me. Dr. H, in particular, was extraordinarily down to earth: clearly, teaching has given Glenn an edge over some of us in speaking before (potentially) large groups.

My favorite line was Glenn's signoff: "we'll be back again when we feel like it." Nice.

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January 25, 2006

This Sound Distinctly

. . . familiar. Probably because I've been having similar conversations for years.

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