Month: October 2007

  • DTC Pharmaceutical Marketing

    I think the level of banality in television advertising is reflective of the across-the-board poverty of imagination in our culture.  Clever has disappeared, nostalgic is waving good-bye, and topics which used to be unspeakable in polite company have taken their spots. 

    Honestly, who cares to have female cycles and male malfunctions trumpeted in his or her living room?

    I woke up this morning wondering when/how/why things had changed. 

    Pharmaceutical companies used to hawk their wares in medical journals and with sales reps in doctors’ offices.  In 1997 the FDA relaxed restrictions and a new acronym was born.  DTC.  Direct to consumer.  The United States and New Zealand are the only countries which allow DTC advertising.  The amounts spent on persuasion of the consumer, according to this Wikipedia article, have grown from $700 million in 1997 to $4 billion in 2004.

    Do you remember the early commercials and the problems they promised to fix?  Hair loss, allergies and arthritis.  Next came depression, high blood pressure, restless legs and the fluttering butterflies which were a picture of uninterrupted sleep.  Before long we’re talking about female cycles and male malfunctions.  What could possibly come next?  Abortificants?  Advertising for STD drugs? 

    What are the ramifications of this massive cultural change? 

    The belief that prescription drugs will fix any problem you have is increasing.  The normalization of popping pills has already occurred.  The patient now leads the doctor, initiating exams and demanding the purple pill.  There is no or precious little thought about side effects, complicating the chemistry of the body; we steadfastly ignore lifestyle changes which could ameliorate the condition.

    Visual History of Pharmaceutical Drug Ads
    Article debating pros and cons of DTC
    Pro-DTC article

    “Better living through chemistry”  has become the motto of our people. 

    I’m reading this with the words from a friend echoing in my ears: “There are no billings for AMG386 because it’s an experimental drug. I am thankful for the drug companies.”  Drugs really can make a difference in the quality of life.  My objection is to DMC.

  • Work as Opportunity

    Far and away the best prize that life offers
    is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.

    ~ Theodore Roosevelt

    Agree or disagree?

  • Snoring = Sleeping With Enthusiasm

    “My grandma always said that people who snored
    were sleeping with enthusiasm.”

           ~ Jenna Boller in Rules of the Road by Joan Bauer.

    I’ve been immersed in a genre that I rarely read: Young Adult Fiction. 
    This book is one of the best of that bunch. 
    Joan Bauer is a new favorite author of mine.

    Jenna Boller is five-foot-eleven-inch, sixteen-year girl.  Living with an alchoholic father has made Jenna, the oldest daughter, strong and resilient.  “I was always cleaning up after him.”  The combination of a flourishing work ethic and good training has made her a valued sales associate at Gladstone’s Shoe Store.  Mrs. Gladstone, the opinionated seventy-three year old owner of a well-respected chain of shoe stores, hires Jenna to drive her from Chicago to Dallas.  Along the way they visit shoe stores, Mrs. Gladstone upfront as the owner and Jenna as a secret shopper/spy.

    The Shoe Warehouse wants to buy Gladstone’s stores, substituting plastic for leather, inflating the bottom line but decreasing quality, omitting service, and changing the mission from “great shoes at fair prices” to “decent shoes at warehouse prices.” 

    There is a buoyancy in Bauer’s writing, an innate but subtle humor which saturates every chapter.  That’s why I’ll be hunting more of her books.

    “And now, young woman, how much experience have you had driving in storms?”  ~ “Not much, ma’am.”  I opened the back door for her and watched her get in. “Unless you’re talking metaphorically,” I added, “and then I’m a total ace.” p. 47

    Two Golden Sales Rules:
    1) Care about people more than what you’re selling.
    2) Never miss a good opportunity to shut up. p. 150

    You know you’ve been with old people too long
    when you can pick out the subtle differences between
    Count Basie’s and Duke Ellington’s piano playing. p.115

    For too long we just let Dad’s drinking go by without anyone
    saying anything much about it, calling it a little problem.
    You’ve got to call a thing by its full name and that’s what
    lets the truth out where it can get some fresh air. p.84

    “You just remember, never go punching
    a man who’s chewing tobacco.”     p.95

     

  • Dear Da, Dear Frankie

    When I wrote about our upcoming trip to Scotland, I asked for books you would recommend.  Alfonso commented, recommending Dear Frankie.  It is seldom that I find more than one movie I really, really like in one season year.  And after Sweet Land, I believe I’ve filled my quota. 

    Let’s get the problems out of the way:  there is some language, the worst kind (I’d rather hear a f-bomb before a casual muttering of the Lord’s name – and I loathe the f-bomb).  The ending wasn’t credible from my point of view and lacked consistency with the tenor of the entire movie.  In one sense it was too neat and tidy; however, it left one key relationship unresolved.

    What this movie illustrates is a profound father hunger which I believe we are all born with.  Some are blessed to have that hunger assuaged, others know the gnawing bite which takes up residence.  I’ve said before that the most attractive traits in a potential husband are the ones which would make him a good dad. 

    The silences in this movie are full of drama and tension.  Much can be communicated without words. 

    The dialog is delightful – in heaven I’m sure we’ll speak in a lilting Scottish brogue, swallowing our tees and ending sentences with an upward tones.  If you have a hard time catching the words, try watching it with subtitles. 

    This movie gives a great view of the Edinburgh residents see – the city outside of the Royal Mile. 

    Thank you, Alfonso, very, very much. 

      

  • O’er the Land of the Free

    I was the last patient seen by my dentist/friend last night after waiting two hours.  I think the dental assistant saw how content I was in the chair with my Sudoku. And she had some not-so-content patients to deal with. 

    When I got home I was desolate to hear that James Taylor sang the National Anthem for Game 2 of the World Series.  With his guitar! Desolate that I missed it. 

    Then I remembered: we live in America where any media event is soon available to one and all.  So I’ve been checking YouTube and was finally rewarded with this.

    I am an opinionated National Anthem critic.   Here’s what annoys me:  trying to do something new that has never been done before; note-bending which goes on and on; screeching on the top notes; poor breath control.  The very worst, the most excruciating performance is where the performer(s) slip off the pitch. 

    I loved JT’s take on it.  His chords were varied and pleasing to the ear.  He picked a low enough key that was comfortable to sing in and comfortable to listen to.  His singing was wonderful, straight-forward, simple.  The guitar playing was a folk-style with broken chords.  There were no dramatic codas, no “look-at-me” theatrics, just a pure, simple, gracious, unadorned National Anthem.

    Thanks, James Taylor.

    **Added Later:  Do you want more James Taylor?  Go to this video and move the cursor to 1:30.  He’s doing a sound check and sings a gorgeous “America”.  My husband liked this even better than the National Anthem.  Not only is this guy’s voice pure mountain water – he is a first rate musician.  Those chords!!  Those full rich augmented and diminished chords.  I think the essence of chords (maybe of life itself) is in the thirds and sevenths.


  • Fine Art Friday

    We note Fine Art Friday in our home by watching Sister Wendy. 

    I discovered the Watch Instantly tab on Netflix a couple of months ago.  You get to watch the same number of hours that you spend in dollars per month.  We are happy with the basement package of $4.99, which translates to five hours of free instant watching on the computer.  I can watch some movies which hold no interest for the other occupants of this household.  We had to download Internet Explorer 6 to use this feature – Firefox didn’t work.

    Back to Sister Wendy.  On Fridays we watch one ten-minute segment of her Grand Tour. 

    It is a nice length: she’s a dear, but one could easily get too much at one sitting.  

    Like the daily poetry, my goal is regular exposure to the true, the beautiful and the good. 

     

  • The Endless Coda

    This guy is funny!  Since several of you commented that you were unfamiliar with Billy Collins, I decided to give you another poem. 


    Another Reason Why I Don’t Keep A Gun In The House

    The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
    He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
    that he barks every time they leave the house.
    They must switch him on on their way out.

    The neighbors’ dog will not stop barking.
    I close all the windows in the house
    and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
    but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
    barking, barking, barking,

    and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
    his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
    had included a part for barking dog.

    When the record finally ends he is still barking,
    sitting there in the oboe section barking,
    his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
    entreating him with his baton

    while the other musicians listen in respectful
    silence to the famous barking dog solo,
    that endless coda that first established
    Beethoven as an innovative genius.


        Billy Collins

    Don’t you just love new discoveries?  Especially serendipitous ones? Particularly serendipitous literary ones?

    What does today hold for you?  My day is full: tutoring, annual doctor’s check up, piano lessons, a dentist appointment to fix a migrating tooth, and another chance to watch the Red Sox win!!  We don’t watch baseball until the World Series and then we revel in it!

  • Evacuation



    While the air in southern California was choked and mucked up with smoke, charred chunks, whirling dirt, and other corruptions, the Lord saw fit to give us these blue skies yesterday.  And while half a million–a number one can barely comprehend–half a million people were evacuated, we saw the aftermath of evacuation in our little corner of the world. 

    My husband, who sheriffs the front lawn for unwelcome piles, gave us a little lesson on scatology yesterday. 

    Deer leave tiny little pebbles.

    This thick one here is from a bear – see all the seeds in it?  Yep, we have a resident bear in the neighborhood.

    I thought about taking a picture (how often do you see bear doo in your yard?) but it was too gross. 

    *     *     *     *     *

    Prayer for those suffering loss of homes
    (taken from Lutheran Prayer Book “In Business Reverses”)

    The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away;
    blessed be the name of the Lord.

    O my heavenly Father, I, Thy poor, harassed child,
    come to Thee for comfort, for peace, and for aid.

    Thou knowest even better than I
    the worries and anxious forebodings
    that are troubling my heart and mind.

    Whither shall I flee in my distress but to Thee,
    my gracious, omnipotent Father?

    Let these losses teach me the fleetingness
    and vanity of all earthly riches.
    Create in me that godliness
    and contentment which is great gain.

    Strengthen Thou me that I may remain
    firmly clinging to the word of Thy promise,
    Fear not, for I will never leave thee
    nor forsake thee.

  • Enough to Make Us Even

    It’s an embarrassing thing to admit, but I had never been introduced to the poet Billy Collins until I read a poem in the daily email sent to me a few weeks ago from The Writer’s Almanac.  Now I run into him about every fifteen minutes. Carrie followed through and posted more Billy Collins. I’ve only read bits and pieces, but the bits I’ve heard have been refreshing and funny and surprising and engaging and simply wonderful.  He mixes the mysterious and the evident with a deft hand. 

    I picked up Billy Collins Live at the library and listened straight through it twice tonight. I started it and dinner at the same time. My son was cooking the bass; he started laughing and turned up the volume.  We told Curt about poem after poem and convinced him to listen to the CD after dinner.  After chores were completed we sprawled out on the furniture, dimmed the lights and listened as a family.  My, my, my.  If you want to interest someone in poetry (even if that person is yourself) go with Billy Collins. 

    My favorite poem from this CD is long and I know that means most of you will click away without reading through it.  But if you’ve ever been to summer camp and made those plastic lanyards this poem will resonate — it will ring true, I promise you.  As I listened to this I could see the old red barn converted to a low-ceilinged craft shop at Bair Lake Bible Camp.  I could feel the slippery plastic and remember the frustration of a loose braid.  And I could hear the piercing whistle that usually hung at the end of the lanyard.

    The Lanyard

    Billy Collins

    The other day I was ricocheting slowly
    off the blue walls of this room,
    moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano,
    from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
    when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
    where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

    No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
    could send one into the past more suddenly—
    a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
    by a deep Adirondack lake
    learning how to braid long thin plastic strips
    into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

    I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
    or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
    but that did not keep me from crossing
    strand over strand again and again
    until I had made a boxy
    red and white lanyard for my mother.

    She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
    and I gave her a lanyard.
    She nursed me in many a sick room,
    lifted spoons of medicine to my lips,
    laid cold face-cloths on my forehead,
    and then led me out into the airy light

    and taught me to walk and swim,
    and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
    Here are thousands of meals, she said,
    and here is clothing and a good education.
    And here is your lanyard, I replied,
    which I made with a little help from a counselor.

    Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
    strong legs, bones and teeth,
    and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
    and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
    And here, I wish to say to her now,
    is a smaller gift—not the worn truth

    that you can never repay your mother,
    but the rueful admission that when she took
    the two-tone lanyard from my hand,
    I was as sure as a boy could be
    that this useless, worthless thing I wove
    out of boredom would be enough to make us even.

    Billy Collins. 

    We must get to know him, my friend. 

    Or maybe I should say, why haven’t you told me about him before? 

  • Today’s Lesson: Attendance

    photo by brother Dan

    Now to learn to think while being taught presupposes the other difficult art of paying attention.

    Nothing is more rare: listening seems to be the hardest thing in the world and misunderstanding the easiest, for we tend to hear what we think we are going to hear, and too often we make it so.  In a lifetime one is lucky to meet six or seven people who know how to attend: the rest, some of whom believe themselves well-bred and highly educated, have for the most part fidgety ears; their span of attention if as short as the mating of a fly.

    ~  Jacques Barzun, Teacher in America as quoted in Study is Hard Work by William H. Armstrong