A friend, who in addition to her considerable duties as a Gymnasium teacher runs a B&B, offered to take in two refugees, and the first has arrived. She speaks no Arabic and he speaks no German, French, or English, the languages she tried. She showed the middle-aged man up to her best bedroom, thinking he'd be relieved to have a nice view and plenty of space. He shook his head, and after a number of gestures she understood that the room did not meet his expectations. He wanted a TV. She took him to the other bedroom, which is much smaller, but does include a TV. He frowned. Too small.
If you're already either laughing or feeling outraged, don't. And don't expect people with terrible experiences to remember their manners. Maybe he'll calm down. I'll see her in a day or two, and if he does, I'll update the post. UPDATE: He speaks German after all, at least enough to communicate basic needs, but seems to have been unable to speak it on the day he arrived. He locks his room door whenever he leaves his room, even if only for a few moments, like to go to the bathroom. But the refrigerator door gets left open. The garden gate, too, and even the front door . . . classic signs of trauma: "I am in charge around here!" This man is desperate to feel that he can control his world. He was a professional, much sought after in his field, a lucrative one, back in Syria. Here, he has no chance. A middle-aged guy losing his profession loses his identity.
I'm surprised he's only leaving doors open. He can't seem to stop doing this, even though he does try.
I'm surprised he's managing to put together his own meals. The door should be open to him, to his loved ones. The German door. The European door. And his life, his belongings, his world, should be safe. So his own private domain is carefully locked.
When my husband and I had dinner with friends involved in helping refugees, I heard similar tales: a man who had been living in a nice apartment at the expense of the local Catholic church disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving a note explaining he had become terribly homesick and had to return to his country of origin which is not, fortunately, at war--it's just that there's no work or possibility of getting an education there. He didn't pay the small amount he was supposed to pay for gas and electricity.
Another refugee had dinner at our house, sat silently, sadly, and toward the end of the evening relaxed a bit, and in the car--my husband was driving him back to where he's staying with friends--the man said he really desperately needed a desk. He was studying and had no desk. My husband turned the car around, since we have several unused desks in the basement. The man looked the desks over gravely and decided none of them would do. He would maybe go to Ikea.
If I had lost everything, if I had seen death, if I had braved oceans, I don't think I'd be particularly reasonable. When I think how my lack of sleep when my children were young turned me into a meanie, and I try to multiply that crankiness by the experiences of Syrian and other refugees, I begin to understand. People need to make choices, and to believe that they are in charge of their lives. Most of the time, I believe that I'm in charge of mine, but of course that illusion is the thing that makes me relatively sane. Anything could happen, any day. I am lucky that I haven't faced such utter loss so far.
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Tuesday, February 2, 2016
Something is Rotten in the State of Denmark: Robbing from Refugees
According to The New York Times,
A law approved by the Danish legislators allows immigration authorities to seize valuable items, including jewelry and cash, to offset the cost of resettling them.
Move over, Nazis. I thought the Danes were the good guys. I thought most Scandinavian countries were the good guys in the Syrian resettlement saga. Sweden, until recently, did what the Statue of Liberty was always supposed to do: welcome the tired, the poor, the huddled masses trying to get away from terror.
The Danish justification for its policy of seizing the personal belongings of refugees is that the refugees should not get a better deal than Danish citizens who happen to be on welfare, because such unfortunate citizens are not allowed to possess assets valuable enough to make welfare payments unnecessary.
If you're running from watching your mother choke her life away on poison gas, or your child beheaded while still clutching her doll, or your city reduced to rubble, and you manage to grab grandma's pearls on the way out of the building that's crumbling as you leave it, you're supposed to hand the necklace over? If you've spent days on a leaky boat, then half- froze to death crossing Eastern Europe while Hungarians throw expletives, or worse, at you--you're supposed to hand over the wad of cash you grabbed off the table before you left? Your credit card? The deed to the house that might still be standing if you get to go back? Your grandmother's fur coat? If a refugee walked across the border with the Syrian equivalent of the Hope diamond in her pocket, she should keep it. What Denmark is doing now is a form of rape--ripping away memory and identity from people who have already been robbed of everything worth having. Plus, the Danish government reserves the right to strip-search. More rape.
Supposing you'd been at the top of the doomed tower on September 11, 2001 and you'd grabbed your pocketbook on the way downstairs. Would the city of New York have had a right to take your pocketbook to pay for the mess the terrorists made?
Denmark is expected to know better. Bad Karma, Denmark--this policy will, in the end, harm you, is harming you right now.
A law approved by the Danish legislators allows immigration authorities to seize valuable items, including jewelry and cash, to offset the cost of resettling them.
Move over, Nazis. I thought the Danes were the good guys. I thought most Scandinavian countries were the good guys in the Syrian resettlement saga. Sweden, until recently, did what the Statue of Liberty was always supposed to do: welcome the tired, the poor, the huddled masses trying to get away from terror.
The Danish justification for its policy of seizing the personal belongings of refugees is that the refugees should not get a better deal than Danish citizens who happen to be on welfare, because such unfortunate citizens are not allowed to possess assets valuable enough to make welfare payments unnecessary.
If you're running from watching your mother choke her life away on poison gas, or your child beheaded while still clutching her doll, or your city reduced to rubble, and you manage to grab grandma's pearls on the way out of the building that's crumbling as you leave it, you're supposed to hand the necklace over? If you've spent days on a leaky boat, then half- froze to death crossing Eastern Europe while Hungarians throw expletives, or worse, at you--you're supposed to hand over the wad of cash you grabbed off the table before you left? Your credit card? The deed to the house that might still be standing if you get to go back? Your grandmother's fur coat? If a refugee walked across the border with the Syrian equivalent of the Hope diamond in her pocket, she should keep it. What Denmark is doing now is a form of rape--ripping away memory and identity from people who have already been robbed of everything worth having. Plus, the Danish government reserves the right to strip-search. More rape.
Supposing you'd been at the top of the doomed tower on September 11, 2001 and you'd grabbed your pocketbook on the way downstairs. Would the city of New York have had a right to take your pocketbook to pay for the mess the terrorists made?
Denmark is expected to know better. Bad Karma, Denmark--this policy will, in the end, harm you, is harming you right now.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
The Nuts Allergy and The Restaurant
The Critical Mom is very allergic to nuts--the siren-whirling, ambulance-calling kind of allergy, and one that's often easy to deal with in large American cities, where nut-free zones have become popular. But tonight when my husband took me out to dinner for my birthday to the cute little Italian place--oh, it reminded me of the village! It reminded me of Bleeker Street!--I ended up in a bad situation. No hospital this time--two spoonfuls into my tartufo, I realized I'd eaten something with nuts. My tongue itched and saliva was pouring into my mouth. If you were a pediatrician and you'd taken my blood pressure you'd think it was fine--a regular internist would have blanched and hoped it wouldn't drop.
The spaghetti alla vongole proved delicious: filled with fresh parsley, juicy little clams, and some elegantly garlicky olive oil. The waiter did not approve when I added cheese, and looked as though he might faint when I drank Lambrusco. He actually told me, after I'd finished, that one didn't drink sweet wines with fish, and that one never put cheese on fish. I laughed.
I wonder if dessert was revenge.
I did ask whether the tartufo had nuts. He said no. I should have told him to ask the cook. I did ask, "Do you make it here?" and impatiently he repeated, "I'm sure it has no nuts!" In other words he did not really answer. Two bites in, I felt the familiar symptoms and I wondered how long they'd last. I'm sitting home typing now, an hour after the incident, and the salivation has stopped but I still feel faint and my skin itches, slightly. My mouth is very dry, despite two glasses of water and a cup of peppermint tea. I won't feel normal before morning. When I'll still be slightly weak, and need two coffees.
The waiter noticed I'd stopped eating my tartufo. What was going on, he wanted to know? I said there were nuts in the dessert.
"Catastrophe!" he said, as if he didn't believe me. Then he asked the cook and I heard her say, "Yes, little pieces."
Waiters, cooks, restaurant owners--ye who serve desserts in Northwestern Europe: please find out whether your desserts have nuts. Advertise nut-free zones. Business may pick up. And personally, I'd be very grateful.
The spaghetti alla vongole proved delicious: filled with fresh parsley, juicy little clams, and some elegantly garlicky olive oil. The waiter did not approve when I added cheese, and looked as though he might faint when I drank Lambrusco. He actually told me, after I'd finished, that one didn't drink sweet wines with fish, and that one never put cheese on fish. I laughed.
I wonder if dessert was revenge.
I did ask whether the tartufo had nuts. He said no. I should have told him to ask the cook. I did ask, "Do you make it here?" and impatiently he repeated, "I'm sure it has no nuts!" In other words he did not really answer. Two bites in, I felt the familiar symptoms and I wondered how long they'd last. I'm sitting home typing now, an hour after the incident, and the salivation has stopped but I still feel faint and my skin itches, slightly. My mouth is very dry, despite two glasses of water and a cup of peppermint tea. I won't feel normal before morning. When I'll still be slightly weak, and need two coffees.
The waiter noticed I'd stopped eating my tartufo. What was going on, he wanted to know? I said there were nuts in the dessert.
"Catastrophe!" he said, as if he didn't believe me. Then he asked the cook and I heard her say, "Yes, little pieces."
Waiters, cooks, restaurant owners--ye who serve desserts in Northwestern Europe: please find out whether your desserts have nuts. Advertise nut-free zones. Business may pick up. And personally, I'd be very grateful.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
Good Grains and the Critical Mom
Our German friends used to tell us only two starches would work at any well-rounded meal: parboiled white rice or potatoes. Or bread. But I go to all the places the German ladies don't go. When we lived in Bavaria, I always shopped at Norma, the supermarket that had the freshest vegetables. A German friend, unwilling to mingle with non-Bavarians (she made an exception for me) would only go to Tengelmann, which has more expensive vegetables and classier butter. My husband and I got a kick out of revealing to her that all the vegetable dishes at her favorite Italian restaurant came from Norma: we'd seen the chef there buying in bulk. She continued to order the same dishes at the Italian place, but has yet to stick a toe in Norma.
If she comes to visit, I'm going to drag her to the local Turkish grocery, where you can buy four or five different kinds of bulgur. And here's how you cook this affordable and highly nutritious grain:
(1) Rinse portion (a large coffee mug full will suffice for two adults) in a sieve briefly. Drain. Set aside. Heat olive oil--about two tablespoons--in a pan on the stove. Dice onions--garlic, too--peppers, if you're feeling adventurous--and sauté for a bit; when the onions are transparent and the peppers soft, add the bulgur and stir, toasting it lightly. Meanwhile, boil water and pour a mugful or two of instant chicken broth into the bulgur. A bit more if you like. Lower heat. Stir. Eat when soft, and when all the water is absorbed. You can also add frozen peas to this.
(2) And here's another great, affordable grain: Kasha, or buckwheat groats. If you're lucky, you might find these in the bio section of Edeka--otherwise, try the local Russian supermarket. Kasha can be cooked like rice: approximately double the water to the Kasha. I don't rinse Kasha, though I do rinse bulgur and rice. Cooking method:
Put the Kasha in a pot; add a bit of salt, and pour twice the amount of boiling water in. Stir and let boil, then lower heat and stir and simmer until all water is absorbed. You can have this very plain, adding a little butter, or you can sauté onions and peppers on the side and put them in later. You can also melt a slice of Gouda cheese or Cheddar cheese over bulgur or kasha for a healthy, delicious, and most inexpensive meal.
If she comes to visit, I'm going to drag her to the local Turkish grocery, where you can buy four or five different kinds of bulgur. And here's how you cook this affordable and highly nutritious grain:
(1) Rinse portion (a large coffee mug full will suffice for two adults) in a sieve briefly. Drain. Set aside. Heat olive oil--about two tablespoons--in a pan on the stove. Dice onions--garlic, too--peppers, if you're feeling adventurous--and sauté for a bit; when the onions are transparent and the peppers soft, add the bulgur and stir, toasting it lightly. Meanwhile, boil water and pour a mugful or two of instant chicken broth into the bulgur. A bit more if you like. Lower heat. Stir. Eat when soft, and when all the water is absorbed. You can also add frozen peas to this.
(2) And here's another great, affordable grain: Kasha, or buckwheat groats. If you're lucky, you might find these in the bio section of Edeka--otherwise, try the local Russian supermarket. Kasha can be cooked like rice: approximately double the water to the Kasha. I don't rinse Kasha, though I do rinse bulgur and rice. Cooking method:
Put the Kasha in a pot; add a bit of salt, and pour twice the amount of boiling water in. Stir and let boil, then lower heat and stir and simmer until all water is absorbed. You can have this very plain, adding a little butter, or you can sauté onions and peppers on the side and put them in later. You can also melt a slice of Gouda cheese or Cheddar cheese over bulgur or kasha for a healthy, delicious, and most inexpensive meal.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
Scamming The Critical Mom
We almost fell for one scam geared to academics: calls for papers from an international journal . . . until we happened to see the email address, a private one somewhere not in the U.S. Then there's the indefatigable "Microsoft" man, the one who pronounces his supposed company "Mick-ro-soft," as if he knew perfectly well he were slipping me a mickey: if I'd just drink in his words and follow his advice, as did, alas, an elderly friend, he'd ruin my computer for me. I just got a new scam today, claiming to be from HSBC Hong Kong--but with an email address in Russia, and since the lady in question is not, in my considered opinion, employed by that estimable bank, I'm going to reprint her message here in full, entirely without her permission, and throw in a free English lesson as well:
I am Ms Donna Kwok, HSBC Hong Kong, head of corporate sustainability Asia pacific region. A sum of USD$21,300,000.00 Million was deposited by our Late customer who died without declaring any next of kin before his death in 2006.My suggestion to you is to stand as the next of kin to Fadel Ahmed.We shall share in the ratio of 50% for me, 50% for you.if interested please email: Ms.DonnaKwok1@qq.com
Thanks,
Donna Kwok.
Ms. Kwok, pick a name that doesn't sound like "quack," for starters. About that
head of corporate sustainability Asia pacific region
The guy or the gal who is really in that position thinks very highly of him or herself, and would capitalize his or her title: Head of Corporate Sustainability. In order to emphasize the importance of the title, they'd also put the second part of it on its very own line, capitalizing all:
Asia Pacific Region
It's "your late customer," not "your Late customer," but no bank would ever use such a phrase. Why don't you go look at real letters that real banks write? Do a little research, I always tell my students, before you write that term paper.
I'm going to let you find the other errors in your message, which at the moment gets a grade of F, but if you fix all the errors and throw in a little imagination you might even get a B from me.
And Ms. Kwok, if you're really out there, do yourself a favor and buy the following books:
Strunk&White, The Elements of Style: http://www.amazon.com/Elements-Style-Fourth-William-Strunk/dp/020530902X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453024968&sr=1-1&keywords=elements+of+style
Karen Elizabeth Gordon, The Deluxe Transitive Vampire: The Ultimate Handbook of Grammar for the Innocent, the Eager, and the Doomed: http://www.amazon.com/Deluxe-Transitive-Vampire-Ultimate-Handbook/dp/0679418601/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453025028&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Transitive+Vampire
Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird: Some Instructions On Writing and Life: http://www.amazon.com/Bird-Some-Instructions-Writing-Life/dp/0385480016/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453025249&sr=1-1&keywords=bird+by+bird
The first will prevent you from making really dumb mistakes in grammar that reveal you as a quack before your message does. The second will help you to learn to write perfect sentences. The third will, I very much hope, inspire you to write something better than that silly email. My God, Ms. Kwok, if you've got brain enough to write that, you've got brain enough to write something better. Why don't you write about your life--how did a nice girl like you end up scamming Western Europe instead of writing her memoirs?
I am Ms Donna Kwok, HSBC Hong Kong, head of corporate sustainability Asia pacific region. A sum of USD$21,300,000.00 Million was deposited by our Late customer who died without declaring any next of kin before his death in 2006.My suggestion to you is to stand as the next of kin to Fadel Ahmed.We shall share in the ratio of 50% for me, 50% for you.if interested please email: Ms.DonnaKwok1@qq.com
Thanks,
Donna Kwok.
Ms. Kwok, pick a name that doesn't sound like "quack," for starters. About that
head of corporate sustainability Asia pacific region
The guy or the gal who is really in that position thinks very highly of him or herself, and would capitalize his or her title: Head of Corporate Sustainability. In order to emphasize the importance of the title, they'd also put the second part of it on its very own line, capitalizing all:
Asia Pacific Region
It's "your late customer," not "your Late customer," but no bank would ever use such a phrase. Why don't you go look at real letters that real banks write? Do a little research, I always tell my students, before you write that term paper.
I'm going to let you find the other errors in your message, which at the moment gets a grade of F, but if you fix all the errors and throw in a little imagination you might even get a B from me.
And Ms. Kwok, if you're really out there, do yourself a favor and buy the following books:
Strunk&White, The Elements of Style: http://www.amazon.com/Elements-Style-Fourth-William-Strunk/dp/020530902X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453024968&sr=1-1&keywords=elements+of+style
Karen Elizabeth Gordon, The Deluxe Transitive Vampire: The Ultimate Handbook of Grammar for the Innocent, the Eager, and the Doomed: http://www.amazon.com/Deluxe-Transitive-Vampire-Ultimate-Handbook/dp/0679418601/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453025028&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Transitive+Vampire
Anne Lamott, Bird By Bird: Some Instructions On Writing and Life: http://www.amazon.com/Bird-Some-Instructions-Writing-Life/dp/0385480016/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1453025249&sr=1-1&keywords=bird+by+bird
The first will prevent you from making really dumb mistakes in grammar that reveal you as a quack before your message does. The second will help you to learn to write perfect sentences. The third will, I very much hope, inspire you to write something better than that silly email. My God, Ms. Kwok, if you've got brain enough to write that, you've got brain enough to write something better. Why don't you write about your life--how did a nice girl like you end up scamming Western Europe instead of writing her memoirs?
Friday, January 15, 2016
Schwarzfahrer: The Criminal Critical Mom
So I forgot my monthly tram ticket. In my town, you don't stick your card in a slot to get through a turnstile, the way you do in New York. You buy a ticket that you leave in your wallet all month, unless an official from the local transportation authority appears with a gadget and an identity card and demands to see your monthly pass.
Once upon a time about a year ago, I forgot to buy one until I was three days into the next month. Actually, this has happened more than once. This has happened, if I remember correctly, three or four times. I always buy a ticket, and usually I buy the next month's ticket in the last week of the month. But as I say, I forgot to buy the thing soon enough on a very few occasions.
The first time I got caught I barely spoke a word of German, so that I did not understand the man when he said there would be no fine, but that I just had to go buy my ticket. But the Germans . . . they keep records. He took my name and address. The second time, months after the fact, I actually had a ticket, but I'd left my wallet at home during an altercation with a child who either did not want to wear a jacket in sub-zero weather or who could not find a musical instrument. This time I'd forgotten that I'd forgotten my ticket. Only during the minute when I was searching for my wallet in my bag, the indignant official tapping his foot impatiently, did I see, in my mind's eye, my orange wallet lying on the bottom step of the stairs, where I, at that very nanosecond, realized had left it--and where I found it when I got home--later than usual--as a result of my altercation with the official.
That's when I had to go to the authorities, get a finger-wagging lecture, and pay for my next month's ticket right in front of them, sofort! instead of buying it from the machine at my stop, as I normally do, for convenience.
Ah, but there was a third time, you see, during another altercation about Where Is My Sweater or I Can't Find Any Underwear! And that time, I had to pay a fine. A large fine.
Just a few weeks ago, I was on the tram again when I realized that I'd left my wallet on the stairs again. This time I can only blame myself--I hadn't had more than four hours of sleep. Along came the official and I thought I Just Cannot Do This Again Because They'll Ask Me To Pay A Figure In Three Digits Which Is The Cost of Four Months Of Cards.
I had my card at home, remember. My legitimate card.
"May I see your ticket?" said the spider to the fly.
"I'm so sorry," I explained, "I left it at home with my wallet." Which was perfectly true. So I had to exit the train, at a stop not too excruciatingly distant from my own, and I was asked to give my name. Which I have always done in the past. This time, what came out of my mouth was:
(1) The first name of the last person I had spoken to at work that day
and
(2) The last name of the first Austrian novelist who popped into my head. Why? Because I went to graduate school with a person who also happened to have that name.
I gave as my address something vaguely in the same street, but well, not exactly mine. The thing that tripped me up was my birthday. Even though I know that thirty days hath September, April, June, and November . . . . you get the picture. Rattled by the thought that Zeus would fling a thunderbolt at me for lying, I gave a date that does not exist, and fluttered off some explanation with the checker, who spoke German as well as I do--almost not at all. I tottered away with my piece of paper: my fictitious counterpart had two weeks in which to pay. Somehow, that person has not showed up.
When I got home, I scooped up the wallet that was cooling its heels on the stairs, took out my monthly ticket, kissed it and promised I'd never forget it again. Then I discussed the matter with my boys, one of whom has used exactly the same technique and worried about doing so in exactly the same way: his card was at the bottom of his bag, but he thought he'd left it at home. The other kid is sure they're coming after me. Brrrrr.
In these times, you should watch this classic film that is nominally, but not exactly, about being a Schwarzfahrer:
Once upon a time about a year ago, I forgot to buy one until I was three days into the next month. Actually, this has happened more than once. This has happened, if I remember correctly, three or four times. I always buy a ticket, and usually I buy the next month's ticket in the last week of the month. But as I say, I forgot to buy the thing soon enough on a very few occasions.
The first time I got caught I barely spoke a word of German, so that I did not understand the man when he said there would be no fine, but that I just had to go buy my ticket. But the Germans . . . they keep records. He took my name and address. The second time, months after the fact, I actually had a ticket, but I'd left my wallet at home during an altercation with a child who either did not want to wear a jacket in sub-zero weather or who could not find a musical instrument. This time I'd forgotten that I'd forgotten my ticket. Only during the minute when I was searching for my wallet in my bag, the indignant official tapping his foot impatiently, did I see, in my mind's eye, my orange wallet lying on the bottom step of the stairs, where I, at that very nanosecond, realized had left it--and where I found it when I got home--later than usual--as a result of my altercation with the official.
That's when I had to go to the authorities, get a finger-wagging lecture, and pay for my next month's ticket right in front of them, sofort! instead of buying it from the machine at my stop, as I normally do, for convenience.
Ah, but there was a third time, you see, during another altercation about Where Is My Sweater or I Can't Find Any Underwear! And that time, I had to pay a fine. A large fine.
Just a few weeks ago, I was on the tram again when I realized that I'd left my wallet on the stairs again. This time I can only blame myself--I hadn't had more than four hours of sleep. Along came the official and I thought I Just Cannot Do This Again Because They'll Ask Me To Pay A Figure In Three Digits Which Is The Cost of Four Months Of Cards.
I had my card at home, remember. My legitimate card.
"May I see your ticket?" said the spider to the fly.
"I'm so sorry," I explained, "I left it at home with my wallet." Which was perfectly true. So I had to exit the train, at a stop not too excruciatingly distant from my own, and I was asked to give my name. Which I have always done in the past. This time, what came out of my mouth was:
(1) The first name of the last person I had spoken to at work that day
and
(2) The last name of the first Austrian novelist who popped into my head. Why? Because I went to graduate school with a person who also happened to have that name.
I gave as my address something vaguely in the same street, but well, not exactly mine. The thing that tripped me up was my birthday. Even though I know that thirty days hath September, April, June, and November . . . . you get the picture. Rattled by the thought that Zeus would fling a thunderbolt at me for lying, I gave a date that does not exist, and fluttered off some explanation with the checker, who spoke German as well as I do--almost not at all. I tottered away with my piece of paper: my fictitious counterpart had two weeks in which to pay. Somehow, that person has not showed up.
When I got home, I scooped up the wallet that was cooling its heels on the stairs, took out my monthly ticket, kissed it and promised I'd never forget it again. Then I discussed the matter with my boys, one of whom has used exactly the same technique and worried about doing so in exactly the same way: his card was at the bottom of his bag, but he thought he'd left it at home. The other kid is sure they're coming after me. Brrrrr.
In these times, you should watch this classic film that is nominally, but not exactly, about being a Schwarzfahrer:
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
The Empress's New Clothes: Who Is Lena Dunham?
Don't let the apparent exhibitionism take you by surprise. What makes Dunham's Not That Kind Of Girl so dull isn't just the vapidity. Dunham's hiding the real story.
What made me buy her memoir--the stratospheric praise of Judy Blume and David Sedaris--had me flummoxed as soon as I'd read a paragraph. I closed the book again and read those blurbs: Sedaris says calls this a "fine, subversive book." Blume calls Dunham "always funny, sometimes wrenching," adding that Dunham is a "creative wonder." (Because Dunham reminds Blume of her fictional character, "Sheila the great?" And Sedaris--maybe it's fun for a brilliantly funny man to enjoy the company of someone trying to be as funny as he is? But here imagination fails me.)
Meanwhile, my revered book reviewer, Michiko Kakutani, with whom I cannot remember disagreeing, loves Dunham, comparing her to Dorothy Parker, Nora Ephron, and Helen Gurley Brown. To be fair, in her review, Kakutani quotes two or three snappy remarks of Dunham's but not snappy enough that they staple themselves to your thought processes, the way Dorothy Parker does. You'll never, ever, get Parker's "Men seldom make passes/at girls who wear glasses" out of your head. Try it, you won't.
Parker, Ephron and Brown sink in like chocolate melting in a crepe. But Dunham's more like a piece of Bazooka bubble gum: you're glad you found that childhood pleasure you remember, but now that you're no longer a child, the pink chew has lost its charm--the stuff is too sweet and loses its flavor. The gum's still wrapped in a waxy comic strip, but the comic strip's no longer funny. You can still blow a bubble or two. Big whoop.
That's Dunham--a bubble or two.
Surely Sedaris, Blume and Kakutani, whose writing delights because it's really about something--surely they don't genuinely believe that Lena Dunham is a talent? But clearly they do. They've said so, enthusiastically, in print. The evidence is out there that Dunham's got something: a show on HBO that's won golden globes, plus the honor of being parodied by Tina Fey,which you may see here.
I like the Tina Fey version. I don't like the original. What has memoir come to?
If you've read Maya Angelou, Maxine Hong Kingston, Edwidge Danticat, Mary Karr, Susannah Kaysen, Jeannette Walls, Cheryl Strayed--to name the first that come to mind--you've read tales of girls and women facing challenges and struggling to overcome them. The closest to Dunham in the exhibitionism department is probably Daphne Merkin--but Merkin is fascinating, readable. Merkin reveals--a cold, almost sadistic mother, a household of regimented, unloved children, a longing for love.
Dunham doesn't. I find many hints--she hopes to find a mother in her psychotherapist, to whom she offers a portrait with "big Keane eyes" and a poem in which the therapist "will never be my mother." The comment that matters the most to Dunham--I'd bet my bank account on this--is her mother's. And here is what the mother says, via Amazon:
“I’m surprised by how successful this was. I couldn’t finish it.”—Laurie Simmons
Maybe the two of them cooked up this blurb together--that's sadder. Either way: Dunham's mother is surprised at her daughter's success--and she does not want it. She does not want it so much that she won't finish reading the book. No wonder Dunham is a mess. Her father's paintings of penises and vaginas, with bodies and backgrounds as backdrops, established the narrative focus for his daughter. No, he didn't show her his, but he might as well have done so. But the poor kid had no other interests. Her mother's art--photographs of women with strange, elongated eyes; selfies of her own vagina, doll house figures in kitchens--suggests disgust with all things domestic, or perhaps with all women who like domestic pleasures like cooking or cleaning. Mothers--who needs 'em? asks her art.
Clearly her daughter needs one. But she won't write about that. Or will she? Have we yet to hear the real story from Dunham?
I wonder what Dunham would have been like with a passionate, all-consuming interest. What if she'd thrown herself into ballet or clarinet? Archery? Sculpting? Helping refugees? Working for a political campaign?
There's still time, Lena. There's still time.
P.S. Somebody get this girl to take "The Rules" seriously.
P.P.S. Or at least listen to Adelaide singing "Take back ya mink! Take back ya poils! What made you think that I was one of those goils . . ."
What made me buy her memoir--the stratospheric praise of Judy Blume and David Sedaris--had me flummoxed as soon as I'd read a paragraph. I closed the book again and read those blurbs: Sedaris says calls this a "fine, subversive book." Blume calls Dunham "always funny, sometimes wrenching," adding that Dunham is a "creative wonder." (Because Dunham reminds Blume of her fictional character, "Sheila the great?" And Sedaris--maybe it's fun for a brilliantly funny man to enjoy the company of someone trying to be as funny as he is? But here imagination fails me.)
Meanwhile, my revered book reviewer, Michiko Kakutani, with whom I cannot remember disagreeing, loves Dunham, comparing her to Dorothy Parker, Nora Ephron, and Helen Gurley Brown. To be fair, in her review, Kakutani quotes two or three snappy remarks of Dunham's but not snappy enough that they staple themselves to your thought processes, the way Dorothy Parker does. You'll never, ever, get Parker's "Men seldom make passes/at girls who wear glasses" out of your head. Try it, you won't.
Parker, Ephron and Brown sink in like chocolate melting in a crepe. But Dunham's more like a piece of Bazooka bubble gum: you're glad you found that childhood pleasure you remember, but now that you're no longer a child, the pink chew has lost its charm--the stuff is too sweet and loses its flavor. The gum's still wrapped in a waxy comic strip, but the comic strip's no longer funny. You can still blow a bubble or two. Big whoop.
That's Dunham--a bubble or two.
Surely Sedaris, Blume and Kakutani, whose writing delights because it's really about something--surely they don't genuinely believe that Lena Dunham is a talent? But clearly they do. They've said so, enthusiastically, in print. The evidence is out there that Dunham's got something: a show on HBO that's won golden globes, plus the honor of being parodied by Tina Fey,which you may see here.
I like the Tina Fey version. I don't like the original. What has memoir come to?
If you've read Maya Angelou, Maxine Hong Kingston, Edwidge Danticat, Mary Karr, Susannah Kaysen, Jeannette Walls, Cheryl Strayed--to name the first that come to mind--you've read tales of girls and women facing challenges and struggling to overcome them. The closest to Dunham in the exhibitionism department is probably Daphne Merkin--but Merkin is fascinating, readable. Merkin reveals--a cold, almost sadistic mother, a household of regimented, unloved children, a longing for love.
Dunham doesn't. I find many hints--she hopes to find a mother in her psychotherapist, to whom she offers a portrait with "big Keane eyes" and a poem in which the therapist "will never be my mother." The comment that matters the most to Dunham--I'd bet my bank account on this--is her mother's. And here is what the mother says, via Amazon:
“I’m surprised by how successful this was. I couldn’t finish it.”—Laurie Simmons
Maybe the two of them cooked up this blurb together--that's sadder. Either way: Dunham's mother is surprised at her daughter's success--and she does not want it. She does not want it so much that she won't finish reading the book. No wonder Dunham is a mess. Her father's paintings of penises and vaginas, with bodies and backgrounds as backdrops, established the narrative focus for his daughter. No, he didn't show her his, but he might as well have done so. But the poor kid had no other interests. Her mother's art--photographs of women with strange, elongated eyes; selfies of her own vagina, doll house figures in kitchens--suggests disgust with all things domestic, or perhaps with all women who like domestic pleasures like cooking or cleaning. Mothers--who needs 'em? asks her art.
Clearly her daughter needs one. But she won't write about that. Or will she? Have we yet to hear the real story from Dunham?
I wonder what Dunham would have been like with a passionate, all-consuming interest. What if she'd thrown herself into ballet or clarinet? Archery? Sculpting? Helping refugees? Working for a political campaign?
There's still time, Lena. There's still time.
P.S. Somebody get this girl to take "The Rules" seriously.
P.P.S. Or at least listen to Adelaide singing "Take back ya mink! Take back ya poils! What made you think that I was one of those goils . . ."
Thursday, December 24, 2015
The Christmas Eve Cha-Cha
 |
| Waiting for Santa |
"Only one died, Mommy," she said.
"R.I.P. cookie, 2015-2015," intoned her brother.
She gave him a candy cane. It broke, so he gave it to their older brother, who crunched down on it, commenting: "I like my candy canes with a broken neck . . . just the way I like my brother."
Then in church, as I was singing "Gloooorrria, in excelsis deo!" my daughter asked if I were singing, "In egg-shells-is deo."
Nope.
My husband's cooking the goose, the aroma of which is making my stomach rumble. Yum. Raisin-apple stuffing. Dumplings. Red wine.
 |
| Christmas Goose, Bavarian dumplings, red cabbage, gravy, gravy, gravy . . . |
We were amused by some of our presents: a certain relative re-gifted a 2015 weekly planner with her name on it in gold leaf--which she'd magic-markered out. But it doesn't even have the last few weeks of December 2015 . . .
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Last of the Turkey
Since we didn't celebrate Thanksgiving until Saturday, November 28, our leftovers lasted until a few days ago. . . turkey sandwiches, lunch after lunch, but fortunately the boys love turkey sandwiches. We had an 11.73 kilo bird and when my eleven-year-old daughter saw it she remarked, "it's as big as me, mommy!"
What I hadn't known, but which my bible, the Fannie Farmer Cookbook, confirms, is that a bigger bird takes less time to cook than a smaller one. If the turkey weighs sixteen pounds or less, it needs fifteen minutes per pound in the oven at 325ºF or 165ºC. If the bird's over sixteen pounds, and ours was closer to twenty-four, it needs twelve minutes per pound. I was wondering if some physicist might tell me why that is so. Could it have been the bacon covering my turkey, the greater amount therefore of hot fat? I had a brand-new cooking thermometer that I found at our local TK Maxx.
I can't compete with Robert Benchley's wonderful recipe, which you may read about here--for one thing, I'd never be able to drink that much while preparing a turkey, although I do believe a cook should be "well-oiled." Makes you spontaneous. A little wine, but gee, Mr. Benchley, your capacity was amazing. And now for my recipe, which is considerably easier:
Rinse the bird in cold water. Pat dry. Then, depending upon your mood, do one of the following:
(1) Cover the bird with strips of bacon. You can stretch them a bit, and for a turkey over twelve pounds you'll definitely need more than one pack of bacon. Maybe two or three. Hardly any of the turkey skin should show--all should be covered in lovely bacon.
.
(2) Gently--using a small knife if necessary--work your hand under the skin, creating a large pocket. Fill this pocket with thin slices of butter. Lots of them. Pat down. Rub more butter on the legs and any other part of the skin that has somehow failed to come into contact with it.
Then, salt and pepper the bird. Here's the stuffing I make: Let two bags of a very ordinary supermarket bread--Pepperidge Farm white bread, or even Wonderbread, if it still exists, dry slightly in an oven set on low heat. Load the slices into your food processor and make breadcrumbs. While the bread is being processed, melt a large amount of butter--at least two sticks (Germans, at least 250 grams) into a pot or pan. Wash and chop fine many stalks of celery. Add at least one onion, chopped fine. Let the celery and onion get soft in the heating butter, but don't turn the heat so high that the butter burns. You can't turn away from the pan for a nanosecond. Add breadcrumbs, salt, pepper, and combine all, mixing until it smells and tastes good.
If there's anything left over after you've stuffed the turkey, and there should be, put the leftovers in a separate baking dish. You'll bake it when it is almost time to take out the turkey. Now, the bird should be accompanied by the usual--see below: corn muffins (the dry, Fannie Farmer kind), cranberry sauce (an orange, some cranberries, some fresh ginger, a half cup of sugar, a dash of cinnamon go in your food processor) and the vegetables and gravy of your choice. Pies follow . . . but here's the main course:
 |
| BEFORE |
What I hadn't known, but which my bible, the Fannie Farmer Cookbook, confirms, is that a bigger bird takes less time to cook than a smaller one. If the turkey weighs sixteen pounds or less, it needs fifteen minutes per pound in the oven at 325ºF or 165ºC. If the bird's over sixteen pounds, and ours was closer to twenty-four, it needs twelve minutes per pound. I was wondering if some physicist might tell me why that is so. Could it have been the bacon covering my turkey, the greater amount therefore of hot fat? I had a brand-new cooking thermometer that I found at our local TK Maxx.
I can't compete with Robert Benchley's wonderful recipe, which you may read about here--for one thing, I'd never be able to drink that much while preparing a turkey, although I do believe a cook should be "well-oiled." Makes you spontaneous. A little wine, but gee, Mr. Benchley, your capacity was amazing. And now for my recipe, which is considerably easier:
Rinse the bird in cold water. Pat dry. Then, depending upon your mood, do one of the following:
(1) Cover the bird with strips of bacon. You can stretch them a bit, and for a turkey over twelve pounds you'll definitely need more than one pack of bacon. Maybe two or three. Hardly any of the turkey skin should show--all should be covered in lovely bacon.
.
 |
| AFTER BEING DRAPED WITH BACON |
Then, salt and pepper the bird. Here's the stuffing I make: Let two bags of a very ordinary supermarket bread--Pepperidge Farm white bread, or even Wonderbread, if it still exists, dry slightly in an oven set on low heat. Load the slices into your food processor and make breadcrumbs. While the bread is being processed, melt a large amount of butter--at least two sticks (Germans, at least 250 grams) into a pot or pan. Wash and chop fine many stalks of celery. Add at least one onion, chopped fine. Let the celery and onion get soft in the heating butter, but don't turn the heat so high that the butter burns. You can't turn away from the pan for a nanosecond. Add breadcrumbs, salt, pepper, and combine all, mixing until it smells and tastes good.
If there's anything left over after you've stuffed the turkey, and there should be, put the leftovers in a separate baking dish. You'll bake it when it is almost time to take out the turkey. Now, the bird should be accompanied by the usual--see below: corn muffins (the dry, Fannie Farmer kind), cranberry sauce (an orange, some cranberries, some fresh ginger, a half cup of sugar, a dash of cinnamon go in your food processor) and the vegetables and gravy of your choice. Pies follow . . . but here's the main course:
 |
| DONE! |
 |
| THE FEAST |
Monday, November 23, 2015
American Hysteria and Syrian Refugees
About 75 Syrian refugees have settled in the state of New Jersey since last January. Now, Governor Chris Christie won't admit any more--"no, not even orphans under the age of five!"
Because you know these people. They might grow up to be terrorists, and some of them won't grow up to be Christians.
I have nothing but shame for my citizenship, and incidents like this make me think hard about whether I'll keep it.
75 refugees pose a danger? Because we're all scared of what happened in Paris? Governor Christie, the German city of Passau is taking in 75 refugees every fifteen minutes. We've got around 500 in the neighborhood I live in--30 or 40 new ones come daily--and several hundred more near the university where I work. They are cold, scared, hungry people, many of them young men who did not wish to be pawns in this Pyrrhic war that will end in annihilation.
Why does America rush to repeat its awful isolationist past? From before the hint of a republic, with the Salem witch trials, we had periods of mass hysteria during which the blame game destroyed lives. The Japanese internment camps. The Joe McCarthy Years. The 9/11 panic that destroyed, and continues to destroy, Arab-Americans. Donald Trump. The excuse has always been national security, and the reality has always been that panicky measures produced far worse situations than the inciting incident ever did. In all of these situations, hatred united people. Nothing is easier than to unite a group in hatred of an enemy, and politicians who succeed in doing this, the demagogues of the world, rise and fall like shooting stars. The rare politician manages to unite a group in shared love, a far more difficult task, love usually uncovering vulnerability as well as strength.
When will we get another politician who inspires people to understand that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself? When will the Statue of Liberty lift her lamp beside the golden door again? Why is Mad Magazine still one of the most realistic commentators on the American attitude toward the refugee crisis:
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free,
And we'll send 'em right back
We'll send 'em right back
We'll send 'em right back to you.
When panic and racism overcome optimism and pragmatism--when America loses her foundational goal of being the city on the hill, that the eyes of the world may be upon us, then there is no more American dream. President Obama protests "this is not who we are," but until he can stop the fearmongers, Americans are indeed the bad guys. When a country that fits into the State of Texas and feed, clothe, and offer education to thousands pouring in while the world superpower sucks its thumb and pleads security issues, my world ends, and any faith I still had in the United States.
Because you know these people. They might grow up to be terrorists, and some of them won't grow up to be Christians.
I have nothing but shame for my citizenship, and incidents like this make me think hard about whether I'll keep it.
75 refugees pose a danger? Because we're all scared of what happened in Paris? Governor Christie, the German city of Passau is taking in 75 refugees every fifteen minutes. We've got around 500 in the neighborhood I live in--30 or 40 new ones come daily--and several hundred more near the university where I work. They are cold, scared, hungry people, many of them young men who did not wish to be pawns in this Pyrrhic war that will end in annihilation.
Why does America rush to repeat its awful isolationist past? From before the hint of a republic, with the Salem witch trials, we had periods of mass hysteria during which the blame game destroyed lives. The Japanese internment camps. The Joe McCarthy Years. The 9/11 panic that destroyed, and continues to destroy, Arab-Americans. Donald Trump. The excuse has always been national security, and the reality has always been that panicky measures produced far worse situations than the inciting incident ever did. In all of these situations, hatred united people. Nothing is easier than to unite a group in hatred of an enemy, and politicians who succeed in doing this, the demagogues of the world, rise and fall like shooting stars. The rare politician manages to unite a group in shared love, a far more difficult task, love usually uncovering vulnerability as well as strength.
When will we get another politician who inspires people to understand that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself? When will the Statue of Liberty lift her lamp beside the golden door again? Why is Mad Magazine still one of the most realistic commentators on the American attitude toward the refugee crisis:
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to be free,
And we'll send 'em right back
We'll send 'em right back
We'll send 'em right back to you.
When panic and racism overcome optimism and pragmatism--when America loses her foundational goal of being the city on the hill, that the eyes of the world may be upon us, then there is no more American dream. President Obama protests "this is not who we are," but until he can stop the fearmongers, Americans are indeed the bad guys. When a country that fits into the State of Texas and feed, clothe, and offer education to thousands pouring in while the world superpower sucks its thumb and pleads security issues, my world ends, and any faith I still had in the United States.
Friday, November 20, 2015
Paris Is For Friends
The moment I heard about the attacks, I felt cold, and I haven't warmed up since. My sixteen-year- old son spent a day in Paris a few weeks ago.
"Mom, if it makes you feel better, we weren't anywhere near the eleventh arrondissement."
I feel no better knowing that he was nowhere near the site of the attacks. But I'm not going to change my life, and if I were invited to Paris tomorrow, I'd go.
During a moment of silence at a local school for the victims of the Paris attacks, a ten-year-old boy yelled, "Allah is greater!"
He's supposedly not a bad kid and allegedly not much of a student. He's a kid who gets into trouble and who needs support. Police arrived. Questioning took place. Piles of paperwork needed to be filled out.
These are the kids who get approached by terrorist networks. These are the kids whose vulnerability to promises of a paradise filled with gorgeous virgins makes them down cocaine or psychoactive pills that release inhibition and increase aggression--firing a gun becomes easy.
A boy who doesn't do well in school? A girl whose classmates make fun of her? A brilliant teenager who's unsure about "everything?"
What could feel more reassuring than absolute certainty, unity in hatred?
But how to find these children and help them to know that life with all its oddities, its disappointments, its bad jokes, is the thing worth having?
I have my mantras for these times:
(1) Keep them talking
(2) Being full of fear, and making decisions because of fear, will get you nothing.
(3) The worst returns to laughter. Watch out for a humorless person.
(4) Be brave, and never lose hope.
Paris is for those who love her--Paris deserves her friends. Paris is not for those who want to incinerate her for her secular palaces. Paris deserves all of our support today.
"Mom, if it makes you feel better, we weren't anywhere near the eleventh arrondissement."
I feel no better knowing that he was nowhere near the site of the attacks. But I'm not going to change my life, and if I were invited to Paris tomorrow, I'd go.
During a moment of silence at a local school for the victims of the Paris attacks, a ten-year-old boy yelled, "Allah is greater!"
He's supposedly not a bad kid and allegedly not much of a student. He's a kid who gets into trouble and who needs support. Police arrived. Questioning took place. Piles of paperwork needed to be filled out.
These are the kids who get approached by terrorist networks. These are the kids whose vulnerability to promises of a paradise filled with gorgeous virgins makes them down cocaine or psychoactive pills that release inhibition and increase aggression--firing a gun becomes easy.
A boy who doesn't do well in school? A girl whose classmates make fun of her? A brilliant teenager who's unsure about "everything?"
What could feel more reassuring than absolute certainty, unity in hatred?
But how to find these children and help them to know that life with all its oddities, its disappointments, its bad jokes, is the thing worth having?
I have my mantras for these times:
(1) Keep them talking
(2) Being full of fear, and making decisions because of fear, will get you nothing.
(3) The worst returns to laughter. Watch out for a humorless person.
(4) Be brave, and never lose hope.
Paris is for those who love her--Paris deserves her friends. Paris is not for those who want to incinerate her for her secular palaces. Paris deserves all of our support today.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Gardasil Concerns, Part Two: A Conversation with Dr. Ian Hector Frazer, Developer of the HPV Vaccine
N.B. 2022: I've left this post up as a piece of history, but I now believe all young people should get the HPV vaccines.
Dear Readers, I believe in going to the very top with the tough questions, so I wrote with no hope of an answer to the physician who developed the HPV vaccine, Dr. Ian Hector Frazer, Professor of Medicine, of the University of Queensland, Australia, and Chairman of the Board of the Translational Research Institute. He wrote back right away, answering my questions thoroughly. Here is our e-conversation of November 12, 2015:
The Critical Mom: I write as a lay person trying to assess the risks of HPV vaccine for my
eleven year old daughter. I've already read the CDC page and the Merck pages, and of course discussed the vaccine with our pediatrician, who tells me his daughter has been vaccinated, but I can't ignore the reports of adverse reactions from a number of young women, even though the CDC seems to think there's no pattern to them and that they therefore remain insignificant. I also wonder why, when only 1% of women in the developed world are affected, I'd want to assume that my daughter is at risk.
I pasted in my blog post of November 10, 2015 with the remarks of Dr. Diane Harper.
Dr. Frazer: Most of what Dr Harper writes in response to your questions is
true. However, unfortunately, 12,000 women continue to die of cervical
cancer in the USA each year where PAP smear screening is supposedly
routine.
While only 1% of women infected with HPV will develop cervical
cancer, more than half of all sexually active woman (even those in a
monogamous relationship with only one partner ever) will become infected
with a cancer causing HPV virus. PAP screening
is not a perfect test, (50% of precancers are missed on any one PAP
sampling) and it therefore only works to reduce the risk of cervical
cancer if a pap is done regular every 2-3 years - even then, some women
have disease that progresses from undetectable to
invasive cancer within 2 years.
In Australia where about 80% of girls have been vaccinated over the
last 10 years there has been a dramatic reduction in abnormal pap
smears (yes we still do them, because Gardasil 4 only prevents about
70% of cervical cancers - those due to HPV16 and
HPV18 - this will be less of an issue with Gardasil 9 which covers over
90%).
However from next year we’re going to test for the viruses that
cause cervical cancer, rather than looking for cancer cells, and testing
will be done less frequently because the virus test catches cancer
causing infections earlier than the pap smear
test.
The HPV vaccines have proven safe - the US and European regulatory
authorities have stated that there are no long term problems
attributable to the vaccine - just sore arms for a day or two in a small
number of girls and boys, and a 1 in a million chance
of an allergic reaction (that's the same odds as for all the other
vaccines your daughter would be likely to have had as a baby).
See for example this recent report from Europe that two diseases that have been said to be associated with the vaccine are not.
Another incentive to vaccinate is prevention of genital warts, not
lethal, but common, difficult to treat, and can be passed from mother to
baby to cause a rare but distressing and sometimes lethal disease in
the child.
In Australia genital warts and abnormal pap smears in young women
are now occurring at less than 10% of the rate that was observed prior
to the introduction of routine vaccination of girls in 2007 – modelling
predicts that with universal vaccination the
infection will eventually be eradicated from the community altogether
(maybe in 50 years).
In the meantime, personal protection through vaccination is effective at reducing the risk of cancer, and safe.
It's also worth pointing out that the studies in Australia have
shown the greatest benefit has been in girls vaccinated at age 12 –
those vaccinated at age 14 or older have had significantly less
reduction in disease. The most likely reason for this is
that by age 14 a significant number of girls have had contact with the
papillomavirus (contact does not need to be penetrative sexual
intercourse – other forms of genital contact are sufficient to spread
the virus). The median (average) age of first sexual
contact for girls in most countries in the developed world is between
14 and 15.
The Critical Mom: I have a pap
smear every year--actually my doctor recommends every year.
Why isn't a yearly pap test enough? You mentioned "every 2-3 years."
Dr. Frazer: The recommendation in Australia is that unless you have had an
abnormal pap in the past you should have the test every two years. In
Australia this strategy works as Gabrielle Medley did a chase back on
all women over a period of years who had developed
cervical cancer in Australia, and found that each of the women who had
had cervical cancer had not had smears according to the schedule, or
had had the smear but had had no treatment for an abnormal one. . I.e
the women who followed the pap smear schedule
and had treatment for an abnormal smear when it was found did not get
cancer. Unfortunately like the US we still have deaths from cervical
cancer because only 50% of women follow the PAP smear protocol.
The Critical Mom: If so very few women develop dangerous cancers when so many are infected, and when so many infections seem to clear by themselves, how wise can it be it to vaccinate when the person might never be in danger to begin with?
Dr. Frazer: No one has died as a result of the vaccine (with 80 million women
immunised world wide), whereas 12,000 women die of cervical cancer each
year in the US and 250,000 worldwide, and 70% of those deaths would be
avoided by prior vaccination. So I’d suggest
that the risk without vaccination is much greater that any perceived
risk with vaccination.
The Critical Mom: The vaccination is said to be painful. Is that not in itself possibly a bad sign?
Dr. Frazer: Its a sign that your immune system is reacting to the vaccine –
your immune system needs a kick start to make a new immune response, and
the sore arm is the physical manifestation of the kick start that the
vaccine gives. This occurs with all vaccines.
However, we don’t remember the pain of a vaccine that was given when we
were 2 years old (fortunately)!
If you doubt the virtues of vaccination, you might want to look at a graveyard that was in use in the 19th century and count the number of children under 10 who died of infectious diseases that we now vaccinate against like measles, chickenpox, diphtheria, tetanus, whooping cough.
This gives me plenty to think about. Point by point:
•Girls, get your pap test! Every year! Here in Northwestern Germany, my gynecologist recommends a yearly exam and pap smear.
• No one has died as a result of the vaccine (with 80 million women immunised world wide)
• According to a group known as the National Vaccine Information Center--whose beliefs are generally rejected by the medical profession--deaths have occurred as a reaction to the vaccine. Wikipedia identifies the group as a "public charity" and an "anti-vaccination advocacy group."
Be aware, readers, that by quoting their opinions I'm giving equal time to the highly respected Dr. Frazer and to a group that is considered by many physicians to be the lunatic fringe. This group disputes not just the HPV vaccine but many vaccines; some doctors associated with them are against all vaccines. Some believe in a different vaccine schedule.
I don't buy the idea that all vaccines are bad and I would not need a visit to a 19th-century graveyard to convince me that many children died of diseases now prevented by the standard childhood vaccines.
The website publishes the claim that the following girls and women died or were disabled after receiving an HPV vaccine:
Be aware, readers, that by quoting their opinions I'm giving equal time to the highly respected Dr. Frazer and to a group that is considered by many physicians to be the lunatic fringe. This group disputes not just the HPV vaccine but many vaccines; some doctors associated with them are against all vaccines. Some believe in a different vaccine schedule.
I don't buy the idea that all vaccines are bad and I would not need a visit to a 19th-century graveyard to convince me that many children died of diseases now prevented by the standard childhood vaccines.
The website publishes the claim that the following girls and women died or were disabled after receiving an HPV vaccine:
Even if I remain uncertain about the reality behind these stories, I'm still bothered by two things:
(1) The rate of reported adverse reactions to HPV vaccines seems higher than the rate of reported adverse reactions to any other vaccine.
(2) Why should there be "a pattern" to reactions in order to consider them legitimately reactions to the vaccine? You can go on the Snopes.com discussion of the vaccine and find an explanation, the gist of which is: a man gets a vaccine, happens to hit his vaccinated arm with a hammer the same day, and complains of an adverse reaction in that arm.
If only it were that simple. Are all these reactions really something that science can measure? To say yes means to assume that there must be a pattern to a reaction.
Doctors and concerned citizens, continue to weigh in. I'm a tough customer. Before I consider this vaccine for my daughter, I'm going to be damn sure I think she'll be helped, not hindered, by it.
(1) The rate of reported adverse reactions to HPV vaccines seems higher than the rate of reported adverse reactions to any other vaccine.
(2) Why should there be "a pattern" to reactions in order to consider them legitimately reactions to the vaccine? You can go on the Snopes.com discussion of the vaccine and find an explanation, the gist of which is: a man gets a vaccine, happens to hit his vaccinated arm with a hammer the same day, and complains of an adverse reaction in that arm.
If only it were that simple. Are all these reactions really something that science can measure? To say yes means to assume that there must be a pattern to a reaction.
Doctors and concerned citizens, continue to weigh in. I'm a tough customer. Before I consider this vaccine for my daughter, I'm going to be damn sure I think she'll be helped, not hindered, by it.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
Guard Against Gardasil: The Critical Mom's Research
PLEASE NOTE: I've reversed my position on Gardasil: my daughter has been vaccinated and has experienced NO ILL EFFECTS. But I'm leaving this post here for "historic interest."
If you are the mother of a nine-to-twelve year old girl, your pediatrician is sure to recommend the Gardasil or the Cervarix shot for HPV--human papillomavirus, otherwise known as the cause of genital warts, a condition that can (but does not usually) lead to deadly cervical cancers. The only surefire way to avoid HPV, which the vast majority of the population has, or will have, is never to touch another person's genitals.
But the alternative to these infections--there are many types of HPV, and in most cases they clear up by themselves--is the shot. Is the shot safe?
When I Googled the virus and the vaccines, the name Diane Medved Harper appeared repeatedly, because Dr. Harper, now at the University of Louisville, was one of the physicians employed by Merck to evaluate the vaccine and to run clinical trials. You can read about her here and here.
But I decided to write to her myself, and she very kindly wrote back, and since she had no objection to my sharing our correspondence of November 5, 2015 with my pediatrician, I am also sharing it with my readers.
The Critical Mom: How wise is it to give a vaccine for a condition that may never develop? (If I am correct in assuming that only 10% of infected people develop cancer, that is).
Dr. Harper: Only 5% of infections develop CIN 3 lesions (precancer). Of the CIN 3 lesions, only 20% become cancer within 5 years, and only 40% become cancer within 30 years -- so less than 1% of HPV infections become cancer after a very long period of time. How wise it is is a judgement that only you can make: it weighs the knowledge that you have a screening system in place to detect the CIN 3 precancer and then treat it. Our treatments are nearly 100% effective (LLETZ, usually). HPV4 or HPV9 only protect against about 47% of the CIN 3 lesions regardless of HPV type; HPV2 protects against 93% of CIN 3 lesions regardless of HPV type. Neither prevents all CIN 3, so screening is still necessary. HPV2 lasts at least 9.4 years. HPV4 lasts at least 5 years. HPV9 lasts at least 3.5 years. Screening has few side effects -- the worst side effect is being told you were positive for HPV 16 and going to colposcopy and having a biopsy and having the results of the biopsy be normal. You can see the Gardasil Girls videos on the internet.
The Critical Mom: Would you give your daughter this vaccine? (Side effects reported by parents on forums do seem worse than those reported for the standard childhood vaccinations).
Dr. Harper: I would give her the option of choosing whether she wanted it -- but I would suggest that she wait until she was at least 16 years, and maybe even 18 years if she had not yet begun any interest in any sexual activity.
The Critical Mom: Isn't a yearly pap test enough after my daughter becomes sexually active? My kids know all about condoms and barrier protection and seem like responsible people.
Dr. Harper: Yes, the adolescent pediatricians promoting the vaccine see only the segment of the adolescent population who indeed are having sex at Nin's frequency. The vaccine may not have helped her as HPV infections causing vaginal cancer are not necessarily covered by HPV4 or HPV9.
I am very glad to have Dr. Harper's opinions and for the time being have decided not have my daughter vaccinated. Folks with a history of cervical cancer in their families may well feel differently. I have watched a number of videos of young women who claim that their health has been damaged by the vaccine--Gardasil girl videos referred to by Dr. Harper above; I've also read and seen video accounts that discredit the girls, or that claim no distinct pattern has emerged explaining the girls' idiosyncratic reactions: the implication is that the girls who got sick were already sick, or that their reactions are too rare and unusual to worry about.
So far, I don't agree. I've decided to continue questioning experts--I've sent an email to Dr. Marcia Angell, the professor of medicine at Harvard who was the first woman editor of the New England Journal of Medicine. Haven't heard from her yet, but hey--how many experts are going to get around to writing some obscure mom?
That is why I appreciate Dr. Harper's response--and, should you read this, Dr. Harper, know that I did forward your remarks to my pediatrician, who thanked me, then insisted that the vaccine offered significant protections, that his thirteen-year-old daughter had already had the first shot, that his wife is a gynecologist who approved it. When I asked him why a pap smear wasn't enough, he rolled his eyes. When I asked if he'd seen any of the Gardasil girls videos, he smiled and said, "Not yet." He told me his daughter had been vaccinated. But that's not what I need to know. I need to know what percent of women are afflicted by cervical cancer, what kinds of screenings exist, and how to assess the side effects when the mothers and the medical authorities appear to differ. So, Moms, do your own research. Since the manufacturer of the vaccine, Merck, lists significant side effects on its website, I will wait. Compare that Merck page to the ones for polio and other standard childhood vaccines.
Personally, I'd wait on a vaccine about which so many side effects including death, continue to be reported.
If you are the mother of a nine-to-twelve year old girl, your pediatrician is sure to recommend the Gardasil or the Cervarix shot for HPV--human papillomavirus, otherwise known as the cause of genital warts, a condition that can (but does not usually) lead to deadly cervical cancers. The only surefire way to avoid HPV, which the vast majority of the population has, or will have, is never to touch another person's genitals.
But the alternative to these infections--there are many types of HPV, and in most cases they clear up by themselves--is the shot. Is the shot safe?
When I Googled the virus and the vaccines, the name Diane Medved Harper appeared repeatedly, because Dr. Harper, now at the University of Louisville, was one of the physicians employed by Merck to evaluate the vaccine and to run clinical trials. You can read about her here and here.
But I decided to write to her myself, and she very kindly wrote back, and since she had no objection to my sharing our correspondence of November 5, 2015 with my pediatrician, I am also sharing it with my readers.
The Critical Mom: How wise is it to give a vaccine for a condition that may never develop? (If I am correct in assuming that only 10% of infected people develop cancer, that is).
Dr. Harper: Only 5% of infections develop CIN 3 lesions (precancer). Of the CIN 3 lesions, only 20% become cancer within 5 years, and only 40% become cancer within 30 years -- so less than 1% of HPV infections become cancer after a very long period of time. How wise it is is a judgement that only you can make: it weighs the knowledge that you have a screening system in place to detect the CIN 3 precancer and then treat it. Our treatments are nearly 100% effective (LLETZ, usually). HPV4 or HPV9 only protect against about 47% of the CIN 3 lesions regardless of HPV type; HPV2 protects against 93% of CIN 3 lesions regardless of HPV type. Neither prevents all CIN 3, so screening is still necessary. HPV2 lasts at least 9.4 years. HPV4 lasts at least 5 years. HPV9 lasts at least 3.5 years. Screening has few side effects -- the worst side effect is being told you were positive for HPV 16 and going to colposcopy and having a biopsy and having the results of the biopsy be normal. You can see the Gardasil Girls videos on the internet.
The Critical Mom: Would you give your daughter this vaccine? (Side effects reported by parents on forums do seem worse than those reported for the standard childhood vaccinations).
Dr. Harper: I would give her the option of choosing whether she wanted it -- but I would suggest that she wait until she was at least 16 years, and maybe even 18 years if she had not yet begun any interest in any sexual activity.
The Critical Mom: Isn't a yearly pap test enough after my daughter becomes sexually active? My kids know all about condoms and barrier protection and seem like responsible people.
Dr. Harper: Yes, screening is enough. And screening has moved to
every 3-5 years depending on whether your doctor uses
HPV genotyping as a screen.
The Critical Mom: Is family history important? (We have no family history of uterine cancer--that is, my mother, my aunt, my grandmother, my husband's mother, never came down with it).
Dr. Harper: No -- this is an infection that is transmitted by skin to skin contact -- not hereditary.
The Critical Mom: Is it important, in making a decision, to note that more side effects for Gardasil appear to be reported on the Merck website than are listed for standard vaccines like those for polio and diphtheria?
Dr. Harper: I would think that you would want to consider all possible side effects. I would also think that you should want to know whether one vaccine offered better protection and fewer side effects. In my opinion I believe that HPV2 is superior.
The Critical Mom: On a related subject: Anaïs Nin, the diarist, died of cancer of the vagina. As she detailed in her writings, she had sex four times a day with four different partners for a number of months. A Gardasil vaccine might have been good for her--but when I read around on the net, and listen to some genuinely alarmist videos, like this and this, I wonder if the vaccine is predicated on the assumption that most girls will pursue sexual activity at the same rate that Nin did.
The Critical Mom: Is family history important? (We have no family history of uterine cancer--that is, my mother, my aunt, my grandmother, my husband's mother, never came down with it).
Dr. Harper: No -- this is an infection that is transmitted by skin to skin contact -- not hereditary.
The Critical Mom: Is it important, in making a decision, to note that more side effects for Gardasil appear to be reported on the Merck website than are listed for standard vaccines like those for polio and diphtheria?
Dr. Harper: I would think that you would want to consider all possible side effects. I would also think that you should want to know whether one vaccine offered better protection and fewer side effects. In my opinion I believe that HPV2 is superior.
The Critical Mom: On a related subject: Anaïs Nin, the diarist, died of cancer of the vagina. As she detailed in her writings, she had sex four times a day with four different partners for a number of months. A Gardasil vaccine might have been good for her--but when I read around on the net, and listen to some genuinely alarmist videos, like this and this, I wonder if the vaccine is predicated on the assumption that most girls will pursue sexual activity at the same rate that Nin did.
Dr. Harper: Yes, the adolescent pediatricians promoting the vaccine see only the segment of the adolescent population who indeed are having sex at Nin's frequency. The vaccine may not have helped her as HPV infections causing vaginal cancer are not necessarily covered by HPV4 or HPV9.
I am very glad to have Dr. Harper's opinions and for the time being have decided not have my daughter vaccinated. Folks with a history of cervical cancer in their families may well feel differently. I have watched a number of videos of young women who claim that their health has been damaged by the vaccine--Gardasil girl videos referred to by Dr. Harper above; I've also read and seen video accounts that discredit the girls, or that claim no distinct pattern has emerged explaining the girls' idiosyncratic reactions: the implication is that the girls who got sick were already sick, or that their reactions are too rare and unusual to worry about.
So far, I don't agree. I've decided to continue questioning experts--I've sent an email to Dr. Marcia Angell, the professor of medicine at Harvard who was the first woman editor of the New England Journal of Medicine. Haven't heard from her yet, but hey--how many experts are going to get around to writing some obscure mom?
That is why I appreciate Dr. Harper's response--and, should you read this, Dr. Harper, know that I did forward your remarks to my pediatrician, who thanked me, then insisted that the vaccine offered significant protections, that his thirteen-year-old daughter had already had the first shot, that his wife is a gynecologist who approved it. When I asked him why a pap smear wasn't enough, he rolled his eyes. When I asked if he'd seen any of the Gardasil girls videos, he smiled and said, "Not yet." He told me his daughter had been vaccinated. But that's not what I need to know. I need to know what percent of women are afflicted by cervical cancer, what kinds of screenings exist, and how to assess the side effects when the mothers and the medical authorities appear to differ. So, Moms, do your own research. Since the manufacturer of the vaccine, Merck, lists significant side effects on its website, I will wait. Compare that Merck page to the ones for polio and other standard childhood vaccines.
Personally, I'd wait on a vaccine about which so many side effects including death, continue to be reported.
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