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Working my way slowly through a real tome: Emperor of all Maladies. Kindle edition.

Nothing dry, arcane, or mind numbingly dense about this one. Exceptionally well written and engaging; the story of key events and personalities in the so-called war on cancer makes this feel like fiction, though it isn’t, and I’m only ~15% of the way through. For all the laughable notions that people evidently have had about cancer, going as far back as antiquity, I remain humble that even though we moderns know a great deal more about this disease (in reality many diseases, most now agree), certainly at the molecular level if not also in terms of treatment and extending survival, we still haven’t cured this beast. Well worth your money and time if this stuff interests you.

What else have I read in ’13? Let’s take a ride on the kindle carousel (images linked to Amazon entry).

Seems like a real hodgepodge. In order of most recent:

Stick by Elmore Leonard

Crime fiction. Not a genre that has ever interested me, but reading around the last few years Leonard’s name comes up again and again as someone who got storytelling right. Regrettably, he died last year, but he left behind one hell of an impressive oeuvre, and quite a few of his books have been made into movies, e.g. Get Shorty, which I really enjoyed. He certainly had a good ear for dialog and knew how to pace a story well, based on my read of Stick anyway. Probably won’t read another one of his books but glad I got to know him. If you’re into crime fiction I imagine Leonard is hard to beat.

The Deserters: A Hidden History of World War II by Charles Glass

Heard about this one on NPR. Told through the perspective of three deserters, two American soldiers, one British. Supposedly, as many as 150,000 American and British soldiers deserted in WWII. Glass tells us that some of them went into crime after they deserted, especially in France, but elsewhere in Europe too. Punishment for desertion was pretty harsh, including death, though if I recall correctly only one deserter in all of WWII was executed. A bit discursive here and there, and like several reviewers at Amazon commented, I wanted to hear more about deserters in general and less about the details of just three of them, but overall a very well researched book I thought. A challenging subject for sure.

Odds Against Tomorrow by Nathaniel Rich

Another NPR recommendation. Didn’t really care for this one. The prose was intermittently good — I wasn’t as agog over it as many at Amazon were — although the characters I thought strained credulity. The main character is a math whiz who becomes a Quant for a company that predicts calamitous future events and sells the predictions to other companies who can then take appropriate action, like relocating offices out of New York in advance of a Cat 3 hurricane hitting Manhattan, which happens in this book. After this, the book turns into a post apocalyptic novel with our math whiz and some hottie he befriends paddling through the flooded streets of Manhattan in a canoe. Periodically, he reflects on his obsession with another girl he’d met in college who now lives in Maine (?) and has a life-threatening heart condition. I think the intention here was to show us our math whiz isn’t merely a walking computer but had a human side to him as well, but to me this seemed contrived. Eventually he leaves the hottie and becomes a kind of survivalist, making his home in an abandoned building outside Manhattan, living off the grid. (No wonder as most of the grid was still out due to the hurricane). Anyhoo, I agree with many who said the book was overall depressing, interspersed here and there with novel observations and comical events, but that didn’t disappoint me so much as did finishing the book and thinking, “So what?”

Brain on Fire by Susannah Cahalan

Autobiographical retelling of terror. Decent read especially the first half of the book. Second half meandered a bit. The author, who worked as a journalist for a newspaper, is stricken with a neurological autoimmune disease with increasingly terrifying symptoms — brain inflammation, seizures, severe paranoia, insanity. It gets so bad she is unrecognizable by her friends or even herself. Disease goes undiagnosed for at least a month until a hotshot neurologist eventually figures it out. Chilling tale of desperation and perseverance when the best medical minds are stumped. 4/5 stars.

The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks

Must have been in my neurological phase. Another book about neurological disorders told from the perspective of a practicing neurologist, who also happens to be a pretty decent writer. This is a relatively old book I’ve been meaning to read for years. The title derives from a rare and bizarre disorder that renders its victims with the inability to recognize faces (Google prospagnosia), but worse, to mistake certain random objects like a hat for someone they know, like a spouse. Crazy, right? The book is chocked full of accounts of patients treated by Sacks who had weird disorders like these, how they were diagnosed, what the patients and their loved ones go through, and remarkably how some who are afflicted with these disorders are otherwise able to lead very productive lives. Music as therapy is discussed, which I found fascinating. Five stars.

Sphere by Michael Crichton

I’ve been thinking about the plot of a novel I might write someday and came across this book in my search for others that might have had similar plot elements. Again, not a genre I’m normally interested reading (or writing should I ever get there), I read it as research. Decent read, fairly good story telling and ably plotted; prose style was not my cup o’ tea but if you like stories about teams of quirky scientists dispatched to the deep ocean floor to explain what turns out to be a spaceship that had crashed, this one’s for you. Not nearly as good as I remember Jurassic Park being, which I devoured when it was first published. Used to read a lot of science fiction when I was younger, not anymore.

Inner Circle by T.C. Boyle (Paperback).

My favorite author. Period. Fictional account of the life and times of sex researcher, Alfred Kinsey. Dark at times, funny at times, always a constant page turner. Only disappointment was that it took me so long to get to this one (and the next one). Including his short story collections, which are fabulous and a perfect way to get your feet wet with this author should you be interested, I’ve read nearly everyone of Boyle’s books, like what, over twenty five by now?

Tortilla Curtain by T.C. Boyle (Paperback).

Ibid. A modestly affluent California man (Delaney) is driving home to his house in a gated community of Topagna Canyon (?) when he hits and injures an illegal Mexican immigrant (Candido). Delaney stops and gets out of his car, panics not knowing what to do. Candido gets up, their eyes meet briefly, and Candido begins to limp away. Evidently desperate to do something, Delaney starts after him and gives $20 to Candido, who then continues to limp away down a steep canyon trail. Their lives take off in very different directions, but through force of circumstances intersect again at the end of the book. An antipodal telling of the American Dream. I don’t think the story was the least bit cliche as some reviewers thought, and if it is, if this is truly representative of the reality for many illegal Mexican immigrants, man…

These books plus gobs of short stories from anthologies and literary journals (too many to list), essays here and there, and of course, like you, whatever catches my eye day-to-day on the internets.

This marijuana thing. (Mom, Dad, look away).

Okay.

Whether you’re like me or thankful you’re not (!), your primary objection to the illegality of marijuana possession and use, which, barring some recent exceptions (e.g., Colorado) has been universally albeit variably enforced by the State (I’m using “State” here as a shorthand for local, state, and federal law enforcement), is a principled objection. Namely, that it is an improper, if not also immoral, use of State power to forbid people to put what they want in their own bodies.

Nothing novel about that objection. Libertarians of all stripes have for decades made it the basis of their argument that MJ ought to be legal, at least decriminalized (the two are different, but only in degree). Certain other libertarians have made practical arguments for why MJ should be either decriminalized or legalized; the dismal record of the WarOnDrugs comes to mind. This libertarian, however, has not been persuaded that any argument beyond the one for the straightforward concern for maximizing personal freedom & liberty is necessary. Surely we can all agree that absent a clear and compelling State interest, the government — Our government — misuses its power when it abuses lessens our liberty. Further, the prevention of certain afflictions in some individuals — skipping school, laziness, insatiable appetites (the “munchies”), fantastic dreams, periods of emotional maladjustment, times of torpor, attention deficit, delusions of grandeur, etc. — is not a clear and compelling State interest. If it was a clear and compelling interest it would be better served by the exercise of State power to regulate parental control, or, to nip it in the bud altogether, human reproduction. Know what I’m sayin?

I never knew or cared when I used MJ how it worked. My fascination with pharmacology arrived many years after the last time I smoked a joint, and wouldn’t you know it, now that MJ’s becoming legal I have no interest in using again — “I can have that? I don’t want that.” What I didn’t know then but know now is that human beings express two cannabinoid receptors (CB1 & CB2), preferentially on the surface of immune cells (e.g. B-cells) but also in the brain, on sensory neurons. Why do we have these receptors? Well, when they’re activated they regulate a diverse range of important biological processes, some of which involve the perception of pain, but also — wait for it stoners — pleasure, feeding, and motivation. How are the cannabinoid receptors normally activated? By cannabinoids, of course, small molecules your body makes all on its own (endogenously), one example of which is anandamide, aka a neurotransmitter. Turns out that 9-THC, the main active ingredient in MJ, is also a cannabinoid and a potent activator of CB1 & CB2.

Now, I don’t suppose that all those years ago had I offered up a precocious comeback like, “Hey man, we were just exercising our cannabinoid receptors,” it would have done diddly to get me out of hot water when busted for using MJ. However, a more generous view may have been that this young man was a “budding” pharmacologist, merely running an experiment. On himself.

Polar Vortext. Blah blah blah… Save the children, keep them inside, literal life-threatening  cold — Literal!

Good grief. You’d think school children in Fairbanks must be a different species altogether:

Outdoor recess is only cancelled when the temperature reaches -20 °F.

Outdoor recess! Nevermind waiting to get on the bus to get to school in the first place.

Buck up, mid-western kiddies, buck up.

…

Working against a deadline to finish my book chapter to be published by Springer later this year. The likely audience of readers will be medical oncologists and researchers in human colorectal cancer (cheery, right?). I need to be careful to get the biology right, and to be as clear and as simple as possible, in keeping with an ideal often attributed to Einstein: “Everything should be kept as simple as possible, but no simpler.” This means avoid wandering explanations of mass spectrometry, gel electrophoresis, or worse, abstruse mathematics when I discuss the predictive value of our approach. Not that the latter is irrelevant; to the contrary, it’s the likely the reason I was invited to author the chapter, but you don’t want the novelty to get lost in its explanation.

Another mistake to avoid is underestimating the knowledge of your readership, knowingly or not. Years ago, while I was still a grad student, I wrote a review of biomarkers in colorectal cancer, elements of which I expect I’ll be drawing on quite a bit as I write this chapter. I recall that the peer review of that paper was fair, but quite critical of several things I’d left out which the reviewers argued, correctly I agreed, belonged in any broad review of the field. It was as if I’d written a review of the auto industry and omitted any mention of Ford. Well, not that bad, but you get the idea. I revised the manuscript accordingly, made it a better paper, and it passed muster on the second review and was published. Getting a paper published is very satisfying, but what’s more satisfying if you ask me is having the paper cited by others, and I see today this one has been.

It wasn’t until a good friend texted me with condolences a couple hours after the game was over that I realized the winning field goal was almost blocked. I had no idea. Happy Wife and I were putting on our jackets and settling our bill at the Peanut Farm as the 49ers lined up for the kick. I couldn’t watch. Supposedly, the Packers were offside on the play so it wouldn’t have counted anyway. THAT would have been way worse. The off season rest will do the Packers well. As a team they are more beat up and injured than an 90-yr old rodeo clown. Just wasn’t to be this year.

Of the top ten coldest NFL football games four were played at Lambeau field in Green Bay.

Come Sunday, make it five.

Say cheese, baby!

First, our bouches were amused by bleu cheese stuffed, deep-fried olives…

… then, for the appetizer, I enjoyed lamb ‘n rice filled tomato (toh-mah-toh?) in basil cream sauce…

… while she (Happy Wife) savored the shrimp keftedes…

… followed by a playful “CaBeetse” salad …

… each course thoroughly rinsed by silky tannins (first decanted) …

… and the eventual entree course, New york strip steaks with compound butter, potato (poh-tah-toh?) and asparagus…

… finished with a festive choco- dessert for him …

… and an elegant Tiramisu for her…

Stopped at a local watering hole on the way home to show off my arm candy, but also to wish a familiar face or two a happy new year. However, evidently because we were too early (~10 pm) we were disappointed to find a mostly empty bar and a live act on stage whose guitar and voice together was about as ear-pleasing as a (broken) Dremel tool on aluminum sheeting. Finally, came home to two dogs in full panic mode because the city of Anchorage strictly forbids private fireworks of any kind on New Year’s Eve!

The other night at dinner a friend comes back with, “Do you have a better idea?” This, after I responded with two objections to a question I was asked by another dinner guest, “What do you think of Obamacare?”

The content of those two objections is unimportant, with the possible exception that they may provide a glimpse into my worldview, a view it so happens nobody at the table was probably unaware of, and one which was likely set and has remained unchanged since — as I recall being told it is in most people — about age 30. For any practical purpose I can think of it makes no difference what I think of Obamacare. I may disagree with the rain, too, but I understand the futility of shaking my fist at it. One constituent belief of my worldview is that one should sweat the changeable and shrug off the unchangeable. A different worldview has it that a real American should work for change he believes in else he should shut up and abide the rules others have established. If you don’t vote, some say, you’ve no right to complain about the outcome. I’ve never agreed with that. It doesn’t work that way in science. Pointing out a flaw in someone’s scientific method isn’t predicated on my knowledge of a better one, or me personally participating in the search for one. Surely there were people who were correctly critical of geocentricism yet unable to articulate an alternative theory before Copernicus and Kepler came along, just as legitimate scientific criticisms of the gene-centric theory of evolution have been raised absent a full-fledged alternative. I can’t be critical of Bush or Obama because I didn’t vote for either of them or their opponents? That makes no sense to me.

Do I have a better idea than Obamacare? Shrug. Not really. But I don’t have to have a better idea to have legitimate objections to it.

Happy New Year.

Cross your fingers, Lucy is having surgery today to remove a lump in her lymph node, followed by one last dose of chemotherapy (mitotic inhibitor) next week. After that, if the cancer recurs Happy Wife says she’s in hospice. Personally speaking, I’m optimistic; other than this latest lump Lucy is entirely symptom free, and the damn cancer hasn’t recurred in her neck since it was removed for the (3rd) last time over a month ago. Knowing it’s gone to her lymphatics isn’t a positive sign, but on the other hand there’s no evidence it’s metastasized beyond this one lump.

Finished the newsletter! Officially known as The Nibbles, the 2013 version is relatively light compared to years past, but the recipient list is as long as ever — mailed over fifty this year. If you want to be added to the list click the Contact Me link and let me know. Word of caution: Once I add you to the list there’s no getting off, there is no unsubscribe button.

We went to The Nest this weekend to check up on the place. All was well. Got a hot fire raging in the wood stove, turned up the hot tub, mixed a pitcher of what we’re now calling Nestaritas — one can limeade, one can Tequila, one (16 oz) can Pabst. Mix well. Enjoy over ice. I grilled a flank steak and Happy Wife prepared fixins for fajitas. Stoked the fire and settled in to watch The Heat starring Sandra Bullock & Melissa McCarthy. Raunchy, trashy, and mostly amusing. Emptied the Nestaritas. Bedtime came easy.

Woke to a glorious day, once it got going that is (~9:30 am). Very little snow, nearly 30 degrees, no wind. A perfect day for a hike to Tonsina Point.

BIGGER.

BIGGER.

BIGGER.

Packed up and drove back to Anchorage early am Sunday. Happy Wife drops me at the Peanut Farm, a known hangout for Cheeseheads, as the game was not televised in our area. But at The Farm every game is on one of their TVs (>15?), and if one of the games is the Packers it appears on one of the BIG screens. Place was mobbed, even beyond usual, which is crazy. Found a lone stool next to two Bears fans, a man and a woman. Otherwise nice people. I lost a bet to the woman midway through the game on some play or another. That set me back three shots of Patron. I wasn’t going to let them drink alone!

If you saw the game you can imagine my mood at the one minute to go mark when it looked like the Packers were done for the year. And then, miraculously, on fourth and one, Arron Rodgers let’s loose with a 30+ yard strike to Cobb for a touchdown. The Farm erupts. Haven’t heard anything like that since… well, since the last time I was at The Farm and the Packers won. But this was special for sure. And then we had to endure the last 40 seconds of the game including one last hail Mary pass to the end zone. The ball hangs in the air for what seemed like minutes as every Cheesehead in the place is on their feet biting their nails and thinking about how we got ripped off last year against the Seahawks:

Not this year baby! We’re in the playoffs. See you at Lambeau Field next week 49ers. Wear an extra pair of socks, could be a long chilly day. Ha!

… from the Last Frontier. -8^o and a minute more sun!

BIGGER.

Missed my 35th H.S. reunion this year. Couldn’t justify a 10,000 mile r/t for a few hours of reminiscing, with the awkward darting of eyes back ‘n forth between a name tag and a former classmate’s face to trigger recognition. “Oh, Pam Schmidt, yes, of course… yes I remember you, of course!” And then in that instant the awkwardness doubles because you can’t describe for Pam the 35-yr old image that suddenly leapt into your mind’s eye, the one that represents your memory of Pam. No, that would be impolite all these years later. It’s not your fault, you think. It’s not like I consciously stored this memory of Pam qua cheerleader, her back against the locker, our arms tangled in awkward embrace, lips co-pressed, hands roaming and hearts beating, unguided. Is Pam’s memory of you the same you wonder, that day after the game when you were the last to exit the team room, the school hallway long since empty of players and fans except for Pam who had come back into the building to fetch something from her locker. Is that what she remembers too, you wonder, all these years later, as her smile grows wider in the long seconds that pass as you stand there looking at each other trying to think of what to say next.

Or maybe it wasn’t Pam, or maybe it wasn’t you with Pam. Memory is imperfect, and after 35 years often unreliable.

Ha! Oh, what we might do different if we could start all over again, eh?