the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Life in General (Page 13 of 46)

Team WhyMommy’s Virtual Science Fair

I’m always complaining that Twitter is filled with inane conversations about nothing.   So how did I end up chatting with Susan of WhyMommy?  Sure, she’s funny and friendly, but did I mention that she is also an astrophysicist?   Uh, yeah.   Not intimidating.   Susan has also been active in raising awareness of cancer online, having faced inflammatory breast cancer in 2007.   Recently, doctors found a recurrence of the cancer.  Yesterday, she had surgery.

Stimey, the blogger behind Stimeyland, had a great idea — a way to send support to Susan, our friendly blogger/astrophysicist — A Virtual Science Fair!

From Stimey’s blog:

That is what Team WhyMommy’s Virtual Science Fair is all about. We want her to know that she is loved and supported. But we also want her to know that our love and support is not all because of the cancer. We love and support her because of who she is, not just because of what she has. She is not just a cancer fighter, but an incredible person, one who is passionate about science and especially women who do science.

Bloggers from around the country and, dare I say, world, have spent some time over the past few days doing science. We’ve done science with our kids or with our friends or by ourselves. And we are writing about it today to show Susan how she inspires us. How she is truly making a difference in lives all over the world by encouraging all of us to believe that we can be scientists, whether it be on the smallest, let’s-take-a-walk-in-the-park scale or the largest, I’m-going-to-get-a-degree-in-planetary-science scale.

Many of my regular readers will be surprised that I had a geeky attraction to science in school.  Classes in the humanities, such as English and social studies were easy.   I was in awe of the science students.  That is where the “real” geniuses lived.   Science geeks couldn’t bullshit the way through  assignments.  Only in an English class could you receive an A+ comparing Wang Lung, the main character in Pearl Buck’s “The Good Earth,” to Theo, the Cosby son on “The Cosby Show.”  In science, you had to show the money.

Because of the seriousness of science, I yearned to be a science geek.   Science is strong and manly.  English is for pussies who like Romantic poetry.  But as much as I tried to pose as a scientist, I didn’t have the right stuff, either the discipline or the pocket protector.  I was a pussy who liked poetry.

In my junior year in high school, still in denial over my true self, I convinced my parents to send me to a special summer science program at Michigan State University.  They didn’t quite understand why I wanted to go; I showed no interest in science.  They bought me a microscope and “science kit” for Hanukkah, and I never took it out of the box.  My favorite place in the Museum of Natural History was the gift shop.  I never watched Nova on PBS, only reruns of Monty Python.  But I was determined to prove myself in science.   To be someone with stature.

I wrote about my summer science program at MSU in a blog post in 2005.  When my experiment went awry (I was trying to solve the world’s hunger problems by growing some crazy type of super-wheat), I did what any disreputable scientist would do — I faked the data.  It was a low point in my educational career.  It was during that infamous summer of science, that the facade crumbled.  I would never be a true scientist, like Galileo, Jonas Salk, or Susan of WhyMommy.  Science is searching for the truth, and I lived in a world of lies and made-up nonsense.  So, I became a writer instead.  Fuck science.  Who needs the facts?  If I tell you that my penis jumped off my body and took a walk to Burger King on his own, are you going to ask, “Show me the scientific evidence?!” Of course not.

For many years, I laughed in the face of science.  My jealousy turned to anger.  Poor little spineless scientists, I used to say, needing to check the facts.  Needing “controls.”  Pasty-faced data heads living in sterile labs while I sat poolside in Malibu, Playboy bunnies lounging at my side, as I dictated my latest Jerry Bruckheimer-produced blockbuster about a comet heading for Earth.

“What did you say, Mr. Scientist?  That one lone fighter jet piloted by Mack Higgins, retired Air Force ace (Bruce Willis) cannot shoot down a comet 500x bigger than Jupiter?  Why not?  A scientific impossibility?  Ha Ha!  Science nerd.  Who cares?  You and your FACTS!  Next thing you’re going to tell me is that there weren’t dinosaurs on Noah’s Ark!  Hey, Playboy bunny, I need my dirty martini re-filled!!”

But as I have become older, the anger against science has faded.  I have seen the importance of science.   There would be no hybrid cars or iphones or vaccines or internet without science!  We need science.  If the world was only filled with English majors, life as we know it would cease to exist.  The entire universe would just be sitting around at home complaining about not writing their novels.  It would be horrible.  Life would be brutish, short, and very very bitter.

Now, for the first time ever, I will say it publicly:  Thank God for science!  I might have failed as a scientist, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the work of other great men and women.  One day medical science will cure cancer, and then we will all be REALLY EMBARRASSED for thinking Facebook was the greatest advancement in modern times.

Wait a minute.  What is this post about anyway?

Oh yeah, this post is supposed to be my entry in Team WhyMommy’s Virtual Science Fair.  I completely forgot about that.

My Science Fair Project is geared for the children — your children.  I am sure many of them are coming home from school, just like we all once did, asking the same questions, “Why do we need to learn these things?  When will we ever use geometry?  If I never intend to become a doctor, why study biology?”

The usual answer is “Shut the hell up and do it!”  But is that really the best response to your children?  Does it motivate our youth to learn science?

No.

We need to show our children that learning math and science is important because it helps us THINK.  It allows us to SOLVE PROBLEMS, even every day things that we don’t usually associate with science.

For example —

USING THE SCIENTIFIC METHODOLOGY AND DIRECTIONAL MODEL PARADIGMS IN THE CONSTRUCTION OF A PRE-PACKAGED SANDWICH FROM THE 99 CENT ONLY STORE

Scientific question:  Can one of these sandwiches, sub-genus “Oscar Mayer Deli-Creations Complete Sandwiches” now selling at the 99 cent store, be made edible, by following a certain methodology, as outlined in the “directions” posted in the back of the box?

Hypothesis:  By following the methodology, I will have a very inexpensive lunch.

Experiment:


Step One  – Buy the Oscar Mayer Deli Creations “Focaccia Sandwich.”   Can the iterative process allow us to prove that this sandwich will be as Hot & Melty as postulated?


Step Two – Planning and Research.  Examination of variables involved.

Step Three  — After the “Italian Herb” Focaccia bread is split into two identical halves, the “bottom” element is arranged carefully in the rectangular “silver” microwave pan, which doubles as the part of the box containing the explicit directions and methodology of the process.

Step Four – Using a sharp tool known as a knife, the “steakhouse beef” is extracted from its plastic shell.

Step Five – The “Steakhouse Beef” is carefully arranged on the Focaccia bread, in such a manner, that at least 80% of the surface is covered with the meat.

Step Six – After carefully washing the “knife” to prevent contamination, the pepper ranch sauce is released —

— in liquid state, over the meat and bread.   It is essential at this point that, if you are using a lab assistant to help with the experiment, that you do not get de-focused by arguments over whether or not you are going to see a marriage counselor next week.

Step Seven — Repeat Step Six, using the Pepper Jack Cheese.

Remember, science is all about data and experimental technique.  Opinions and subjectivity, such as “This sandwich looks like a piece of ****” do not belong in the lab.

Step Eight — The other identical half of the Italian Herb Focaccia bread is reconnected, much like a strand of DNA, once again proving that even in science, there are still mysteries unexplained.

Step Eight — Well, let’s just say that the experiment got screwed up when an overzealous lab assistant placed the final variable into the OVEN rather than the microwave.

“The box said to put it in the microwave,” I said.

“It would be all soggy in the microwave.   It looks so much better now.,” replied the lab assistant.

“But I’m supposed to be doing a scientific experiment and following the directions.”

“So, lie.  Isn’t that what you always do when you do a science experiment!”

Sigh.  I’m never going to live that down.

SCIENTIFIC EXPERIMENT:  RESULTS

Yes, you can can make a sandwich from a package.    Would I consider this lunch?  That I’m not sure about.

Heal fast, Susan!

Unconditional Love

Here’s a corny old Jewish joke about the unconditional love of mothers for their daughters (told with a little sarcasm):

Two women who haven’t seen each other in years run into each other on the street.

“How’s your daughter,” the first woman asks, “the one who married that surgeon?”

“They were divorced,” the second woman answers.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“But she then got married to a lawyer.”

“Mazal tov!” the friend exclaimed.

“They were also divorced… But now everything is alright, she’s married to a very successful CPA.”

The first woman shakes her head from side to side.

“Mmmm, so much nachas (joy in Yiddish) from one daughter…”

++++

My mother is back in Queens after a winter as a snowbird in Florida.    My intention was to live it up in my pseudo-bachelor pad all winter.   Life got in the way.    When I left Queens to come to LA, it was for a short trip.  I expected to return to New York in ten days, not still be in LA three months later.

My mother called five minutes after she walked in the front door.

“I am so mad,” she said.

I had left behind six bundles of dirty laundry and a broken dishwasher.

“Oops,” I replied, suddenly remembering that I promised to take care of things before my mother’s return, and never did , much like the “shower curtain incident” last year.

I wasn’t worried about my mother’s anger.   After all, she’s my mother.    I have been lucky with my parents.   I know a few of you got stuck with shitty parents.   I am pretty confident that my mother is going to continue to love me even if I caused a fire and burnt the entire apartment to the ground.

Unconditional love by a mother.

++++

Of course, that same love can also ruin you.

++++

Sophia and I had a fight last week over… yeah, the dishes.    One day I need to write a post on that one issue.   When we argue, I can feel the love disappear.   There is hate in her eyes.   The next day, when tensions subside, the love returns, as if a dark cloud has lifted.   This disturbs me.   It makes me feel very insecure.   I know, I know, your girlfriend or wife isn’t your mother.   Only your mother will give you that unconditional love.

Perhaps that is why I am looking up codependent in wikipedia.

++++

I am very jealous of all the parents out there. You must feel this unconditional love for your children. It must be such a special feeling.   No one else can ever feel this special bond of unconditional love.

Maybe dog owners.   Remember Lassie?    That was unconditional love, right?

++++

If there is one piece of advice about blogging that I can give to newbies without any reservations, it is this:   Never look for unconditional love online.   You won’t find it.   Through trial and error, I now operate on the assumption that I could lose 75% of my readers or online friends in one week by simply writing the wrong type of post or tweet.   Thank God for V-grrrl.   She’s like Mikey in those old Life Cereal commercials.   She doesn’t like anything, but still likes my posts.   I write half of my posts with her in mind.

++++

It is Easter. The idea of unconditional love is an integral part of Christianity. It describes the belief in God’s love for humankind through the forgiveness of Christ.

Unconditional love is also central to Judaism, although the Jewish God sometimes confuses Passover with April Fool’s Day.

++++

In Exodus, there is a moment when Moses shows his unconditional love for his people. Moses has just lead the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, and has given them the Ten Commandments.   What does he get in return?   He finds them partying with the Golden Calf, much like parents returning home early from their vacation to find their high school son having a wild party in the living room with more hookers than listed in Tiger Woods’ blackberry.

Does Moses show unconditional love?   Well, maybe not at first.   He curses them, throws the tablets at them, and several sinners die in a fiery blaze.   Let’s just say that anger management classes had not yet been developed.   But to give the dude credit, God later makes Moses an offer that most of us would jump on: “Let my anger burn against them and I shall annihilate them, and I will make you into a great nation!”

Basically, God is offering to get rid of all these schmucks and start over again with Moses in the chariot driver’s seat.  But Moses, for some unknown reason — maybe love is blind — begs for mercy:   “These people have sinned a great sin by making for themselves a god of gold. And now, if You would bear their sin. But if not—erase me now from your book that You have written!”

Translation: “Sure, these Israelites are are a bunch of sinning, high-maintenance assholes — just wait until one day when they have their own country — but I’m one of them, and I love them — despite it all — so just kill me too while you’re at it.”

Unconditional love.   Neurotic, maybe, but isn’t all love?

++++

I know someone is going to comment here that the most important person to love is yourself.   Despite my kvetching, I do love myself.   I find myself very amusing and lovable.   But you just can’t hang around with yourself ALL the time.

After Birthday Check-Up

Every year, on the day after my birthday, I like to take stock of my life to make sure that everything is running as smoothly as a Swiss watch.

That’s why I made an appointment for this morning to see Doctor Teitelbaum, my family doctor.

“How’s it going with you and Sophia?” he asked as he took my blood pressure.

“Not good at all.”

“I know. I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Sophia already told me when she came in for her checkup two weeks ago.”

“She did?”

Dr. Teitelbaum received a telephone call.

“I’ll be back.” he said, and Emily, Dr. Teitelbaum’s nurse, came in to take my blood.

“And how’s everything, Neil?” Emily asked as she stabbed the needle in my arm. “Any health problems I need to put on the chart?”

“No.”

“You sure? Any lack of sexual desire?  Difficulty with erections?  Premature ejaculation?   Crying after sex?  Inability to find the clitoris?  Lack of affection?   Bad kissing technique?”

“Uh, no. Everything is fine.  Why?  What did you hear?”

“Just part of the yearly check-up.”

She bandaged me up.

“Thanks, Neil. Regards to Sophia!” she said, as she exited.  “Please tell her to call me when you return to New York.   We wanted to check out that new club in Manhattan Beach!”

Dr. Teitelbaum returned, reading a chart.

“OK, I’m back.   Hmmm….”  he murmered with a worried look on his face.

“Is there a problem.”

“Just reading your blog’s chart. How’s the blog this year? How’s your readership?”

“Oh, it’s great. My readers are terrific.”

“I’m not quite sure about your demographic.”

“What do you see?”

He handed me my blog’s chart.

“Well, according to Quantcast, the professional web tool used to quantify the size and characteristics of those engaged with your digital media. most of your readership consists of poor middle-aged Asian men who make 0-30K year.”

“It is?  It thought most of my readers were MILFs!?”

“No, Neil.  You are imagining that.   Why would they want to read you when they can read Bossy or the Bloggess?  Maybe it is time that you start writing more posts about poor middle-aged Asian men.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“No. Doctor’s orders.”

“OK, OK.”

Dr, Teiltelbaum pulled over his chair and patted me on the knee in a fatherly manner.

“So, Neil. Anything else? Anything else you want to tell me about?”

“I’m feeling pretty good. Solid. Looking forward to my new year of life with a positive attitude.”

“I see. That’s great. But what about the incident with your father-in-law’s dentures?”

“What?!” I shouted. “How did you know about that?”

“The pretty brunette who saw you in the car — just happens to be my patient. The minute she described the scenario, I knew it was you.”

“It was nothing. Really nothing.”

“That’s NOT what she thought. Or her friend who was walking with her.”

“It’s just… been very chaotic lately, with me rushing back and forth between home and my father-in-law’s. When I took those tupperwear containers back home from their home, I didn’t realize that his dentures was in one of the containers. So when Sophia called up, her mother screaming in the background, thinking they were lost, the whole situation made me jumpy. I rushed out of the supermarket, where I was buying milk and orange juice, and ran to the car parked outside, just to make sure I still had the dentures in the car. I was so relived to find them in the glove compartment, but because of my anxiety, I dropped the container out of the open passenger’s side door, the container flipped open on the surface of the parking lot,  and the dentures rolled under the car. I immediately slid under the car to retrieve them, banging my head on the car door.  Then, I sat inside the car again to clean them off using a bottle of water I found in the back seat. I was worrying about his dentures, not the water splashing on the front of my pants.”

“So, are you saying that she and her friend  were MISTAKEN about you giving yourself a blowjob with a pair of dentures and THEN coming in your pants.  They thought you were a pervert!”

“Of course they were wrong. That’s ridiculous.  Sick!”

Dr. Teitelbaum stood, closing my file.

“OK, Neil, everything seems to be the same with you this year. You are in good health. Just one thing….”

Dr. Teitelbaum reached over to grab a bag full of pill samples.

“I am recommending you take these. Every day.  Sometimes twice a day.”

As he handed them over to me —

“Happy Birthday,” he said.

Truth Quotient — 56% – 67% depending on the reading

P.S. — Thanks for all the birthday greetings yesterday!

Need to Sleep

Writing on the iPhone is so personal. I am in bed. I am thinking about you, but I don’t know you. I hold you in my hands as I type. My thumb slides over and around your tender keys, hoping to create letters and words that please you, that connect us across the wide rivers and snowy mountains that separate us. I want you to feel that we met for a purpose. Once, I came to this exact location to be a storyteller, a humorist. Those days are long gone. I am now aimless, but learning how to approach the difficult journey. But that’s tomorrow. Always procrastinating. Tonight I need to sleep. I need to close my eyes. Maybe I will dream about you, dear friend. I imagine your lips taste sweet.

Codependent

I was reading a little about codependency after an IM conversation with Juli Ryan, a blogger living in New Zealand, who was kind enough to say, “I think you might be co-dependent,” in that blunt manner that Kiwis are famous for, or at least I imagine them to be.

How long can this status quo continue with Sophia? Why does it scare me to bring up the word divorce, as if the very sound of these two syllables will cause a major earthquake on the Californian coast. The fear of change is so palpable, the walls of our home are already cracking from the vibrations.

My first reaction to Juli’s diagnosis of codependency was to make a joke. How typical of me!

“Finally, I can blame my mother!” I said.

Later, I thought about the parental influence on my life in a more serious, searching manner. And then it hit me. It wasn’t my mother.

It was my father.

Written on the iPhone

Couples

Before she left for Florida, I asked my mother if she wanted me to set her up a Flickr account. She said she doesn’t really like seeing photos on the computer. She prefers the snapshot that you can hold in your hand. When you can touch the photo, place it in your wallet, hang in on the wall, or prop it up on your nightstand, you are more likely to keep alive the memory.

Photos in my father-in-law’s bedroom —

I Could Write

I could write about what’s on my mind, but you don’t want to know. These words would create a slowly-cooked stew of disturbing images of sickness, illness, and dying, a stubborn refusal of my FIL to eat or drink or live anymore, the complete denial of reality by my MIL as she faces the inevitable after decades of companionship, a stew seasoned with my own angry emotions, feelings of frustration about my own marriage, fear of being trapped, all served with a hefty dollop of mental exhaustion and a need to live fully, to break away, to ask the lonely-looking thirtyish Russian nurse visiting right now — as i write this on my iphone — out for coffee when she is done taking his temperature, to make out in the car, and then later fuck her until we can’t fuck any longer, right on the bed next to my dying FIL, and then fuck again slowly as we listen to the calming, gentle songs of James Taylor on the radio, because he would understand what I am feeling, and my FIL would approve, and so would my father, looking down from heaven. Life is now.

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