Case Files of the Uninsured

It's been a surreal few days. A week ago I was in Atlanta, having lofty conversation about lofty things, and getting fed little goat cheese and roasted tomato sandwiches. 4 days later, I was in the Caribbean House Health Center in Brooklyn, soon to be en route to the ER. What happened, I hear you asking? Here is a break down. (And no, I'm not allergic to art history, Atlanta, or southern hospitality. Although people saying "hi" to me on the street did sort of freak me out. I'm such a Brooklynite.)

Anyway.
--I have been having some breathing problems since...Thanksgiving...but only when I'm in NYC. It feels like chest constrictions and my heart rate speeds up. The past few weeks this has been coupled with some sinus pressure in my head and throat. Tuesday night it suddenly got the worst it's ever been, while I was walking home from the museum, so I decided to finally do something about it.
--Wednesday morning, I went to the CHHC, which I picked because I don't have health insurance, it is about 3 subway stops away, and offers a sliding scale for treatment. Wednesday was also the start of "the blizzard" so there was no school, and a lot of places were closed (pharmacies, for one, I later found out.)
--so, the CHHC. It was clean, felt safe, and the people were friendly. Not much foot traffic, because of the snow, and only one doctor made it in, but I got seen fairly quickly. They deduced that I was not having a heart attack (and I had my first EKG! Wooo!) but decided I should go to the ER, as they didn't have x-rays. I said ok, but refused an ambulance, as the hospital was only 5 blocks away. I paid $40 the visit and went on my way through the snow.
--To my knowledge, I have never been to the ER before this week. So this is actually pretty exciting, I guess.
--And I can tell you all that the Kings County Hospital ER is surprisingly nice, too. This might be because there is a separate psychiatric ER, but I got into triage within 5 minutes, had to wait another 45 minutes (which I'm assuming is not terrible for an ER) and then got called back. Granted, the room I was placed into was effectively the storage closet for all the crutches and cast-supplies. But my physician's assistant was good, thorough, and my cousin came (giving up her snow day!! Sorry Melis, I owe you BIG) so I wasn't by myself. Which was really good. Because by that point in the day, I just wanted to go to Jamestown and have my parents take care of me.
--The verdict? My EKG (second of the day! my skin still hurts from having the electrodes ripped off) was normal, as was my thyroid test, chest x-rays, and my heart rate was normal-ish. They asked a lot of questions about my stress level, which I suppose could be influencing this, although it doesn't seem very likely to me. They deduced that it could be an untreated sinus infection, which is causing the head pressure, clogging my throat, and causing my heart to work a little faster. So I got hooked up with some antibiotics and a prescription for prescription level sudafed ("take it or sell it" said the p.a.)
--When we got outside it was still snowing, snowing, snowing. And people on the street were hilarious about it. Everyone was excited like they were little kids, it was great.
--I spent yesterday in bed (well, on the couch, really), surly because I was missing a Kiki Smith show, sore from getting poked with needles, and bored. Although I did watch 5 episodes of The Wire, so that was pretty excellent. And I could stare out the window at the snow removal, and feel like I was in Rear Window (minus a lobster dinner.)

Now, some analysis about the experience:
--I was the only white person at the CHHC, which includes the doctor and nurses.
--I was the only white person at the ER, not including the doctors and some of the nurses. Both my physician and physicians assistant were white. The physician also looked a LOT like my pediatrician, which as mom can attest to, means that he looked like a gnome. Or leprechaun.
--My cousin pointed this out, and the thought had occurred to me as well--the treatment and attentiveness I was shown could very well have been because I was white. And lucid and washed. For example, I said that I wasn't pregnant, and they took my word for it (granted I did get asked about 900 times). If I were 18 and African American? Might have been a different story.
--Being uninsured is a scary thing. I can testify to the fact that the health care system in this country is very, very broken, although I'm not sure how best to fix it. I do know that there is a serious race inequality about it, and a serious class inequality.
--I didn't see any gun shot wounds (thank goodness) as it was mostly older people, with a few younger, mostly male patients with broken bones. I think some of it was probably hypothermia too, from people who didn't have heat, or didn't have a home. The most heartbreaking scene was at the clinic. The only people ahead of me were a mother and her daughter, who was about 16 or 17. I think she was probably getting tested for pregnancy, as she went into the laboratory with a urine sample, and a few minutes later screamed. Not a happy, "I'm having a baby" scream, but one of anguish, one of "something terrible has happened, and I don't know what to do." A scream that made me want to put my arms around her and say that all would be well, although she is a child herself. And I couldn't promise her that all will be well.

It was quite the day. I am lucky to have had health insurance for so long, and to be (normally!) so healthy. It makes you think. It also makes grad school seem startlingly irrelevant.

Villa Villekulla

People who know about awesome books will recognize this post title as the name of Pippi Longstocking's house. (Never read Pippi Longstocking, or any of the assorted books featuring her? Do so immediately. Or better yet, read them to an 8 year old. I promise my non-existent money that they will like it.) Anywho, the reason I called this post Villa Villekulla is 1) because I thought my grandmother would like it, since she's the one that read Pippi Longstocking to me (hi Mormor!), 2) because Pippi's house had personality, in that the windows sometimes looked like eyes, and 3) because I saw the weirdest/saddest house today, window-eyes and all.

I have been out of town for a few days, and was walking to the grocery store this morning, and went by a row of rowhouses, of which there are many about these parts. There must have been a fire in one, because the windows on the first two floors were all boarded up. I truthfully would not have noticed this, probably, except that people were standing on the other side of the street, staring. So I stopped, and here is why they were staring: the back of the house must have been knocked off or demolished, and so on the top floor just the front brick facade of the house was left, and you could see the sky through the unboarded windows. It totally looked like some surrealist painting, or this amazing photo that my friend Karen took a few years ago in Geneva:
It looked like one of those fake houses you see in old Westerns, where it's a cardboard front that has been propped up. And that is what it invokes: ghost towns, decay, blight. All while the sky shimmers through the gaping windows and light bounces off the charred bricks.

I've been thinking about houses/apartments quite a bit lately, and one of my favorite procrastination games is to think about what photos I've taken that I want to blow up and frame when I have a place of my own. I tried to find out more about this fire, but couldn't (even the internetz failed me). And then I started to think: these houses are all connected, so were the other residences ok? How many people lived in it? How long had they lived there? What did they lose? Are they all unscathed? Why did the fire start? Or really, was it even a fire? Was it just demolished in a non-malevalent way? And chances are good I will never know, since the records have already faded away, if they ever existed. Which is odd, since it's only 3 blocks from my apartment. Sometimes I forget how many people are in such a small radius...and how many of those people I will never meet, or even see.

To add to the uncertainty, I just tried to find out the origin of the phrase "the eyes are the windows to the soul," and I can't find that out, either. Guesses seem to range from the Bible to Immanuel Kant, to Cicero, to Arabic proverbs. If anyone knows, do tell me. :)

Opera or Soap Opera?

As loyal readers of this blog know, I like opera, and my cousin and I went to see Carmen this week. I also happen to like a certain soap opera, which is the kind of thing that I tend not to publicize. However, I got to thinking about Carmen and General Hospital, and saw some comparisons in the realms of character archetypes, backstabbing (ha! literally and figuratively), and jealousy. Here's how the two stack up:
(Edward Gorey, The Blue Aspic)

Beginnings
C--Georges Bizet, premiered March 1875 in Paris, was critically panned. Revived in Vienna in October, to a much better reception (Bizet had died by that point, at the age of 36. Sad). Currently the fourth most performed opera in North America.
GH--premiered in 1963 on ABC, originally a half-hour length, and then shifted to an hour. According to wikipedia, Princess Diana used to watch the show, and sent 2 bottles of champagne for the producers in honor of Luke and Laura's wedding.

Settings and Sets
C--Seville, Spain, 1830s. This new production has updated to around the 1930's, I would guess. The sets for this production are amazing. A lot of rotating stone walls and red accents, which is fairly simple but looks great. The costumes are subtle, for the most part, although Carmen's dress in the final act is glorious--long, black, lacy, with a red line down the side. The curtain also is black with a jagged, red lighting bolt down the center, which is a nice touch too (Carmen being the lightening bolt that sets everything in motion, or on fire. Whichever cliche you prefer.)
GH--Port Charles, New York, present day. It is set mostly in the hospital (duh) and then a few people's homes, which tend to all look pretty similar, at least to me. The sets have obviously changed a bit in the past 30 years. (I told you the sets were cool! Courtesy of the NYTimes)

The Femme Fatale
C--Carmen, of course! Her femme fatale-ness is the whole point. She's too hot to be controlled, and too much of a temptress to live. Like the bull that the torreador entices and then kills, Carmen has to be sacrificed for society to continue unhampered. I hate this message, but it's a good plot for drama.
GH--most of the women, with their multiple marriages, bad mothering skills, and catty ways. Elizabeth is kind of taking the cake this year, by cheating on her fiance with his brother. There are many other examples. However, most of the bad guys, are just that--guys. Claudia Zacchara is the only woman I can think of that is (well, was) truly dastardly. Other than those random nurses that occasionally poison their patients.

Violence
C--Carmen and the bull are the only two fatalities, and Carmen and another cigarette girl do get in a fist and hairpulling fight. The soldiers are creepy and are certainly capable of violence, but it's not really shown.
GH--oh, lots. Considering one of the main characters is a mob boss, there are a lot of whackings (usually not by him, usually by his hired guns.) Add in the occasional car crash or poisoning (see above) and that is the gist of the show.

Racism
C--there is definite tension between the gypsies (Carmen is one) and the lighter-skinned Spanish. It is implied that Carmen is so wanton because of her gypsy ways.
GH--are there even any minorities on this show?? I guess there is one African-American nurse. That might be it though. So...racism, in a way?

Religion
C--surprisingly little. More concerned with tangible things; I don't think Don Jose was too worried about eternal damnation when he kills Carmen. Don Jose's original, pious girlfriend, Michaela, is set up as an obvious foil to Carmen.
GH--there is a priest (the same priest) who shows up for all weddings, funerals, christenings, etc. It is at these gatherings where violence (see above) often happens, as the town is then in a collective group. Sonny Corinthos (the mobster) spends a lot of time in the hospital chapel, as he is usually in the hospital waiting for news on someone he shot/some relative that got shot in his place/some victim of a hit gone wrong.


(ah, L'amour est un oiseau rebelle/que nul ne peut apprivoiser. Sonny knows it.)

Worthy of Accolades
C--as mentioned, the setting is amazing. The Carmen and Don Jose we saw both had colds, but honestly, I couldn't really tell. It's a weird opera in that there are only a few main characters, but with a lot of crowd scenes, and I thought the crowd scenes were exceptionally good...how you get that many adults and children to work together like that is beyond me.
GH--is it realistic? At all? Well, no. But give it an A+ for gumption.

Any opera/soap opera crossovers?
C--on the dramatic front, the original singers who were supposed to be Don Jose and Carmen had to be rearranged because they were married in real life and were getting a divorce. So the Met kept Don Jose and brought in 2 other Carmen's for the first few performances. And the NEW Carmen got amazing reviews (we couldn't get tickets for her performances).
GH--Lulu Spencer and Dante Falconeri recently went to the opera on a date. I actually missed this episode, so I wasn't sure what opera they went to, but after typing "lulu dante opera" into google, I have learned that they saw Puccini's La Boheme. I am both impressed and disturbed that other people were wondering about their opera as well...

Yes, it is sort of hard to compare the two genres--one is centuries old, rife with history, grandeur, glamour, and gore, and the other is, well, sort of silly. But they are both tremendous fun.

Also, I believe the reason that I cannot remember German verbs or when Mannerism ends and Baroque begins is because my brain cells are too occupied trying to figure out which Quartermaines and Cassadines hate each other, and why.

For even MORE irreverence, check out the orange from Sesame Street singing La Habanera here. I'm pretty sure Frank Oz is the one singing.

The Dinner Party

Remember, all men would be tyrants if they could. If particular care and attention is not paid to the ladies, we are determined to foment a rebellion, and will not hold ourselves bound by any laws in which we have no voice of representation.
--Abigail Adams, in a letter to her husband John

Most of you have probably seen this painting (or read a terrible book about it):

(Leonardo, The Last Supper, c. 1498, image from Wikipedia)
I'm starting with it because Christ, both with and without his disciples, is well represented in Western art history, and this is historically what studying Western art was about (Jesus, Leonardo, perspective, and so on). One of the major problems when revising this art history is how to combine such important works of art with inclusiveness about women and their contributions (or if you even should revise history. My answer would be "OF COURSE," but not everyone thinks so). One response by contemporary artists is to address the history*, change it around, and make something new.

Enter Judy Chicago, 400 volunteers, and The Dinner Party (1979), the monumental work (both in size and scope) which has been on permanent display at the Brooklyn Museum since 2007. Chicago's work came at a time when art history was shifting to be more inclusive of women's contributions, as scholars, artists, and patrons. This change is odd for me to think about, because the art historians I know are all (for the most part) very conscious of gender and a discussion of it within art history. Like good ol' Abigail Adams, certain scholars have been waging a rebellion to bring about this change, and they are awesome (y'all know who you are). Chicago's goal in the 1970's was to create a dinner party unlike the Last Supper, as the seats would celebrate women, not men.

(all images from here on out from the Brooklyn Museum's website. Thank you!!!)
The piece is rife with symbolism--it's triangular shaped (a shape associated with women) and there are 13 place settings on each side (13 being the number of Christ + 12 disciples). Each of the 39 women is emblematic of a certain period in history, and their respective sisters' names are written on the tile floor beneath--999 names, all told. The work is comprised of painted place settings and embroidered table cloths--chinawork and weaving were historically dismissed as "women's craft," and Chicago wanted to reappropriate them, as the artforms that they are. The silverware and glasses are all identical, which symbolizes the solidarity and unity of women's experience, which is a nice sentiment, but not really true. Most of the plates have flower and vulvic themes (think Georgia O'keefe) and they get progressively more defined and 3-dimensional as time goes on and progress is made.

The usual suspects are represented: Queen Elizabeth, Amazons, Sojourner Truth, Mary Wollstonecraft. However, here are a few of my slightly less well-known favorites (and in no particular order):

Elizabeth Blackwell (1821-1910) received her medical degree from Geneva Medical College, and so has a great deal of significance for my alma mater (there is a statue of her there, which people do creepy things to. Anyway.) Here's something I learned, though: she graduated first in her class, and then the college barred women from applying. Blackwell did a lot of amazing things with the sanitation movement, and founded a Women's Medical College, as she learned from her educational trials how hard it was for women to be accepted in the medical community. And I love the butterfly motif of this setting, and the spiraling stethoscope wrapping around the "E" in her name.

Natalie Barney (1876-1972) is actually someone I had not heard of prior to viewing this work, but I was initially drawn in by the colors, and the star design on the plate. Turns out Barney hosted a salon in Paris for over 60 years, and was an openly gay writer of poetry and other works.

Sophia was (is?) the personification of wisdom (Sophia means "wisdom" in Greek). She stands in for Athena, Minerva, and is a key figure in Gnosticism, which was then subsumed by Christianity. I like this place setting because the colors are muted and look like desert sands and skies. Also, this is one of the first plates, so it is pretty flat.

I am one of about three people in the entire world who cares about Marcella (c. 325-410), but I truly do. She was a colleague of Saint Jerome, and she did a lot of his dirty work (translating the bible, building monasteries, backing him up in Jerusalem, giving him a TON of money, etc etc) and she didn't get any of the credit. We owe contemporary Christianity to her work. That might be overstating it slightly, but I don't really care. The bottom of her place setting (the brown bit) is made of coarse material and looks like a hairshirt, which represents her piety and sacrifice. Marcella is the first figure in the second line of 13 plates, and this when women's contributions to Christianity (and culture, really) begins to be systematically devalued.

Do I have any criticisms? Well, yes. The work includes a lot of women, but very much focuses on white women. A few non-heterosexual women are included, but not enough. There are no place settings (to my knowledge) that celebrate African and Asian women, although there are a few African-American examples present (and some might make an appearance on the Heritage floor, but I haven't read all of those names.) It is very essentialist, and a bit segregationist, but at the same time, I think we have to give Chicago credit. This was a big undertaking, at a time when these things weren't really done. I walk around the table about once a week, and it is invigorating, and inspiring...and sad, because of how many things are still broken and need to be fixed. But it makes you feel--something--and that is important.

If you are in the city, I urge you to check it out. There is a neat system where you call a number (even after you leave the museum) and you can find out about all the different women (for more on that, see here). The museum guides that are stationed there LOVE it, too--they have read all the booklets and really want to help show you around. You have to enter in a specific way--past the heritage tapestries (which I also love), through the room with the table, and then back to an area with biographical notes about all the women. I like that there is a set path--it becomes a ritual, as you pay respect to people that were too long neglected.

For more info and a totally cool interactive guide, check the museum's website here. For the curators summary, check here. And for more on the Sackler Center itself, check here (they have rotating exhibits that are always worth a look.)

*the museum makes a point of substituting "herstory" for "history," which I like but which also feels silly to type.

Snippiness, and the Antidotes for It

I haven't written much lately for the sheer fact that my camera is being a bit dodgy, it is kind of cold, and I haven't been doing much. And, well, I've been feeling a little snippy. Here's why:
--unemployed, peppering independent bookstores with resumes, will probably have to resort to corporate succubus bookstore, *if* I can get hired there.
--going blind from looking at slides of papyri at the museum for 8 hours a day.
--starting of spring semester, and I miss school, my friends, Thursday wine/coffee/tv nights, and the general silliness that ensued. Yes, I was up until 3 am every Sunday night my final semester, and yes, I do sleep a lot more now, but everytime I pass the rowhouses in my neighborhood I think of S Main St, Geneva, and wish I was there instead.
--feeling in limbo, re. future, grad school, jobs, and feeling unable to help solve major problems in world, and in the city. I am spinning my wheels, and that gets old. Quick.
--impending grad school interview next weekend, must buy dress skirt, read a few faculty authored books, stop biting my nails, and relearn major amounts of art history and German verbs. Have so far done none of that.

However, there are plenty of antidotes to snippiness:
--today was sunny and although I was on a fruitless mission to buy a business skirt and find a job (see above) I had a nice amble through downtown Bk.
--I went to Greenpoint, which is in north Bk (on an indy bookstore quest.) It's a heavily Polish neighborhood, so it's a much different feel than here. It was a nice mini-adventure.
--I also got a bubble tea and sat for a bit and flipped through the NY Post, which features stories of people whose lives made me feel good about myself (the Kardashians!? Remind me WHY these people are famous.)
--PBS's new adaption of Emma is really good.
--We are currently watching White Collar, which is the best bad show on tv. And shortly the state of the union will be on, and we will probably watch it on mute and eat ice cream.
--Continuing the tv theme--the Winter Olympics will be on (comparatively) soon too. I love the Olympics!
--my friends and family are amazing at sending mail. AMAZING. It truly makes my week.
--I do still love the Brooklyn Museum, and especially love it when it's closed to the public and I can be in the galleries by myself. Not much better than drinking a cup of green tea in the half-light of early evening and looking at a row of Monets.
--I am attempting to cook more (I'm going to make bread soon! Zut alors!) and I made salsa this weekend which was waaay easier than I thought it would be.

So really, all is well. I do have some back posts (with pictures!) to get out into cyberspace, and will do some art reviews soon too. Truly. Just bear with me through my mini pity party.

These Boots are Made for Walking

I owned a functional pedometer for a day and a half.

Well, it had a good run. I got it on Monday and broke it today (actually it fell off my pants and the battery fell out and went..somewhere). I don't really need one, I suppose, but it would have had an impressive step total today. I attempted to get a cheapie ticket to the opera, but erred in that it was Carmen (popular) and apparently a really, really good production. So I didn't budget enough time and when I got to Lincoln Center, still 3 hours early, there was a massive line, and there was no way I would get a ticket. As I had already taken the afternoon off, I decided to go to the Guggenheim but rather than pay another $2.25 for a subway, I decided to walk.

Here are the problems with this: Lincoln Center is around 62nd St, on the West side of Central Park. The Guggenheim Museum is on the East side of Central Park, at 89th St (note: my sister had to look up the address for me, as I knew it was north of the Metropolitan Museum, which is on 82nd St, but that was all the info I had. And I don't have an internet-phone.) It actually didn't take me as long as I thought it would, and it was a sunny and crisp day, so I had a very good walk through Central Park. There was some good people watching, too. And I really like the area right around 75th street where there are a series of ponds and streams. Anyway, when I got to the Guggenheim, it was closed, which I know, because I have tried three times to go there on Thursdays, and it is ALWAYS closed. I apparently just had no idea what today was...I also witnessed a woman trying to get into the museum, by banging on the door, even though there are huge signs that say it's not open. So that was pretty funny to me.

I walked back to the Met, wandered around the American wing for half an hour, and then walked BACK to the 86nd St subway stop, and home. If you're keeping track, that is about 30 blocks of walking. I'm currently slumped in the VERY comfy chair in the living room, rocking my pajamas. We're going to attempt the opera soon, but for now--I'm just resting my feet.

All Aboard

I am on the train back to Brooklyn, and am writing this somewhere by Batavia, NY (and proofreading somewhere by Rome, although I'll be posting it when I get back, as there is no internetz on the train). I hear you all breathe a collective sigh of relief that this blog is back, Ha-Ha. I should be hitting there about 8 hours from now. And how will I keep myself occupied until then? Here are some notes from the road (or rather, track.)
1. Gosh, this stretch is bumpy. The computer is shaking. I am anticipating some sort of freezing on the tracks which will slow us down some (this usually happens.) Actually, we’re slowing down right now. Aaannd now we are stopping. Now we are going again! (vicarious thrills; I promise and I deliver.)
2. It is a good thing I have plenty of snacks with me. I’m a train snacker (which prevents me from biting my nails). This time I am lucky to have leftover pizza (with pesto and mushrooms, oh my!), pretzels, and all the candy from my Christmas stocking, which includes (but is not limited to) candy cigarettes (eating now), candy canes, and peppermint-chocolate stick things. Oh, the prevalence of mint is due to the fact that I get motion sick and that seems to help. Plus I’ve got a stash of Dramamine, just in case.
3. The train is REALLY not crowded. I think there are four people on my car. That’ll probably change the closer we get to the city.
4. I should probably use this time to update my resume, but I probably will not do that (note: by the time we got to Poughkeepsie I was so bored that I did, in fact, update my resume.)
5. Instead, I am going to watch Up, which my sister got me for Christmas—for anyone who hasn’t seen it, it is lovely. I cried within the first 10 minutes because I am a huge sap, but it is sweetly funny and deals with love and loss and adventure; and yes it is Pixar!
6. I will be glad to be back in Brooklyn. I missed it.
7. I am going to be sad not to be in Jamestown. I miss it.
8. I miss Geneva, too.
9. I really enjoy this train route, especially as I have a window seat. As barren as the landscape is this time of year, it is beautiful—I love the rivulets of frozen water and the starkness of the trees against the sky, which right now is a pale robins egg blue. I’ve counted five hawks so far, and a bunch (a brace?) of pheasant, wild turkeys, and deer. When we pass the Hudson it’s even better, although it will be dark by the time I get there. Now we’re passing a series of frozen ponds.
10. Two plugs for Western New York stuff: Forte, which is a very tasty restaurant and bar in Jamestown, makes White Russians with chocolate vodka. I didn’t actually get one, but I sampled my friend’s, and it was good stuff. (Aunt Sue, as a White Russian connoisseur, I thought you might like to take note of this.) Also, Wegmans has introduced a line of vegetarian soups. I have Butternut Squash packed, and will report back.
11. My cousin told me once to pick carefully what song you listen to when beginning a journey, as it is something you will remember. Traveling music, as it were. I have some stand-bys (America—Simon and Garfunkel, Beethoven’s 6th Symphony, Hey Jack Kerouac—10,000 Maniacs, Sweet Jane—Velvet Underground, New York, New York whenever I enter the city—corny!) but this time I went with Mausam and Escape from the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack—it makes you want to drive fast and dance. What is your journeying music??