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Of Face Transplants & Difficult Offspring
Dec. 2nd, 2005 08:03 amWhat's the deal with face transplants? Why is there any debate over the medical ethics at all? Are they afraid that if the procedure becomes too popular, it will signal open season on all good-looking folk? (Early morning commando raid on the Elite Modeling Agency: "Men, they may try to use those portfolios as shields! Also remember: shoot low! Aim for the portal vein. Nothing above the waist!") Are they afraid it will fuck with the facial recognition software designed to enforce various permutations of the Patriot Act?
In other news, Ben's friend J's teenage daughter – let's call her S – tried to kill herself two days ago. Tylenol overdose – not a good way to die since it takes many, many hours during which you have ample time to change your mind plus acetaminophen dissociates into a compound that basically dissolves your liver so that when you do survive, you will wish you were dead.
J discovered the overdose when S staggered down to the breakfast table the next morning, bleeding from every orifice.
I pity the poor girl but I pity J more. J stayed in a loveless marriage to a hopeless drunk for the sake of those two girls. (The hopeless drunk would do things like urinate in the potted plants because he couldn't remember the way to the bathroom.) J worked at a job she hated – big muckety muck running IT in possibly the most essential government agency of them all – and every cent of her salary went to paying for the girls' private school. All that sacrifice. And for what?
I figure the girls hate J and they will never forgive her for whatever they figure she did to their father whom they also hate but at the same time love because that is the way between fathers and daughters.
Poor J. All she ever wanted to do is be a fangirl, smoke a little weed and get silly about Buffy the Vampire Killer (the TV series, not the movie.)
Offspring. Always difficult.
My own difficult offspring has been having a rough time of it lately in school. ISM is now wired for grades so I can now peek at Robin's midseason progress reports – they grade strictly by percentages, no curves, and he is working at a D+ level. Assignments, I must say, sound incredibly dull: Students will create a culture using 5 of the 8 Commonalities of Humankind. Students will write an account of their culture and decorated a pot to depict their creation. Decorate a pot. There's something a cyber-age kid can really wrap his head around! And what, pray tell, are the 8 Commonalities of Humankind and why do they have to be capitalized?
Two nights ago, I got the following email from Robin's math teacher:
Wow, I'm thinking. This is getting awfully personal. Robin thinks it's stupid for you to take points off a test because he wrote his name on the left side of the paper instead of the right side of the paper, mutters something under his breath and you have a Captain Queeg meltdown?
But of course as a parent I am One of Them, not One of Us, and so am forced to sit down with Robin, lecture him relentlessly, make him cry: "He's the teacher! He gets to make the rules!"
Of course I know ISM even with all its cultural enrichment is not the right place for a kid like Robin who is super-bright and thinks way outside the box. Why do I keep him there then? Simple: Robin is a lot like me, which means he's exactly the kind of kid who will get heavily into drugs if given the opportunity. I don't want to give him that opportunity.
In other news, Ben's friend J's teenage daughter – let's call her S – tried to kill herself two days ago. Tylenol overdose – not a good way to die since it takes many, many hours during which you have ample time to change your mind plus acetaminophen dissociates into a compound that basically dissolves your liver so that when you do survive, you will wish you were dead.
J discovered the overdose when S staggered down to the breakfast table the next morning, bleeding from every orifice.
I pity the poor girl but I pity J more. J stayed in a loveless marriage to a hopeless drunk for the sake of those two girls. (The hopeless drunk would do things like urinate in the potted plants because he couldn't remember the way to the bathroom.) J worked at a job she hated – big muckety muck running IT in possibly the most essential government agency of them all – and every cent of her salary went to paying for the girls' private school. All that sacrifice. And for what?
I figure the girls hate J and they will never forgive her for whatever they figure she did to their father whom they also hate but at the same time love because that is the way between fathers and daughters.
Poor J. All she ever wanted to do is be a fangirl, smoke a little weed and get silly about Buffy the Vampire Killer (the TV series, not the movie.)
Offspring. Always difficult.
My own difficult offspring has been having a rough time of it lately in school. ISM is now wired for grades so I can now peek at Robin's midseason progress reports – they grade strictly by percentages, no curves, and he is working at a D+ level. Assignments, I must say, sound incredibly dull: Students will create a culture using 5 of the 8 Commonalities of Humankind. Students will write an account of their culture and decorated a pot to depict their creation. Decorate a pot. There's something a cyber-age kid can really wrap his head around! And what, pray tell, are the 8 Commonalities of Humankind and why do they have to be capitalized?
Two nights ago, I got the following email from Robin's math teacher:
Robin had an extremely rough day today in
mathematics class. He decided to inform me that the
class procedures were "stupid." The specific
procedures he was referring to pertain to
organization.
Due to the implication that Robin does not intend to
follow mathematics class procedures as they are
"stupid," I insisted that Robin sit in the main
office today for the duration of mathematics class.
I am keenly interested to know whether Robin plans
to follow mathematics class procedures in the
future.
Wow, I'm thinking. This is getting awfully personal. Robin thinks it's stupid for you to take points off a test because he wrote his name on the left side of the paper instead of the right side of the paper, mutters something under his breath and you have a Captain Queeg meltdown?
But of course as a parent I am One of Them, not One of Us, and so am forced to sit down with Robin, lecture him relentlessly, make him cry: "He's the teacher! He gets to make the rules!"
Of course I know ISM even with all its cultural enrichment is not the right place for a kid like Robin who is super-bright and thinks way outside the box. Why do I keep him there then? Simple: Robin is a lot like me, which means he's exactly the kind of kid who will get heavily into drugs if given the opportunity. I don't want to give him that opportunity.
