Superlative Media Spasmodics: H1N1 and Public Fear

As one of the relatively few Americans who received the H1N1 vaccine, I feel a little odd about the current media spasm contracting around its “questionable safety”. I received the vaccine because I work in admissions for a medical facility. I see dozens of sick people every day, and being vaccinated makes me feel a little bit better protected. While we don’t get a lot of H1N1 patients in my department, it’s still a medical facility, and it’s still early in the season…so there’s plenty of bad bugs floating around, and more still to come. When I got the vaccine—by a nasal application, as the shot was available in even more limited quantities and for an even more limited population—I was hyper-aware of my physical well-being for about a week to follow. I have full confidence in my immune system, but all of the hype around H1N1 and its “untested” vaccines had me a little worried. The virus in my vaccine was live—the nasal application is a “live attenuated” so it’s a live, but greatly weakened, strain of H1N1—so would I be more susceptible to illness? Could I get H1N1? The questions swirled in my mind for about a week until I forgot I ever got it and went on with my life. I suffered no side effects, at least none that I noticed, and if anything, my activity level increased—I began taking aerial classes at the local circus center again—so my body, somehow, under the combined duress of the H1N1 vaccine and unusual muscle strains, has managed to handle itself pretty well. In about an hour, when I leave work, I’ll be heading to the gym for a trot on the treadmill and a few laps on the weight machines.

I know, I know. What could have happened to me, though? The possibilities, given the time constraints under which the vaccine had to be developed, are endless, really, but only if you really go looking for them. And you’re paranoid. The amount of testing that anything must undergo before it’s deemed safe by the FDA is massive and, some argue, red-taped to the point of being superlative. Why deny the public viable drugs because someone forgot to cross a “t” or dot an “i”? Bureaucracy and pandemics clearly don’t mix well. Go get vaccinated, as soon as you can, especially if you’re pregnant or caring for an infant under six months of age.

Gender: A Pre-Existing Condition?

I received an email today from change.org rallying supporters to "tell Congress that being a woman is not a pre-existing condition"! While I (fundamentally) agree with the change.org task force most of the time, I'm having second thoughts on this one. While I don't think that being a woman--or a man--should have any effect on insurance companies' claim judgment, which is what, of course, this particular war cry is supposed to ignite fury over, I'm pretty sure there isn't a condition that is more "pre-existing" than gender. I mean, really, this is why men have nipples.

As a clerical admin currently employed by a hospital, I get questioned about the current health care debacle by patients all the time. August 2009 was a particularly interesting month to be a medical office employee. Truth be told, while the system is obviously broken, I'm not sure who can fix it. What I am sure of is that it's going to take cooperation and caring action by a massive number of people to get any sort of progressive ball really rolling on health care. Until we Americans stop employing capitalist-imperialist, i.e. exploitative, ideology and acting as apologists for our oppressors, the current corporate leviathan--the insurance industry and the pharmaceutical lobbying groups--is going to keep winning, and American health will continue to suffer.

Eldorado Springs, Anyone?

I have found heaven, and it is on Earth. It is called Eldorado Springs, and I am somewhat ashamed of myself for not having known about this awesome, killer, gorgeous part of the world--that is basically IN MY BACKYARD--since I've lived in Boulder for over a decade now.

On the trail, cheesing it up, in pigtails and a Camelbak. Yes, I am a Coloradan!

Eldorado Springs sits about six miles South of Boulder and has a populations of about 27 or so. Or 2700, if you count the rock climbers. As he has been climbing for his while life, and Eldorado Canyon is kind of up there on the grand list of Places Climbers Take Off Time From Life To Check Out, my boyfriend Jeremy was totally game to check it out a couple of weekends ago. He was still recovering from straining the cartilage between his rib cage and his sternum (an injury only a climber would get) so we took a chill weekend...and then decided to go check out one of the holy grails of climbing. Except that we'd be hiking, and not bring along any gear, so as not to tempt ourselves too much.

Eldorado Canyon is at the end of the town; when I say "town" I mean lovely collection of houses all along one street, which eventually becomes the road into Eldorado Canyon State Park. Driving through town, I felt an urgency to move there. I need to live here! I MUST!!! It is such a gorgeous little town, and it was such a beautiful weekend, and...well, reality interfered and I returned to Boulder, convincing myself that I needed to be close to work because I don't have a car and bussing in from Eldo would be a nightmare every day and yada yada yada...

We got to the ranger station, paid the $7 entrance fee (!!!) and crept around myriad mazelike parking areas until we secured a spot. It was a very busy day at the park, both around the hiking areas and trails and, of course, on the walls. When we first got far enough into the canyon to be able to pick out groups of climbers --spider-people, one hiking guide calls us-- it was all I could do to remain in the vehicle. Every crag, every line, everything that looked like it could possibly be a crag or line, every traverse, every possible nook and cranny--climbers looooove our nooks and crannies--was teeming with groups. As we were getting out of the car I heard the familiar sound of hexes clanking against cams and nuts and looked mournfully at Jeremy. He returned the gaze, then tried to smile a little. "We'll bring gear next time," he said, nowhere near enthusiastically enough to lift my spirits.

Jeremy scanning the nearby walls of Eldorado Canyon for climbers:


The Eldorado Canyon trail is part of a trail network that meets up with the Walker Ranch Trail in Boulder as well as other South Boulder trails...which is pretty cool. We were just doing it as on out-and-back, although it was more like a stumble-and bumble, as we spent a good amount of time watching the climbers as we hiked. Jeremy's good at this. Me, not so much. You know the old "walk-and-chew-gum" adage? Yeah, well, I can barely walk, much less do so while looking at anything other than the ground in front of my feet. So I took frequent "watch the climbers" pauses, all the while bemoaning our lack of gear.

The trail itself was quite lovely: moderately steep, not too busy, overlooking gergous valleys and meadows, Rocky Mountain wilderness and probably, plenty of wildlife. I'm always amazed at where some things choose to put down roots...Yes, that is a tree. A tiny tree, but a tree nonetheless, growing out of a boulder. AWESOME!!

I'm also amazed at the ingenuity of the state parks department. There are some interesting "improvements" made to the trail, probably to keep erosion from wearing it away (like layers of felt beneath the top inch or so of dirt near places that would be good rockslide candidates), and a hole in the ground, off-trail, where rangers have erected poles and wrapped them in bright yellow caution tape. What does bright yellow caution tape make YOU want to do?

That's right, it makes you want to check it out. Seriously, they might as well have erected a big neon sign that said, "check out this old mineshaft!". So Jeremy, the brave one, slid down the little makeshift path to the caution-tape laden hole and snappred a few shots. I'm sure it's quite dangerous, and I definitely wouldn't want to get stuck in there, but it make me wonder how many people had to be rescued from it before the area got plastered with plastic yellow "danger-do-not-enter" tape...and how many have done just what we did since. Oh, the vicarious lives we live!

Eventually, we turned around and made our way back to the car. Driving slowly out so that we could keep an eye on the climbing parties all over the walls, we started excitedly discussing gear we'd need, techniques we'd have to use and, of course, how quickly we might return.

RIP William R. Barrowclough August 5, 1940 - October 7, 2007

It’s somewhat incredible to me that this is the second year my father has missed his own birthday. That he’s still gone, that I can’t call him to say hi, Happy Birthday, Daddy, what are you going to do on your special day? I was doing a crossword puzzle earlier and thought of him solving the daily puzzles in The Charlotte Observer, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly open, lost in thought over some clue, some elusive synonym. I remember Dad helping train me for my first marathon. I remember him driving into Boulder for the first time, exclaiming over the beauty of the mountains, the FlatIrons, this lovely little city. I remember him at my college graduation, bursting with pride, grinning and hugging and kissing me. And I remember him sick: I remember how cancer, its side effects and its aftermath ate alive his effervescent youth, his energy, his radiance, how it stole his appetite and his mobility, how it ate away at his tissues until he could not longer stand or walk, how it took his life away. But I also remember, a few weeks before he died, how excited he was to see me when I flew out to South Carolina to see him for what, I didn’t know then would be, the last time. How we talked for hours on end until he’d fall asleep, midsentence. How I helped take care of him as best I knew how, which admittedly wasn’t very well.

Boy, do I miss you, Dad. I love you.

So, I Fell Off Of A Cliff Today...

Now THERE'S a blog post starter for you. On the down side, it doesn't get much more exciting than that. For me, this is also the up side.

I was out climbing with Jeremy, celebrating the fact that if I have a kidney infection, it's in serious getting-the-hell-out-of-my-body mode or it's already gone, thanks to rest, rest, more rest and excellent advice and props from my wonderful friends, family, colleagues and boyfriend. After feeling like total shit for the past two and a half weeks I am finally starting to come out of the fug of fever, exhaustion and incoherence that is my body and mind when my immune system is battling something nasty. Anyway...

I was unroped, actually...roped falls don't merit this type of blog post, as when they happen, it's something like, oh fuck, I'm FALLING!, and then my belayer catches me, and then I'm not falling, just a little freaked, for a moment, and then I'm attempting to do whatever I was just attempting to do, but better this time, and without falling. All of this happens in about five seconds, BTW.

So, I was unroped, off trying to find bushes to go do a girly bush-squat, toilet paper in tow, before climbing Jaycene's Dance (climbers: it's a half-pitch 5.8 at Animal World that boasts a ton of fun moves on it, a couple of little ledges, and a crux that's pretty much AT the anchor; it's extremely popular and a lot of fun and if you go, expect to wait unless you go REALLY early in the morning...I've seen parties lines up three deep for this one...non-climbers: it's a long cliff that's barely visible from the road as you're headed up Boulder Canyon (from Boulder to Ned); it's above the rock wall on the right side of the road where you always see groups of climbers, about 9 miles up the canyon or 1 mile past Boulder Falls, called Boulderado), as I'd properly hydrated before belaying Jeremy up to setup the anchor and therefore, had to attend to some business. I'd been scouting around for a spot among a boulder formation that had tons of pine straw scattered about the ground...I hate pine straw, have slid precariously down a few scary gulleys before due to the presence of the stuff and am NOT a fan, and I was busy thanking my wonderful approach shoes for being better on pine straw while trying to teeter off of a cliff to see how far down it was to try to get out of sight to do my business. There was a small evergreen within reach, and I figured I'd graba tiny branch on it then move my hand to its base, all the while battling pine-straw slippage. Well, my hand never reached the base and I slipped, in slow motion, over the edge of the cliff, my hands still scrabbling for something to hang onto, and only catching air again, and again, and again as the tiny branch--which couldn't have supported the weight of a bloated caterpillar, much less a 160-lb human being--snapped off in my hand and I fell, ass-first. Because I couldn't see where I was going, I thought, quite coherently, "I'm going to die." My life didn't flash before my eyes, but I had no idea what was below me as I had been, in fact, scouting that very question when I slipped over the cliff edge, and I knew that a lot of the cliffs tumbled rather sheerly down to the road. I was going to die.

Terrified though I was, I was also indignant and angry (leave it to the human species to be able to produce such emotions). What the fuck was THIS about? I wasn't going to die falling off some cliff while I was just trying to take a leak? If I was going to die climbing, it was going to be much more spectacular than this: my anchor's ledge would unexpectedly cleave off and I would tumble to the bottom of the rock face just as I was about to reach it, or my protection would fail off of some huge wall in Yosemite and I'd tumble to the earth, or my rope would suddenly an immediately fray through, and I'd plunge to my death (this last one, by the way, is virtually impossible...climbing ropes do not fray through, and if there's even a remote possibility that they're going to, climbers do not climb with them anymore. They cut them up and throw them away.). Or something. I mean, what the fuck was this about?

These were possibly the two strongest thoughts as I plunged off the side of the cliff, headed down ass-first into a ledge, covered in about a foot and a half of pine straw, twelve feet below my initial slip. Apparently, I screamed, although I don't remember doing so. When I hit "bottom", my first impulse was to laugh. While I'd been sure of it for a split second, the Universe was not about to place me next into line for a Darwin award. I landed on quite possibly the softest, gentlest place in all of Boulder Canyon's climbing areas--six inches further and I would have hit a rock slab that would have no doubt been considerably less forgiving--and I soon got my feet under me, called out "I'm okay!" to Jeremy's concerned cries (I was close enough to the route that he heard the tree branch snap, me falling (and screaming), and the THUD as I landed. He only got worried when I didn't make any noise, and that's when he began calling my name.

Boy, am I lucky. Boy, was that close, or COULD have been close. Plenty of those cliffs drop straight down onto the road, or much harder surfaces, or would cause a climber to pinwheel through limb-shattering evergreens and small boulders before coming to rest on something. Boy, was I--am I still--scared out of my mind. Not knowing what you're going to hit is absolutely terrifying, even thinking about that moment, the uncertainty, the seconds my mind had to race through all the possibilities that I could reasonably summon, even thinking about those NOW, makes me catch my breath and causes me to blink back tears. To say it was a sobering moment scratches only the tip of the iceberg or, perhaps, the broken branch I still held in my hand as I scrambled to my feet and thanked my Creator, the Universe, whatever fate and luck and need for me to still be among the living is out there. I am so lucky to be alive. That could have ended so much more badly. And I'm really, really thankful that this time, I got off with just a warning.

And some suffering, of course. After the adrenaline wore off the pain in my buttocks and hip started throbbing; while pine straw is forgiving (and deceptive...I'm amused that my reason for falling was also my savior...gotta love the universal irony there, huh?), it was piled on top of boulders, and it wasn't THAT deep. I'm sure that as the bruises start showing, they'll become more painful; as it is, it's hard to walk and the area between my outer knee and right buttock are tender and sore, and bound to get worse. Damn, am I lucky or what?

After that, I did my business, roped up, and did my climb. Incidentally, it was my most solid climb to date. I felt great, and Jeremy said I looked great. I was testing holds and feeling the rock more than I ever have before, getting comfortable standing on teeny-tiny ledges and toeholds and using intermediate moves to advance the climb. The whole climb was very Zen for me, very focused, attentive, concentrated. It had to be. It was either that, or the great big balloon of terror filling my midsection would burst and I'd be stuck on this wretched cliff face bawling my eyes out. I didn't want the day to end that way. So instead, I focused my energy on doing the best climb I could, and it turned out to be the most graceful and solid I've ever felt. Go figure.

We left, then, pretty immediately, pulling our rope and calling it a day. I'm so grateful for the fates being on my side, for my awesome boyfriend's reassurances as I freaked out, then got angry, then started laughing, then freaked again, his ability to maintain calm and prevailing steadiness throughout, the mountain's forgiveness and fury, all at once, and the fact that this time, when it was levelled at me, I escaped a little scathed, a little wiser, a little more introspective, a little more aware, and a lot more grateful. Gratitude--even when induced by short falls off of minor cliffs--is always a blessing. Me partway up Jaycene's Dance summer 2008.

Sensationalist Media

Just a comment on a couple of interesting stories in my local paper, The Denver Post. A front-page story ranon Friday decrying the H1N1/"swine flu" paranoia that was causing people to Lysol their desks constantly, hand-sanitize themselves to death and exhibit other behaviors that verged on the wholly, terrifically paranoid.

The article continued on page 21A, where its headline: "GERMS: Difference between prudent, paranoid" directed the reader easily to the rest of the story. And then there was the next major piece of news on page 21A: "A swine-flu pandemic could infect 2 billion, WHO says".

Is it just me, or is journalistic hypocrisy reaching yet another high point in a desperate bid to keep selling papers?

Construction, Demolition, and SWAT training grounds

So, a month or so ago, I left my apartment to see a demolition crew tearing down an old abandoned house that has been sitting on the edge of a weed-choked vacant lot next to my complex for years. I felt a small pang of nostalgia but mostly relief; the place was an eyesore and probably some kind of publica hazard, and at least I would no longer have to give friends directions to my apartment by telling them, "Go past the junkyard and the abandoned house and my driveway is the next one on the right. If you get to the trailer park, you've gone too far." It makes it sound like I live in the ghetto and for what I make in income and pay in rent, I don't really like feeling that way.

I was blown away when the house was not only totally torn down but also hauled away by the time I got home from work that evening. There were also the makings of a crude parking lot for...what? Within the next few days, a pedestrian crosswalk had been erected, the kind with flashing lights to alert traffic to pedestrians crossing the street. While there was a fair amount of foot traffic in my part of town it was hardly downtown Boulder, and the whole thing remained a mystery until construction crews turned up across the street from my complex and, it seemed, turned the parking lots for the Shady Hollow East complex as well as the public works building nearby into rubble. The crude parking lot across the street was laid down so that residents would have somewhere to park their cars until the area looked a little less like this:
(Photo credit: Jeremy Baggs.) This was taken from my complex's lot...as you can see, there's not really anywhere for Shady Hollow residents to park there anymore, and what's been interesting to watch is how they, almost as if in some sort of passive rebellion, refuse to use the crosswalk. They'll be ten feet awat from it but refuse to press the button, activate the flashing lights, and cross in the actual crosswalk. An act of defiance, I suppose, in some form. Anyway...

The trailer park is also being demolished. I don't even want to know why, really, but I was really rather entertained to hear that due to the fact that it was slated for demolition the Boulder Police Department SWAT team, never one to miss an opportunity for any kind of staged-real-life practice, was going to descend upon the fenced-in trailer park for tactical training on Wednesday, March 25. On Monday we residents ofTwoMile Creek Condominiums were greeted by the following notice posted at all of the external entryways:
Presumably, we were warned so as not to be concerned about the myriad explosions and gunfire that would be quite audible, not to mention the dozens of armed cops clearly labeled with SWAT across their backs. I wish I'd called in sick from work, though I'm sure I would have been shooed away from any kind of snooping I would attempt. With my luck, I'd be arrested for disturbing the cops who were disturbing the peace. My indomitable boyfriend, never one to miss a photo op, shot a couple of quick digital pics from his car as he drove by and one of them looked pretty interesting:
(Photo credit: Jeremy Baggs) It's really probably a good thing I wasn't home. I wouldn't have been able to keep my snooping to myself.

I Love Boulder

Ahh, Boulder. Outside of Colorado, Boulder is known, I think, mostly, as:

a) an enclave of endurance athletes the world over, a kind of near-mythic utopia where Kenyans, Ironmen/Ironwomen, Olympians and various other superjocks come to train as we mere mortals gaze in awe as they fly past us and choke gratefully on their dust

b) the home of the University of Colorado, one of the nation's biggest party schools as rated by Playboy

c) that sleepy little town where that little girl was killed on Christmas, or

d) the setting for Mork & Mindy

There may be other associations of which I'm unaware, but I think this pretty much covers it. Inside of Colorado, it's a different story. Boulder is the liberal holdout, that trippy-hippie pseudo-city where, it was once rumored, California liberals headed when Berkeley got too conservative for them. Conversationally, anyone's perception of you shifts immediately once they realize you're from Boulder. Get a Letter to the Editor published in a Denver newspaper and you're bound to see a response in a day or two blasting whatever it is you wrote about based on the fact that you reside in Boulder.

That said, I love living in Boulder. I'll take my self-indulgent, overly intellectualized, flagrantly liberal, often entitled little city over anywhere else on the planet any day of the week. We get over 320 days of sunshine annually here. We have more grocers selling locally-grown, organically-harvested products than we know what to do with. We have a generally healthy, upper-middle class population and consistently rank as one of the healthiest places to live in the United States. Kids start hiking, cycling and rock climbing when they're still toddlers. The accolades go on...and on...and on.

That said, we are definitely still a liberal haven, as was demonstrated recently by throngs of protesters upset about our country's skyrocketing unemployment and slumbering economy, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, congregated at the convergence of a couple of main streets in the downtown area:
OK, so, you can see protesters anywhere. In fact, it's kind of welcome in a nation that's enjoyed an incredible span of total public apathy. In other countries, when they don't like what their government is doing, the population takes to the streets. They go out and protest en masse. And they achieve, at the very least, a lot more of their government's attention.

But this is Boulder, and protests are SO the norm, that I was at once convulsing with laughter and nodding in agreeement when I saw the anti-protest protesters:
Talking with them briefly while we were stopped at the intersection they were anti-protesting on, they gamely discussed the need to end protesting in Boulder. They were about a block away from the throngs of actually-protesting protesters, and we thought they were a riot. I love this picture in particular:
because he was actually saying to me, "We need to put a stop to all of this useless picketing!"

Ahh, Boulder. How can you not love this town?

I especially love that I snapped those photos (with my phone, hence the lousy quality) the same day as witnessing other Boulderific sights, such as this guy who was really, REALLY bent on going climbing:
Nice crashpad mounted on his back whilst riding the scooter up to, presumably, a nearby bouldering or sport climbing route. I guess in this case it serves a dual purpose, just in case some overcaffeinated multitasking soccer mom fails to notice his presence and rams him with her SUV.

God, I love this town.