Monday 18 March 2024

Endo dont cogn disson

Years ago, when  we lived in England we were tickled listening to a commonplace report on the BBC. It was about the non-Pitman shorthand used by ?orthopedic surgeons? to record patient injuries and treatment. "lvd scr from kn to hp" [livid scar from knee to hip] was absorbed into family lore; along with scenes (of course he's the F*king Farmer) from Withnail and I and baguettes from Beineix's Diva. 

I was reminded of this because we have, perforce [retirement], enrolled with a new dentist. Word to the wise: choose a dentist at least 20 years younger than you are: having them die on you is extremely inconvenient. Dentistry has moved on tremendously in my 60+ years of tooth care. No anaesthetics in the early 60s; the drills turned by wire drive-trains. When you change dentist for a younger model, it's like skipping 30 years of technological improvement. The new dentist has a screen on the ceiling to entertain clients as he digs into their buccal cavity. There is a whole new set of acronyms and jargon to wash over the mind as he dictates his assessments to the dental tech. There is presumably enough detail that the status can be recorded and recalled in six months' time. Half a year being the standard time-counting unit in dentistry.

Initial visit in August 2023 allowed introductions to be made and there was time to do one bit of remedial work on lower left six: the front-most molar. There is a crack which extended an undetermined depth into the roots and which may burst asunder at any moment. New Dentist (N.D.) tidied up the long-existing, multiply-patched cavity with that new-fangled UV-setting ceramic filler but added some bondo glue into the mortar in a probably vain attempt to keep the two side of the crack in contact. "That will do for now, come back in 6 months and we'll see how/if anything has shifted". In Feb 2024, 183 days later, I was back in the chair having another X-ray to monitor progress. "that tooth probably needs a crown to hold the two sides together; it would be better to sort out the foundations first - because doing a root-canal job through a crown is no laughing matter; I'm going to refer you to the Endodontist down the street". 

According, a month later I had an early-day appt with the said Endodontist. Once upon a time, a dentist was a strong fellow with pliers; now the profession is fragmented into sub-specialties. "Dentists" do filling above the gum-line; "Endodonts" plumb the depths. Dental surgeons do extractions, bone and gum work. 

I got into a 'discussion' with the Endodental Tech about where to park. If I parked on the street, I was likely to run out of time and get a hefty ticket. whereas if I parked somewhere else then I'd get the full three hours of a typical Endo-session and save €2. I explained that 5 years ago, I'd really have engaged with that sort of tightwad penny-pinching but since retirement my business model was much more support the economy and can't take it with you

The cognitive dissonance came in when the Endoboss outlined the likely course-and-cost of treatment. 

  • a referrer's referral to an Endodontist in another town who owned a 3-D Xray machine [€180]
  • 3-D informed re-scrutiny of the path of the, rather occluded, root canals [€100]
    • these machines are the latest thing and only available in Ireland for the last tuthree years; the pictures are really informative
  • three hours drilling down the 3 roots of the one tooth [€900 if progress straight-forward, more if the procedure required two sessions]
    • cleaning, bleaching and filling the drilled cavity [€0 - fitted as standard]
  • returning to my above-gum dentist for the crown [€X indeterminate amount]

All this delivered with a grating, hand-wringing apology for how much it was all going to cost . . . with no certainty that the outcome would be a long term solution to the goddam crack in my aged molar. The cost sounded reasonable considering how we're in the market for a new sofa. But it was super-weird, while on the same dental couch, to be haggling over €2 with one member of the Endo-practice and €2,000 with another.

The alternative: hope that there are no stones in the lentils and keep using the existing kludge on lower left six until its rift rifts and then have it taken out [€180]. Apart from the money, getting a crown or a dental implant is a different matter for an ould chap in his 70th year compared to our 20-, 30- and 40-something offspring.

Sunday 17 March 2024

St Patrick's Day 2024

Lá Feile Padraig, I hope you have your feet up.

Friday 15 March 2024

Nemeton

Nemeton n. (pl. Nemata). An holy place, sacred in ancient Celtic religion - groves, standing stones, ringstones. Related toponyms are scattered across Europe

I fell into science by accident at the age of 17. IF a particular conversation hadn't happened, and I hadn't found my biology teacher's jokes funny, THEN I'd now be a retired media wonk living in London in a £million house which I bought for buttons in the 70s. I regret nothing! A lifetime in science cannot but infect practioners with sciencism: a belief that everything which matters is (exclusively) discovered through science. Jakers, just look at the top of the page: Science Matters! It's bollix, of course: Science is A way of knowing: and has nothing on offer to comfort the dying, the power of song, or the drive of snog. One aspect of privileging evidence, the rational, and data is that I read, almost exclusively, non-fiction. As if histories were less full of lies than stories.

After I romped through Charlie Stross's parallel universe adventure, I set myself to read The Wren Hunt by Mary Watson. It is a coming of age tale set in an Ireland peppered with Thin Places [bloboprev] where the spirit world leaks through into a recognisable post-Tiger island with taxis, ringtones and tattoos. Librarians tend to shelve it in the Young Adult section. Cripes, YA must have quite the tolerance for the hum of violence - I blame The Hunger Games. 

'twas a long way from Ireland that Mary Watson was r'ared, but like my dear dead MiL she escaped from Africa and now lives in an Irish-speaking household near Galway where NUIG / UCG is the intellectual heart of the Gaeltacht. You may be sure that the Irish equivalent of Icelandic Sprakkar - obscure words from the Canon which have specific powerful meaning - surface in coffee-break chatter in NUIG. Watson, as accomplished word-worker, owns these words and makes them drive the story. New to me: bláithín brídeog brithemain draoithe géineolaíocht nemeton quinquetra ré-órga triquetra tuanacul. 

The central thread in The Wren Hunt is the Othering of a community which is different from, and opposed to, the people by whom Wren, the protagonist, was raised. It is, like obvs, a known thing that these Others are the  black hats . Wren's people are a) oppressed b) not going down without a fight. The fights are both real - fists and blunt force trauma - and metaphysical - dolls, sacred groves, potions. The magic allows us to suspend our disbelief that a bunch of Wren's people can paraphernalia up and troop off the woods for sunset rituals without the plain people of the townland [neither black hats nor white] knowing their business. (My policy when we blew-in to a rural midlands community 25+ years ago, was to give curious neighbours rather more information than they could reasonably ask for: partly to inhibit them from making monsters of us down the pub). But that's okay - it's fiction.

Without being intrusively didactic, the message that comes through this book is that you can to your own self be true, and that is more important than tribal loyalty: as a young adult you can / may / shd invent yourself. Celtic are not always right; Rangers play the same game to the same rules; they can't be all wrong. And, not to put too fine a point on it, exogamy is okay: The Others bring different stuff to the table - often challenging, but mmmmm so tasty. No more spoilers! If you know any YA [girls?] leave this book on their bedside table. They'll get more out of it than the ineffably boring Inter.Cert. Biology textbook.

Wednesday 13 March 2024

Family life

A recent RTE book club drive was pushing Séamas O'Reilly's memoir Did Ye Hear Mammy Died? to the front again - it was first published in 2021. NPR reviews. I was surprised to find that the ratio of copies : reserves was favorable (214 : 42) on the Irish Library system and so ordered up a dead tree copy for myself. The book was favorably reviewed by the Guardian when it came out - as it should: O'Reilly is a regular columnist for The Sunday Guardian Observer. I hope sales get a boost, but with so many copies in libraries across the country that may not happen. 

As young Séamas was not quite 6 y.o. when the event of the title unfolded, he recognises that his trauma was less legs-from-under-him than for his older siblings, let alone his widowed father. So it's okay to play it for larfs against the back-ground of grief. Then again, whatever the hierarchy of grief, there were several months as a pre-teen that he was reduced to a barely functioning wreck by anxiety and insomnia. That was (miraculously) driven into a corner by an impromptu session of lively lovely Mammy related anecdotes visited upon the tween child by three of her friends who heard he was in the same hospital as they were.

Siblings? Well, yes, there were eleven (11) all told: the youngest barely out of nappies, the oldest almost old enough to vote, when Mrs O'Reilly died from metastatic breast cancer in 1992. They behaved a herd but each had their own stand-out individuality. "This could also have been a contributor to the frequent, horrible bouts of car-sickness which beset several of us, most especially Fionnuala and Dearbhaile, both so inclined to vomiting on road-trips that travelling with them was as precarious as cycling through a mine-field carrying a large, open vat of parmesan soup in your lap". My original post title was Normal Family Life but this paragraph only includes 2/3 (Mammy died; N = 11) of the data dissing 'Normal'. The other abnormal aspect of O'Reilly life in the 80s and 90s is that a small length of The Border [between RoI and NI] was their garden fence a few miles South of Derry.

They lived a short distance down a bohereen from the 'main' road from Derry to Lifford and Ballybofey. One fine day the customs post next door was blown up and chunks of the debris rained down in their back garden. Normalizing The Troubles is only really addressed in the penultimate chapter of the book. This is how it goes: Chapter 12 Notable Explosions, 1988 - 2005. After Daddy had his leg cut off . . . 

That's an example of dark Nordie humour. A few pages later it is revealed that Daddy was a late-diagnosed diabetic who peripheral circulation was fritzed by the disease. Daddy's leg was amputated to get ahead of the gangrene rather than, as implied, to tidy things up after his foot had been blown off in a terrorist outrage. Much hilarity was generated for the O'Reilly children when well-meaning visitors put their foot in it with an unfortunate turn of phrase. This memoir is littered with authentic voice turns of phrase which may be clichés in Derry but had me laughing out loud. You may do likewise. If you can't get the book, then I guess that authentic voice can be found in his journalism.

A brief cw: Mammy and Daddy O'Reilly were committed Catholics, not only regular Mass-goers but also fulfilling several key roles in the Catholic community. Mr O'Reilly collects priests like my friend Viv collects lesbians. He knows more priests, in Derry, Ireland and Wolrdwide, than I know, like, scientists. Several of these men have walk on parts in this memoir always doing good; although one is outed as an O'Reilly house-breaker [in a predictably play-it-for-larfs way]. But of the scandals and cover-ups which shook the church to its foundations over the last 25 years - not a word. That's fine; plenty pages on that elsewhere. 

Like, fr'inst, A Guest at the Feast by Colm Tóibín review which I returned to Borrowbox a fortnight ago. This is a collection of his published essays including his splendiferous LRB exposé of Rome Among the Flutterers: A few years later, on Easter Sunday, as I wandered around the inside of St Peter’s in Rome after Mass, I noticed vast numbers of bishops and cardinals, all in their regalia. Since the sun was shining, some of them had the most beautiful seminarians or young priests standing behind them holding yellow umbrellas over their heads. It was a sight for sore eyes.

Monday 11 March 2024

Pot pies and fishcakes

IF I only food-shop in ALDIDL, which is more or less true, THEN I'm not going to develop craves for PopTarts or instant Boeuf Wellington. Although I have to report that LIDL's trim little frozen beef-and-stilton or mushroom&tarragon pies are wel lekker. They are also Deluxe and €3.00 the pair. That's €7.50/kg, which is not potato prices, not even block-cheddar prices, but cheaper than chips.

As I say, these things are tasty and make the centre piece of a supper with, say, green beans and boiled spuds. The reason they taste okay is because food engineers have been working into the night lurrying in the umami and mouth feel. Mainly ensuring that the pastry is crispy when the interior gloop is piping hot. Ingredients are hard to find on the interweb, so I'll here get them into the public domain.

30% mushrooms, wheat flour (WHEAT flour, calcium carbonate, iron, niacin, thiamine), water, vegetable oils (palm, rapeseed), water, salt, emulsifier, mono- and di-glycerides of fatty acids, fried onions (onions, sunflower oil), whipping cream (Milk), white wine (sulphites), mushroom stock (concentrated vegetable juices (mushroom, onion), salt, rapeseed oil, water, mushroom powder, sugar, cornflour), modified maizer starch, garlic purée, yeast extract powder blend (yeast extract, salt), whey powder (Milk), chives, salt, 0.1% tarragon, thyme, dried glucose syrup, Milk proteins, colour: carotenes.

Antient YT foodie Graham Jenkinson agrees!

Fishcakes? To give parity of esteem to Aldi, a shout-out for their {cod | haddock | salmon} fishcakes on special (€2.49 €1.49 the pair = 270g) at the end of February. I couldn't find them in B'town but picked some up the following Monday in Carlow. Like the pot-pies, these are fine in a multiple ingredient sort of way; they look a lot better cooked than in their soggy breadcrumb chilled counter state.

Multiple ingredients? yup:

ATLANTIC SALMON (Salmo salar) (38%) (Fish), potato, wheat flour (Wheat flour, calcium carbonate, iron, niacin, thiamine), water, rapeseed oil, white sauce [double cream (Milk), water, salt, lemon juice concentrate, fish stock (water, potato flakes, concentrated fish extract (Fish extract, salt), salt, cod powder (Fish), lemon juice concentrate, onion powder, anchovy purée (anchovies (Fish), salt, sunflower oil)], cornflour, onion powder, ground white pepper], dill, extra virgin olive oil, maize starch, yeast, paprika, apple cider vinegar, salt, sugar, Wheat gluten, black pepper. 

DYED SMOKED HADDOCK (Haddock (Melanogrammus aeglefinus) (28%) (Fish), salt, colours: curcumin, paprika extract), potato, Wheat flour (Wheat flour, calcium carbonate, iron, niacin, thiamine), HADDOCK (Melanogrammus aeglefinus) (10%) (Fish), water, rapeseed oil, potato flake, double cream (Milk), Cheddar cheese (Milk), whole milk (Milk), chives, extra virgin olive oil, maize starch, salt, yeast, paprika, apple cider vinegar, sugar, Wheat gluten, fish stock (Fish stock, salt, maltodextrin, yeast extract, onion powder, celeriac (Celery), rapeseed oil, leek powder, carrot powder, white pepper, bay), Dijon mustard (water, ground Mustard seeds, spirit vinegar, salt), concentrated lemon juice, cornflour, onion powder, black pepper.

I like that the food engineers at Aldi have deferred to actual cooks in the experimental kitchen, the tasty bits in these two products are quite different: haddock calls for celery, salmon for dill - who knew? And of course I am impressed that they have Latin-named the species - except in the case of cod powder and anchovies. God know and who cares about what goes into "cod powder", presumably it's what's left after all the fillets have been taken away and has been rejected in the fish goujon factories. Anchovies otoh are interesting taxonomically because there are several species in the genus Engraulis. I reckon that nobody who eats cheap fish-cakes would notice if Aldi replaced E. encrasicolus [euro-anchovy] with E. anchoita [Argentine a.] or E. japonicus if those stocks are more robust this year.

Sunday 10 March 2024

Do not pass Go

 

Notnext day delivery with Amazon Prime (Donner Pass I-80 CA last weekend)

Friday 8 March 2024

Fiction

One way I try to keep my life simple is by reducing choice.

In my Borrowbox universe, I'm overwhelmed by all the books that are there for my reading pleasure, so I only browse the non-fiction section - and obvs leaning to science in that bin. That limits things to reality, rather than some infinite universes model of space and time. I confess to feeling a little smug about this adhesion to Truth, if not beauty. But I recognise that science has very little useful to say about the human condition or inter-personal relationships. Nevertheless, someone needs to shake me to insist "Read This Novel!". On foot of such orders, I read with advantage Small Things Like These and Station Eleven. More recently, I took on board that one of my binfo pals is married to a successful YA author AND that one of my MeFi para-pals is Charlie Stross the prolific Britse SF writer.

Trouble with prolific is that it gives me choice-collywobbles. Stross is about 60 years old and sixty books published. In mid-Feb, feeling that I had to put my toe in Strosswater ,I found that only one earbook was immediately available. No choice? Obliged to plunge! Accordingly, I loaded up  Empire Games  which is the first book in the third trilogy of his 9 volume Merchant Princes series. It is rather good: not dissimilar, in its post-Apocalyptic vibe, to Station Eleven. There is also resonance with Iain M. Banks [obitribute from 10 years ago] insofar as they both write loosely connected stories embedded in a coherent Universe which is quite different from ours.

The Merchant Princes new-normal is that the Earth hosts a large number of parallel universes which through accident and happenstance have gorn all two-roads diverged in a yellow wood on us. We/they only know about the para-historical timelines [tech term] because some people develop the ability to shift among them. We may be thankful that these spacetime travellers are able to bring their immediate baggage, including clothes, [Schwarznegger, we're looking-not-looking at you] with them as they jaunt [tech term] to the same place in a different universe. If that can be achieved, then ideas, tech and stuff can be transported in a way analagous to horizontal transfer of genes between species. As with horizontal transfer this can confer a benefit on the recipients - without causing a loss at the donor end. So it's not a zero-sum game - notwithstanding the possibility of unintended consequences and careful what you wish for

I liked Empire Games so much that I've put a Borrowbox lien on  Dark State , the next book in the series. I guess that's a recommendation, from me to you. PS sorry late launch today - made a PM/AM rookie error on the scheduler.