Where We're From, The Birds Sing A Pretty Song...

It's back to the old on-call grind again after five weeks of bliss. This morning, I was awakened by the dreaded "519" number on caller ID. Not managing to get the CPAP mask off fast enough to answer, the call rolled over to Google Voice. Voice is an interesting bit of wizardry which was previously known as GrandCentral. The idea behind the app is that any or all of your telephone numbers can be set to ring by calling one number issued to you by Google. So, no matter where you happen to be, the call finds you. OK, cool enough, but what really makes it shine (usually) is that Voice also creates a transcription of the voicemail. It works surprisingly well with my southern drawl and other sub-human dialects, but isn't quite up to the task of translating for our outsourced help desk, located somewhere south of the border. In all fairness, the tech at our Customer Service Center (CSC) speaks with a heavy accent (hey, he still speaks English better than I speak Español), so I'm not sure that even I would have understood him in my sleep-fogged state. What resulted was a transcription that reads like the lines for the backwards-talking dwarf from "Twin Peaks". Here's the original VM: And now, the transcription: Hi Scott, This is a little phone to see if he how I'm like your house phone is lost. The in, that actually once they have were we day with the group. I'll give me a script. It says that you have an issue with theserver, Unix at unique server, so please if you can give us a call back as soon as possible. Let you to see if I don't if i lesson. It would be very helpful. Thank you. Bye bye. Again, this is well. Talk to yousoon bye bye. In another twenty five years it will translate correctly AND serve me toast. For now, guess I'll make it myself.

An Excerpt From "Men's True Camping Adventures" magazine, July 1943

Morning? Afternoon? Sometime in between? Who knows? The staccato rhythm of rain on the windowpane yanked me kicking and screaming from the arms of Morpheus. Chancing a glance through a tattered curtain (which looked suspiciously like a beach towel), my eyes were struck by the grey light of....well, some time. Where am I? How did I get here? Though the events of the evening prior were not within easy grasp, the cramped quarters and faint whiff of gasoline shed some light on my surroundings. The bus. I was camping in my bus. Congratulations, contestant number one. Would you like to try for the Daily Double? Slowly, like some aquatic mammal in water far too shallow, I rolled my ample frame over and reached for my portable computing device, which somehow I knew would be on the counter behind me. Flipping open the lid, I quickly received the answer to my next question. It was 7:31 am on Saturday, August 1. Tempted, though I was, to return to some uncharted desert isle, hand-in-hand with Mary Ann, even if only in dream, I decided to continue on my winning streak, looking for answers. A cursory check of electronic mail revealed nothing other than my name, for which I was thankful, and a quick note that one Wendy Ledbetter had left for breakfast and yard sales with someone named Jasa. Somewhere, deep in my being, I felt that these names had some significance, but my uncaffeinated brain resisted all attempts to fill in the blanks. Caffeine! That's it! Get some caffeine. All will become clear. Coffee? Yes! But wait! No...something else. I don't drink coffee in the mornings, do I? I drink.....C-C-Coke! The recollection of that nectar of the gods sparked a new sense of purpose within me and I crab-walked my way off of the bed. Almost as if I had done it a thousand times, my arms deftly returned the bed to a seat configuration. Now, I had room to move without getting stuck between the sink and stove. Just as I reached for the handle of the 'fridge to indulge my addiction a new sensation took center stage. Mother nature would not be denied. I switched my gaze to the driver's seat, where a suitcase was perched. My suitcase? Let's see, Hunter S. Thomson t-shirt, jean shorts, cheerleader outfit...Yes, my suitcase. Before I could put hand to toothbrush and razor, Ms. Nature reminded me once more that she would brook no discussion. Turning, I grabbed the sliding door handle and thrust myself into....Hell. Not the flaming, brimstone-laden, you-will-spend-eternity-watching-reruns-of-American Idol kind of hell. Rather, a Outer Banks (Yes! Another memory returns!) remix. Leaving the air conditioned confines of the bus, I stepped into a world as sultry as any Hollywood starlet. Warm, but more than that, humid. The sort of humidity that reminds you that the Earth is three-quarters covered by water. Steeling myself, I made haste for the bathhouse. The sight of other campers in various states of consciousness, brought a flood of memories of the night before. The most painful of which was the karaoke contest, "Showstoppers", held at the campground pavilion. Of course. Bad singing. The cause of my fugue. The sound of cats being beaten into submission had lured me to the spot on the south side of the park, where the contest was being held. Relieved that no felines, only eardrums, were being harmed in the production of this "entertainment", I stood in perverse fascination at the display of raw, VERY raw, talent. Most of the performers were kids and even my jaded ear could give their attempts at finding the right key (or any key) the benefit of a doubt. A woman named Angie, delivered a surprisingly good account of "Here For The Party". Still, that's country music and any two-bit gumshoe with a taste for bourbon and Marlboro Reds can manage that particular genre. But it was the performance of "I Will Survive" by a young man of, I would guess, 16 summers, that sent shivers down my spine like a William Shatner movie marathon on a dark and stormy night. No man, save for those I encountered during that bit of trouble with the Ru Paul Review a few months back, should EVER be found singing anything from the era of mirrored balls and leisure suits. Worse of all, this guy, and I use the term in the most general of contexts, actually seemed to be making a serious go of it. Gestures, expressions and all. Good Lord. Next, they'll have the faithful of St. John's Baptist Church (who were ensconced in a few campsites across from me) performing "The Old Rugged Cross" in drag. Shaking off the momentary decent into darkness, I returned my focus to the task at hand; thankful that KOAs usually provide bathroom facilities superior to those of other private grass patches. Indeed, the Cape Hatteras KOA stood in shining contrast to the last place I remember camping. Something about the "jaws of life" and toilet stall came to mind, but the details were lost in a haze of cheap colas and cheaper women. Here, the facilities were spacious, and the toilets delivered enough force to rip a man's left butt cheek off and show it to him before he died. Magnificent! Morning ablutions completed, I returned to camp and fired up the stove for a breakfast of mac and cheese with a side of M&Ms. Breakfast done, I will soon be on my way south. Destination, who knows? Wherever there's a scent of beef jerky on the wind, I'll be there. Wherever a man can find a road less traveled, I'll be there. I'll be there in the way a crossdresser screams, "FABULOUS!" when he finds a pair of heels in his size. I'll be there in the way a Doctor Who fan stumbles over her 20 foot long scarf and the complaints of the owner at a Chinese buffet are ignored when he tells me, "You go NOW!" - I'll be there, too.

Nobody Better Lay A Finger On My Goodbar

The breakfast patrons shuffle through the tight, but orderly line at the Stack 'Em High Pancake House in Kitty Hawk while I try to clear the morning brain fog with Coke and a side of Internet. Nothing of major import in the news. Looks like the "Cash For Clunkers" deal may come to a quick end due to lack of budget foresight on the part of the government. In an economy which is still trying to find its legs, who could have guessed that people would flock to a program which offers cash for older, less fuel efficient vehicles? Who could have possibly known that our prior fetish for Luxury Personnel Carriers would lead to a surplus of such vehicles being dumped en masse? Obviously, the Obama Administration didn't. Gotta give them credit for trying, though. The previous administration would have tried to convince us that it was patriotic to DRIVE BIG and exhaust the planet's declining fossil fuel resources that much faster. Ugh! Too early to start waxing political. Especially during a beautiful, if humid, morning at the Outer Banks. A Belgian waffle, eggs, sausage and damn fine grits....That's what lazy Southern mornings are made of. Looks like I got here just in time. The serving line now stretches out the door. Similarly crowded are the confines of Ganesh, festooned with a pile of yesterday's work attire, a couple of bags of supplies from WalMart, a small window unit air conditioner and a suitcase packed for two, although I highly doubt that Angie will even consider making an appearance in these temperatures. The trip east was fairly uneventful, save for a few thunderstorm bands which kept the front floorboard wet and the bus veering from side to side in crosswinds. I have a new respect for Gilligan and the Skipper for being able to navigate the Minnow in worse conditions. Weather notwithstanding, the most astounding part of the trip so far was the fuel stop in Rocky Mount. After inserting my credit card into the pump, I was instructed to see the cashier inside. If I had wanted to see the cashier, I wouldn't have sought out an gas station that offered pay at the pump. So, I did as the electronic devil told me. Grabbing a chicken salad sandwich of dubious vintage and a Mr. Goodbar, I told the attendant that the pump instructed me to pay inside. "How much gas do you wont?", he asked in an eastern Carolina drawl. Well, I had really wanted to fill Ganesh up, but had no idea how much it would take. "Ten....no, fifteen.", I responded. "Sure ya don't wont twenty?". "No, fifteen will do." Fifteen didn't and I ended up stopping once more in the town of Columbia, NC - a rather dicy little burg that gave me the willies while I dispensed more fuel at the only pumps open in town. Now, why in the hell would a gas station offer pay at the pump, but force you to pay for an exact amount inside? Not to mention the risk of bodily harm such a policy placed me in later. I could have run out of gas, or worse, been mugged for my Goodbar. Once I arrived at the evening's terminus, the Kitty Hawk WalMart, for a bit of boondocking, I noticed that no one was running a generator. Rather than keep the occupants of the five or so neighboring RVs awake, I skipped running the A/C and opted to take whatever comfort the chaotic ocean breeze would offer. The night was filled with the sounds of some later arrivals staking their claims to a slice of asphalt, a parking lot vacuum and the constant clang of metal on metal from the flagpole atop the store. Actually, I had a good nights rest, sweated off 30 pounds and awoke with a cheerful greeting to my new neighbors in the fifth wheel parked in front of Ganesh. Wandering into the store with morning eyes and strong desire to brush my teeth (forget clean underwear, dental hygene is paramount!), I grabbed some drinks, snacks, disposable toothbrushes and a small container of Gold Bond Powder. Body powder, by the way, makes a serviceable substitute for shampoo in a fix. Thus, with my hair prepared in a manner to give a 17th Century dandy a massive case of envy, I boarded my VW TARDIS for whatever adventures await. On today's agenda is a visit to the Wright Brother's Memorial, a stop at a couple of lighthouses and whatever else tickles the old fancy. Life is good!

Those Crazy Mortals, I Tell Ya...

Yesterday, Fox News reported on a veritable clash of civilizations, specifically, Nancy "One man's pork is another man's stimulus package" Pelosi's recent meeting with Pope "Please don't ask me if the Holocaust really happened" Benedict XVI. Now what's interesting here is not the exchange between these two icons, but rather the indignant commentary that was spawned by the article: "I believe she needs the exorcism..." "Lord, please stop allowing oxygen into this woman’s lungs." "...let's see if "His Holiness" will do the right thing and excommunicate her." Well burn my stakes and call me the Grand Inquisitor! Exorcisms? Divine retribution?? Excommunication??? Please tell me that the legacy of "no child left behind" won't be a level of intellectual discourse that would be right at home in the 15th Century. For the record, I don't subscribe to many of Pelosi's positions, either, but calling on a supernatural "hit squad" to deal with those we elect to govern us doesn't exactly guarantee one a seat on Jeopardy. And while I suspect that the contributor of the "His Holiness" comment was tending towards the sarcastic, referring to anyone of Earthly origin as "His Holiness" creeps me out just a bit. Reminds me of something out of those "Left Behind" books. Another reader illustrated that while some traditional sources of knowledge are to be held in esteem, others are nothing more than historical ephemera: "...she quoted St. Augustine from 400 AD...I suppose she goes that far back for the basis of every scientific argument that she makes...Can the woman not form her own opinions?" I don't suppose that's any worse than using an even older source document to validate your views on morality. Many of the opinions offered in other anti-Pelosi posts derived, not from an independent analysis of the facts, but rather the teachings of a civilization separated from us by 2,000+ years. I'd say the fact that Pelosi considers herself Catholic AND pro-choice indicates that she, for better or for worse, is capable of making at least a few opinions of her own. So, we have the Pope, that stalwart champion of tradition, refusing to see eye-to-eye with Pelosi, a poster child for Progressive Catholicism. The story itself covers no new ground, but oh the insight it provides into perceptions in this era of bi-partisan cooperation and Change (please see link below for oceanfront property in Colorado). And before you jump up and say, "But those are typical Fox News zombies!", please remember that the devotees of "Air America" wear the same rabid smiles. The fact is we all, Pope, Pelosi, Obama, John Wayne and Jeri Ryan are human beings - fallible, flawed, hateful and occasionally brilliant, beautiful and kind. (OK, I will concede that Jeri might actually be a goddess.) Let's let whatever deities may exist do their jobs and stop assuming that He/She/They/? share our myopia. We have enough problems keeping own houses in order.

Things to do on a Friday evening...

Just ran into this site and burned up two hours building a cartoon.....Weird, but fun. And Slipped The Vale Of Tears - Part 1 Like it? Create your own at GoAnimate.com. It's free and fun!

Obama's Healthcare IT Stim-U-Less Plan

Yesterday, President Obama released the details of his economic stimulus package and immediately went in to marketing mode, promoting it on the Sunday political roundtables. Unfortunately, the plan is more an outline than a solid breakdown of expenditures. Further information is promised via the www.recovery.gov site as the final version of the plan is blessed by Congress and the Obama Administration. Predictably, the right side of the aisle is already clamoring for changes of the tax cut variety. What the final product will look like is anybody's guess, but one major goal, in particular, deserves further scrutiny by whomever assumes the mantle of Chief Technology Officer: "Computerizes every American’s health record in five years, reducing medical errors and saving billions of dollars in health care costs." Having worked in healthcare IT for several years in a previous life, I can tell you that this is, in my opinion, a highly optimistic target at best, and completely unattainable at worst. First, let me say that I did vote for President Obama and I think that the widespread adoption of Electronic Medical Record (EMR) systems is a great idea. So what's the problem? Before I get to that, let's review what an EMR is and what it provides. In short, EMRs put detailed patient information at the fingertips of healthcare providers. Everything from a patient's basic demographic information, to diagnostic images (x-rays, MRIs, etc.), allergy information, surgical procedure history, current medications is available via a secure (more on that in a moment), likely web-based, portal. In principle, clinical errors are reduced since the provider has all information on which to make a determination. A fully integrated EMR would insure that no matter how many specialists a patient might visit, their most current information would be available to each of them. But integration...ah, there's the rub. EMRs have been the Holy Grail of healthcare IT for almost two decades, but even in our highly connected age, the hurdles seem no less daunting. Chief of these obstacles is the integration between the myriad of clinical software products. If you think making Microsoft and Apple place nice with each other is a challenge, try getting solutions from healthcare information technology (HIT) vendors to speak the same language. Granted, efforts such as HL7, do make the implementation of interfaces much easier, but this is still a voluntary effort. Vendors are not obliged to meet any mandates, except those promulgated via HIPPA. Medical centers rarely rely upon a single vendor to provide all IT toolsets (indeed, few vendors offer a portfolio which encompasses all clinical areas), preferring a best of breed approach. Then, there is the question of security. Who has access to patient data once it is on the wire or airwaves? Who should have access? What information exchanges must be approved by the patient before data is collected or care is given? As has been seen with numerous breaches of private consumer data, the task of keeping unauthorized eyes from sensitive information is difficult in any setting. HIPPA, the Healthcare Insurance Portability And Accountablity Act of 1996, offered a framework for addressing security concerns, but generated more questions than it answered. Even in the case of authorized access to patient information, there are grey areas. While insurance companies generally have fairly free access to your information as a result of the HIPPA form that you sign at your provider's office, can this information be used to refuse coverage? Could prospective employers use the information in hiring decisions? Can healthcare provider afford to keep abreast of the latest security measures in the current economic climate? Many questions, no easy answers. The issues that I see with President Obama's 5-year goal for the EMR are twofold: No amount of money can be thrown at EMR solutions until standards for information interchange between HIT vendors are mandated and enforced. Costs for security measures to protect patient data will likely offset any savings generated by the deduplication of said data and collection efforts. Again, this is not to say that a national EMR is not an admirable goal and one that we should not proceed upon with due diligence, but to make it a cornerstone of an economic stimulus plan that needs to be immediate in impact seems a bit disingenuous. Better to lay the groundwork by establishing a group to study the possibility of a single, national EMR system (something along the lines of Google Health, but more broad-ranging in capabilities) to which all HIT vendors can implement appropriate interfaces to, rather than have them try to build connectors to multiple EMR solutions. I would also STRONGLY suggest the final EMR solution be developed by a private consortium with regulation by HHS. Let's keep the stimulus focused, manageable and accountable by not turning it into Doctor Obama's Magic Elixir for all of our nation's ills.

Avoiding The "D" Word

Over the past couple of weeks I've noticed a curious trend among the talking heads who wax eloquent on the economic woe du jour, namely the resistance to invoke the term "Great Depression". Back in the Fall of '08, pundits seemed to be falling all over themselves to draw parallels between the current recession (remember how long it to them to declare it officially as a recession?) Each announcement of another bank in trouble nearly brought the mainstream media to break into a chorus of "Brother Can You Spare A Dime?". Yes, most of the more market savvy observers were quick to point out that bank failures and unemployment levels had not nearly approached those of President Hoover's days, but that was small comfort to those who had been laid off or seen their retirement nest egg lose 40% or more of its value in less than 12 months. Even as late as December, Kiplingers, assured its readers that the darkest days were not upon us. As the Christmas shopping season reflected the lack of confidence that consumers felt in the marketplace, the phrasing changed ever so slightly. Gone were the references to the Depression, replaced by obscure references to "the 30s" or "the worst financial crisis in 70 years". Were the news outlets chastened for their earlier fearmongering or are we now trying distance ourselves from something that may just be a little closer to reality than the day before?