The NYTimes Sunday Magazine had a pretty intense article about Memorial Hospital, an institution battered during Hurricane Katrina. The Times has continued to cover various facets and stories stemming from the tragedies during Katrina, and the damage, the aftermath, and the multiple revelations of flaws in our public and private systems, social prejudices and injustices, and capabilities of our government (or lack thereof) are myriad. Katrina is an ideal case study, sadly, for the difficulties in public policy, crisis strategies, big vs. small government, and the government agency and non-profit team effort that running the country has become.
The recent NYTimes article focused on the crisis management and ensuing murder charges that came out of an incredibly difficult, stressful, and tragic situation at one affected hospital during Katrina. The problem with crises is that a crisis only occurs when there are no logical or planned-for responses--if you knew what to do, it wouldn't be a crisis. For all the planning, education, preventative measures, structure, and hierarchies that exist in various organizations, a true crisis throws them all out the window. This is related to the division of public policy and legal or practical implementation--just because you have a great idea of how to solve a problem doesn't mean you will be able to properly structure the system that will actually address it, institutionally, socially, and in the long run.
I apparently really miss classes, because this is the sort of thing I've been thinking about non-stop since I read the article. Check out the piece, and more later...
Monday, August 31, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Yiddish!
On the heels of my last post, and on a lighter note:
Learn Yiddish!
...or at least learn hilarious phrases to pepper your daily conversations with. I never realized how many words/phrases I use until my roommates and friends pointed it out. My grandparents still can speak Yiddish, and used to use it with each other when they didn't want us know what they were discussing. My dad can tell a few off-color jokes and slyly insult people using it. My use extends to words like chutzpah, schmaltzy, shmatte, and other things Tom loves to take out of context.
Spice up your vocab, learn a few choice comments from the link above! Practice the gutteral "ch" sound, and quick reminder: Yiddish can be super sarcastic. My dad loves the phrase "go in good health" (gei gezint, loosely transliterated from how he pronounces it), which is actually kind of like saying "don't let the door hit you on the way out" depending on the situation. Usually, it's a charming language--my grandfather has called me "shana punim" or "pretty face" for years (collective awwwww).
So. Use Yiddish. Use it well. Use it sarcastically or sincerely, whichever works for you. L'chaim.
Learn Yiddish!
...or at least learn hilarious phrases to pepper your daily conversations with. I never realized how many words/phrases I use until my roommates and friends pointed it out. My grandparents still can speak Yiddish, and used to use it with each other when they didn't want us know what they were discussing. My dad can tell a few off-color jokes and slyly insult people using it. My use extends to words like chutzpah, schmaltzy, shmatte, and other things Tom loves to take out of context.
Spice up your vocab, learn a few choice comments from the link above! Practice the gutteral "ch" sound, and quick reminder: Yiddish can be super sarcastic. My dad loves the phrase "go in good health" (gei gezint, loosely transliterated from how he pronounces it), which is actually kind of like saying "don't let the door hit you on the way out" depending on the situation. Usually, it's a charming language--my grandfather has called me "shana punim" or "pretty face" for years (collective awwwww).
So. Use Yiddish. Use it well. Use it sarcastically or sincerely, whichever works for you. L'chaim.
I am consistently amazed, impressed, inspired by the strength, insight, and compassion of the people I'm lucky enough to surround myself with. The sheer tenacity and aplomb with which they handle stress, tragedy, confrontation, disappointment, challenges, uncertainty, and each other keep me going and remind what I have to live up to. If one measure of a person's success is the company they keep, then I win.
Their toolbox for life includes the following, and more:
laughter, analysis, overanalysis, hugs, snuggling, late night phonecalls, unexpected mail, patience for inanity, calm, tolerance of views that directly contradict their own, the ability to see the bigger picture, love for those they disagree with, and an unconditionality of support and respect and being-there-ness that trumps distance, conflicts, and all the weird stumbling blocks of life.
Vague, yes. But more a side note to myself that I so value the people around me and what they make my life. And a reminder to keep that mentality in the back of my mind even when things seem rough, and to make sure the people that make daily existence possible know how much they mean.
Daily dose of schmaltz over. Daily dose of Yiddish word provided.
Their toolbox for life includes the following, and more:
laughter, analysis, overanalysis, hugs, snuggling, late night phonecalls, unexpected mail, patience for inanity, calm, tolerance of views that directly contradict their own, the ability to see the bigger picture, love for those they disagree with, and an unconditionality of support and respect and being-there-ness that trumps distance, conflicts, and all the weird stumbling blocks of life.
Vague, yes. But more a side note to myself that I so value the people around me and what they make my life. And a reminder to keep that mentality in the back of my mind even when things seem rough, and to make sure the people that make daily existence possible know how much they mean.
Daily dose of schmaltz over. Daily dose of Yiddish word provided.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Sundays are good for the soul
Sundays are my favorite thing in the world. My latest routine is buying the Sunday New York Times, which, at a whopping six bucks, is a treat in and of itself, and locating a spot on a Panera patio to get fresh air, coffee, and a breakfast sandwich all simultaneously. I stay until I've read the majority of the paper, even occasionally reading the Sports section, watching the suburbanites of Brookline take in their Sundays too, with dogs and babies in tow. Last week I watched a mini rainburst from the comfort of the covered patio, and today I had a great chat with two little girls, one of whom had a Batgirl costume I would've (ok, still would) killed for.
Nothing beats the Sunday NYTimes in hard copy. I usually rip things out, and the format, with inline photos, the ability to jump back and forth between articles, and even getting newsprint ink on my fingertips, is way better than a flickering screen. My guiltiest pleasure of all is the wedding Vows column. The cynic in me secretly loves the charming stories of relationships made good, and whoever writes the column has a non-saccharine way of weaving the tale. If I ever get married, I hope my relationship and my celebration are worthy of being covered in a column. Yes, it makes me feel a little like Katharine Heigl in 27 Dresses, but since I'm sure I'll be subjecte to some ludicrous bridesmaid dresses, the comparison isn't too far off.
Sundays are that potluck day: today I had my newspaper hour(s), cleaned the apartment in a team effort with the roommates, did research on grad schools, watched most of both Legally Blonde movies, and ate Vietnamese food. Productive, cathartic, and relaxing, all in the same day. Plus, now it's only 9 pm, which means watching a little TV (Batman movie = I have such a dirty old man crush on Jack Nicholson), doing more grad school research, and even getting to sleep at a reasonable hour. A potluck, patchwork, slightly ADD day. Exactly what I need before a few days at work and an unexpected trip home for a funeral. On a tangential note: weddings and funerals are bizarre uniters of friends grown apart. I wish it didn't take major events to do that. I also wish funerals didn't happen.
Nothing beats the Sunday NYTimes in hard copy. I usually rip things out, and the format, with inline photos, the ability to jump back and forth between articles, and even getting newsprint ink on my fingertips, is way better than a flickering screen. My guiltiest pleasure of all is the wedding Vows column. The cynic in me secretly loves the charming stories of relationships made good, and whoever writes the column has a non-saccharine way of weaving the tale. If I ever get married, I hope my relationship and my celebration are worthy of being covered in a column. Yes, it makes me feel a little like Katharine Heigl in 27 Dresses, but since I'm sure I'll be subjecte to some ludicrous bridesmaid dresses, the comparison isn't too far off.
Sundays are that potluck day: today I had my newspaper hour(s), cleaned the apartment in a team effort with the roommates, did research on grad schools, watched most of both Legally Blonde movies, and ate Vietnamese food. Productive, cathartic, and relaxing, all in the same day. Plus, now it's only 9 pm, which means watching a little TV (Batman movie = I have such a dirty old man crush on Jack Nicholson), doing more grad school research, and even getting to sleep at a reasonable hour. A potluck, patchwork, slightly ADD day. Exactly what I need before a few days at work and an unexpected trip home for a funeral. On a tangential note: weddings and funerals are bizarre uniters of friends grown apart. I wish it didn't take major events to do that. I also wish funerals didn't happen.
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