"Doctor Cell Phone" will get nursed along by the FDA

Could your phone cut the umbilical cord as well? That seems easy enough.

    (Sept. 25, 2013) Oh great: Today, the Food and Drug Administration will officially begin approving some cell phone apps as medical devices without requiring authentication. This would be welcome news, if the FDA hadn't shown itself to be totally incompetent. And these are apps, the federal agency admits, that pose "moderate" or "high" risks to users. WTF? Could the woman pictured above, who just pounded her baby with sonar, have caused some harm? Who knows?
    In three previous blog posts, we have documented the appalling failure of the FDA's approval process for  medical devices that multibillion-dollar multinational corporations spent years developing. Time after time, despite a protocol that requires extensive clinical trials and "documentation" by these profit-crazy firms, the devices that the FDA has enshrined as "safe and effective" have proven to be unsafe and ineffective. Its "overworked and overextended" staff has a similarly dismal record in its drug-approval charade.That's why we have all those warning letters, recalls and class-action lawsuits: The FDA is a big-time bungler.
   Now they're going to "clear" cell phone apps, with no studies or authentication? Fasten your seatbelts.

Obama's Brewing While America's Stewing

"This stuff makes your feel like you could totally change the world!"

    (sept. 24, 2012) Do you know what's really special if you are unemployed, homeless, hungry, despondent, uneducated, bankrupt, or chronically ill?
    A cold, frosty beer, you clueless dude!
    And President Obama, having utterly failed at every other "solution" to our rapidly imploding country, is busy in his own little White House brewery, concocting an elixir that will make us feel happy and carefree, despite the fact that we are unemployed, homeless, hungry, despondent, uneducated, bankrupt, and chronically ill.

Doughnuts and big dough: Edward Jones' new TV ad whets varied appetites

It's magic: You eat it up (so trustingly!) and Edward Jones gets fatter.

   (Sept. 18, 2014)  Financial services firm Edward Jones is at it again, cultivating its "neighbors helping neighbors"  persona in a new TV ad that is being aggressively aired across the country. In it, a tenderhearted financial advisor accommodates a young couple's schedule by venturing out into the darkness to meet with them at his modest storefront office in a neighborhood strip mall. He is a lonely, noble figure as he earnestly heads along deserted streets toward his destination. As if he isn't adorable enough already, he stops first at a doughnut shop, to sweeten the dealings he'll be proposing to ensure that his wide-eyed clients' financial future is secure and prosperous. (http://www.ispot.tv/ad/7fBb/edward-jones-early-meeting.) 
    His own future certainly is, if he follows the script handed down from headquarters. And Edward Jones itself is still thriving, despite having been censured by the Securities and Exchange Commission for failing to disclose kickbacks from selected mutual funds. Several class-action suits involved hundreds of millions of dollars in compensation for angry clients. The firm became notorious for hidden fees and exorbitant commissions. For a couple of years, it backed off , using simple, generic advertising. Now it's reclaimed its former mythology, once again projecting that "It's a Wonderful Life" image. Maybe the Johnny Appleseed ambiance will warm hearts and forge trust once again.

Is There a Dr. Oz in the House? Millions of 'large ladies' eat up his "miracles"

UPDATE Dec 20, 2014: Researchers find most of Oz's remedies to be "bogus."
http://kronstantinople.blogspot.com/2014/12/i-hate-to-say-i-told-you-so-dr-ozs.html

UPDATE June 17, 2014: Oz was assailed in a Congressional hearing today for his "fraudulent" and "deceptive" claims about weight-loss scams, such as his recent show on "3 Ways to get your fat to eat itself." He defended himself by saying merely that he tends to use "passionate and flowery language." He was warned to tone down his "huckster" approach and to show more respect both for his audience and his medical credentials. He was referred to as a "buffoon" and a "charlatan." The same could be said for members of Congress, but the proof about Oz's disrespect for the truth can be found in Oz1, Oz2 and Oz3, behind the tabs at the top of the page.

Oz says being fat is "the kiss of death." So what is he doing to his wife?

    (Jan 18, 2013) Lisa Oz is smart, beautiful, successful, charming and spiritual. 

    Fans of the "Dr.Oz Show" share many of these qualities, but the Good Doctor says they're not enough. 

    "You need to get rid of all those extra pounds you're hauling around," he says.

    Being overweight doesn't just decimate your self-esteem and limit your lifestyle choices, according to him. "It's a death sentence," he warns.

    Since his debut in September, 2009, he has promoted one "astonishing," "game-changing," "effortless" weight-loss miracle after another. Pills, potions, teas, lotions and exotic remedies from around the globe will bust your belly fat and blast your butt fat even as you "don't lift a finger" and "eat what you want." Be lazy AND skinny, he grins.

    He implores his viewers to lose weight and save their lives. Does he implore his wife?

Elderly Girl's Ravishing Secrets to High-Spirited Longevity

     Elderly Girl is not even 100 years old yet, but for years, the media have been showing up every time she has a birthday to ask, “What is the secret of your longevity?” 

    Have you ever had some TV reporter, drowning in perfume and made up like a porn star, enter your living quarters and ply you with patronizing, intrusive questions while a gang of technical gorillas blinds you with lights and zooms in like you were some newly discovered virus? Elderly Girl is serving notice that this annual ritual is over. 

    She will share her secrets right now, for all to print out and tape to their boudoir doors, and then she will disappear, forevermore, from the tawdry spotlight of celebrity. One can only tolerate so much curiosity, envy and love.

You're full of it, lady

Are you a woman, or a luscious, silken, fragrant heap of toxic chemicals?

Scientists say women use hundreds of chemicals on their bodies daily.

    (sept. 2014) Blueberry fingers and cantaloupe toes. How could I have lived so long without longing for, and demanding,  such sweet treats?
    I was flushed with anticipation as I explored a large display of beautifully bottled liquid soaps at Big Lots last month. They were on sale for a dollar. (I later learned that they cost $10 at Kohl's and $5 on Ebay.) Their labels were artful depictions of  Lavender, Peach Mango, Lemon Citrus, Cherry Vanilla and Grapefruit Daisy, among others. The BlueBerry Blossom would look so pretty in my upstairs kitchenette, and the Cucumber Melon was perfect for the color scheme in our main-floor kitchen. I bought one for every sink in our house, and several for my shower stall. I would have a Honeydew Mint bosom and a Lime Banana bum. My days would be a succession of delectable sudsings. 
    Little treats can breathe new life into a routine existence. What a delight to embody the lusciousness of Nature. Kiss me, you fool. Or actually, never mind. I'll kiss myself!
     It wasn't until I'd been using these exquisite products for several days that I idly turned the bottle around, and read the ingredients.
    Oops, I did it again. I got taken in by hype and imagery, which readily shut down the part of my brain that knew the truth. These products were a shocking brew of creepy chemicals, which can zoom straight through your pores into your bloodstream. It wasn't a "simple pleasure" -- it was a complex poison.

"Heroic" pilot takes a nice, long ego trip, and gets rich while he's at it

Sullenberger sullied his name with his shameless opportunism

(9/5/14)
Dear Sully Sullenberger:

    It was sweet of you to "carefully select" me to receive your leadership DVD  for only $595, plus shipping and handling. Thanks but no thanks. I wouldn't pay $5.95 for it. And anyway, I'm not leadership material.

    I'd rather be a follower, if I could only find a principled, heroic leader. You, sir, don't meet my criteria.

    When you accomplished your "Miracle on the Hudson" in 2009, skillfully landing your crippled aircraft in the river, you didn't risk your life to save others. You saved your own life, and incidentally saved those of your passengers and crew, by being poised, experienced and focused. That's admirable, but it's not heroic. 

    Even though all you did was fulfill your duty -- in an unforgettable setting and with undeniable dignity -- you eagerly embraced the title of Hero, and milked it for all it was worth. You acknowledged that the nation needed a stalwart protagonist. The news media are always falling all over each other trying to find some heretofore unknown person who will touch our hearts, elicit our tears and boost their ratings. You graciously served as a vessel for our collective emotional hunger.

    You didn't stop there, though. You weren't about to let us use you as an inspirational figure for free. You've turned your soft landing into hard cash. You've made yourself a millionaire by exploiting our respect for you. You charge as much as $40,000-plus to give a speech! That's not heroic -- it's just plain tacky.

What happens in my Vagus stays in my Vagus

Patient beware: Being part of a clinical trial is a trial indeed 

   (September 2013)  A highly unpleasant spotlight, which turned me into a Vagus showgirl for five years, has finally been turned off. I just completed a Cyberonics, Inc., clinical trial of the Vagus Nerve Stimulator, to assess its effectiveness in helping those who suffer from treatment-resistant depression. It was a ridiculous, scandalous experience.
    I don't trust Big Pharma, and I don't trust the multibillion-dollar medical device industry. My cynicism was vindicated by the bizarre combination of incompetence and ruthlessness that characterized this study.
    Beware of becoming part of a clinical trial. Your privacy, as well as your time and well-being, may be seriously jeopardized.
    In trial after trial, the VNS device that was being tested in the study that involved me, has shown itself to have extremely limited value (up to a 90 percent failure rate). But Cyberonics (which sounds like a sci-fi cabal that unleashes evil robots), is determined to keep trying until it wears down its opponents and qualifies for CMS (Medicare and Medicaid) reimbursement, so it can achieve its dream: a fabulous financial windfall. (UPDATE: On Dec. 1, 2014, it was rejected again, as being "unproven and unnecessary," even though the ever-sloppy FDA approved it 10 years ago.)

SHOCK TREATMENTS: Can off-the-shelf brain zappers improve your life?

    More to the point, could they enhance your gaming awesomeness?

 

Your brain is not a plaything, you crazy, reckless young lady!

     (august 2014) Oh great: Cool, clever marketers are using data about transcranial direct current stimulation (TDCS) -- which passes small electrical currents directly onto the scalp and theoretically stimulates the nerve cells in the brain -- to entice gamers, and whomever else they can think of, to buy their cute, futuristic-looking gadgets ((http://www.bbc.com/news/health-27343047).

    Since they are not making medical claims (in their opinion, anyway), the are not subject to regulatory oversight. One of their ads exclaims:  "Can you learn 20-40 percent quicker, reduce pain, feel better, increase energy or reduce stress with tDCS? Research studies say, YES!" (Don't these sound like medical claims to you?) Studies also indicate you could mess up your precious, incredibly complex and beautiful minds, you fools!

Bless her heart: A gal from up north is here to write about us!

"Them nigras does such stupid-ass things, sometimes you just got to laugh."

      "We've alerted people to keep an eye out for you, but you’ll need to exercise caution,” my editor at the Rockefeller Foundation Journal told me. "It's like time stood still in these little backwoods Southern towns. The black poverty is stupefying. The Klan is king. And the whites will see you as a ‘bleeding-heart liberal’ who is there to stir up trouble. They’ll probably try to scare you, at the very least.”

  

The Restroom gig: A process of elimination

This is part two of a two-part series
Part One is "The black gentlewoman in the marble dungeon."

 It's "potty time" at the disco, y'all!"

    (8/23/13) "Do you think I'd be doing this crap job if I could find anything else?" the young lady at a local dance club exclaimed. She was pretty, with magenta streaks in her glossy dark hair. The vest of her neon pink uniform had the unconvincing motto, "Flushed with Pride," embroidered in silver above her breast. She was the present-day incarnation of the "powder room" attendant. Unlike her predecessors from a more refined era, who gracefully presided over elegant accommodations and served "the upper crust," today's "loo" lieutenants must cope with drunkenness, drug use, vomit, sex in the toilet stalls, feces in the urinals, and disdainful patrons, as they attempt to eke out a living in the nation's hip, jam-packed bars, trendy eateries, and throbbing, rowdy dance clubs.

This has gotten old, says Elderly Girl

"I want to be alone."

    (feb. 14, 2013) Elderly Girl has flown the coop. She needed space. She wanted her own place. Frankly, we're surprised she hung out in this gaudy, clamorous venue for as long as she did, surrounded by ordinary people, slapstick theorizing, chronic diseases and confounding issues.
    She has ensconced herself in a new domain, "The Elderly Girl Experience" (http://elderlygirl.blogspot.com/),where her autonomy and solitude can be protected.

The Excess Baggage of Dr. Mehmet Oz

See the sags and bags, the wrinkles (no twinkles) for yourself!

http://fox13now.com/2013/12/09/dr-oz-answers-health-questions-on-good-day-utah/

Dr. Mehmet Oz shares his eye bags and beauty tips in a visit to Salt Lake City on December 9.

    (Dec. 15, 2013) Do you ladies remember all those astonishing, miraculous, effortless, surefire cures for under-eye bags, dark circles and wrinkles that Dr. Oz has bestowed upon us all these years? The spritz of rosewater, the sprigs of parsley, the teabags and cucumber, the yogurt and sea urchin, and even the Preparation H? Don't forget the tart cherry juice, the chard, the astaxathtin, and the brandy/milk concoction. It goes on.

    As I noted in an earlier post, a reporter who met him in New York noted that Oz has quite the bags and wrinkles himself. "He more than looks his age, and he has very dark circles," the writer added. 

    Even so, I was taken aback to see Oz when he was in town last week for a ski getaway. He is painfully scrawny -- virtually frail. His skin is pale and not glowing. His hair is dyed a terrible shoe-polish brown, and it was held up by some sort of super-strength mousse. He has apparently not managed to use his "3 easy steps" to achieve "perfectly restorative and restful" sleep. He seemed totally pooped.

    But then there were the eyes. I have never seen baggier bags. I have never seen darker circles. I have rarely seen more wrinkles, even under the eyes of men decades older. 

Hey Jude: You made it bad

Another charity that cynically manipulates the tender-heartedness of its donors.

Marlo Thomas and some of St. Jude's young cancer patients.

        (Jan. 1, 2014) Maybe you've noticed the recent flood of heart-tugging (and very costly) national TV ads seeking your "desperately needed" funds for St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital in Memphis. These slick appeals have buttressed  the "nonprofit's" constant campaign to enrich its nearly $3 billion nest egg.

    I always liked the late Danny Thomas, who undoubtedly founded this organization with the purest of intents. His daughter, Marlo, has fought aggressively to "keep the dream" (and her dad's memory) alive.  

     But donors who have done their homework about how this "charity" raises money, and how it spends those hard-earned dollars of yours, are scathing in their assessment of St. Jude's priorities and integrity.

The black gentlewoman in the marble dungeon

     This is part one of a two-part package on the difficult, 

often demeaning job of restroom attendant, then and now.

    (8/14/13) The candlelight, the rose bouquets, the champagne, the maroon brocade walls and the quiet lilt of chamber music in the air ensconced  me in a world I had only seen in the movies. My escort and I were having dinner in a lavish hotel restaurant shortly after I moved to New York City. The tuxedo-clad waiters moved about, carrying large silver trays aloft, as debonair as Astaire. Everything was muted, yet sparkly.

    As we finished our entrees, I told Mitchell, a Park Avenue lawyer, that I needed to use the restroom. "I'll order the chocolate souffles while you're gone," he said. Then he handed me a five-dollar bill.
    Ever since I had arrived in this crazy, beautiful city, men had been buying me things, taking me places, putting me into cabs and slipping me twenties. But getting paid to pee? Could things possibly get any better?

Is there a Lupus Doctor in the House? We need answers.

(or is it?)

     Why is it so hard to get answers to basic questions about autoimmunity? I have raised the issues below with several highly regarded experts, and I have gotten virtually no useful information.  I spoke to a professor of immunology who said, "The questions you pose are the very questions we are trying to answer. You have actually painted quite a clear picture of this complex, baffling disorder just by framing it as you have."
    I don't buy this. I am starting to wonder if they have any idea what they're doing when they "treat" us. How can we trust either their diagnosis or their "medical advice" if these fundamental issues remain a "mystery"?

I "Went Postal," and there were casualties

     (Jan. 22, 2013) I “went postal,” but it was the United States Postal Service that created the casualties.

     For six months in 2010, my 89-year-old aunt had been confined against her will, and without legal representation, in a locked dementia facility in South Carolina. She was desperate to get out. After doing some research about her case, I was thrilled to locate a document that all she had to do was sign to regain her freedom and autonomy. I sent it to her by certified mail -- since we knew her regular mail was being confiscated (she was also denied phone access).
    The care facility's front desk refused twice to accept delivery. I was livid. I contacted the office of the United States Postmaster General, and asked that my aunt's right to receive mail be enforced. After "intense negotiations" with care-facility executives, the postmaster general's chief counsel declined to press the matter. The document was returned to me, and the postal service said, “the case is closed.” My aunt remained essentially a prisoner, illegally isolated from the outside world, and the declaration that could have saved her remains on my desk to this day, unopened.
    We have just learned that she died weeks ago, having never again been allowed any contact whatsoever with her beloved "big sister," my 94-year-old mother.

I could have danced all night with the Prophet of Polygamy

I felt as if I were twirling ecstatically with Arthur Murray.

     I have found myself in numerous unusual situations over the years (oops, I did it again), but one of the most memorable was the time I spent in the arms of Rulon C. Allred, the prophet and spiritual leader of an  estimated 10,000 Mormon polygamists in the U.S. and Mexico.
    No, we were not in the throes of “replenishing the Earth,” as Dr. Allred, a homeopathic physician, regularly reminded his flock to do “with vigor, pleasure and the love of God.”
    We were dancing.

Heroin Chick, Harley Dude and Feathered Keith

He didn't speak English -- he spoke a caregiver language of acceptance and hope.

        (8/1/2011) I could see the needle tracks on her bony arms as she stood on the porch, smoking, in her chartreuse tank top and skinny jeans. There were no boobs that I could discern. Instead, she had a rack of prominent ribs.

    Her hair was a wild, bleached-to-death mess. She was the most scrawny, caved in and wrecked person I had ever seen. On the shoulder of this shell-shocked stick figure always sat a gorgeous green parrot, who seemed to be murmuring something into her ear, in comforting tones. 

    She and her hugely muscled, Harley-riding boyfriend lived in a dilapidated shack that people in our tidy neighborhood sorely resented.

Breathing Free: How I rid myself of chronic sinus inflammation

Sinuses may have benefits, but I'd rather live without them.
Aren't they rather poorly designed? Someone messed up.

    (11/29/14) For my entire adult life, my sinuses have been inflamed. This is not infection: just a feeling of congestion, pain and pressure that affected my appearance, my red-eyed vision, and even my ability to think clearly. I had a headache every morning. It made me feel kind of sick and dizzy all over. I tried using my own personalized, macho form of neti potting: Filling my sinuses with warm salt water using a turkey baster. Where are the paparazzi when you need them? I blew so hard, my eardrums screamed and then seemed to deflate. It helped, but not enough.
    Now I have a new regimen, and for the past nine months, I have been transformed. I can't believe what a difference it has made.

The Harder They Fall

   (7/23/14) In 2011, the University of Utah Medical Center was named best in the nation by the morally dubious, cabalistic University HealthSystems Consortium. This simply was not believable. Our investigation discovered that a U. of U. executive essentially reverse-engineered the "top secret" algorithms that were going to be used by UHC in its ranking process, and focused intensively of those particular criteria. It was sort of like doping: It was cheating. The University blanketed the Intermountain West with ads and media coverage about its Number One status, until our blog post article appeared (http://kronstantinople.blogspot.com/p/the-consortium.html). UHC abandoned its ranking program and reallocated its considerable resources.
    Now that the new U.S. News and World Report rankings have been released, we can see how far from Number One the U. really is. Naturally, no one is trumpeting this dismal news.

Model Intentions: I got duped, you got screwed

I don't have a photo of Punky, but this looks very much as she did in 1968 -- sweet and beautiful.

Dear Punky Fortune:

    I have wondered for so many years how things turned out for you, and even if you’re still alive. Long after I’d moved to New York, I heard that your pimp almost beat you to death. I heard about the heroin. I heard that you’d had two kids before you were 20.

    I think you must know that whatever role I played in what happened to you was unwitting. I hope you realized that I was there with the purest of intentions. Decades later, the betrayal that affected all of us, but which victimized you and your girlfriends in unspeakable ways, still makes me ill. I am so sorry.

Much Ado-doo at the U.

     Call me a pathologically cynical party poop, but I am very dubious about the University of Utah’s charming invitation for all of us to help in its search for a new president.

    The University launched a web site today, announcing what KTVX TV hails as a “new kind” of process in which input from the average citizen is solicited. That means y’all, you all!
    Please post your comments! They really want your help! Oh sure they do!

The e-cigarette conspiracy: You can't handle the truth!

Safety concerns are obscured by a fragrant cloud of vapor

    (Feb 27, 2014) Volunteers are being recruited through CraigsList and a Bronx "free classifieds" site for a groundbreaking study of e-cigarette safety at Weill Cornell Medical Center in New York. The stated hypothesis of this study is troubling: E-cigarettes "disorder airway epithelial biology."  It is the airway epithelium that are "central to the pathogenesis of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and lung cancer." Impacts on epithelial gene expression, DNA methylation, telomere length and cilia length will be scrutinized.

    Doesn't this sound a little bit scary?

    Strangely, this research effort is not listed, as it should be, on the clinicaltrials.gov. web site, even though it was submitted in Dec. 2012 and "verified" in Oct. 2013. It is hidden in an XML file that is clearly not intended for public consumption. I have written to the two researchers who are designated as "contacts," to pose basic questions about the assumptions underlying their inquiry. I have stressed my seriousness in covering this subject thoroughly and responsibly. We have a right to know what they suspect and why. They are being funded by us, through the National Institutes of Health.
    They have not even acknowledged, much less responded to, my repeated overtures.

    This is not an isolated example. Despite urgent calls around the country for more safety information about e-cigarettes, virtually none of the findings from research around the world have been publicized. I think I've figured out why: Both Big Tobacco and anti-smoking/public health officials want e-cigarettes to succeed.
    Disclosure: I love e-cigarettes. I want them to be safe. But all this secrecy makes me very uneasy.

Here Comes the Judge! A few amicus briefs, and underpants galore!

This High Court Justice isn't blind -- he sees very well.

    (Jan 27, 2014) For nearly four decades, my old New York friend has combined the role of "Your Honor" -- which he has performed with diligence and decisiveness -- with the role of tireless womanizer. He is gorgeous, ravenous, a bona fide connoisseur of females in every shape, style and color, a chivalrous charmer and always a victor. 
    It's all about victory, just as courtroom dramas are. No agony of defeat for this battler of the sexes.
    The fact that he has kept his double life so well hidden under those filmy robes represents a magnificent feat of finesse and role-playing. He could easily have become another Spitzer or Weiner. Like them, he had everything to lose. But unlike them, he's managed to maintain his impeccable image, even as he has bedded hundreds (or thousands?) of women, many of whom he had just met. I bet they all have fond memories.

    Dante got mad a few months ago when I teasingly called him a "dog." He is a dog, or a bull elephant or a silver-backed gorilla (I mean no disrespect to these venerable creatures). He is always on the prowl. Sex is the centerpiece of his life. He has such a melt-in-your-mouth lust, and such charisma, and such class, that all one can do is collapse onto a fainting couch, and say, "Come on over, big boy. The owls are hooting."   

Industry "self-regulator" declines to censure Edward Jones

     (May 13, 2013) We were gratified last autumn that as a result of our reporting (http://kronstantinople.blogspot.com/p/edward-jones-saga.html), the Federal Industry Regulatory Authority (FINRA) launched an investigation into the policies and practices of financial-services firm Edward Jones.
    Today, after all these many months, we have received a stunningly terse letter from FINRA,  the financial services industry's "self-regulatory" agency, that says simply, "Based on our assessment of the information (you provided), FINRA has closed its investigation of this matter." No explanation or elaboration whatsoever was provided. Our serious allegations were not confronted or even acknowledged.

Jon's Named a Whole Generation After Himself (what's next?)

    As if being a ravishing spokesmodel weren’t enough to quench the thirst of Jon Huntsman  Jr.’s ego, he has suddenly decided to name an entire generation after himself.
    You remember Generation X, don’t you, and the several generations that have succeeded it?
     Huntsman has declared that we're all a part of "Generation H," as if he were running the world already.  It's a generation that rocks! Cool!
    And the “H” doesn’t stand for Hogwash, at least not in his mind.

Jon Huntsman Jr. -- America's Next Top Spokesmodel?

    Usually, in politics, when the term "portfolio" is used, it refers to the office and functions of an administration official.
    Jon Huntsman Jr.'s portfolio, however, is more like the collection of fashion shots that a trim and ambitious young model lugs from one prospective client's office to another. His portfolio on Facebook is a vast and adoring tribute to himself. ( http://www.facebook.com/jonhuntsmanjr?sk=photos) As of this morning, it featured a staggering 260 photographs of him. He even got one with the Dalai Lama!

Hold the Mayo! It's eating up billions in 'nonprofit' funds

    (6/27/14) When I recently read an article on the Mayo Clinic web site, I saw a declaration I've never noticed before: "Mayo Clinic is a not-for-profit organization."
    Nonprofit really doesn't mean a damn thing anymore, except that the institution doesn't have to pay taxes. The noble administrators and top clinical people allocate to themselves all the big bucks that might otherwise be characterized as profit.
     In 2012, the most recent year for which tax filings are available online, Mayo CEO and president John Noseworthy was paid more than $1.7 million in salary and other compensation. Treasurer Harry Hoffman received over a million dollars, and six assistant treasurers received between a quarter million and six hundred thousand dollars. The Form 990 IRS filing lists 63 of the highest-paid trustees, officers and key employees, most of whom hauled in between a half-million and a million dollars. Isn't that special? Plus, they get the priceless benefit of being affiliated with a beloved and trusted "nonprofit."
    UPDATE July 16, 2014 New York Times: After Dr. Herbert Pardes retired as president and chief executive of the "nonprofit" NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital in 2011, he became the executive vice chairman of its board of trustees, earning $5.6 million, which included $1 million in base salary, a $1.8 million bonus for his final year as chief executive and more than $2 million in deferred compensation. A recent study of hospital executive compensation indicated “There was no financial reward for providing good care; there was financial reward for getting people through the doors and filling up the beds,” said Dr. Karen Joynt, an instructor at the Harvard School of Public Health and co-author of the study. Fund-raising finesse was also prized, as it is when paying obscene salaries to university presidents. (http://www.nytimes.com/2014/07/16/nyregion/at-newyork-presbyterian-hospital-its-ex-ceo-finds-lucrative-work-.html).

Warhol never gave me my 15 minutes, but I got a story to last a lifetime

How my first college newspaper article opened the door to a world of

"rampant drug use, orgiastic sex and unchecked egotism." Everyone should be so lucky!

Andy Warhol with Ultra Violet, in 1968 -- the year I met her.

This 2013 photo did nothing to alter my misperception that she was a man in drag.

    (June 26, 2014) It was ironic that the imposing, glossy-lipped Ultra Violet appraised me coolly and then dubbed me "Missy Mormon." Almost everyone in New York asked me if I was a Mormon, since I grew up in Salt Lake City, but no one had ever assigned me to be one. During my surrealistic afternoon at Andy Warhol's Factory in the summer of '68, several of the flamboyant characters I met gave me nicknames (and fashion advice), but I was the antithesis -- deliberately -- of a Mormon girl. The real irony, though, (which I just learned when Ultra Violet died a couple of weeks ago at age 78) is that she herself became a Mormon just 12 years after she teased me about my rosy-cheeked, Goody-Two Shoes image. According to the New York Times obit, she ultimately rejected "the rampant drug use, orgiastic sex and unchecked egotism" at the Factory.
   When I was there, The Gang was still shakily recovering from the drugs and sex the night before, so I remained reasonably pure, but I got to see lots of egotism, and it was quite entertaining.

    Another irony is that I assumed Ultra Violet was a drag queen until I read her death notice. I was completely taken aback to learn that she was a woman, through and through. I am so confused. I guess you could say she was a woman dressed like a man who is impersonating a woman. What other bizarro world shenanigans did I fail to detect?  Were there other women I mistook for men in drag? I'll get to that later. It was a mishmash, to say the least. Maybe the whole scene was performance art, designed to mess with my head. But it didn't -- I just had fun.

"We Are All Mexicans"

  .

     Now that President Obama has finally decided to stop deporting young people brought here illegally by their parents, we need to pitch in and encourage some attitude adjustment among our countrymen.
    Just as the world's response to 9/11 was a heartfelt, "We are all Americans," so should we regard Mexicans with empathy and tolerance. 
    We are all Mexicans. At some point in each of our family histories, someone immigrated to the U.S. for a better life. They were willing to work hard and to endure harsh discrimination for a chance to blend into America's "melting pot."
    No immigrant group has exemplified the dignity of this process more than the Mexican people who enter our country every day with passion, determination, warmth and hope.

"Happy Father's Day, Mr. President.......

    ,,,,,,,Happy Father's Day to You."
    You have a beautiful smile, Mr. Obama. You have a beautiful family. That's about the only positive thing I can say about you. Your presidency has been an utter disaster.

Jon Hunts Manliness, On His Harley and Off

The soon-to-be officially declared candidate for president is in Hog heaven.

    The most telling memory I have of Jon Huntsman Jr.'s tenure as governor is a remark he made during one of his weekly televised news conferences on KUED.
    He was bragging that there were currently more than 50,000 out-of-town visitors in the area -- here for Sundance, the Outdoor Retailers Convention and one other national gathering -- who were "getting a taste" of Utah's many offerings, its beauty and its "quality of life."
    He said this in his typically vainglorious fashion, despite the fact that for weeks we had been engulfed in the unhealthiest air in the nation -- a toxic, putrid, gray omnipresence that extended from Logan to Provo.

It makes perverse scents: Diabolical aroma chemists still aren't out of breath

'Pure' Dove couldn't resist offering a chemical version of sakura blossoms.

    (May 2014) More than 18 months ago, we published a two-part series on the drenching of our lives in synthetic aromas, which have been implicated in a number of serious conditions and diseases, including cancer.

    Everywhere we go, and every product that we use, immerses us in the feel-good scents of nature and yummy desserts. They sure don't seem toxic, do they?

    We're getting more addicted to a life that consists of one olfactory ecstasy after another, and the global industry is broadening its range of products and chemical wizardry. Their stated aim is actually to change our mood and behavior, whether we are housecleaning, driving, at work, shopping, or gambling.

    At this point, every time we breathe or wash our hair, it's a gamble. And now, "pure" Dove has gotten into the act.

Thanks to homo sapiens' sick lust, I've got white skin and lupus. I'm pissed.

Neanderthal Girl: She's so fine, oh yeah. Gotta make her mine, oh yeah.

     (March 20, 2014) I always wanted to be a "colored girl." Black is beautiful. So is brown. This white covering in which I am imprisoned lacks vitality. It lacks drama, and I want drama! It lacks hotness, and I want to be hot. Plus: I certainly never volunteered to have my body inflamed by a vicious, unpredictable autoimmune disease.
    But we homo sapiens, as we know so well from current events, just can't keep it in our pants, can we, gentlemen? You took one look at those Neanderthal babes and screamed: "Holy shit! Fresh meat!"
    Thus did our genes intermingle, and one heartbreaking -- albeit adaptive -- result was that our skin got more and more colorless, the more we messed around with these very nice people, who had just been living their lives, minding their own business, for tens of thousands of years. Thanks to those insatiable sapien dudes, I spent the first 40 years of my life "laying out" in the sun, acquiring the scent of fried chicken as I endeavored to reclaim my rightful skin color. And now my whole body is attacking itself, just because those guys needed a little variety, to "spice up" their prehistoric sex lives. I am so mad at testosterone!

Sleeping With Malcolm X

   “Where are your things?” the building superintendent asked. Erik Sakslad was a retired seaman from Estonia -- big,  pink-cheeked and gray-haired -- with a playful grin. “You move to big city with one little suitcase?”
    What had I been thinking? As soon as City Hall called me in Salt Lake City, in May 1971, and said I’d gotten the job, I packed up some clothes, makeup and instant coffee, and that was it. The magnitude of my stupidity left me speechless, while Erik laughed his head off.

Updates on university presidents, doctor training and military rape

Not really dead -- mortally wounded.

    There has been an onslaught of recent news that is relevant to several of my major posts (basically everything, everywhere, is getting more ridiculous), but three stand out this morning in particular.
    My question, "Are University Presidents Classy, or Just Filthy Rich?" got an answer yesterday (filthy rich), when the man who has been the highest-paid public university president in the country for most of the past 15 years was forced to resign for making asinine remarks (part of a longtime pattern) about religion (http://kronstantinople.blogspot.com/2013/05/do-university-presidents-have-class-or.html). Ironically, he's a Mormon, which ought to make him particularly sensitive to prejudicial remarks about people's faiths.
    He was such a preppy, pranksterish frat boy when we were both students at the University of Utah, I was surprised to learn years later that he had become so successful. Glad-handing! A skill worth cultivating!

Pooh-Poohing Perpetuity

If you're looking for end-of-year charitable deductions, consider our approach. We chose to give  scholarships directly to students, rather than having our funds held in perpetuity by the endowment.

We invented a new kind of gift: the “endearment”

    When my father, an analytical chemist, died in May of last year, my mother and I decided to honor him by endowing a scholarship fund for economically disadvantaged, academically deserving chemistry majors at the local university. Our intent was to provide a full tuition scholarship each year. We assumed that our substantial donation would continue to generate adequate funding for a full scholarship over time, despite inflation, since the school’s investment professionals were certain to achieve returns that would meet -- or more likely beat -- inflationary trends.
    The way in which endowments actually work made a naïve fantasy of that simple, heartfelt dream.

I Still Love You, and All That Jazz

Wesley Gordon Bowen, 1924 ~ 2003

    Wes Bowen roared up to the entrance of Olympus High School in a spanking-clean van that had a large full-color painting of his face on each side of it and, in bold lettering, "Bowen, and All That Jazz."
    Wes, a renowned radio personality throughout the Intermountain West, "had the voice of God, if there were a God," as one of my friends had put it. His tone was deep, rich and oracular.
    So when he leapt out of the van, in a cloud of Aramis cologne -- his apricot-colored ascot scarf fluttering in the breeze -- and showed himself to be almost diminutive, it was a bit of a shock.

There, I said it: I DON'T SUPPORT OUR TROOPS

   

     In America, our sacred cow is our "courageous, noble, selfless young men and women in uniform."  We have been indoctrinated to support our troops blindly, passionately, stupidly, and self-destructively. It has become our national religion. Stray from it, and you'll have hell to pay. 
    And now, as of May 2014, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, or DARPA, is launching a $70 million program to study how electrodes implanted in our troops' brains might improve their moods and their ability to tolerate traumatic events, and allay their anxiety about what they're doing. The new program will fund development of high-tech implanted devices able to both monitor and electrically stimulate specific brain circuits, according to a May 27, 2014 NPR story. Does that sound like a good thing to you? How can anyone object to more efficient killing machines?

Homelessness is Where My Heart Is

  

  

    Home, they say, is where the heart is.
    But my heart resides, instead, with the homeless.
    It’s been 35 years since my last interlude of homelessness. I’m still haunted by it, and I think there’s a part of me that will never recover.

The Magnificence of Massimo, 1921-2013

"Massimo" means the utmost, the ultimate -- and he was.

    Massimo Costanzo, my beloved Joe's father, was a man of majesty, modesty and physicality, whose priorities were to care for others and to relish the bountiful world that his God had created.
    Massimo died on Friday at age 91. His wife Rita, the light of his life, died nearly two years ago, and he really never recovered (http://kronstantinople.blogspot.com/2011/05/dearest-rita-farewell.html).
    When I met him and his wife, more than 30 years ago, I was immediately struck by his aura of ease and  warmth, solidity and gentle humor. Just before he offered me a shot of whiskey, to celebrate our new friendship, he gave me a hearty embrace. Then he kissed my hand. 
    No one had ever kissed my hand before. It was a surprisingly beautiful gesture, and there would be many more of them in the ensuing years.

Darling Rita, Farewell

   

     Joe's mother died in her sleep Thursday night after an extended period of ill health.

     I met Rita Costanzo and her husband Massimo about 30 years ago. They emigrated to Salt lake City from Italy aboard the Andrea Doria in the early 1950s. 

    They were from a very poor, isolated village in Calabria, Southern Italy. They bravely came to America with nothing except for a determination to make a good life for themselves and their four children.

Beyonce: Put Those Knees Together, Please

    Hey Girl: You’re getting a very great honor tonight at the Billboard extravaganza. The Millennium Award -- that is so cool!
   You really, really deserve it. Kind of.
    Your fellow singing sensation, Shakira, recorded a tune a while back called “Hips Don’t Lie.”
    Your hips do.
    Your hips say you are a hypersexualized slut.

Operation Alzheimer's: The next civil-rights struggle

Somebody's mother.

   (5/20/13)  It is not unreasonable to regard American history as an ongoing series of battles for equality, respect and acceptance. African-Americans, immigrants, women, veterans, the disabled and the LGBT community have had to advocate heroically on behalf of themselves, decade after decade. and their progress has been agonizingly slow. We who are in the majority should have had enough integrity and compassion to take the lead in demanding fair treatment for these oppressed groups (don't we have any sense of responsibility, humanity or moral outrage?). We should have embraced and celebrated their differences, instead of forcing them to cry out, "I am a human being!"
    But now, we in the majority really must act: We must give a voice to the millions of Alzheimer's patients who suffer silently in the darkest corners of our collective lives, cruelly stripped of their personhood. We are all they've got, and we're failing miserably. We must wage a War of Interdependence. Shall we overcome?

IMF guy should suffer in the cellblocks like everyone else

    For 18 months, I  served as the Inmate Advocate at the notorious House of Detention for Men on Rikers Island in New York. If I were still there, I would vehemently object to putting former International Monetary Fund chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn in protective custody. He is being given outrageously special consideration because he is a rich white guy.
    The rationale for shielding "the world's top banker" from the realities of prison life, according to corrections officials, is that he might be harmed if he is placed in general population.
    Everybody in general population "might be harmed." They’re all being harmed! Why should he be any different?  Here is a man who has been graced with extreme wealth and privilege since he was born. So what do we do with him? We give him more privilege.

Shockingly cavalier: Scientists charge a-head with their brain bedazzlers

The latest from Copenhagen. So scary, it'll curl your hair. No thank you!

    (5/17/2014) The mad scientists of the world seem obsessed with shooting electricity into our brains to see what strange and/or fabulous results they can trigger, hoping -- of course -- to become billionaires in the process.
    It is literally mind-boggling to read about all of their varied approaches -- including implanting electrodes directly into the brain -- in order, theoretically, to treat virtually every affliction known to man. (http://kronstantinople.blogspot.com/2013/09/our-future-everything-in-modulation.html.)

Let's just open up that skull and screw a few things into your brain, OK?
If it doesn't work (and it probably won't) the electrodes can't be removed.

    The newest and silliest of these Grand Inventions was unveiled this past week in Copenhagen.

This Magic Moment

It took me by surprise.

     (May 2014)  I am coming to realize that I am in the midst of a Magic Moment: A tipping point between youth and old age. I am still young in so many ways -- in how I feel and behave, and in my tastes, energies and attitudes. By most measures, though, I will soon be a senior citizen. I am stunned by this. Every time I think about it, I am stunned all over again.
    In a couple of weeks, I will be 65 years old. This moment is magic because I have all the considerable benefits of age, but I am not yet impaired by it. I am enjoying a "sweet spot" -- an interlude in which I have the best of both worlds. I am ever-mindful that it can't last. My sense of triumph, and even joy, will probably seem like naive hubris before long.  Most of us go downhill as elderliness creeps in and takes over, and I can already sense that I will not be one of those lucky ones who remains vigorous, sharp and competent into my later years. I'm getting arthritis everywhere, although so far I'm able brazenly to ignore the pain, push right through it, and do everything I always have. Ha, ha, you bastard! I do seem to be falling down for no reason, but I just laugh (after lying there for a while) and theorize that my bruises and sore muscles will upstage the arthritis. Ha, ha, again, you bastard! I can sense the specter of Alzheimer's leering inside my head. I leer back. Because right now, in many respects, I am the best I've ever been.