USNS Mercy

Ever hear of the USNS Mercy? No? Well, her missions are ones that can make every American proud. She’s one of two Mercy-class hospital ships that belong to the United States. She’s a state-of-the-art 1000 bed floating hospital with 12 operating rooms, a blood bank, CT scanner, recovery and ICU wards and medical transport helicopters.

USNS Mercy’s skipper has started a blog, the Skipper’s Scrivenings,
documenting the ship’s current humanitarian deployment.

It’s a fantastic real-time example of how well combining military resources with those of NGOs (Non-Governmental Organizations) works to help those in need.

Go. Read. It’ll make you proud of not only the USA, but also of all the different countries, NGOs and volunteers from all over that world that are working together to make good things happen.

If Packers Were Ponies

Yesterday I pointed out that that several NFL players would have to die each year during games for professional football to be as deadly as Thoroughbred horse racing is for the horses that race.

I underestimated.

Michael asked our local experts – the Green Bay Packers – if they could give us the actual data we needed to turn my estimate into a more accurate comparison. Since they are nicest team in the USA, (as well as the best – Go Pack!) they dug out the exact data that we needed.

Have I mentioned how nice the Packers are?

So – how deadly is professional football compared to Thoroughbred horse racing?

If the National Football League had the same fatality rate for their players during the regular season as racehorses have during races, more than 50 NFL football players would die each year from injuries sustained during games.

More than fifty deaths?

Football would get banned.

The individual Michael spoke to at the Packers office, btw, said that the only game-related player fatality in the NFL that he could personally remember occurred back in 2001, and it didn’t actually occur during a game: a Vikings team member died of heat stroke during a practice.

It’s time for the Thoroughbred racing industry to clean up its act. Provide cash incentives for longevity and soundness. Require synthetic surfaced tracks – which have already cut the fatality rate in half where they’ve been installed. And stop rewarding the genetics of greed.

The Genetics of Greed

Saturday’s ugly death at the Kentucky Derby of the Thoroughbred filly Eight Belles didn’t surprise me.

Every horse that ran in the Derby last Saturday descends from Native Dancer, a gray Thoroughbred stallion who racked up an impressive set of wins in his day (he died in 1967). His offspring were also fast. As ’speed’ isn’t necessarily a trait that is passed along from a stallion to his offspring, this made Native Dance an incredibly popular breeding stallion, so much so that seventy-five percent of all American-bred Thoroughbreds currently racing are descended from Native Dancer.

Unfortunately, Native Dancer didn’t just pass along speed. He passed along leg problems, and this isn’t a secret in the TB racing industry. Even a place as far removed from a breeding farm as one can imagine – the Wall Street Journal – ran an article about it last week, saying that Native Dancer’s line “has a tragic flaw. Thanks in part to heavily muscled legs and a violent, herky-jerky running style, Native Dancer and his descendants have had trouble with their feet.”

The article went on to say,

“How one stallion gained so much influence over the sport is a story about market forces, genetics and in some cases greed. His bloodline’s greatest asset is that it consistently produces precocious, speedy thoroughbreds that dominate the Derby and other Triple Crown events — giving owners a safer return on their investments. But that success has led breeders to mate Native Dancer’s progeny so often that the thoroughbred gene pool has shrunk.”

Big mistake.

As someone who owned, trained and rode horses for over 30 years, I’ve seen my share of what greed for the fastest racer, the most athletic jumper, the highest scoring dressage mount, the best eventer, and even the ‘most desired color’ can do. For the Thoroughbred racing industry, short-sighted gains have sown the seeds for disaster.

How often does a Thoroughbred racehorse die?

When a horse races, it’s called a ’start.’ If twenty horses run in a race, as they did in the Kentucky Derby, it counts as twenty starts. For the last two years – the only years that have reliable data for the Thoroughbred racing industry, in terms of numbers of horses’ deaths on the track – two Thoroughbreds die from injuries they sustain during a race on a ‘natural surface’ track like that at Churchill Downs for every 1000 starts. That statistic doesn’t include, by the way, the horses that die from inuries sustained during training – it only includes the deaths of horses that actually make it to the starting gate.

Two dead horses per thousand starts. That statistic makes my head want to explode.

To put this in perspective: it’s the equivalent of several NFL players dying during regular season games every single season.

Horse racing inherently has risks. But I don’t personally feel that deaths like those of Eight Belles are from the ‘risks of racing.’ From where I’m sitting, those deaths seem like the end result of an industry that has turned the Thoroughbred racehorse into a disposable living commodity bred to win as much cash as quickly as possible before breaking down.

Where’s the sport in that?

Welcome to 2008!

So, Oh Best Beloved, how goes your New Year?

Ours has been… well, odd, so far at least. Which is why there has been a dearth of posting.

On January 2nd a booklet arrived at our abode from the U.S. Census Bureau, which turned out to be the 2007 USDA annual Census of Agriculture. A cover letter instructed us that we should fill it out immediately and provide, under severest penalties of federal law (with punishment presumably delivered by three large club-carrying underpaid and crabby demographers), a complete enumeration of all our pigs, cows, horses, mules, sheep, goats, chickens, turkeys, ducks, llamas, emu and all other assortied beasties. We then were to list every crop we had grown (or tried to grow) in the last year, down to the last mustard seed.

Um… We don’t own a farm.

Nowhere in this nice thick official document did a place exist to politely say, “We do not and never have owned one whit of agricultural land, nor do we own, produce or harbor any livestock. You’ve made a mistake.”

I’ve dutifully sent the form back, properly (and politely) pointing out the error in the nice large white space the Census Bureau provided for comments and address corrections. We’ll see how this evolves. I am not optimistic that the error which classified our little residential lot and dwelling as a farm will be easily remedied, given the bureaucracy that spawned the error in the first place.

*sigh*

That was on the 2nd.

Next we had storms. Major storms. Snow storms, you say? Nope. We had thunderstorms – a rather startling event for early January in northeast Wisconsin.

I was not the least bit thrilled by the deluge of hail that accompanied two hours of lightning and torrential rain. Yes, that is hail on the driveway – not snow – which pounded down on our cars, to my utter dismay. Fortunately, nothing was damaged.

Two F3 tornadoes formed from this system, well south of us. This is only the second time since the 1840s that tornadoes have occurred in Wisconsin in January, making this a very rare event indeed. My heart goes out to the many families who lost their homes in a little town called Wheatland.

Since then we’ve had a plethora of equally odd instances, most related to annoying time-consuming errors made by service providers (which have left me wondering how companies stay in business nowadays).

A rather determined invasion of my living space by a smallish white-tan spider has, however, given me a daily chuckle. She pops up at the most unexpected moments and shouts “Boo!” (if you’ve ever been startled by a spider you know what I’m talking about). She’s also caused me to screech with surprise several times when I have accidentally picked her up, thinking she was a little ball of white fuzz. For those of you who haven’t ever experienced a troublesome and fearless spider playing games, here’s a cleaning hint: fuzzballs should not feel rubbery or wiggle when you pick them up.

Here she is, laying claim to my yogurt container – at breakfast, mind you, when I am at my bleariest and most easily startled by eight-legged intruders.

I expect I’ll find her next doing the backstroke in my glass wine.

I’ll keep you posted.

Life 101

Last week, on Sarah’s blog, I found an interesting list – a meme, really – of ‘life experiences’.

According to this list, I must be a stick-in-the-mud homebody, as I haven’t been inside the Great Pyramid, visited Paris, backpacked in Europe, visited more foreign countries than U.S. states, gone on an African photo safari, taken an exotic bicycle tour in a foreign country, gone to Thailand, ridden a gondola in Venice, visited the Great Wall of China, visited Japan, walked the stairs to the top of the leaning Tower of Pisa, visited Ireland, danced with a stranger in a foreign country, or visited all 7 continents.

So much for foreign travel.

How about swimming with wild dolphins, whale watching, cuddling a tarantula, visiting all 50 states, rafting the Snake River, taking a trip in a hot air balloon or going rock climbing? Have I climbed a mountain, taken a Ferrari for a test drive, taken a candlelit bath with someone, bungee jumped, touched an iceberg, bet on a winning horse, asked out a stranger, or held a lamb?

Huh. I haven’t done any of those, either. The closest I’ve come to any of them is rounding up an escaped ewe that was well past her lamb days.

*Sigh*

Well, have I danced like a fool and didn’t care who was looking? Adopted an accent for an entire day? Stolen a sign, gone sky diving, pretended to be a superhero, sung karaoke, gone scuba diving, started a business, taken a martial arts class, been in a movie, crashed a party, gotten divorced, won first prize in a costume contest, gotten a tattoo, been on a television news program as an “expert,” been to Las Vegas, or eaten shark?

Nope. Haven’t done any of these either.

So, what else have I missed? Well, I haven’t performed in Rocky Horror, followed my favorite band/singer on tour, written articles for a large publication, lost over 100 pounds, held someone while they were having a flashback, piloted an airplane, touched a stingray, won money on a T.V. game show, had a facial part pierced other than my ears, had a snake as a pet, hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon, taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days, eaten kangaroo meat, gone back to school, parasailed, selected one “important” author who I missed in school, and read their works, been elected to public office, written my own computer language, thought to yourself that I’m living my dream, had to put someone I love into hospice care, sold my own artwork to someone who didn’t know me, had a booth at a street fair, dyed my hair, been a DJ, shaved my head or caused a car accident.

While I’m at it, I haven’t been heartbroken longer than I was actually in love, had two hard drives for my computer, gone without food for 5 days, been on a cruise ship, survived an accident that I shouldn’t have survived, had plastic surgery, picked up and moved to another city to just start over, walked the Golden Gate Bridge, killed and prepared an animal for eating or skipped all my school reunions and I’ve never hit a home run. Oh, and I’ve never bought everyone in a bar a round of drinks, which isn’t surprising as I haven’t been in a bar in decades, and frequented them rarely even in my university days.

Okaaaaaaay.. so just what have I done, given that my life’s experiences to date include none of the aforementioned (I’ve always wanted to find a use for that word!) items from that dratted list?

I’ve had a food fight. Hasn’t everyone who has tried to convince a toddler to try new vegetables?

I’ve said, “I love you,” and meant it (well, duh!).

Have I hugged a tree? Indeed I have, back in my college years, after imbibing more Yukon Jack than was wise and following that indiscretion with an unfortunate chaser of greasy fries. Since those days, I’ve discovered that grease and alcohol are not part of any recommended food group. Who would have thought?

I’ve watched many a glorious lighting storm, stayed up all night long and saw the sun rise, and have seen the magnificent display of the Northern Lights several times.

Have I gone to a huge sports game? Absolutely! Can we say ‘Lambeau Field’ and ‘Green Bay Packers?’ Go Pack! I’ve also been to Milwaukee Brewers’ games and Detroit Tigers’ games. I’ve gone to many a college sports event, too, including football games at the University of Michigan, Michigan State University and the University of Wisconsin. I’ve even screeched like a bloodthirsty idiot at Badger hockey games, once I figured out what was going on.

Is there anything else on this list I can claim as part of my history?

*Deep breath*

Ready?

I’ve grown and eaten my own vegetables (yum), slept under the stars (isn’t that called camping?), changed a baby’s diaper (more times than I care to count), watched a meteor shower (love doing that!), looked up at the night sky through a telescope (not surprising, as I worked during my undergraduate years for the department of astronomy and astrophysics at a Big Ten university), had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment (oh my, yes, and been glared at by the astounded Bishop for said event), had a snowball fight (Whap! Gottcha!), seen a total eclipse (sun and moon both), ridden a roller coaster (Wahooo!), actually felt happy about myself, taken care of someone who was drunk, had (and have) amazing friends, taken a road-trip, gone on a midnight walk on the beach, sat at a stranger’s table in a restaurant and had a meal with them, milked a cow, alphabetized my CDs (only briefly), lounged around in bed all day (you’ve got to be kidding – there is someone who hasn’t?), played touch football, kissed in the rain, played in the mud and in the rain, gone to a drive-in theater, toured ancient sites (including the archeological dig more commonly known as ‘my desk’), played D&D for more than 6 hours straight, gotten married, made cookies from scratch (yummmmm!), gotten flowers for no reason, performed on stage, recorded music, bought a house, buried one of my parents, passed out cold (no, it wasn’t from drinking – it was from a whack on the head), sang loudly in the car, and didn’t stop even when I knew someone was looking, and helped an animal give birth.

Need a breather? Me too…

OK. Now, what else have I managed to experience over the years?

Well, I’ve broken a bone (several, actually), fired a rifle, shotgun, and a pistol, eaten mushrooms that were gathered in the wild, ridden a horse (many, actually, and owned a lovely Morgan mare who was a member of our family until her death at age 29), had major surgery, slept for more than 30 hours over the course of 48 hours, eaten sushi, had my picture in the newspaper, touched a cockroach (now that takes me back to our second apartment at the University’s married housing, which was absolutely infested with the little critters), read The Iliad and the Odyssey, communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language (doesn’t everyone who drives a car in a big city discover that they have this skill, regardless of their native language or ethnicity?), and I’ve built my own PC from parts.

Whew.

So… how about you, Oh Best Beloved? What have — or haven’t — you done?