Faith healing, or religious roulette?

Despite the fact that I may not be the most devout of worshippers, I'm not "anti-religion" and never have been, but there are some things done in the name of religion that drive me nuts, and a few that absolutely infuriate me. Most notably in that last category are parents who rely solely on faith healing for their children.

Every time this comes up I'm infuriated all over again, and reading Jonathan Turley's take on the issue in The Washington Post this morning was no exception. If we're picking sides, Turley and I are probably on the same one. He doesn't outright say that he disapproves of faith healing itself, but it's implied in his argument that the parents of the children who die from a lack of medical care essentially get a pass from the law:

In the past 25 years, hundreds of children are believed to have died in the United States after faith-healing parents forbade medical attention to end their sickness or protect their lives. When minors die from a lack of parental care, it is usually a matter of criminal neglect and is often tried as murder. However, when parents say the neglect was an article of faith, courts routinely hand down lighter sentences. Faithful neglect has not been used as a criminal defense, but the claim is surprisingly effective in achieving more lenient sentencing, in which judges appear to render less unto Caesar and more unto God.

Turley writes specifically about the Neumanns of Wisconsin, one of the most recent of these cases to be decided. Their daughter Madeline had diabetes that went undiagnosed and eventually killed her at age 11 last year. He compares the Neumanns to the Washburns of West Virginia, who don't practice faith healing and whose baby boy, Alex, died of an undiagnosed head injury after falling and hitting first his head, then his chin. In both instances, a child who could have been treated - and likely saved - by a doctor died because their parents didn't take them to one. The sentences? The Neumanns will serve one month a year in prison for the next six years and will be on probation for a decade. The Washburns relinquished all parental rights to their remaining children and will be in jail for three to fifteen years. Um, hello, double standards!

I agree with Turley that the "more lenient sentencing" for parents whose neglect of their children involves faith healing needs to stop, but my anger with this issue doesn't end there. I'm not a parent, so I can't fully appreciate the parent-child bond, but I'm on the receiving end of it from my parents and a familial observer of it between my brother and sister-in-law and my niece, and I cannot wrap my head around what kind of logic these supposedly loving parents are using as they watch their children suffer and die.

Faith or no faith, I don't see how any parent who watches their child's life slip away without running - screaming - for a doctor and demanding immediate treatment can possibly claim to love them or to be acting in their best interest. More than that, they're imposing their own religious restrictions on a child who isn't yet old enough to decide whether or not he or she agrees with them. "Making" little Susie or little Johnny give up their Sunday morning to go to Sunday school is one thing; ending their life because you believe if God doesn't save them they were supposed to die is another thing entirely: negligent homicide.

Yes, faith is central to the lives of many people. Yes, many parents can't imagine that their children would ever not carry on the religious traditions of their family. Yes, parents absolutely have the right to impart their beliefs - religious or otherwise - to their children. But no one has the right to watch a child die without exhausting every available resource to save them. Adults have enough knowledge of the consequences to say "Stop, that's enough, let nature take its course" or to sign a DNR. Children don't.

Play religious roulette with your own life, parents; until your children are old enough to decide for themselves whether or not faith healing is for them, take them to the doctor and keep them healthy the conventional way. It's kind of why mankind has spent so much time and energy throughout our history developing medicine. And doing everything in your power to care for your children - including taking them to a doctor when they need one - is one of the most basic responsibilities of being a parent.

Newsflash: 26.2 ≠ 26.2!

This morning, one of my co-workers sent me the link to a New York Times article written by Juliet Macur and entitled "Plodders Have a Place, but Is It in a Marathon?" He rolled his eyes at the snarky article; I was infuriated by its message.

Macur talked to several "elite" runners who say they can't stand the fact that running a marathon has become such a popular thing on people's lifelong "to-do" lists; that if you're going to take six or seven hours to finish, it isn't a real marathon and detracts from the accomplishment of the elite athletes who finished in under three hours.

Purists believe that running a marathon should be just that — running the entire course at a relatively fast clip. They point out that a six-hour marathoner is simply participating in the event, not racing in it. Slow runners have disrespected the distance, they say, and have ruined the marathon’s mystique.

Excuse me, but in an individual sport where except for the top five or ten competitors of each gender everyone is basically racing himself, isn't participation the point? And 26.2 miles is 26.2 miles. What am I missing here? Most of what elite runners talk about when it comes to speed is their PR - personal record - for varying distances. And breaking that is often their primary goal, win or lose. A win when a seriously competitive runner doesn't break his or her own PR for the distance is a little bittersweet - they beat the field, but they didn't beat their own best time. A PR always feels good, whether your PR is 2:05:38 like the current American Marathon record holder, Khalid Khannouchi, or 7:14:30 like the last person to finish last year's Marine Corps Marathon.

Training for a marathon is an extremely demanding process, both physically and mentally. It affects every aspect of your life and takes up a lot of time. You train in pouring rain, in high humidity, in cold weather, in gusting winds and in soaring temperatures with one goal: taking the last step of those 26.2 miles, the one that puts you on the other side of the finish line. The race itself is no picnic, either. Many runners hit "the wall" around mile 20, making that last 10K feel like the rest of their lives. Between leg cramps, swollen feet, blisters, broken toenails and finding the balance between dehydration and hyponatremia, figuring out how to convince your body to finish a marathon without wanting to collapse immediately afterward is a science - with some luck tossed in - no matter the pace.

One thing I've always respected and admired about runners is that they're such an open, friendly bunch. Yeah, the "elites" blow past everyone else with tunnel vision but most runners - fast or slow, trying for a PR or just out for some fun - are a rowdy, cheerful crew of jokers who are more than willing to lend a helping hand or encouraging word should the need arise. And that's what this article - and apparently some of the world's elite runners - doesn't get.

Crossing the finish line at a marathon is a personal victory, one that isn't impacted by anyone else's race, which is why I don't understand the point of view of the "elite" runners Macur interviewed on the topic. Because regardless of whether you walked, ran or wheeled your way through the course, one thing holds true for every participant: finishing a marathon takes stamina, endurance and a whole lot of heart.

Why do we keep putting education on a back-burner?

I was raised to believe that there is nothing more important in a child's life than his or her education, whether via the multiplcation tables or a visit to a national park (those sneaky parents, slipping bits of history, geology, geography and environmentalism into something fun!). And that learning doesn't stop when you grow up.

As the daughter of an engineer whose definition of fun includes thinking up new ways to do things that get his name sent to the U.S. Patent Office and a teacher-turned-psychologist who got a second Master's in Industrial Hygiene before diving into the non-profit world of corporate real estate...well, I certainly got the point that education isn't something that's ever "finished." My family wasn't unique in my town: with five out of five elementary schools recognized as California Distinguished Schools and the only middle school and high school (and one elementary school) each recognized as National Blue Ribbon Schools, the school district I grew up in and most of the families who lived there were serious about turning out well-educated students.

What I didn't realize was surprising about my education until I got to college was that it was public. As a Community Facilitator and then a House Proctor in college (two of GW's versions of an R.A.), my residents assumed I had gone to private school K-12, as many of them had. About a year and a half after I graduated, primary education came up in conversation with my boss, who was floored to find out I had attended public schools until college. The stellar teachers, myriad extra-curriculars and demanding course load I had taken for granted were, it seemed, a very tiny exception to a very depressing rule.

I knew public education was underfunded but assumed the ratio of good to bad schools was skewed toward the good, even if "good" didn't always quite reach the quality of education I received. I mean, school was school; it was where I went every day, yawned through some classes, laughed through others and hung out with my friends before going to band practice, a Model UN roast, dance class or home to do copious amounts of homework. Wasn't it pretty much the same for everyone? When I kicked off college in Washington, DC by reading Ron Suskind's heart-wrenching A Hope in the Unseen, I quickly learned that the answer was "Not by a long shot."

The public education problem is nationwide, but DC has a reputation for having some of the worst schools in the country, from reading levels to graduation rates. In a city that is home to inspiring historical moments, beautiful landmarks and some of the most powerful and best-educated elected officials, activists, lobbyists and lawyers in the country, DC students are one of the most striking examples of the dichotomy between city natives and transplants - and one of the many "dirty little secrets" kept about what life is like for those who grew up here. And they know it.

I spent part of the summer after graduation teaching some of the kids considered DC's best and brightest high school students and I left every day wanting to cry in frustration. They wouldn't answer questions unless I refused to say anything else until they did (and sometimes not even then), the few who took notes never looked at them again and - most frustrating of all - 90% of them failed their final project because they plagiarized it.

My students drove me crazy, but I was more depressed than mad at them. Some of them knew what plagiarism was, but most of them had never been told that copying and pasting from a website is wrong (yes, even if you change the sentence or word order). Some of them were very bright, but had never been expected to actually retain anything or put in serious effort, so they didn't know how. Some of them were genuinely interested, but lived in a world where school was a joke and pretending disinterest was self-preservation. Some of them just didn't care.

The program through which I taught these kids was only six weeks long and while I'd like to believe sitting down and talking to them about what plagiarism is, why it's bad and the repercussions it can have made a difference, I know most of them probably forgot about it five minutes after they left the room for the last time.

After all, it has been made crystal clear to DC students (and, I would argue, a large percentage of public school students nationwide) that their education is not a priority, despite the lip-service paid to its importance. They've been shifted from school to school, teachers have been fired, teachers have been moved, and overwhelming numbers of teachers have been "let go" due to a supposed budget crunch (despite the fact that the DC schools' budget for fiscal year 2010 includes a $14.9 million net increase from 2009). In an environment that changes from one day to the next with no warning, how are these kids supposed to learn? And how can any government, local, state or federal, justify giving them such an unstable learning environment?

In a country that demands a college degree, if not a postgraduate one, for the overwhelming majority of middle class jobs but can't be bothered to make those degrees affordable, how are today's students supposed to become the leaders they've been told they need to be? Our education system is broken - has been, for a long time - but it receives very little government attention anymore because we have "bigger" problems. Are there issues facing the U.S. that are going to come to a head sooner than this one? Definitely. But what could possibly be more important than ensuring our country's future - in both a very realistic having-people-who-know-how-to-do-stuff way and a completely idealistic fulfill-your-dreams way?

Blog Action Day 2009: Blogging for Climate Change

Human impact on the environment - particularly the catastrophic changes our behavior is wreaking on climate systems worldwide - has been an issue of increasing concern throughout my lifetime.

I remember the advent of AOL, Facebook and the commercially available hybrid car, but I don't remember a time when the ramifications of global warming weren't discussed as something the human race needs to confront immediately.

The Kyoto Protocol, first adopted in December 1997 in an attempt to combat global warming beyond the borders of individual countries, is one of the first issues that sparked my interest in international affairs, which eventually became my major in college. This document has been around for roughly half my life. As of 2009, despite its assorted problems, it has been signed and ratified by 183 countries, with another half-dozen who have not yet decided whether or not to sign. The only country that has no intention of ratifying the Kyoto Protocol? The United States. The largest emitter of fossil fuel-generated carbon dioxide per capita? The United States.

Committing to move away from the internal combustion engine-powered consumer culture that has been both the root and the expression of our country's wealth for decades isn't easy. We're lazy, we like things to stay the same and we certainly don't want to give up our luxuries when there's no immediate benefit. But we have to do it, and we have to start now.

In my lifetime, which isn't even the blink of an eye in the earth's history, climate change has progressed from one of those issues society worries about for future generations to something that is happening now and picking up speed seasonally. The increase in tsunamis, hurricanes and droughts, the shift in weather patterns, the fluctuating temperature extremes and rapidly disappearing polar ice caps - these are all documented and scientifically linked to our world's changing climate, which is linked to our abuse of its resources. But perhaps the most frightening thing about climate change is that we no longer need charts and graphs and projections to see that it's happening:

Growing up in the L.A. area, we joked that it was the smog that made for such spectacular sunsets. Flying into LAX in the last five years has become a painful experience. The city is so obscured by smog that the skyline has been all but erased by pollution - even downtown's tallest buildings are difficult to see.

When my parents lived in South Florida 25 years ago, it was a given that January and February would be comfortable enough to turn off the air-conditioning. During my brother's last winter in the same city in 2008, he and his family were only able to turn it off for a week.

During the 18 years I lived in Southern California, any wildfires that started were controlled fairly quickly and never came anywhere near the beach communities that line the coast - even during the seven-year drought the state experienced while I was in elementary school. In the last few years, wildfires have raged out of control throughout the region, decimating communities that have never been considered at risk before.

That the climate is now changing so rapidly that its shifts are visible to the casual observer makes an irrefutable case for the fact that it has moved from a worrisome "potential" problem into a very real danger zone. The U.S. government, led by California's new emission standards, is finally beginning to take action but right now it's too little, too slowly.

The potential for a massive shift in cultural perception is there: in President Obama's plans for green jobs, in the movement toward reusable water bottles and grocery bags, composting and recycling efforts, higher-efficiency lightbulbs and appliances and in the fact that this is one issue where - at least in my generation - party lines are beginning to disintegrate. But this isn't something we can put off until "tomorrow" any longer.

We have the intellectual capital to make the shift to not just a climate-conscious but a climate-protecting society. We have the added urgency of the world's current financial difficulties - some of which could be alleviated by the boost an expanded green industry would give the global and national economies. We have absolutely no reason not to begin this shift right now. Don't you think?

This post was written as part of Change.org's Blog Action Day 2009. There are more than 9,400 blogs participating worldwide right now - to add yours, click here. Blog Action Day 2009 is also taking place on Twitter, using hashtag #BAD09.

Ooh rah, runners!

The 34th Annual Marine Corps Marathon is less than two weeks away and I'm starting to go into overly-excited hyperdrive mode. I printed my e-confirmation card this morning, drooled over this year's blue-and-white bib - much prettier than last year's army green - and perused the online race program. I signed up my cell phone to receive text message updates of my progress so my mom, who will be carrying my phone, will know more or less where I am on the course.

One of my favorite things about the Marine Corps Marathon is its history: more than 380,000 people have run this race (the 400,000th finisher will receive their medal this year), among them politicians, journalists and a Supreme Court Justice. It's the fifth largest marathon in the country with 30,000 slots that sell out within a few weeks every year (this year, the field was 70% full by noon on April 3rd, 48 hours after registration opened).

The MCM is also full of compelling stories, a handful of which are featured in the annual program. Retired Master Gunnery Sgt. Tom Knoll will be running his fifth MCM and 187th marathon on October 25th. Yeah, you read that right: 187 marathons - that's roughly 4,900 miles in races alone. His reason for running so hard? He wants to raise $1 million for charity over the course of his lifetime. He's past the $800,000 mark at this point, so I'd say he's closing in on his goal. Gerard Michel, a Frenchman who's flying out for this year's race, is running as a tribute to the kindness of an American soldier who handed him an orange in Paris when he was a boy, in the midst of World War II.

This year's MCM is my first repeat marathon and I'm looking forward to feeling less nervous on the course. Rather than wondering where the next turn will be (or staring in dismay up a disconcertingly large hill just after I'd picked up my pace at mile 9, like in Seattle this June), I can put a mental overlay of my memories from last year's race over the course map: I know that the first 10 miles are the hardest, both because they contain the hilliest portion of the course and are the most residential (i.e. have the fewest spectators to keep the runners smiling). But you're still pretty relaxed, swapping jokes with the runners around you and cheering your head off for every wheelchair participant you see straining to make it up one of Arlington's killer hills.

Around the halfway point is when the Marines start to put on the pressure and you find yourself straightening your shoulders and picking your feet up a little higher. By mile 16, near the Lincoln Memorial, the crowds form a solid wall on both sides of the street and you're high-fiving lines of kids (and their parents!) every few strides. Mile 20 is the longest because the entire thing is run across the 14th Street Bridge (really it's the Rochambeau Memorial Bridge, but no one actually calls it that) and all you want is to get off that obnoxiously boring block of concrete.

By mile 23 you're exhausted, your stomach has threatened to revolt when those well-meaning folks at the beginning of Crystal Run offered you beer and you've probably seen at least one runner carrying shoes that their feet are too swollen to wear. But the finish line is closer with every step and by mile 25 you're bearing down, finding energy you didn't know you had and using every ounce of it to push yourself forward. While your mind is still focused on the hill that came out of nowhere at mile 26, you're crossing the finish line and on your way to a "Congratulations, ma'am" from one of the 253 2nd Lieutenants carefully placing a medal around each finisher's neck.

It may be a little sick to get so excited about something that drains your body of all nutrience, tears up your muscles and leaves you feeling like you could sleep for a full day...but I can't wait! During the next ten days I'll be sleeping more, getting all the potassium I can and obsessing, somewhat neurotically, about keeping my feet and legs injury-free. (And continuing to fundraise for Running for Life - it's raised more than $600 so far and I need 177 more people to donate $26.20 by December 3rd to reach my goal.)

Whether or not you're a running enthusiast, I encourage you to go watch a race in your area - a marathon, if there is one. The crowd's enthusiasm is contagious and watching people reach their goals is inspiring, whatever the venue. And without a doubt, your presence will put a smile on a runner's face (especially if you're giving them some much-needed cowbell).

Ooh rah, runners! See you out there!

Blog Action Day 2009: Climate Change

As I think has been well-established already on this blog, when it comes to social change, I am all about the progressive movement. A great website that exists to promote that type of progress is Change.org, which is made up of individuals and non-profits, all working together to have a positive impact on the world.

Change.org was founded by Ben Rattray in 2005 and has been live on the web since 2007. It deals first with broad "causes" - issues that range from education to genocide to social entrepreneurship - then breaks down into news, blogs, actions, non-profits, videos, jobs and more under an editor for each cause's microsite within the larger scope of Change.org.

For the third year in a row, Change.org is sponsoring Blog Action Day on October 15th, a day when thousands of bloggers from all over the world blog about the same topic to raise awareness. It uses the same concept Change.org is based on: that many people - ordinary citizens - discussing the same issue at the same time can effect change. Most non-profits depend on this same idea, which is why so many of them have embraced Change.org as a place to get their issues out there and let their supporters make their voices heard.

The topic chosen for 2009 is climate change and I'm one of the 1,899 blogs (and counting!) from 99 countries signed up to participate. I hope you'll check back on October 15th to read my take on the issue and share your thoughts. If you have a blog you'd like to register, you can do so at blogactionday.org

Food for Thought

Since my mind is bouncing around like a ping-pong ball today, it's the perfect time for a quick "Food for Thought" update:

• To get vaccinated, or not to get vaccinated? The CDC recommends that everyone ages six months through 24 years get an H1N1 vaccination, even though people in the 19-24 range are usually pretty safe from any dangerous health complications from the flu. I've never gotten a flu shot and have only had the flu twice that I can remember, with more than 10 years between bouts. I'm still not entirely convinced I need one, since I'm healthy and will be out of that age group in five months anyway. What do you think, are you getting a swine flu vaccine?
  
• Remember my quarrel with Metro? Things haven't gotten much better, but a friend of mine over at Eco-City Alexandria was inspired to air his grievances as well after reading my letter, and wrote a wittier, more comprehensive complaint.
• I've refrained from copious TIME references for the last couple of weeks, so I'm going to subject you to my love of the magazine again. Just so you don't forget it's out there! The September 21st edition has some great stuff about sustainability and the rise of responsible consumerism, and one of my favorite articles was their spotlight on "Responsibility Pioneers." From an Australian town installing water fountains and banning bottled water to inexpensive stoves that burn straw instead of coal in rural China, people the world over are embracing both the environment and their fellow man.
• Also in TIME - did you know that spending time with humans has led dogs to develop social intelligence? That's why they know what object you mean when you say "Where's your ball, Spot?" and are the only animal that can follow your pointing finger. (This explains why Nala ends up looking at me like I'm crazy when I try to point to something...)
• My friend Lars' animated short is still battling for first place in FOX's Aniboom competition. "CLASS: The Valentine's Day Special" is currently in 11th place (and has been as high as 2nd!) - if you haven't watched it yet, check it out before the contest closes on Wednesday.
  

Unexpected outcomes

I have a confession to make. About a month and a half ago, I went in search of what has become the somewhat funny, slightly exasperating and altogether ridiculous adventure of my summer and fall: I signed up for OkCupid.com. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with the name, it's a dating site - a free one, which is the only thing that made me okay with signing up for it.)

"Why would you do such a thing?" you might ask. Well, at the beginning of August, I decided that my summer was going fairly well but had been progressing rather un-interestingly. After a jam-packed schedule from mid-April to early July, the August lull had me a bit bored, especially since my friends all seemed to be out of town or at weddings every weekend. And of course, no one in Washington talks to anyone they don't already know without being introduced, making the possibility of new acquaintances out of the question.

I've long scorned the idea of online dating. Using a series of arbitrary questions to electronically determine your compatibility with complete strangers? What's the point? But the lack of friends in town to hang out with also made me acutely aware of the fact that I hadn't been on a date in about nine months (yes, really), and that the last guy who had asked me out for drinks and a movie - who remains a friend, and someone I thoroughly enjoy talking to - has been married for several months now. This is getting pathetic, I thought. I'm 24, fairly intelligent, reasonably attractive and a nice person; there's no reason I shouldn't be dating, if I want to be. I'll sign up and just lurk for a while - see what's going on, and how this whole thing works. There's no law that says I have to go out with someone, or even talk to anyone, just because I sign up. And if all else fails, I can blog about it, right? Right.

Two hours after I created my profile, I had a dozen messages in my OkCupid inbox and was bombarded by instant messages - the site has a chat client similar to the one Google built into GMail - the second I signed in. (Obviously, Washington's "dating scene" exists solely online. Very strange.) I felt a little overwhelmed, but not brave enough to be so rude as to ignore the messages. So much for lurking!

I have to admit, as websites go, I like OkCupid. Their staff has a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor that manifests itself in things like the "Stalkers" page, where you can see everyone who's viewed your profile, when they viewed it and whether or not they're on the site at the moment. (They've since changed the page to the more politically correct "Visitors," which I think is a shame.) They're also the same people behind that gigantic "The Purity Test" that made the rounds of every teenage inbox when I was in high school, which means there are all kinds of fun quizzes you can take to pigeonhole yourself on the site.

And it turns out guys are guys, online or off. There are the sleazeballs, who send completely impersonal "Hey good-lookin'"-type messages that make me roll my eyes and click "delete" without looking up their profiles, since they clearly haven't read mine (just like I ignore guys with the poor taste to whistle at me on the street). There are the earnest ones who try just a little too hard, referencing every single movie I mentioned as a favorite. There are the creepy late-30- to 40-somethings who don't seem to understand that the fact that they were graduating high school (or college) when I was born is not and will never be attractive. There are the ones who come off as brain-dead because "lol" is their sole form of punctuation and they end every phrase with some variation of "haha, srsly?" There are the sexists, who message me and then fade away when it becomes evident that I'm not interested in agreeing with their conservative socio-political viewpoints or being their trophy date. And there are the interesting ones, who message me because something in my profile (other than my picture) really interested them, and with whom talking can be an exercise in happily discovering common ground.

I've gone on actual dates with a few in that last category, and for the most part I've had a good time, whether or not either of us has opted for date two. The transition from chatting online or exchanging emails can be a little strange but then, what's a first date without some awkward silences? And it feels good to be dating again.

What I didn't expect was how overwhelmed I would feel, and how often I would find myself saying no or taking a week or more to respond to people. (On the plus side, practicing saying no is good for me, since I tend to do anything possible to avoid being unpleasant, and have in the past sometimes been of the "Oh, you like me? Really? I should totally go out with you, then!" school, which is unhealthy and rather embarassing to admit.)

Nor did I expect the moments of nervous pessimism that seem to hit 24 hours before a date and have my brain and the butterflies in my stomach uniting to make my fingers twitch toward the phone or keyboard to cancel. The battle between nerves and sense goes something like this:

Nerves/Butterflies: You're not ready for this.
Common Sense: Yes you are, you idiot, you've been single for almost a year and a half.
Nerves/Butterflies: It's been too long, you can't date. You've never actually "dated," you've only been in relationships, what are you thinking?
Common Sense: So what better time to start? And that it's been too long is the point. Duh.
Nerves/Butterflies: But...but...
Common Sense: You are not canceling! End of story!
Nerves/Butterflies: whimper

But the most unexpected part of this whole dating experiment is that I've realized I'm truly happy being single. I'm not placeholder happy, waiting for the next guy to come along. I'm not "really, I'm fine!" happy, trying to convince myself and everyone else. I'm not even "I hate boys"/good riddance happy. I'm happy. Period. It's a fantastic feeling.

I'll probably stay on OkCupid for now - meeting new people you have a lot in common with is never a bad thing and being happy single doesn't mean I can't enjoy an occasional date. But I've realized that it's pretty much going to take a bolt of lightning striking when I meet someone to convince me to get back into the relationship game anytime soon. For now I'm having too much fun just being me, happy. And I can't think of any place I'd rather be.

Double Standards in Immigration

Did you know Gardasil is on the list of required vaccines for women between the ages of 11 and 26 applying for U.S. citizenship?

I didn't, until I heard about the plight of Simone Davis, a 17-year-old applying for permanent residency in the U.S., yesterday. There are 14 vaccines on that list: 13 are against infectious diseases; the other is Gardasil, which protects against the four strains of HPV that between them cause 70% of cervical cancer and 90% of genital warts.

Davis' official objection - which was recently rejected by U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services - is on moral grounds, since she doesn't intend to be sexually active anytime soon. But what appalled and infuriated me about the situation is that the U.S. government is demanding that this young woman receive a vaccine that her American peers can choose to embrace or scorn.

Approved by the FDA in 2006, Gardasil is still a controversial product. Some people object on moral grounds, like Simone and her family (last time I checked, being vaccinated against HPV didn't require you to go have sex, but my objection to that objection is another topic entirely...), some because of the possible side effects - your standard vaccine side effects, plus fainting and an increased risk of blood clots - and some because there just isn't much information available on its pros and cons yet. Personally, it's the last that makes me a little leery but even if I thought Gardasil was the best thing since sliced bread, I wouldn't want it to be mandatory for immigrants when it's optional for American citizens.

Requiring a vaccine that's optional everywhere in the U.S. makes it sound like we're using immigrants as lab rats - because we are. That is not only completely unethical, it's an authoritarian move that denies the freedom we embrace as the heart of the American dream and demonstrates a reprehensible abuse of immigrants' powerless position in society.

I love my country, but sometimes it can be an absolute moron. Let's get rid of the double standards, Uncle Sam, shall we?

As a Matter of Heart

I confessed my fascination with the blogosphere last winter and it certainly hasn't diminished. One of the new blogs on my list this year is The Frisky, a professional blog edited and written by a series of NYC-based women ranging from more-or-less my age into their 30s and a few men who contribute from time to time. Their tagline is "Love. Life. Stars. Style." and their posts run the gamut from the plight of women in Africa and political prisoners to who wore what on which reality show and all the things guys do that drive women crazy (and vice versa - they're very equal opportunity!).

CNN occasionally features their posts, which is how I first found them, but I keep going back because reading The Frisky is basically like having a perpetual coffee break or happy hour with friends. They have a devoted following of readers who are all very vocal and comment like crazy.

My love of the site aside, a post this morning by Frisky Editor Amelia McDonnell-Parry - "What Do You Remember About Your Worst Breakup?" - really struck a chord with me because it ties in with something I've been thinking a lot about lately. It's an interesting question in a society that's more concerned with "moving on" and catching up to what could be than reflecting on what has been.

My two worst breakups to this point have been the first (of course!) and the most recent. I can laugh about the first now, both because hindsight lets me appreciate all the melodrama of high school and because the other person involved remains a very good friend. It was lunchtime on a Wednesday and he told me "something just didn't feel right anymore." (Yes, I remember. Yes, you will always be in trouble for the fact that it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week!) I managed to find Gina before collapsing at her feet - literally; I have a crystal clear, cringe-worthy memory of wrapping my arms around her legs while she patted my head - and bursting into tears.

The oddest thing about the memory is that I remember exactly what he was wearing and what people said to me in fifth period afterward, but my self - that fifteen-year-old me, as I remember her - is oddly blank. I remember everything I felt but very little of what I thought or said.

The most recent is a different story. I remember leaving the gym that morning and practically humming on my way to his favorite coffee shop, then across the street to bring him breakfast - a ham and cheese croissant and coffee, black. I knew he was stressed about finals and got up early so that I'd have time to swing by with a quick pick-me-up on the way (more or less) to work. I remember the look on his face when he opened the door - completely stunned. In the memory, his expression is tinged with unhappiness, but at the time I put it down to studying-induced insomnia.

I stayed maybe all of five minutes, gave him a quick kiss goodbye and headed to work with a spring in my step. It was Friday, and the first weekend in at least a month that we'd be able to spend some uninterrupted time together was less than twelve hours away. It had been a rough spring for us, between stress, busy schedules and trips, and I couldn't wait to to put it all behind us. I'd missed him.

He got to my apartment as I was debating cooking or ordering dinner that night, and I skipped over to hug him hello. I didn't notice until he said those dreaded words, "We need to talk," (or it might have been "You should sit down," now that I think about it) that he hadn't brought anything with him. I remember him sitting next to me on the floor and holding my hand while I cried. I can't remember whether or not I ate dinner after he left.

The next morning, I woke up with eyes so puffy I could hardly open them. As I held a wet washcloth to my face, the thought crossed my mind that I'd never had any reason to think about the term "cold compress" outside of literature before. I thought about blowing off the 10K I was supposed to run and wallowing in bed instead, but decided I was absolutely not going to be that girl, who let a guy change what she wanted to do. So I went, arriving an hour early and standing under an overhang near the start, shivering in the rain. I remember being vaguely glad that the weather fit my mood. Running I could handle; the sun, mocking me by shining? Not so much.

I doubt I'll ever laugh at that most recent breakup, but what's occurred to me in the past few months is what that day, and everything that led up to it, must have been like for him. It's disconcerting, as I'm looking back, to have a flash of insight about what he might have been thinking or feeling at certain moments pierce the haze of my remembered emotions. Sort of like a particularly rough change in camera angle - perspective, the film buffs call it - during a movie.

And relationships have a lot to do with perspective. We each take centerstage in our own, of course, because we're the omniscient narrator of our own experiences. But there are a lot of other omniscient narrators around us and miscommunication, in its many forms ("Oh, we're just friends. He said we were dating?!", "What do you mean, the way she looks at me? Honey, I've known her for years, I'd know if she felt that way.", "You're blind-siding me with this now??"), stems from those differences in perspective.

Hopefully we glean enough from those other omniscient narrators to have some idea of the big picture and what our monologues sound like from the outside. If we're smart, we learn what we can from the rough spots before leaving them on the cutting room floor, then keep the lessons and - most of all - the good times to play back whenever we need them. In matters of the heart, the next scene may rarely be what we expect but as long as we're paying attention, it will always be interesting.

Running for Life

Seven weeks from today, I'll be running the 34th annual Marine Corps Marathon - my second time in that race and my third marathon in a year. After last year's MCM, I was proud of myself and glad to be done, and had no intention of running another marathon anytime soon. A week later, I started looking at marathon calendars online to figure out when my next one could be.

Running has become such an essential part of my life that I can't imagine not doing it - it's as natural as breathing. Or maybe a better simile is that it's like drinking a glass of water: I can go without one for a while, make do with other things to drink, but that first sip of water is more refreshing and rejuvenating than anything else.

Not everyone has the luxury of reaching for a glass of water whenever they want. There are people around the world whose only accessible water source is dirty and disease-ridden, but it's all they have so they bathe in it, cook with it, drink it.

In an effort to bring them the clean water I take for granted every day, I'm dedicating this third marathon and my first year as a marathoner to the people charity: water, an amazing non-profit organization, works to help. In the past three years, their water projects - digging wells, drilling wells, protecting mountain springs and the streams that carry their water - have brought fresh, clean water to 725,000 people. Their goal is to have reached 1,000,000 people by the end of the year, and I'm hoping you'll be a sponsor of my project - Running for Life - to help them get there.

(Convinced? Visit my campaign at mycharitywater.org/runningforlife to learn more and to donate. If not, keep reading.)

Through charity: water, $1 is all it takes to provide fresh, clean water for one person for a year. To make my project reflect who I am, I'm raising $5,240, enough to fund an entire community's water project and give 262 people - for the 26.2 miles in a marathon - access to clean water for 20 years.

$5,240 sounds like a lot of money and it is, but it's not impossible if we reach out and work together. You see, if 200 people - less than half the number of people in my high school graduating class - give $26.20 each, together we'll have raised that $5,240 and be able to give a struggling community fresh water and fresh hope.

So I'd like to ask you to give $1 today for every mile I'll run in the Marine Corps Marathon on October 25th, and to share the link to this post (http://tinyurl.com/mwd4q6) or to my campaign (http://mycharitywater.org/runningforlife) with anyone you know who might want to help. $26.20 is a symbolic amount. I know that's a lot for some of you and not much for others, so just know that every dollar makes a difference. And if you can't give a dollar, please pass this on and ask others to help instead.

Running for Life received its first donation on September 4th and will be accepting them until December 3rd. By then, I hope we'll have reached our goal and be well on our way to bringing new life and new hope, in the form of access to clean water, to a community in need. In the meantime, thank you for reading, and for any help you can give this campaign.

Want a laugh? Check this out.

One of my favorite post-final bell activities in high school was reading the comics a friend of mine, Lars Ingelman, created. They were uniquely illustrated, and written with the same witty, socially aware, slightly goofy and self-deprecating insight Lars applied to everything, and I loved following his characters through their constant misadventures.

Now Lars has moved on to animation and is still doing a great job of turning his observations into humor everyone can enjoy. His video is currently the 17th most-viewed (out of more than 500 entries!) in FOX's latest Aniboom competition, and if he wins he'll not only get a nice chunk of change to advance his animation projects but be able to work on animation at FOX. I thoroughly enjoy Lars' work and am definitely in favor of him getting a shot at doing what he loves for a living - especially if it means I get to watch the next Family Guy- or Futurama-esque hit knowing one of my friends from high school had a hand in it! Check out "CLASS: The Valentine's Day Special" and see what you think.



Watch more cool animation and creative cartoons at Aniboom