Full disclosure: we would have avoided waiting hours in Chilamate for the student protests to dissipate if I wouldn't have been "one hundred percent sure" that the way to Arenal was via Puerto Viejo-- I was a bit turned around in regards to my mental map and did not check Waze-- so by the time we figured out, or I should say my wife and kids figured out, that we were headed the wrong direction it was too late and our route was blocked; but we made it to the Arenal volcano region before dark, the road was smooth, the kids slept, and we stopped at the Iguana Bridge, from which we spotted some iguanas and a colorful Jesus Christ lizard-- they are so bright that when you see them, you exclaim "jesus christ!" And they can also run on top of the water; we experienced some cognitive dissonance when we got to Los Lagos resort, as we had been staying in a ramshackle open air joint that was slowly being engulfed by the rain forest and Los Lagos is an impeccably manicured collection of cabanas climbing Arenal and has several beautiful pools of various temperatures, fed by volcanic hot springs, a bunch of waterslides-- some dangerous and one full of scalding hot water-- a bridge you can jump off, a wet bar in a giant hot pool-- I had a local Costa Rican pale ale called Toro that was delicious and a general upscale family resort vibe; we hiked all around the volcano yesterday, the lesser traveled Peninsula trail down to the lake was particularly excellent, we saw turquoise hummingbirds, Montezuma orondolas, giant magpie jays, the broad billed mot mot, and others we could not identify and then we hiked the main loop to the old lava from 1992 and climbed the the viewpoint where we saw a pitcher plant but could not see the volcano-- apparently , because this is the cloud forest, you rarely see the volcano, though it is looming right above the trail and the resorts; the kids asked a lot of questions and it made me realize I don't have the slightest idea how volcanoes work, this one is still active so you can't get close but I'm not sure if there is lava right inside it or you need a shift in tectonic plates to send some magma out; I will do some research; anyway, after four hours of jungle and lava hiking, we stopped in La Fortuna for a giant meal at the Rainforest Cafe-- a little local joint not to confused with the bigger ersatz Rainforest Bar on the main drag; the food was great and filling, I had the casada lunch plate with tilapia and Alex had the same with steak, casadas are usually around five or six dollars and come with rice, beans and several sides, Catherine had fried plantain chips and guacamole and an empanada and Ian had two empanadas, and the empanadas were huge, three times the size of one at home-- so we have been only eating two meals a day here, both places provided enormous breakfasts with lodging and then we get so stuffed at late lunch that we having been eating dinner; while food isn't dirt cheap here, at the local places it is inexpensive and Imperial beer is always two dollars and we really love the typical meals and no one has had stomach issues-- aside from when I ate a bunch of very spicy pickled peppers from a glass jar-- I will also say that after a long day of hiking, it's really nice to relax in a hot spring fed pool, it's bizarre-- there's a bunch of these resorts on the way to Arenal and they all have infinite hot water; I am also enjoying the AC, but I can't stress how nice the weather is, we haven't worn sunblock yet; also, when Catherine ran out to get our laundry and some coffee, the road was all stopped up so we parked and just above the road, on an exposed branch, was the most active sloth I've ever seen, climbing around, grabbing stuff, all in full view and we finally got a view of the volcano just before dark, the clouds cleared for a moment and the cone was visible, minutes later it was gone, shrouded in gray.
Costa Ricans Back In
I'm tired and there's too much to report today . . . I will do a full summary tomorrow, but you'll be happy to know we discovered the source of the awful stink and it wasn't emanating from my person, it was entrenched in my hat-- so I washed it; also, Costa Ricans always back their cars into parking spots-- perhaps to make quick escapes from lava amd flash floods-- so if you want to look like a local and avoid having someone break into your car, back it in.
Protesta el Jefe
We did our last excursion in the Chilamate region this morning, or so we thought-- we took a hike in the spectacular Tirimbina Wildlife Refuge; first we crossed 264 meter hanging bridge to get to the east side of the Sarapiqui River and then we climbed into the dense forest, I was the only one totally decked out for the jungle, wearing pants tucked into my socks and longsleeves, which was a good idea because of the numerous bullet ants on the trees and the trail, my kids had on shortsleeves and Catherine was wearing Capri pants so they were lucky to avoid being stung; Ian also miraculously spotted the bullet ant's favorite prey, the glass winged butterfly, which was pretty much wearing a cloak of invisibility, aside from a red blotch below its transparent wings; Ian has great eyes and also picked out tiny frogs and other little creatures but Ian's most incredible sighting of the day was a large viper just below the trail-- it was either a fer de lance or a hog nosed viper-- and he also found a smaller one ON the trail nearby, I moved it off the trail with a stick before it sank its teeth into my wife's exposed leg; I will post the video soon enough; the rest of the hike we were surrounded by howler monkeys but saw none, but we did see a pair of Marail guans, which might be relatively rare and then when we headed back to the Eco Retreat to check out, but we ran into a student protest blocking the road so we took a bunch of pothole strewn back roads and circumnavigated it and then when we checked out we ran into the same protest, a vague movement against the new president and we couldn't get to the highway so we ate and it rained spectacularly so we figured the protesters had given up but they didn't and there is no other way to go to get to Arenal so we retreated back to the Eco Retreat and we are stuck here indefinitely, waiting for the protest to end, but it may be a while because apparently it is teachers and students, and the teacher's union-- who have been fomenting strikes and protest quite often-- are not to be trifled with.
Rainy Day in the Rain Forest
Serious rain last night and this morning in Chilamate, which was a good thing for both the jungle and our river rafting trip-- we charged down the Sarapiqui, which was flowing fast due to the downpour; lots of big rapids and we also plummeted over a smallish waterfall; Catherine was the only member of our group to fall out of the raft, I got to play the chivalrous hero and pull her back in; when we stopped for a rest, everyone jumped off a cliff into the river, even the tentative Belgian couple that accompanied us in the raft; I can't stress enough how pleasant the weather is, the humidity isn't as bad as New Jersey and the rain is keeping things cool, at some points on the rafting trip we were even chilly and last night we slept under the sheets (and mosquito netting); on the river we saw lots of birds, by the lodge we found a couple of enormous rhinoceros beetles, and the kids apparently found a red-eyed tree frog in our bedroom while we were at the lodge, they used a towel and Ian's sock to capture it and return it to the rain forest; we then at a huge and delicious meal at Rancho Magallanes: roast chicken, pork loin, fried plantains and black bean dip and Imperial, of course; then Ian and I took a nap and Alex and Catherine got lost in the jungle, I went out looking for them but turned around when it started raining, they had crossed several rickety bridges when my wife realized it might get dark-- it gets dark at 6 pm here because we are close to the equator-- so they jogged it in and my wife grabbed s celebratory beer from the shared fridge . . . it's raining again as I write this and we are relaxing the the airy main area, which is connected by covered walkways to all the rooms and cabins and hostel, the Chilamate Eco Resort is a great place to be when it's raining.
The Jungle: Day 2
Long day in Chilamate so this sentence is going to be rambling and utilitarian; we slept through a 6.1 earthquake, had the best breakfast ever at the Chilamate Eco Lodge-- pineapple and papaya tasted better and different than at home, spicy sausage, some kind of apple bread, rice and beans, Costa Rican coffee, and lots of other treats-- then we took a morning hike with Carmela, a college student and aspiring naturalist and saw baby herons, flycatchers, toucans, kingfishers, hummingbirds, poison dart frogs, and many other birds and it rained like we were in the rain forest, then we went to the Sarapiqui swimming hole and I swam out into the coursing river while the kids mastered a rather scary impromptu rope swing, then lunch at a local place: rice, beans, chicken, chuleta de tilapia, yucca, a giant chalupa, then we went to a little grocery store for snacks and beer and I had a very awkward conversation in Spanish with the cashier about the whereabouts of an ATM and my fucking kids-- who take Spanish-- were of no use but the ATM turned out to be just outside the door and then we went on an astounding chocolate tour and tasted and saw the entire process, we cracked the fruits, sucked on the sour flesh, ate the bitter center, smelled and ate roasted chocolate, ate pure chocolate mashed into paste, drank pure chocolate and water, and learned to taste the difference between hand made and industrial . . . chocolate will never be the same, and then we saw a sloth in a tree and two great green macaws and now we are headed back to river to swim and I should point out we have no screens on our windows in our incredibly spacious top floor of the rambling eco lodge and while we can hear the howler monkeys and know they are just beyond our porch, we still have not seen one.
Welcome to the Jungle
At 3 am this morning we took an uber to Newark airport, then a flight to Ft. Lauderdale-- which was delayed-- then we just caught the connector and flew to San Jose, Costa Rica, rented a car, and drove several hours north, through the volcanic mountains and the cloud forest-- we saw a coati-- and, 14 hours later, we finally made it to the rain forest and saw a toucan (but the highlight of the trip was the Claro guy at WalMart, who helped me set up Costa Rican sim cards in our phones for 45 minutes . . . nicest guy I've ever met while traveling).
Ian Chose the Former, Then Had to Deal With The Latter
If you've got a broken toenail that is painful to the touch and needs removing, is it better if you do the clipping yourself or should you let someone else do pare it?
There's Sick and Then There's Dopesick
Beth Macy's book Dopesick: Dealers, Doctors and the Drug Company That Addicted America puts a human face on addiction, recovery, prescription drug abuse, and the many paths that lead to heroin addiction-- the book pulls no punches and shows that culpability for the epidemic is myriad:
at the root is Purdue and their practices of unnecessarily flooding the market-- especially the rural market-- with millions of pills that put people in the throes of addiction;
our byzantine healthcare system that has no real plan on how to quell the epidemic;
the misguided notion that twelve step and twenty-eight day programs can realistically combat morphine addiction;
the ongoing and senseless debate about Medically Assisted Treatment-- some Puritanical folks don't think you should combat addiction with drugs, even though MAT is the option that works the best;
the places hit the worst are the places that were hit the worst by the crumbling economy, the places with the highest unemployment rates and the most physically demanding jobs;
Trump's public policy hasn't addressed the healthcare side of this issue;
the dopesickness;
etcetera . . .
Macy does not paint a pretty scene out in western Virginia, but her main point is that anyone can become addicted-- it's not the result of some deep-set character flaw that leads the lowest of the low into this life, these aren't the bottom feeders of society that would have succumbed to some other vice . . . opioid addicts can be the most successful, the most charming, the most professional people, but once they go down this road-- which four out of five times starts with prescribed medication-- then it is very difficult to turn back, and it will take all the resources of our families, communities, churches, temples, health care workers, doctors, drug companies, and government to turn the tide of opioid addiction-- the book is a must read, along with Sam Quinones Dreamland . . . while Quinones explains the big picture, the entire macro-system of how pills and heroin are distributed, Macy zooms in and details the individual lives affected by the crisis-- how the parents, families, and community leaders in the hot zone are fighting the drug companies, the healthcare system, and the morphine molecule, fighting on behalf of the addicted and the recovering, but mainly fighting for the overdosed and the dead.
at the root is Purdue and their practices of unnecessarily flooding the market-- especially the rural market-- with millions of pills that put people in the throes of addiction;
our byzantine healthcare system that has no real plan on how to quell the epidemic;
the misguided notion that twelve step and twenty-eight day programs can realistically combat morphine addiction;
the ongoing and senseless debate about Medically Assisted Treatment-- some Puritanical folks don't think you should combat addiction with drugs, even though MAT is the option that works the best;
the places hit the worst are the places that were hit the worst by the crumbling economy, the places with the highest unemployment rates and the most physically demanding jobs;
Trump's public policy hasn't addressed the healthcare side of this issue;
the dopesickness;
etcetera . . .
Macy does not paint a pretty scene out in western Virginia, but her main point is that anyone can become addicted-- it's not the result of some deep-set character flaw that leads the lowest of the low into this life, these aren't the bottom feeders of society that would have succumbed to some other vice . . . opioid addicts can be the most successful, the most charming, the most professional people, but once they go down this road-- which four out of five times starts with prescribed medication-- then it is very difficult to turn back, and it will take all the resources of our families, communities, churches, temples, health care workers, doctors, drug companies, and government to turn the tide of opioid addiction-- the book is a must read, along with Sam Quinones Dreamland . . . while Quinones explains the big picture, the entire macro-system of how pills and heroin are distributed, Macy zooms in and details the individual lives affected by the crisis-- how the parents, families, and community leaders in the hot zone are fighting the drug companies, the healthcare system, and the morphine molecule, fighting on behalf of the addicted and the recovering, but mainly fighting for the overdosed and the dead.
Lesson Learned?
I thought I learned this lesson many years ago, in college, when I ate at the Wendy's Superbar before an intramural football game and put in a very poor performance at cornerback, but when Ian insisted he wanted Chipotle before his soccer game yesterday-- and he said he only wanted a bowl, not a burrito-- I agreed . . . but apparently a bowl full of rice, barbacoa meat, and sour cream does not sit well when you're playing left mid on a wide field.
Curds . . . Yum?
Last night we tried some new things from Deli Garden: two types of chicken korma-- one was peppery and the other one had some coconut in it . . . a korma is "a mildly spiced Indian curry dish of meat or fish marinated in yogurt or curds," which sounds kind of weird, but it was quite tasty . . . Stacey and Ed made the call, which is why it's nice to order Indian food with lots of people, because then you try new things-- if I googled the definition of korma and saw the word "curds" I definitely wouldn't have put the order in.
I Want to Say One Word to You: Shame
My town has banned plastic bags and while this feels like a good thing, there are actually a number of problems with this small step toward sustainability-- when plastic bags are banned, sales of heavy trash bags go up, and producing paper bags and canvas totes may be even worse for the environment than manufacturing those little lightweight plastic bags-- but I will say this about the ban: it's got me thinking and feeling shame . . . yesterday on my way home from acupuncture, I stopped at the grocery store to grab some seltzer (I'm trying to drink less beer and I like my tequila with a splash of lime seltzer) and I forgot to bring one of our reusable reusable canvas tote bags, so I had to ask for a paper bag-- shame!-- and then I took a look at what I was buying and it was flavored bubbly water . . . inside plastic-- shame!-- and just before I stopped at Stop & Shop, I went through the Dunkin' Donuts drive-thru and got an iced coffee-- normally I go inside and refill my reusable cup, but it was raining and I was lazy, so my coffee came in a plastic cup with the Yankees logo on it (Made for Pinstripe Pride) accompanied by a plastic straw -- shame upon shame!-- and while it's going to be tough to change all these little habits, the first step is recognizing them (and realizing that if I were more of a man, I wouldn't need to cut my tequila with flavored bubbly water).
Trump's Re-election Rally: A Reality Check for Liberals
I was very wrong when I thought that Donald Trump-- laughingstock and punchline, bankrupt buffoon-- could never be elected president; I tried to understand, I read this George Saunders piece and lots of other stuff, but now I realize that a lot of this reporting was biased, reported by folks that didn't take Trump seriously; now we know the truth, and though it took xenophobia, Russian meddling, fake news, conspiracy theories, character assassination and some outright racism, Trump figured out how to win . . . and he very well may win again; The Daily covered Trump's Re-election Rally and they didn't cherry-pick the gaffes and bumbling, instead they played masterful clips of Trump playing the crowd, making them feel special, making them feel like Trump is their way inside a corrupt system-- and then they talked to Trump supporters-- and not the insane, angry folk-- they talked to calm, rational people who love his agenda, people who want a wall, people who don't like immigrants, people who don't want gun reform or abortion, people who love the fact that Trump is appointing pro-life and conservative judges, people who don't believe a word of the "liberal fake-news media" . . . people who bought William Barr's pre-spin on the Mueller Report, people who are informed, but informed by totally different sources than I generally peruse (despite the fact that The Week tries to cover the liberal and conservative perspective, they don't go deep and weird enough on the conservative side) and so I feel very indebted to the New York Times for painting a more accurate picture of a Trump rally, he is a force to contend with and his supporters believe in Trump and believe in what he stands for . . . I find this shocking, but if you go 17:45 seconds in, when Trump has the audience cheer for what slogan and theme he should promote in this election, you can see why these people love him, his populism, his eschewing of political correctness, and his ability to say what people want to hear-- whether it's true or not-- so while I'm rooting for intellect over rhetoric, for Elizabeth Warren's thought out plans, her statistics and logic and ideas, I'm probably very stupid for rooting for this, for thinking that brains can defeat Trump's emotional brawn . . . anyway, listen to the podcast and tell me what you think.
First World Solutions . . .
If there were some sort of Emmy or Tony for HVAC guys, I would award it to Steve Maruscsak Heating & Cooling-- not only did they come in with the lowest bid (and highly recommended) to install a ductless mini-split, but they also sorted out an insane mess of electrical problems (which caused some electronic problems) and got our AC up and running today; in other good news, our dog was well-behaved around the guys while they finished the install, and our son is feeling better and his bloodwork seems to be okay-- although they are still checking for Lyme's . . . which makes me nervous, because it was Lyme's diseases that canceled this Costa Rica trip last year- our old dog Sirius came down with a bad case, which ruined his kidneys and eventually killed him-- but he had another tick disease on top of that one and Ian's symptoms sound more like a virus or bad growing pains . . . so let me end this rambling nonsense and get back to brushing up on my (nonexistent) Spanish.
When It Rains, It Pours (But We've Got Good Sewers)
A day full of First World Problems: torrential downpours, a sick child, a visit to the doctor, a visit to the blood lab, a broken ductless mini-split, a visit to the orthodontist, baffled HVAC guys, faulty wiring from the last ductless mini-split install, a school cooking project, a broken color printer, a visit to the bicycle repair shop, a canceled orthodontist appointment because of a sick child, worries about a sick child and an imminent soccer tournament and an imminent Costa Rican vacation, blood lab results (negative on most everything bad but still checking for Lyme's and mono) but the hope is that tomorrow will bring some First World Solutions . . . a SIM card to fix the ductless mini-split, and perhaps a flu diagnosis and some drugs to fix the sore child, my wife has a color printer at work, etc.
The 70's: I Lived Through Them But Don't Remember Much
David Frum's book How We Got Here: The 70's . . . The Decade That Brought You Modern Life-- For Better or Worse takes a "conservative" look at the decade when the radical ideas of the '60s completely permeated American life, but it's an older brand of conservatism, one of "pragmatism, character, reciprocity, stoicism, manliness, hardness, vengeance, strictness, and responsibility"-- not the new corrupt, Machiavellian Trump/McConnell version-- so Frum acknowledges that great progress was made in many areas of human rights and expressiveness, but he also takes a hard look at the costs; Frum begins by running through the crime, the corruption, the many many scandals-- Watergate was the tip if the iceberg-- and the secrets: the Pentagon Papers, the revelations about JFK (wiretapping MLK) and Lyndon Johnson (starting the Vietnam War over the Tonkin incident) and Nixon, of course-- and the many many more from Tuskegee to plots with the Mafia and CIA to overthrow Castro, and J. Edgar Hoover and the CIA working without oversight, the FBI monitoring many many Americans-- often at the president's behest-- scandal upon scandal, crime upon crime-- this is when 60 Minutes was the number one program and for good reason . . . it made me realize that I grew up in the hangover of this tumultuous decade, the Reagan years-- so I missed out on all the fun, the sex and drugs and new age lingo, the superstition and narcissism and disco-- my generation got AIDS and video games and Reaganomics-- but we also got free markets and deregulation (for good and bad) and missed out on crime and terrorism and gas-lines and horrible inflation and general paranoia . . . Frum blames the turmoil of the 1970's, the terrorism, the smashing of values, the conflict of a demilitarized children vs. their militarized parents, on three things-- the Vietnam War, desegregation, and inflation . . . and while he acknowledges that many things in America were worse in the past-- the racism, redlining, the homogeneous society, the lack of economic creativity, the treatment of the environment-- he also takes the pragmatic conservative position that family and employment, and things like loyalty and conformity gave a purpose to many poor and embattled people, and that assimilation instead of fragmentation, while oppressing diversity, does help with order .. . the 70's was when modern America emerged, technological, diverse, environmentally conscious, litigious, regulated, rights-oriented . . . and while the pendulum may have occasionally swung back, the 70's moved the nexus and so "the past never returns, no matter how lovely it was-- but onward, away from the follies and triumphs of the 1970s and toward something new: new vices, new virtues, new sins-- and new progress."
Dave Endorses Elizabeth Warren!
Last presidential election, I was so frightened by a Donald Trump Presidency that I broke from my normal silliness of always voting for the Green Party and endorsed Hillary Clinton-- I listened to a great interview with her on The Weeds and tried my best to contrast her policies with Trump; I wrote all this down and I'm certain my thoughts had absolutely no effect on the election or anyone's voting choice-- if you're reading this, I'm probably preaching to the choir, and the few people I know that did vote for Trump did so because they loathed Hillary Clinton and couldn't separate the person from the policy; now The Weeds has done an in depth interview with Elizabeth Warren and I really like everything she says: she wants to fight corruption and lobbying; she wants to tax the biggest fortunes in the country and use the money for childcare and college debt and early childhood education and the opioid crisis; she truly believes that there is an enormous wealth gap and that a thinner and thinner slice of the population is being represented by political power; she is critical of Wall Street speculation; she promises to stop mining and frakking on federal lands and believes that climate change is something needs to be addressed; she believes in the power of government agencies-- the agencies that Trump has crippled and gutted-- such as the EPA and the Consumer Financial Protection Agency she is interested in Medicare for all; she does not lean Democratic Socialist, in fact she identifies herself as a Democratic Capitalist-- which makes me happy-- Warren believes in the power of markets as long as there are clear rules and arbiters; but Warren does not believe markets belong in public education and healthcare; she has ideas about zoning and redlining and housing; she's a nerd (her book recommendation is Capital in the Twenty-First Century by Thomas Piketty . . . which I enjoyed but never finished, it's voluminous) and basically I thought she was super-smart, well-spoken, has a real purpose and plan, and reflects the ideas and values that I respect and that should work for the vast majority of Americans . . . of course, I thought the same thing about Hillary Clinton's policies, so take this with a grain of salt, but I'm giving her my full endorsement and not going to bother learning about any of the other twenty-three Democratic candidates (and I suggest you do the same . . . and I wish I could just blithely vote for the Green Party, but that ship has sailed).
Bless these Beanbags
Yesterday was the end of the year picnic (my partner and I performed well in the annual corn-hole tourney-- we double lost in the finals because it was double elimination and we hadn't lost all afternoon . . . we had previously beaten this team 21-0 but we choked with it all on the line . . . perhaps it was all the donated Victory beer or maybe it was divine retribution for dropping my partner from last year-- Chantal-- and picking up Kristyn-- a sporty softball coach from another department, causing everyone in my department to root against me) and now we're off to my cousin's ordination . . . so perhaps next year, if we make to the finals again, I can pray and the Big Man will give some extra consideration.
Fourteen Years of Home Ownership and Ian
My younger son turned fourteen today and his birthday also commemorates the approximate purchase of our current home-- and what a fourteenth year of home ownership it's been; this year we had to replace our washer/dryer, our dishwasher, our ductless mini-split air-conditioner, the ceiling tiles in the basement, and our dog . . . and speaking of dogs, I had a miraculous revelation on the way back from Ian's birthday dinner at Shanghai Dumpling (which was a miracle in itself: no wait!) and this revelation occurred while we were discussing our eventual return from our trip to Costa Rica and just how insanely happy our dog will be upon this return-- if and when we do actually return-- and so I told Ian about my favorite moment in the Odyssey, when Odysseus returns home in disguise after being gone for twenty-years of epic adventures and he runs into his dog Argos, who was obviously a pup when he left Ithaca, and-- despite the disguise-- Argos recognizes his master and dies of happiness . . . and it always struck me as odd that a dog would live for 20+ years, as that's highly unlikely, but I just recognized that this is an ancient Greek dog, and so it was probably not bred very much, unlike our genetically stunted purebreds of present times, so it was closer to a wolf than a dog and had a much longer lifespan.
An Ominous Jazz Heuristic
My rule-of-thumb for jazz is this: if there are lyrics, it probably sucks . . . and this holds true for a song I heard on WBGO this afternoon, Rosemary Clooney singing "If Swing Goes, I Go Too" . . . on top of the lousy lyrics, this song has the added irony of negating itself, the song actually wills itself out of existence-- making it all the more odd that WBGO continues to play it-- because Clooney claims that she can live without breakfast and polkas and soap operas, but if swing music falls out of favor, then she'll just up and die, which she did-- swing music faded (aside from a brief revival spearheaded by the Squirrel Nut Zippers) and Clooney lived up to her promise and kicked the bucket in time with her favorite music, she lived from 1928 until 2002-- and this is a grim reminder of just how ephemeral pop music is, the sounds you just can't imagine living without-- whether it's The Cure or Black Flag or The Beach Boys or Hector Berlioz-- they will soon pass from favor, then be regarded as antiquated, and finally disappear from the public consciousness entirely.
If You Haven't Seen HBO's Chernobyl, I Sentence Thee To The Exclusion Zone
Everyone in my office is talking about the HBO show Chernobyl, and while I tried to avoid it-- I watched a few minutes of the first episode and found it unbearably grim-- the tidal wave of acclaim and the fact that my kids were interested in a historical docudrama swayed me; I ended it up loving it, of course-- especially the scene where the filthy miners all touch the clean and dapper Ministry of Coal, and my kids love the show as well, or I should say that they love to yell at the show-- which is understandable, as folks informed and uninformed alike are behaving so cavalierly around enormous amounts of radiation and, equally frustrating, the Russian government is more concerned with information control, propaganda, and secrecy than the welfare of it's own people (the Russians are not particularly happy with this portrayal) and while I generally can't stomach watching medical disasters, this show is so good that I've gotten inured to all the melting skin-- it's a little like The Walking Dead in that regard-- and my family even survived (and partly enjoyed) the episode that mainly concerned itself with animal control, i.e. the packs of radioactive dogs that needed to be shot and disposed of (during that section, instead of yelling at the screen, my kids yelled at our dog, commanding her not to watch, lest she be traumatized).
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