Launch The Nukes, Humanity Deserves It.

I have been thinking a lot about what a cancer diagnosis used to mean. How in the ‘80s and ‘90s, when someone was diagnosed, my parents would gently prepare me for their death. That chemo and radiation and surgery just bought time, and over the age of fifty people would sometimes just. Skip it. For cost reasons, and for quality of life reasons. My grandmother was diagnosed in her early seventies and went directly into hospice for just under a year — palliative care only. And often, after diagnosis people and their families would go away — they’d cash out retirement or sell the house and go live on a beach for six months. Or they’d pay a charlatan all their savings to buy hope. People would get diagnosed, get very sick, leave, and then we’d hear that they died.

And then, at some point, the people who left started coming back.

It was the children first. The March of Dimes and Saint Jude set up programs and my town would do spaghetti fundraisers and raffles and meal trains to support the family and send the child and one parent to a hospital in the city — and the children came home. Their hair grew back. They went back to school. We were all trained to think of them as the angelic lost and they were turning into asshole teens right in front of our eyes. What a miracle, what a gift, how lucky we are that the odds for several children are in our favor!

Adults started leaving for a specific program to treat their specific cancer at a specific hospital or a specific research group. They’d stay in that city for 6-12 months and then they’d come home. We fully expected that they were still dying — or they’d gotten one of the good cancers. What a gift this year is for them, we’d think. How lucky they are to be strong enough to ski and swim and run. And then they didn’t stop — two decades later they haven’t stopped. Not all of them, but most of them.

We bought those extra hours and months and years. We paid for time with our taxes. Scientists found ways for treatment to be less terrible, less poisonous, and a thousand times more effective.

And now, when a friend was diagnosed, the five year survival odds were 95%. My friend is alive, nearly five years later. Those kids who miraculously survived are alive. The adults who beat the odds are still alive. I grew up in a place small enough that you can see the losses. And now, the hospital in my tiny hometown can effectively treat many cancers. Most people don’t have to go away for treatment. They said we could never cure cancer, as it were, but we can cure a lot of cancers. We can diagnose a lot of cancers early enough to treat them with minor interventions. We can prevent a lot of cancers.

We could keep doing that. We could continue to fund research into other heartbreaks — into Long Covid and MCAS and psych meds with fewer side effects and dementia treatments. We could buy months and years, alleviate the suffering of our neighbors. That is what funding health research buys: time and ease.

Anyway, I’m preaching to the choir here. But it is a quiet miracle what’s happened in my lifetime.

While $7.25 is low, at least part of the issue is that in a lot of small towns or rural areas, it actually can be a livable wage. It’s easy, living in big cities, to forget how small towns work.

That’s, at least theoretically, why the national minimum wage tends to be pretty conservative; it’s trying to come up with a number that wouldn’t screw over small businesses in small towns. That’s not to say the number can’t be higher, but the necessary minimum wage to survive is substantially different in a metropolitan city than it is elsewhere. (and differs from city-to-city) So individual states and cities, in theory, should set their own minimums where they need to be for the area.

Theoretically.

I think that’s a small part of the reason he’s so loved -- he’s awful, yes, but that’s underneath the shell of a sad, brave, deeply romantic old man. Where many of the monsters of ASOIAF seem beyond any sort of redemption, Jorah seems like if he would just indulge in some self-examination, he could be a genuinely great person.

At least, that’s probably why I like him. He’s a grand Byronic hero who keeps threatening to stumble into an actual hero, only to tragically fail to own up to any of his own faults. Even on the page, he has a lot of charm, although of course Glen gives the role such soul that it elevates the character’s attraction even further. (and, of course, makes it frustrating that the show tends to sidestep what a terrible human being he is underneath that)

Theory: People enjoy Jorah because Iain Glen is super charming (and the show hasn't dwelt on the whole selling people into slavery nearly as much as the show iirc).

The books don’t dwell on it at all. It’s still hideous, and his utter refusal to accept responsibility (including a laughable attempt to reframe it as a problem of Ned’s excessive honor) is what has always really repulsed me about Jorah. 

He thinks slavery is OK. Why does Dany keep him around after she decides otherwise?

My review of Deep Breath, and why Madame Vastra is the best.

Well, except for Clara.

What should people from Eastern Europe do, should we prepare for war?

Is World war 3 coming now?

Taking these two questions together. I don't think it's the Third World War, though it's definitely a much more localized armageddon for Ukraine.

I'd improve cybersecurity and other methods to stop Russia's hybrid warfare doctrine, increase commitment to regular forces, improve dialogue and coordination with fellow allies to increase a deterrent effect. Help the Ukranian refugees how you can. Vote out the cowards and Putinites that are elected and shun the rest. Correct revisionist falsehoods that permeated Putin's speech from the Ukranian independent identity to Putin's excuses about NATO enlargement to the "denazification of Ukraine" pretext, flimsy even for an autocrat.

Thanks for the question, Anon and Eastern European Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

Source

My review of Into the Dalek.

The Right Stuff (1983, set from 1947-1963) - an epic about the test pilots who became the first astronauts (played by Ed Harris, Dennis Quaid, Scott Glenn, Lance Henrickson, Fred Ward) and Chuck Yeager (Sam Shepher), who didn't.

American Graffiti (1973, set in 1963)- George Lucas's mosaic of the last night of a group of teens before they go off to college or the military or whatnot, set in 1963.

Malcolm X (1992, set 1940s to 1960s)- Spike Lee's flamboyant, powerful masterpiece that remains the greatest biopic Hollywood ever produced.

The Godfather (1972, set 1947-1955) The Godfather Part II (1974- interleaves 1901-1920ish and 1958-1959) - classic crime dramas that transcend their pulpy origins with a vivid portrait of the experience of first and second generation immigrants, the bonds and foibles of family, and the endless yet evolving nature of the cycles of violence that define crime. (But they’re also pulpy fun.) Part III (1990, set in 1978) is also quite good; its only real flaw is not being as grand as I and II.

Forrest Gump (1994, set 1940s to 1980s) - the 1990s answer to Frank Capra, a corny, beautiful, funny, sentimental yarn. Very much an oddball nostalgia fest from Gen Xers about Boomers, and thus is a very strange point of view today, but it remains hugely entertaining.

LA Confidential (1997, set 1950s)- the ultimate modern Noir, a funny, atmospheric, violent tale of police corruption in 1950s LA, following three cops, from charming sleazbag Kevin Spacey, violent brute Russell Crowe, and seemingly incorruptible stick-up-his-butt Guy Pearce. Unsurprisingly, all three are terrific at those roles.

Carol (2015, set 1950s) - absolutely gorgeous romance about two women who fall in love and struggle to deal with what that means in that world.

Does anyone have any recommendations for colorful movies that take place in the past (preferably the ‘50s and ‘60s)? I love these kinds of movies and would love to watch some.