We all share the same world environment. What happens in the Sahara desert affects nations in the western hemisphere. What happens in America affects nations in Asia. The gases we spew into the air, the waste we dump into the sea, the water we drain from the ground — they are all connected in many complex ways we are still learning to understand. Science fiction authors have long recognized we reside on a living planet and they have shared that message with millions of people.
Look at the popularity of James Cameron’s latest movie, “Avatar”. It delivers a profound environmental message while exploring a traditional issue about the conflict between advanced civilizations and the primitive cultures they seek to exploit. Life is connected at the most intrinsic level and we don’t always recognize that. And yet, in a new series of articles, one science fiction blogger is taking an extended look at how environmentalism and science fictionhave become intertwined.
In the article “Are the Green Police Real Enough” SF Fandom asks if environmental activism might not be in danger of falling into militant radicalism. How desperate might future generations of environmental activists become if society does not heed the warnings that Mother Earth is sending our way? This is a highly relevant topic in the age of Al Qaeda.
And yet, at the same time, SF Fandom recognizes that environmental ideas have permeated our culture for years. Schools teach children to be environmentally aware, television shows address environmental issues, and popular festivals celebrate ways to protect the environment. All is not yet quite lost, as many people are indeed aware of the need to look around and take responsibility for how we treat our home world.
Studies executed on healthy, premenopausal women in the Netherlands established that Yaz, Yasmin, and Ocella (generic Yasmin) suffered an magnified risk of venous thrombosis as compared to non-users. The risks were increased as high as five-fold with oral contraceptives. These reports were published in August 2009. This was just the beginning of the contention surrounding Yaz, Yasmin, and Ocella and the subsequent lawsuits to come involving Yaz side effects.
Mass Tort is simply civil action that extends to a number of complainants. This process is taken against one or more corporate defendants in court. Unlike a class action where a number of people take it upon themselves to bring forth litigation jointly, in mass tort the original plaintiffs and law firms use mass media outlets to reach other possible plaintiffs. Those television and websites wondering if you are a loved one have been effected by a particular product are the result of mass tort status.
Any women that have been wounded as a result of taking Yaz, Yasmin or Ocella may be entitled to compensation. Many attorneys and legal advocate agencies such as thelegaladvocate.com now provide assistance to anyone going through side effects and health issues as a direct result of using Yasmin contraception. Now that more adult females across the United States are coming forward and filing suit, the legal system is moving closer to offering justice for those who were misinformed by the birth control manufacturers and possibly their doctors.
Republican Senator Alphonse D’Amato served the state of New York for three consecutive terms from 1981 to 1999. His unparalleled number of contacts on both sides of the Senate and his filibuster tactics made him stand out as a Senator at the time. Although other members of the Senate made headlines, Al D’Amato was the one who stood out prominently from among his colleagues for almost two decades.
For his political activism and tireless efforts for the people of New York, Senator Al D’Amato has earned acknowledgement and praise for his active humanitarian and noble political efforts during the course of his service as a U.S. Senator. One of these is his initiative to help the Holocaust victims and their next of kin. As Chairman of the Senate Committee on Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs, Alphonse D’Amato led the attack to recover the billions of dollars deposited by Holocaust victims into Swiss banks before World War II. For nearly six decades, holocaust survivors and their relatives had been fighting for this cause. His efforts finally forced the Swiss banks to return over a billion dollars to survivors and their next of kin. Senator Al A’Damato is truly a public servant.
2006 already seems to have much in common with 2005.
2005, with the endless drumbeat of ‘the attack on Christianity’,
the spin-off ‘War On Christmas’, ‘religious leaders’ calling for
an assassination of a foreign leader, denouncing the right of an
entire city to ask for God’s help should they need it, pointing
to the ‘behavior’ of a city’s residents (often out-of-town
visitors) for the reason it drowned, terror at the thought of
gay marriage, and other matters purportedly related to religion
picked at the scab of a memory I’d tried to suppress.
All I could do was hope for a better year ahead. But 2006, with
the kickoff of Pat Robertson’s remarks about Sharon and the
spectacle of another ‘Justice Sunday’, seems to be shaping up
the same as 2005.
Until that day, only my closest friends really knew my secret. I
really made a point of not talking about it or giving any hint
about it away. They took it in stride. To them, I was just a guy
to have a beer with or work out with. But that day I slipped.
Maybe it was the whole post-election religious right talk that
made me drop my guard.
The memory I lived with through much of 2005 is about the day,
back in 2001, when I was publicly ‘outed’ by a complete
stranger. I know why she spotted me. It was the way I looked on
that day.
Not by my physique. After recovering from an illness, I’d
returned to my workout regimen and was benching 425 pounds
again. My ‘California tan’ and bleached-blonde hair (from the
sun and surf) might have been a hint- but they certainly weren’t
what gave me away.
That whole combination meant what it always has meant- I might
be or might not be… well… ‘different’ from what is expected
by some.
It broke down to what I was wearing. The problem was that I had
on a yellow ‘muscle tank-top’ that was a gift from my ‘better-
half’.
That’s what gave me away on that fateful summer day of 2001 or,
rather, that’s what assisted in exposing me.
On that day, upon returning from the grocery store, my ‘better-
half’ informed me I’d bought the wrong toilet paper. Having
spent the first 6 years of my life (when basic lessons are
learned and lifelong imprints are made) in a place where
outhouses were considered luxuries, I didn’t quite seem to be
able to grasp the different sensitivities of the rear region-
particularly when it came to something called ’soft and scented
paper’.
I offered to (was gently ordered to) return to the store and,
once returning, fell victim to my brain-block on toilet paper
again. I drew a blank on the name brand. I blame that on O.S.
(Outhouse Syndrome)- the inability to understand the difference
between Charmin, Scott’s, or any other ‘brand’.
I thought a trip down the aisle containing household paper
products would jog my memory as I was not about to call home to
say I couldn’t remember something relayed to me just moments
before (the pride thing before the fall- akin to the ‘asking for
directions’ thing).
I wish I had.
My ‘outer’ was in that aisle. I mistook her for my savior
(toilet paper- wise). She was 60 something, dressed nicely, and
so ‘American grandmotherly’ that, from a distance, one could
imagine her dabbing ‘eau-de apple pie’ behind each ear in the
morning. I decided to ask for her help.
After explaining what I thought my ‘better-half’ wanted, she
smiled understandingly and pointed to the lower shelf behind me
and told me which brand was the most desirable.
As I leaned over to reach for the rolls, I heard the troubling
words. I closed my eyes for a second trying to think of how she
knew and immediately realized it was because of my appearance
or, rather, my tank- top which exposed the symbol I wore.
The words she spoke were, “Excuse me sir, are you a Christian?”
I responded, despite the alarm bells going off in my head,
“Well, yes I am.” But then I added, “I was raised Catholic.”
The small gold cross I was wearing had slipped out of my tank
top. The cross was my mother’s which she gave me prior to her
passing.
She looked at me in a way best described as ’sadly’ and offered,
“Catholic? Really?” She added, “I’m Christian”.
Her face was grandmotherly but her eyes said, “J’accuse!”
The alarm bells were getting louder. I struggled with whether to
make a quick exit or to defend my being raised a Catholic due to
circumstance and later reaffirming that accident of birth while
taking many of the best things of all religions to heart.
She spoke again, “We had some Catholics live near us. They were
very nice”.
‘They’?
4 letters translated into a verbal punch. I wondered if she
realized she had just called me a ‘they’.
I decided to leave it alone and simply dismiss it by blaming my
religion on my ancestry, “Well, I’m of Slavic descent and
Catholicism is something I grew up with. I think it’s still part
of the Christian family- isn’t it?”
She quickly responded with, “Oh, we had some Slavs- I think they
were Polish- that lived next to us before we moved here.” She
then got a look on her face that one associates with the initial
smell of stench and followed up with, “Nice people but you could
smell their food all around the neighborhood when they cooked.”
‘They’ and ‘but smell their food’? Verbal punches number two and
three.
My ancestry, my studies, and my belief of the sanctity of
holding religion private were all being pilloried by this
knowing or unknowing conveyance of intolerance.
Although I’m not Polish, I share something in common with Poles
(and with certain other select groups of people). We were a
favorite choice for the ‘eugenics’ movement (the U.S. and
Germany- circa 1930-45 come to mind) by those who spoke as she
did.
Sensing it was time to disengage, I replied, “Thank you for the
help with the toilet paper.”
She wouldn’t let go. She followed me down the aisle.
She asked if I’d been to the new church in town that will remain
nameless. Suffice it to say that the word ‘Crusade’ is on the
facade. Without waiting for a response, she pulled out a card- a
business card. The name on it, she explained, was her son’s. He
was the ‘lay pastor’ of the church.
I bit my lip as I wanted to sarcastically tell her that we had
some ‘lay priests’ in the Catholic church (as evidenced by news
reports) but decided against it. Instead, I thanked her and took
the card as I made my way out of the store- discarding the card
on the way out.
When I got home, I told my girlfriend (my ‘better-half’) what
had happened. She laughed. She knew better than most how
seriously I took such things and probably realized how troubled
I was by it long before I did.
I learned a lot from that experience. I learned that I shouldn’t
really talk to strangers about toilet paper because that could
lead to a discussion about religion, which these days, seems
inevitably to lead to politics. And we all know that nobody
should discuss the combination of toilet paper, religion, and
politics in polite company.
A discussion such as that can easily lead to talking about
outhouses, forced sterilizations, special furnaces, and war.
