I ran across something quotable in Ray Bradbury’s novel, “Something Wicked This Way Comes.” It’s another one of his books I’ve never read but which I’m reading now.
“God, how we get our fingers in each other’s clay.” In the novel, it’s about how two friends influence each other.
On the one hand, it’s a seemingly trivial observation about human nature. On the other, it also seems profound because it’s so pervasive. You could reformulate it in any number of ways, e.g., “We’re always getting into each other’s business.”
The response is just as trivial. Mind your own business. Get out of my hair. I wonder how that song “My Way,” done famously by Frank Sinatra, could ever make sense when the reality is that we’re always either getting in each other’s way—or less often, always trying to integrate our approaches to create something better in our lives.
It’s kind of like what a former presidential campaign advisor (Wikipedia and other sources say it was James Carville) said, “It’s the economy, stupid.”
The meeting of the FDA VRBPAC on the composition of Covid-19 vaccines will be tomorrow, May 22, 2025 at 8:30 am-4:30 pm EST. Some materials have recently become available on the FDA website.
The briefing document indicates that there will be a discussion of the most recent Covid-19 variants and whether the current vaccine needs to be modified as the viral antigenic strain has mutated.
The World Health Organization has formed a new technical advisory group: “Technical Advisory Group on COVID19 Vaccine Composition (TAG-CO-VAC) to review and assess the public health implications of emerging SARS-CoV-2 variants of concern (VOCs) on the performance of COVID-19 vaccines and to provide recommendations to WHO on proposed modifications to COVID-19 vaccine antigen composition. Recently, the TAG-CO-VAC advised that a monovalent JN.1 or KP.2 vaccines remain as appropriate vaccine antigen, while a monovalent LP.8.1 is a suitable alternative vaccine antigen (Ref: https://www.who.int/news/item/15-05-2025-statement-on-the-antigen-composition-of-covid-19-vaccines) to be included in the composition of COVID-19 vaccines (2025-2026 Formula).”
The VRBPAC meeting topics:
“On May 22, 2025, VRBPAC will meet in open session to discuss and make recommendations on the selection of the 2025-2026 Formula for COVID-19 vaccines for use in the U.S. The committee will be asked to discuss available evidence on recent and currently circulating SARS-CoV-2 variants, including data from virus surveillance and genomic analyses, antigenic characterization analyses, vaccine effectiveness and clinical immunogenicity studies of current U.S.- authorized/approved COVID-19 vaccines and nonclinical immunogenicity studies of candidate vaccines expressing or containing updated Spike antigens.”
The attendees include:
The TAG-CO-VAC presenter:
Kanta Subbarao, M.B.B.S., M.P.H. Professor Department of Microbiology and Immunology Faculty of Medicine Laval University (Laval University is in Quebec City, Quebec, Canada).
There’s an Iowa City member on the committee roster:
Stanley M. Perlman, M.D., Ph.D. Expertise: Pediatrics, Infectious Diseases Term: 08/23/2022 – 01/31/2026 Professor University of Iowa Distinguished Chair Department of Microbiology and Immunology Carver College of Medicine University of Iowa, Iowa City, IA 52242.
And the acting chair of the meeting will once again be: Arnold Monto, M.D. Expertise: Epidemiology Term: 02/01/2022 – 01/31/2026 Thomas Francis Jr. Collegiate Professor Emeritus of Public Health and Epidemiology School of Public Health University of Michigan Ann Arbor, MI 48109.
Vaccine manufacturer presentations will be from Moderna, Pfizer, Novavax, and Sanofi.
We got new Ray Bradbury’s books and I finally read “Fahrenheit 451,” which was published in 1953. It’s a fascinating book listing 451 ways to remember how to spell the word “Fahrenheit.” Actually, it’s a dystopian novel about society in the future which bans books which firemen burn because the government thinks it’s better for citizens to watch TV than to read.
I remember reading many of his science fiction works when I was a kid. But I never got around to reading “Fahrenheit 451.” My reaction to it was pretty much the same as I had to all of his other books—I found it difficult to put it down.
I started reading it last night. I got through Part 1 and it was late and stormy out so I decided to watch TV. Bad decision. I think the thunderstorm messed with the reception, pixelating and skipping audio along with the usual inane commercials. If I hear the joke one more time about why some snakes procreate only once a year followed by the punch line “That’s because they have e-reptile dysfunction” I’m going to throw my slipper at the screen.
Anyway, I shut the TV off and relaxed, believe it or not, to the thunder and lightening outside. That reminded me of “Fahrenheit 451” because in the novel, people have TV screens the size of the walls of their homes and they watch the same kind of garbage we do nowadays.
The main character, Guy Montag, is a fireman, which means in the dystopian future setting, he and fellow firemen burn any books people are caught hiding in their homes. Then the firemen burn the houses down. I guess that means people with books would have to doomscroll on their various other devices including the smartphones which won’t fit in any pocket of the clothes they wear.
Montag has a “eureka” moment when a 16-year-old girl named Clarisse teaches him there could be other ways to experience the world than by watching how women with swaying breasts in the Blue Chew commercials on the Weather Channel manage to make people really focus on the size of hailstones bombing Boobs Canyon in Utah.
Just like that, Montag reforms and does things that I probably shouldn’t tell you because that would be a major spoiler. Well, I guess I can give you a hint—they involve flame throwers. And have you ever wondered how your supervisor would look wearing a charcoal leisure suit?
We just got a couple of books by Ray Bradbury, and I’m pretty excited. Some of the stories I recognize, but there will be some, perhaps many, that will be new to me.
I put 2.5 miles on the step counter today walking on the Clear Creek Trail, so my feet are complaining a bit more.
Sena didn’t come with me on the walk today because of some gardening she had to do. She deals with foot issues and has been trying shoe inserts lately. Trimming them is an inexact science, but she got it right. The thing was, her feet hurt even worse with the inserts.
That’s because they were upside down. There are raised gel contours around the bottom for extra support, which have to face downwards in the shoe. They were a lot more comfortable for her once they were in right side up.
I didn’t get any shoe inserts because my new shoes fit pretty well. I walked a little further than usual, moving east on the part of the trail which has a fair number of ups and downs. It feels more like a nature walk (which is on the Make It OK Calendar for May Mental Health Awareness Month).
The trail is paved, but the trees and other vegetation are thick and tend to crowd around both sides. The trees sometime bend in archways across the path.
It was tempting to park my butt on the bench, but just sitting might have invited more flying bugs to buzz around my ears—despite applying enough OFF to defend me and a few other people.
We’ve walked this trail many times, but I saw something a little unusual today. There’s a big old dead tree that looks like a tuning fork.
I set a goal to reach a familiar place that’s high enough and cleared of foliage to see the creek from high above. That’s where I saw the 3 ducksateers: mallards in a line swimming up and down the stream in a sort of aimless way, yet determined to make good time.
After I returned to the trailhead, I heard the camera-shy gray catbird I always hear in a tall shrub right next to the trail. I sat in a bench close by with my camera out. It made the typical catbird noises, which sounds like a collection of whistles, creaks, and meows. But it hid in the leaves and when it burst onto the paved trail, it moved too quickly for me to get a shot.
I think the catbird hides in the trees right next to other birds, like robins, just to misdirect you. And that fooled me today–again. I thought I got a video clip of the catbird—but it turned out to be a robin, hamming it up for the camera like robins always do.
So, I included an old picture of a real catbird I took about a year and half ago.
shoe inserts wrong side upshoe inserts right side upthe archway treethe beckoning benchthe tuning fork treethe 3 ducksateersthe catbird photo taken a year and a half ago
We’ve had encounters with Bigfoot on various walking trails, but most were on the Clear Creek Trail. I guess Bigfoot is one of those interdimensional beings, moving in and out of our world. It takes getting used to.
Avoid getting into thumb wrestling matches with Bigfoot. And moving in and out of various dimensions can get anyone a little mixed up on holiday dates.
Sena got a Mister Chef pizza oven the other week and it works pretty slick. I’ve cooked a couple of frozen pizzas on it and it’s great for a guy like me—the guy the neighbors alert the fire department about when they get the first whiff of smoke. Some people have no sense of adventure. Hey, if I can operate it, anyone can.
This morning, Sena cooked a ham omelet in about 15 minutes. I guess it just felt like an hour to me because I was hungry.
It’s pretty simple. There’s only one knob. It doesn’t correspond to any specific temperature although the instructions call it a “Temperature knob”. You can pretty much crank it to any number although lower numbers mean you have to wait longer for your food.
MisterChef countertop pizza cookerMisterChef closeupMisterChef even closerMisterChef temp controlMisterChef omelet
You just plug it in, turn a temperature knob and wait for the green light to come on, which evidently doesn’t exactly mean you can toss food in it. You have to wait for the red light to come on next. Then you toss the food on the ceramic surface—uh, that’s the bottom surface, not the top, which is the lid. Things just fall down if you put food up there—something to do with gravity.
It comes with a little instruction manual. In one place it says you can cook frozen pizza in 15-20 minutes, but then in the cooking time guidance it says it takes 9 minutes. I can tell you; 9 minutes doesn’t melt most of the ice. It also gives you the weight in grams of various foods. I’m not sure how useful it is—we’ve never weighed our frozen pizzas.
Pay attention to the warning about steam release when you open the lid. I guess I have about 4 or 5 outpatient visits to the burn clinic to go—then the skin grafts should hold.
We think the manufacturer must have got wind of me using the Mister Chef because they included a small robot extraterrestrial (ET) assistant to make sure I didn’t do anything rash. It got really nervous when I used it. It tried to calm down the smoke detectors, but I don’t think they could hear it. That’s ok, because I can’t hear the smoke detectors. That happens when you get old.
MisterChef omelet and robot ET assistant (usually not included unless there’s a public safety risk)
The robot ET quit a few days later, something about union benefits not covering incompetent cooks. Wise guy. Anyway, have fun with the Mister Chef and remember what Red Green says; “If the women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.”
Trick or Treat by Jim Amos 1981 Globe Gazette Halloween story contest honorable mentionBack of Trick or Treat story Globe Gazette newspaper ads 1981
Yesterday, in the “Writing is Dope” post, I said I didn’t remember what happened to an old Halloween story contest to which I submitted an entry (got honorable mention) in our hometown newspaper, the Globe Gazette in Mason City, Iowa. Sena took one look at that and declared we had a clipping of the story somewhere in the basement.
I doubted it. She insisted and went looking for it. Then we both looked. She finally found it! What a miraculous dope! The title was “Trick or Treat” and I wrote it way back in 1981. That would have been shortly before we moved to Ames, Iowa so I could start college at Iowa State University—44 years ago. That was the beginning of an earthquake of a life path change.
After re-reading it after all these years, I remembered how formal my prose was. In fact, I think I was subconsciously imitating one of my favorite writers, Ray Bradbury. This morning, Sena ordered some of his books.
This yellowed relic brought back so many memories! Now I can torture you with one of them!
Note: You can magnify the images by clicking on the little “i” icon below the images. Below the image, click to view full size. You should get a little magnifying glass you can click to resize the image so you can read it. It’ll open up in a new window. You can also comment on the image by clicking the little dialogue balloon.
I learned a new slang word from Houston White, the guy who makes that specialty coffee in Minneapolis I blogged about yesterday: Brown Sugar Banana (I’m not a fan, but I admire him just the same). The word is “dope.” That used to be an insult or an illicit drug when I was growing up. Now it means “very good.”
I guess writing, at least for me, is dope.
The further I get in time away from the day I retired from practicing consultation psychiatry, the more I reflect about how I became a psychiatrist. I’m a first-generation doctor in my family, so what follows is one way to write about it.
What has helped me get through life was this writing habit along with a sense of humor. When I was little, I wrote short stories for my mother. I was the “number one son” in the words of my father, which meant only that I was the first born. My younger brother came second only in order of birth. He was the track star. I was the paperboy. Our parents separated early on. Sena and I have been married for 47 years.
I have been writing my whole life. I used a very old typewriter. I wrote poetry for a while, eons ago. Like many aspiring writers, I tried to sell them to publishers. The only publisher I remember ever responding sent me a hand-scrawled note on a small sheet of paper. He told this really short, nearly incoherent story about his son, who had apparently died shortly before. His son had a “tough road.” It wasn’t clear exactly how he died, but I remember wondering whether it was suicide. It was very sad.
In the 1970s, while I was a student at one of the Historically Black Colleges and Universities (Huston-Tillotson College, now a university) in Austin, Texas, I submitted a poem to the school’s annual contest and for entry into the college’s collection, called Habari Gabani (which means “what’s going on” in Swahili). It was rejected. Years later, I finally was able to track down a digital copy of Habari Gani.
Habari Gani from Huston-Tillotson College
Eventually, thank goodness for everyone’s sake, I gave up writing poetry. It was as bad as Vogon poetry. You’ll have to read Douglas Adam’s book “A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” for background on that. The Vogons were extraterrestrials who destroyed Earth in order to build an intergalactic bypass for a hyperspace expressway. Vogon poetry is frightfully bad; it’s the waterboarding torture of literature.
I wrote a short Halloween story for my hometown newspaper contest once. It got honorable mention, but I can’t recall what it was about, thank goodness.
I wrote a feature story in a journalism class taught by a nice old guy who made a long speech to the class about the unfortunate tendency for young writers to use flowery, polysyllabic words in their prose. He made it clear that journalists shouldn’t write like that. Although I didn’t consciously do the opposite to annoy him, I did it anyway. I even tossed the word “Brobdingnagian” in it, which might have referred to some high bluffs somewhere in Iowa. Despite being infested with Vogonisms, my teacher tolerated it, sparing my feelings. I must have passed the course although how I did it remains a mystery.
I wrote and co-edited a book with the chairman of the University of Iowa Healthcare Dept of Psychiatry, Dr. Robert G. Robinson, MD. It was “Psychosomatic Medicine: An Introduction to Consultation-Liaison Psychiatry”. There were several contributors. Many of them were my colleagues. It was published in 2010, and prior to that, I’d written an unpublished manual that I wrote for the residents.
Handbooks of CL PsychiatryHandbook of Psychosomatic Medicine
There wasn’t any humor in either book, because they were supposed to be evidence of scholarly productivity from a clinical track academic psychiatrist. But I used humor and non-scientific verbiage in my lectures, albeit sparingly. I remember one visiting scientist remarked after one of my Grand Rounds presentations, “You are so—poetic” and I detected a faint disparaging note in his tone…probably a reaction to a latent Vogonism. It’s not impossible to monkey-wrench those into a PowerPoint slide or two.
I used to write a former blog called The Practical Psychosomaticist, later changed to The Practical CL Psychiatrist when The Academy of Psychosomatic Medicine changed their name back to The Academy of Consult-Liaison Psychiatry back in 2017. I wrote The Practical CL Psychiatrist for a little over 7 years. I stopped, but then missed blogging so much I went back to it in 2019 after only 8 months. I guess I was in withdrawal from writing.
We got new stuff! We really needed new, durable playing cards and so we have a brand-new set of plastic playing cards. They’re really slippery and I dropped them on the floor right away. They float and glide on every surface. They fit in our automatic card shuffler, though. I haven’t yet tried to shuffle them manually. We played cribbage with them and I’m glad we didn’t try that tonight.
The other new thing is a new coffee: Houston White Brown Sugar Banana flavored coffee. I’m not sure about it but if I turn into an extraterrestrial, I’ll warn you.
Copag playing cardsslippery new cardscopag cribbageThe Get Down Coffee Coblack coffee black cultureGrandma’s hands
Houston White runs The Get Down Coffee Co. It’s distributed out of Minneapolis, Minnesota. They put 5% of their profits back into the community of Camdentown North Minneapolis.
It’s inspired by Grandma’s Hand, who evidently was a miraculous cook. Anybody who recognizes the words Grandma’s Hands also knows that it’s the title of a song by Bill Withers.
Go Retire Psychiatrist 