Diagonal lines… The western section of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge viewed from behind the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero in San Francisco. This is in response to Cee’s fun Foto Challenge at Cee’s Photography.
Monthly Archives: June 2018
Husbands and Lovers
Despite the implication of my given name, my sister is the beautiful one in our family. Even at eight years older than myself, she’s still the one who will get the second looks when we’re out together. I know it shouldn’t bother me; still, I feel the slight prickling of serotonin, something like losing at a round of tennis… again. Regardless, I feel close to her, my onēsan, or oldest sister whom I’ve always admired and with whom I feel a deep and special familial closeness, though she and I lead very different lives.
We sit down for lunch, taking a break from a mutual family obligation for awhile, and she tells me about a series she’s been following on a streaming TV service, admitting to a little binge-watching. The main character, she tells me, is truly, “Hot.” He’s a virile and handsome, tough and rugged Civil War soldier 
who comes out west to get revenge for the murder of his wife. Under the rough exterior, however, he’s actually very intelligent, well-educated and contemplative… if not also a little broken and vulnerable. “I may be getting old,” she says. “But I’m certainly not dead.”
Our conversation came to mind this morning. Getting out to run a little later than usual due to a medical appointment, the midday heat seemed to congeal a whole series of recent events into some kind of cheesy brain omelet. And with oxytocin as an ingredient due to its inclusion in a comment on another WordPress site, it got me to considering just how much our being pickled in a sea of hormonal neurotransmitters relates to some other curious aspects of human organic chemistry’s effects upon our cognitive states.
Beyond its powerful role in the neurochemistry of love and bonding, oxytocin is also associated with trust, group behaviors and even fashion. But oxytocin doesn’t usually work alone. Its effects can be combined with other potent conveyances of cognitive relish, such as dopamine, serotonin and 
endorphins, creating a spiked cocktail of powerfully mind-altering agents. That this hormonal alchemy can result in something like the near religious experience associated with certain behaviors pursuant to the survival of the species should come as no surprise. But there are, of course, other hormones in the human body.
It remains a source of contention whenever it gets brought up, but most women understand how shifts in their hormones can affect moods, perceptions, and responses. But this is only due to women having more opportunity to correlate noticeable changes in physical and cognitive states, whereas men simply don’t. Consequently, a woman who’s aware of being in a temporarily uncomfortable condition due to a particular hormonal effect can end up being the recipient of criticisms… perhaps from some grunting Silverback simultaneously attesting that the testosterone-driven chest thumping is, “normal.”
Regardless, this can give females (human, anyway) a more nuanced insight into the effects of all those hormones. We begin to recognize the cortisol moments for what they are, migraine-fueled neuronal misfirings. And if we’re really perceptive, we may even begin to recognize how we might have been tricked by more pleasant hormonal effects, perhaps falling in “love” with the wrong person in a sort of oxytocin-dopamine addiction that keeps us coming back for more… which suddenly reminds me of a college boyfriend who was truly hot. But I digress, sort of.
Sitting in the medical office at the local college while filling out a questionnaire, the morning NPR news was playing in the background. The reporter was describing how the U.S. Supreme Court had just shot down a California law requiring anti-abortion crisis pregnancy centers to disclose that they aren’t actually medical facilities to the women who visit them. Listening to the report, it made me wonder what really drives the fears that so many Americans seem to have about women taking control of their own reproductive functions.
A little later, I was engaged in one of just a few routines that have followed me from those college days, the result of having volunteered in a couple of long-term medical studies documenting the lingering effects from something I did all those years ago. I parted with some bodily-fluids and watched the screen on an ultrasound for awhile. Afterward, the nurse-practitioner ran through a few follow-up questions in response to the questionnaire, especially interested in my observations regarding a couple of slowly failing joints. She seemed impressed that I was still physically active, though not so much that I still ride a motorcycle. Life’s short, regardless, I reminded her before I headed out for my run.
Thoughts cooked to a fair scorch at about mile-four, it occurred to me that we just don’t want to admit that there’s an animal aspect to our existence. Consequently, we enter dangerous territory when we bring together certain subjects in discussions, like combining women with topics such as hormones and mate preferences, and how these kinds of things might lead to alternatives to traditional choices. And hormonal contraception and how it could affect how a woman might feel about the alternatives in her own life fall right into this treacherous territory.
Working back to this morning’s NPR coverage, I know a fair number of single moms. The reasons for the lifestyle vary, sometimes reflecting a considered choice. Sometimes not. I’ll be honest that it’s not something I’d choose for myself, but I can’t fault anyone who’s entered into the obligation with open eyes and an honest consideration of the responsibility for the life she’s chosen to nurture. Relationships fail for a lot of reasons. Oxytocin, dopamine and testosterone aren’t replacements for a balanced personality, compassion or personal responsibility. And there comes a point in every addiction where there’s a choice to be made.
Arriving home a little after mile-six, the endorphins had kicked-in, something like the pleasant side-effects of a shot of corticosteroids. All I needed was to stand in front of a fan for awhile to cool off… life still feels good. These days, those long runs are far more important to me than the result of the seven 
extra doses I’d swap with the iron-tablets in the dispenser during my college years. It takes more effort to get to that oxytocin feeling anyway… though I’m certainly not dead. And since my husband’s presently off working in a state where you can’t even get a beer on Sundays, who knows… I might actually watch a little TV tonight.
Blood
In Japan, there exists a tradition that one’s personality correlates to her or his blood type: “A”, “B”, “O”, or “AB”. Knowing one’s blood-type is thus seen to give some insight into a person’s character. Consequently, from pop-stars to dating websites, and even the websites of many politicians, blood-type is commonly included as a part of one’s public profile.
In some ways, the assertion is at least superficially similar to a behavioral classification system proposed by two American cardiologists, Meyer Friedman and Ray Rosenman, in the 1950’s. Friedman and Rosenman’s system classified people as fitting into either of two categories, “type-A” or “type-B”, according to the relative stress-levels associated with their personalities. They described type-A personalities as higher-stress, characterizing them as extroverted, compulsively organized, and driven to achieve. Conversely, type-B people were described as lower stress, finding more reward in creativity, quiet pursuits and deep thought, and as having more tolerance of disorder in their lives.
Friedman and Rosenman, however, never correlated their system to blood-types, as their primary interest was simply in identifying causal factors in personality relating to heart disease. Conversely, the Japanese tradition directly correlates one’s personality to a particular blood-type, a classification system based on the presence of certain antigens and antibodies in an individual’s blood. And many Japanese, do in fact, believe it possible to derive one’s personality traits from the result of a simple blood test.
This tradition first started as a result of research conducted by the Japanese psychologist, Takeji Furukawa, in 1927. Pursuing some means other than examinations for evaluating new students at a university-related girls’ school for new teachers, he settled on a previously proposed idea that blood-
types affected personality after observing several members of his own family. Based on a very small research sample and several assumptions (11 participants including no “AB” blood-types), Furukawa then produced a thesis titled, “The Study of Temperament Through Blood Type,” which was published in the journal, Psychological Research.
For the most part, scientists and academics of the time disregarded Furukawa’s conclusions. However, by 1933, the theory had become popular with nationalists and militarists within the Japanese government. This would spawn some three-hundred or so further studies intended to identify everything from the racial tendencies of peoples within occupied lands to the best prospects for new soldiers. But by the conclusion of WWII, the idea had been mostly forgotten.
In the 1970s, however, Masahiko Nomi, a journalist with an engineering background, resurrected Furukawa’s idea in a series of books. Nomi, who was not a scientist and who had no medical background, nevertheless claimed that he could demonstrate statistically significant correlations between blood-types and personality. His first book became a bestseller, and by the 1980s, Furukawa’s ideas had become popular fodder for Japanese mass-media. The idea subsequently spread across much of east Asia.
How seriously all of this is taken in Japan is debatable, but it’s been known to result in incidents of serious bullying, to sometimes make or break relationships and marriage-proposals, or even to affect consideration for employment. More notably, however, it drives a great deal of marketing, from match-making services 
and books to diets and products ranging from specially formulated chocolates to condoms. So while there may not be a great deal of actual science to back up the idea that one’s personality is largely determined by blood-type, it doesn’t look to be something that will be disappearing from the Japanese public consciousness any time soon.
So, which blood-type are you?
A The most common blood-type in Japan is “A”. According to current Japanese tradition, these people are what’s known as “kichōmen” (几帳面), which translates roughly as “methodical” or “meticulous”. Nomi classifies them as “cool”. In some ways similar to Friedman and Rosenman’s “type-A” personality, the Japanese blood-type “A” correlated personality is perceived as more stressed and intensely focused, diligent and conscientious, and orderly. However, the Japanese tradition also presents people with “A” blood-types as more patient, tactful and considerate of others. In essence, they represent the archetypes of Japanese civility.
B In contrast, blood-type “B” people are usually referred to as “jikochū” (自己中), meaning self-centered. Nomi classifies this type as “active”. Blood-type “B” people are seen as more selfish and erratic, quick to change their minds, unpredictable, and reluctant to make commitments. However, these same traits that can make blood-type “B” people somewhat irresponsible also give them some unique strengths-of-character. For instance, they’re more adaptable to change, adventurous, unpretentious, resilient and curious. Blood-type “B” people are also portrayed as more passionate (which can be seen as either a positive or a negative in Japanese society).
O Blood-type “O” is known as as “rakkanshugi” (楽観主義), meaning “optimistic”. Nomi classifies “O” types as “hot”. Blood-type “O” people are generally depicted as self-determined and confident, though possibly to the point of being a bit arrogant. They’re leaders, sometimes cold and calculating, but also peaceful, realistic, and attuned to ultimately beneficial courses of action. While not necessarily epitomizing the traditional image of Japanese virtue, they are seen as people with both the ambition and the pragmatism to achieve wealth and success in their lives… as well as for those who might choose to follow them.
AB Blood-type “AB” people are are called “kawarimono” (変わり者), translating literally as “unusual people”, or more accurately as “eccentric”. Nomi refers to “AB” blood-types as “care-free”. Typically, blood-type “AB” people are seen as Japanese society’s divergent-thinkers, dreamers, and spiritual types. They’re portrayed as composed and trustworthy, but not necessarily practical-minded or overly concerned with day-to-day responsibilities. Consequently, they tend to be the “starving artists”, creative and talented, but also a bit irresponsible. In many ways, they correspond to the blood-type “O” personality, but with a less pragmatic perspective.
Curiously, “Rh” doesn’t fit into any of this, probably because less than a half-percent of Japanese are “Rh-negative”. Nor is there any consideration of the thirty-four other, less well known human blood-grouping systems. Hmm… a new book?
Stress
I’ve been told that I handle stress fairly well. But I’ll be the first to admit that while I’m not really a “type-A” personality, I can at times get pretty intense. Mostly, that’s due not being a procrastinator; I usually feel the most stress when things aren’t getting done. So I guess I’m maybe just good at “compartmentalizing” unfinished tasks. When I reach the point where I know there’s nothing more that can be done, I’ll tend to set a particularly frustrating problem aside and move on to something else for awhile.
That said, however, it’s been a pretty stressful few weeks.
Sometimes the cosmic karma just seems to converge on a place where no matter which direction one turns, it’s simply going to amount to running uphill on some other mountain of sand. I know from experience that even those times shall pass. But I also recognize that such moments can serve as signals that it might be time for a little re-evaluation.
And that’s how I found myself about 15-seconds from completely losing it in a car dealership.
The crap-fest started with a planned 8-hour drive down to my mom’s place… for reasons that involve another story altogether. At any rate, I didn’t make it very far before the old artillery piece that’s been my main form of transportation in the US for the last fourteen years finally decided to throw in the towel. The rest of that day was spent arranging to get the old truck a lift back home where it was determined that large amounts of engine coolant were somehow filling a couple of cylinders… which I’m told is a really bad thing.
I was also told that the stress of 265,000-miles of mountain road driving will do that to a vehicle, and that I might want to consider a replacement as opposed to what would amount to a fairly involved repair.
So started a latest adventure in motorcycling. I figured that making the trip on two wheels would constitute a nice break, though the route down wouldn’t be ideal. Ordinarily, I’d push that long of a ride over a couple of days. But since Highway-1 along the coast to San Luis Obispo is still closed due to a massive landslide and bridge collapse that happened more than a year back, taking the scenic route 
south after relaxing for a night in Monterey just wasn’t going to work. Consequently, I made the decision to just tough it out and make it into a long day trip.
After a twelve-hour, 400-mile ride that included numerous increasingly lengthy and more frequent breaks, I arrived at my mom’s place, utterly exhausted, dehydrated, and sore in places I didn’t even know could hurt.
That evening, I medicated myself with enough wine and ibuprofen to facilitate ten hours of sleep, and awoke to a big cup of coffee in the morning. Then I bid my sister farewell as she set off for her own home in an enormous, climate-controlled, luxury SUV. It was just a little later when I discovered that my mom had no idea where she’d put the keys to her car. The rest of that day was spent in a fruitless search for access to a vehicle that no one was even certain would start anymore.
Day three began as I donned a day-pack for a walk across town to the second-nearest car-rental facility.
To be fair, the car rental place had offered to have someone pick me up. But the route was mostly downhill, and I decided that I needed the exercise anyway. Still, it was a little troubling that the cost of renting a decent car for two-weeks was going to run more than enough to have covered round-trip airfare between my place and my mom’s.
Looking at my motorcycle after returning with our temporary four-wheeled conveyance, I concluded that my trip back home would have to include a mandatory night or two in Monterey, despite the diversion adding two-hours to the route. My aching spine but for a set of car keys…
Three days would be even better.
Laying in bed that night, I got to thinking (which isn’t necessarily a good thing). And that was when it occurred to me that if I could replace my old truck while I was staying at my mom’s house, it would actually solve three problems at once. I’d have taken care of getting a replacement vehicle, save myself the car rental, and I could also rent a trailer to haul my motorcycle back home with me, thus sparing myself another beating to the kidneys. And that’s how I ended up at a local dealer of Japanese, mid-size pickups.
I tried my best to explain to the little beach-side college town car salesman that snow and deer and road sand are what characterize the domain of mountain conveyances. Consequently, shelling out an amount equivalent to a hundred round-trip flights between my mom’s place and my home was just too much for a vehicle counter to everything I know about how and where I drive. Heated leather seats and a sun-roof are simply unnecessary liabilities in something that would likely spend most of the winter in 4-wheel drive. What I really needed was a vehicle that could be buried in snow for a week and still start reliably. The thing wasn’t even going to be “new” anymore by the time it was parked in my driveway.
It took awhile to convince the salesman to show it to me, but the low-mileage “CPO” (“Certified Pre-Owned” as a euphemism for “used”), returned lease vehicle hiding out on a far corner of the lot seemed perfect.
So, after a little song-and-dance over the price, we shook on a deal. And then I asked who I needed to have the bank make the check out to… which is apparently not how it works at businesses that also make money by selling loans. I won’t go into the details of what ensued, but suffice it to say that I ended up filling out a loan application with the intent of buying it out myself as soon as it was approved. And that was when I remembered (was reminded) that I also have an eternal fraud alert on my credit, which wouldn’t have been a problem… if I could have called the bank from my home phone.
Car salesmen really don’t like to have a customer walk out in the middle of a deal, but I think the guy I was working with could see that I needed to move on to something else… at least for awhile.
Regardless, this afternoon found a new, if slightly used truck occupying a spot in the driveway (it won’t fit in the garage), right next to the place where the flatbed driver left its now decommissioned predecessor. So, after returning the motorcycle trailer, making a quick stop at my insurance agent’s office, and pulling the “single-trip” California registration off the windshield of my new transportation, I’m now contemplating the fate of that old and venerable, but now lifeless conveyance. The reflexive answer is a Craigslist ad or a call to the Pick-n-Pull down the hill. But looking at the once trusty old mountain goat with its storied scratch-and-dent bodywork above the usual puddle of oil, I’m feeling a lot of well-earned good karma… and pleasantly less in the way of stress.
Luminous Aether 
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