Last night I wanted to write something pithy about the death of Andrea Dworkin, but got frustrated, gave up and watched some porno instead.
Blood, Tar and Coffee Grounds
In my secret identity, I’m the mild-mannered (okay, angry and abrasive) editor of a pharmaceutical business magazine. The big news in the biz this week was that the FDA “recommended” that Pfizer stop selling Bextra, a Cox-2 inhibiting anti-inflammatory in the same class of drugs as Vioxx and Celebrex. The move sucks for Pfizer, which bought Pharmacia for $60 billion a few years ago with the plan to use Celebrex and Bextra to build a Cox-2 powerhouse. Now it’s stuck with a bloated infrastructure, tons of redundant employees, and a business model that’s still predicated on the crapshoot of Pharma R&D.
But why is the FDA calling for Bextra’s withdrawal? Well, it’s not for the cardiac events that led to the Vioxx disaster. The FDA just wants more data on that from Pfizer. Nope, the FDA withdrawal notice cites, “Reports of serious and potentially life-threatening skin reactions, including deaths, in patients using Bextra.”
That’s right: “life-threatening skin reactions”.
Well, I couldn’t leave that alone, so I had to find out exactly what sorta skin reactions can kill a dude. And then I found Stevens-Johnson syndrome.
Sure, at the sound of it, Stevens-Johnson syndrome oughtta just cause you to break out in slacks or drive a Volvo, but it turns out the be one monstrously messed-up medical condition. When the skin’s reaction is “sloughing off,” I understand where the “life-threatening” part comes in.
Still, that wasn’t the weirdest thing that I came across in my little research. No, it was the FDA’s drug info page for Bextra that wins that award. Because the FDA wants us to know the following:
Stop taking Bextra and call your doctor right away if you get:
• a burning stomach pain
• black bowel movements that look like tar
• vomit that looks like blood or coffee grounds
Now keep in mind, that’s before the serious issues with the drug arose.
And you guys wonder why I don’t quit this day job.
The Dean of my grad school was named Eva Brann . . .
Terry Eagleton reviews Pascale Casanova’s The World Republic of Letters. I laughed like a retard over the following:
A great many ordinary men and women in Latin America know who Pablo Neruda is, in contrast to the participant in the BBC Radio phone-in quiz who thought Evelyn Waugh was Hitler’s mistress.
Pontificating?
Fill out your Pope Brackets!
VM contributor Sirk sez, “I’m taking Duke.” C’mon, Sirk! There’s no way Poland will win back-to-back papacies!
Where’s Larry Hagman?
Made it to Dallas last night, dear reader. The flight had some bumps, so I popped a little Vicodin on the way up, which helped me turn into a piece of rubber. I really do need to get to a doctor sometime so I can get a prescription for a little anti-anxiety med for flights.
Fortunately, this conference is for clinical research personnel, so I didn’t feel I was in much danger when I tossed down five gin-and-tonics during the NCAA hoops finals last night. At the very least, they’d be able to determine the exact drug-drug interaction that would lead to my state of inebriation.
Tonight, I’ll likely hit the Mavericks home game. I’ve only been to 4 or 5 different arenas, as far as I can recall, which means I’m lagging behind the number of baseball stadia I’ve attended games in (7).
Like, as ever, you needed to know.
Weekending
Commemorating the death of Pope John Paul II, the official VM girlfriend and I went out to see Sin City today. I enjoyed the flick, but not for any sense of emotional resonance. It was fun to look at, and felt like a roller-coaster ride at times. I was amazed that Mickey Rourke has devolved to the point at which he was a plausible choice to play the role of Marv.
Frank Miller’s comics tend not psychologize, so it’s no surprise that the movie was more thrill-ride than deep exploration of criminal personae. We don’t have a new Pulp Fiction on our hands, but those don’t come around too often.
Now, though, she’s back at her place in the city, and I’m home, watching the first game of the baseball season. We both sighed pretty heavily as we passed Yankee Stadium on the FDR Drive. Being a pretty even-handed guy, it’s been tough for me to deal with last year’s baseball playoffs. I’m willing to say, “My favorite team suffered the worst choke-job in the history of American professional team sports.” I’ve offered kudos to the Red Sox for playing hard and forcing that choke. Doesn’t make it easier to deal with.
Hearing the announcer say, “Randy Johnson is now taking the field for the New York Yankees!” was pretty freaky. I don’t like the strategy of signing the biggest free agents available and, as much as people goof on the Yanks for that, during their recent World Series run (1996, 1998, 1999, 2000), they didn’t really bring in significant free agents. They built through trades while they admittedly DID have a larger budget than other teams, so they could accommodate more players. But they didn’t just offer big money to bring guys in. That only started as the core got older, and it’s led to gaudy stats, but no World Series.
All of which is to say, I’m waiting for another Paul O’Neill to show up on this squad. I probably oughtta read Buster Olney’s recent book.
And, mark that I am, I do cop to sitting here on the sofa, cheering for Jeter.
But screw A-Rod.
No Kevin McHale?
It’s the NBA All-Ugly team! Glad they gave a shout out to that classic Celtic squad of 1985-86, but still found room for Keith Closs AND his freckles!
I’m disappointed that the Hubie Brown entry doesn’t mention his real likeness: the dudes from Alien Nation.
Go Shorty
My music-maniac alter ego has posted a new Mad Mix! Check it out!
Fools’ Day
A little while ago, I wrote about a science-fiction author friend of mine who suffered complications from an appendectomy and now has a GAW (Gaping Abdominal Wound) to deal with for the next 6-10 months.
He’s recovering well, and it was his birthday today, so the official VM girlfriend & I took him and his partner out to a restaurant around the corner from his home in the Upper West Side. He was in good spirits, and happy to celebrate his 63rd with us.
I called a few friends of ours before dinner and let them know that we’d be at the restaurant, if they wanted to drop by or call to wish him a happy birthday/get well. A few called, which made him even happier. I love doing good things for my friends. Be a fool; just love people.
Here’s a pic of him (the bearded guy) and his partner:
Can I Opt Out of Humanity?
I can only hope that this story — about Terry Schiavo’s parents selling the names and e-mails of their supporters/donors to a direct-mail firm — isn’t true. Because if it is, it might count as the single most disturbing aspect of this whole episode.