How do you feel about donating your organ's after you die? It's certainly something that has crossed your mind at one point or another. Whether you're for it or against it, chances are the act to become a registered organ donor has incurred some sort of stall on the process. I'm 24 years old, and I'm a long way off planning my death.
But if the US or the UK had an 'opt-out' system, like most of Europe, then things would be a different story. In a 'soft' opt-out system, like Spain, Italy and France, you would have to write or express before dying that you are against donating your organs. However, when it comes times to discuss donation, your family would also have a say, and even if you were for it, they could have a right to deny the donation. In most countries, something around 85% of families adhere to their dead relative's wishes, while only 15% reject them. In a 'hard' opt-out system (like in Austria), the family is not consulted. Spain is recognized as the leader in organ donations.
Why am I even talking about this? It's a strange thing to blog about, I suppose. The Observer this past Sun ran a huge story and are campaigning for the laws in the UK to be reformed to the soft opt-out system, like that of Spain. In the story, they revealed that the UK has the lowest transplants and donations in Europe, with three Britons dying each day waiting for an organ. They didn't have any facts or figures for the US, but I imagine it's not much better.
I remember one of my friend's saying that they'd never be a donor because they won't resuscitate you or attempt to save your life more than three times once your heart stopped beating, because they'd rather take your organs. Somehow I can't imagine this being the case. Especially since most paramedics aren't showing up with an organ donor truck following behind it.
I'm all for a change as well. If my organs could save five others, than my death would mean more than just my passing on. I'll say this right now, I might not be a registered organ donor, but I certainly would donate 'em all. I'm not taking them with me, that's for sure. And once I'm dead and all my organs that could be used were removed - cremate me, please!! I'm afraid of the dark. Don't stick my body in a box underground, nothing could sound worse.
Sorry for all the morbidity.
Monday, 14 January 2008
Sunday, 13 January 2008
Some resolutions I can stick to
My apologizes for no posts in Dec (if anyone actually noticed). Well, happy 2008! I'm expecting fine things to occur this new year. So far, things are going well. I've been sober all 13 days of 2008, and detox is paying off real nice. I've gone to the gym 9 days of 2008, shed 2 pounds, and saved countless pennies (which is always nice, given I have £58 to last me until the end of the month...).
New year's resolutions include:
1) Lose weight (20 lbs by May - that's a pound a week), get fit, and have a nice four pack.
2) Not drink so much and allow my alter-ego - I'll call her Bianca the angry slut - to finally disappear.
3) Find a nice guy to snuggle, go to the movies with, and just be happy with.
Now, I think I've actually set goals I can actually stick to. The finding a guy one, although a bit difficult, should be something I can achieve this year, as #2 should help, and moving on from my ex, who I'll call 'A', should really help.
I had an eye-opening/life changing Christmas break back in Boston. I confronted A and told him I was in love with him.
**Background: A and I broke up the beginning of senior year at UMass, after only being together for the summer. Still, we've had this weird 'on-off' relationship since than. That's 3 1/2 years of still being hung up on someone. That's, as some would put it, unhealthy.**
Anyways, after consulting with a few of my best friends from home, I decided to do that thing I thought only happened in movies and chick-lit, I decided to tell him how I felt. I believe I had done this once before, on my 22nd birthday, after a thousand shots, that I loved him, which put him off guard (I'm pretty sure he may have matched my thousand shots and upped it by a few more) and left him speachless. In my very drunken stuper I started crying (mind you, I was in Faneuil Hall in late Aug) and ran off, and had to be consoled by my best friend's boyfriend (now her fiance) until A found me and took me to a bench to talk. Sadly, I don't remember much from that.. So this was to be a bit more tactfully done. And hopefully, with a better outcome.
If it had been a movie, when I told him I loved him, and wanted to be with him, and would be willing to move back to Boston from London in a year, he would have looked into my eyes and told me he wanted me to. However, my life is not like Hollywood, and instead he told me his shit, and that he didn't want me to regret coming back. He didn't want to be my regret. At least, part of that could be a Hollywood movie, I suppose.
Needless to say, I'm not changing my five year plan anytime soon. I'm staying in London. I'm losing 20 pounds and getting myself a hot bod. I'm cutting back on the black-outs and booze. Oh, and I'm actually happy. Now if I can only find that new guy...
New year's resolutions include:
1) Lose weight (20 lbs by May - that's a pound a week), get fit, and have a nice four pack.
2) Not drink so much and allow my alter-ego - I'll call her Bianca the angry slut - to finally disappear.
3) Find a nice guy to snuggle, go to the movies with, and just be happy with.
Now, I think I've actually set goals I can actually stick to. The finding a guy one, although a bit difficult, should be something I can achieve this year, as #2 should help, and moving on from my ex, who I'll call 'A', should really help.
I had an eye-opening/life changing Christmas break back in Boston. I confronted A and told him I was in love with him.
**Background: A and I broke up the beginning of senior year at UMass, after only being together for the summer. Still, we've had this weird 'on-off' relationship since than. That's 3 1/2 years of still being hung up on someone. That's, as some would put it, unhealthy.**
Anyways, after consulting with a few of my best friends from home, I decided to do that thing I thought only happened in movies and chick-lit, I decided to tell him how I felt. I believe I had done this once before, on my 22nd birthday, after a thousand shots, that I loved him, which put him off guard (I'm pretty sure he may have matched my thousand shots and upped it by a few more) and left him speachless. In my very drunken stuper I started crying (mind you, I was in Faneuil Hall in late Aug) and ran off, and had to be consoled by my best friend's boyfriend (now her fiance) until A found me and took me to a bench to talk. Sadly, I don't remember much from that.. So this was to be a bit more tactfully done. And hopefully, with a better outcome.
If it had been a movie, when I told him I loved him, and wanted to be with him, and would be willing to move back to Boston from London in a year, he would have looked into my eyes and told me he wanted me to. However, my life is not like Hollywood, and instead he told me his shit, and that he didn't want me to regret coming back. He didn't want to be my regret. At least, part of that could be a Hollywood movie, I suppose.
Needless to say, I'm not changing my five year plan anytime soon. I'm staying in London. I'm losing 20 pounds and getting myself a hot bod. I'm cutting back on the black-outs and booze. Oh, and I'm actually happy. Now if I can only find that new guy...
Wednesday, 14 November 2007
I graduamated!
I notice it's been a long time since my last post. I blame it on all the visitors I've had over the past month. Ryan came out for 10 days (16-25 Oct), overlapping with my flatmate's work friend Kathleen's visit for 6 days, and then my parents trounced over 3-9 Nov. Needless to say, I'm pretty much 'visitored-out'.
Aside from all the visitors, I have great news. I graduated on the 6th Nov from the University of Westminster with a Masters degree in International Journalism- Print. Yay! It was oddly anti-climactic. Still, it felt really amazing to walk across the stage with a rolled up scroll (albeit it wasn't my actual diploma). There was no rehearsal to this graduation, but there were no real screw ups (aside from some wrong names being pronounced).
The parents were in town to see it all go down. I'm not sure I would have gone otherwise (who schedules a graduation on a Tuesday, anyways?!). But since they were in town I took a few days off work to do that and hang out with them. They had a great time, especially my father who finally made it out of the country (I don't count Canada as 'leaving the country', since no passport was required up until 2007).
Well, they're gone now, and I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. I'm kicking a rubbish cold I developed last week while they were still here, I'm back at the gym, and I'm back to my early to sleep, early to rise, schedule.
Of course there's a lot more I could talk about. I enjoy discussing the differences I discover between the English and us Americans. It's also weird how the longer I'm here, the more I develop these English differences and completely confuse my American family and friends. It's not so much calling American 'soccer', 'football' - and then having my dad go off on a spiel about the New England Patriots. No, Dad, I wasn't talking about them. I'm pretty sure I would not willing bring them up in conversation.
Yesterday one of my work colleagues got a cake pan for Christmas delivered to the office. Then her and a few others began talking about marzipan and cake. I queried (see, what American says queried?!) what the H was marzipan and what was it doing in a cake. Anyways, everyone proceeded to tell me it was the layer between the cake and the icing in most wedding cakes. Well... no American wedding cakes I've ever come across have a layer of marzipan before the frosting (and it's certainly FROSTING not ICING). Just a little diff that seems to baffle my colleagues and myself. My, we are so different, just in all the little ways we tend to take for granted.
Aside from all the visitors, I have great news. I graduated on the 6th Nov from the University of Westminster with a Masters degree in International Journalism- Print. Yay! It was oddly anti-climactic. Still, it felt really amazing to walk across the stage with a rolled up scroll (albeit it wasn't my actual diploma). There was no rehearsal to this graduation, but there were no real screw ups (aside from some wrong names being pronounced).
The parents were in town to see it all go down. I'm not sure I would have gone otherwise (who schedules a graduation on a Tuesday, anyways?!). But since they were in town I took a few days off work to do that and hang out with them. They had a great time, especially my father who finally made it out of the country (I don't count Canada as 'leaving the country', since no passport was required up until 2007).
Well, they're gone now, and I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. I'm kicking a rubbish cold I developed last week while they were still here, I'm back at the gym, and I'm back to my early to sleep, early to rise, schedule.
Of course there's a lot more I could talk about. I enjoy discussing the differences I discover between the English and us Americans. It's also weird how the longer I'm here, the more I develop these English differences and completely confuse my American family and friends. It's not so much calling American 'soccer', 'football' - and then having my dad go off on a spiel about the New England Patriots. No, Dad, I wasn't talking about them. I'm pretty sure I would not willing bring them up in conversation.
Yesterday one of my work colleagues got a cake pan for Christmas delivered to the office. Then her and a few others began talking about marzipan and cake. I queried (see, what American says queried?!) what the H was marzipan and what was it doing in a cake. Anyways, everyone proceeded to tell me it was the layer between the cake and the icing in most wedding cakes. Well... no American wedding cakes I've ever come across have a layer of marzipan before the frosting (and it's certainly FROSTING not ICING). Just a little diff that seems to baffle my colleagues and myself. My, we are so different, just in all the little ways we tend to take for granted.
Thursday, 11 October 2007
Pet peeve no. 58
I cannot stand it when people speak in double negatives. It neither is intelligent nor comprehensible. Take for instance, this quote I was reading from MSNBC on the school shooting in Cleveland yesterday:
He’s crazy. He threatened to blow up our school. He threatened to stab everybody. We didn’t think nothing of it. -Doneisha LeVert
What the hell is that supposed to mean? We thought of it? We didn't think nothing of it? I can't comprehend... my brain... is going to ... EXPLODE!
So please, when speaking, or writing for that matter, just say what you mean. Because if you don't got no speaking skills - we'll, you'd just be plain lying.
He’s crazy. He threatened to blow up our school. He threatened to stab everybody. We didn’t think nothing of it. -Doneisha LeVert
What the hell is that supposed to mean? We thought of it? We didn't think nothing of it? I can't comprehend... my brain... is going to ... EXPLODE!
So please, when speaking, or writing for that matter, just say what you mean. Because if you don't got no speaking skills - we'll, you'd just be plain lying.
Friday, 14 September 2007
L.O.L.
Abbreviations are fun. Especially when something you're trying to promote becomes something you don't want your kids to understand... I love it.
Monday, 10 September 2007
A year later....
Looking back, I didn't really expect to be here at this point in my life. It's odd to discover that what had made you 'you' was just something that had been comfortably familiar. The people who surrounded you, the clothes you wore, the room you slept in, the car you drove - these I truly believed made me Jocelyn. But when you shed all of these and moved across the ocean with two suitcases and a few ideas - who, then, were you? You had to make new friends from all over the world, with different accents, hair styles, and visions, politics, and ideas. You had to find comfort in a bed that didn't seem like yours and use an umbrella, rather than a car, when it rained.
It's been a year since I moved to London. I imagined I'd be back in Boston now, perhaps getting a job there, or moving on to New York or San Francisco. I flew over on the fifth anniversary of 9/11. Not a date many would want to fly out of Logan airport. Yet, I did it not expecting to return until Christmas. And I'm still here, not expecting to return until Christmas. And then be back in time for New Years.
Home is a place as familiar as anything can be. You know where you lay your bag down at the end of the day. Where you keep the wine opener. How to work the washing machine and that the Brita filter needs to be changed at the end of the month. That your flatmate will either be in a great mood, or maybe tired and cranky. This is home now. It went from two suitcases, to a collection of crap. It went from knowing no one, to knowing many new faces, people, and friends. To having a 'local', to learning to spell in British English, not just American English. It went to getting a first salary paying job - in the pound, not the dollar. Learning how to pay rent on time can be easier than understanding why English men are more difficult than American men.
And being in my mid-twenties in a fabulous city outside of my old comfort zone could have been the greatest decision I ever made. It's funny to look at my old life, and think of how frustrated I would be. Wondering where I was going, and when my big break would be, as my friends grew up around me, got jobs, bought houses, got engaged and settled down. I'm proud of them. But I'm also proud that I didn't just sit back and watch them grow up. I decided to grow up on my own. I'm learning how to take care of myself, what makes me happy, what pisses me off, how to get around, and how much (little) money I can survive on without having to ask for help.
Where will I be next year? Some things haven't changed. I still love surprises. I'll be content waiting until then. Who knows where I'll be, what I'll be doing, and who I'll be surrounded by. But, I'm pretty sure if I know myself yet, I'll be happy. Or, at the very least, comfortable.
Happy Anniversary, Jocelyn. London is more than you were banking on. And that's a good thing.
It's been a year since I moved to London. I imagined I'd be back in Boston now, perhaps getting a job there, or moving on to New York or San Francisco. I flew over on the fifth anniversary of 9/11. Not a date many would want to fly out of Logan airport. Yet, I did it not expecting to return until Christmas. And I'm still here, not expecting to return until Christmas. And then be back in time for New Years.
Home is a place as familiar as anything can be. You know where you lay your bag down at the end of the day. Where you keep the wine opener. How to work the washing machine and that the Brita filter needs to be changed at the end of the month. That your flatmate will either be in a great mood, or maybe tired and cranky. This is home now. It went from two suitcases, to a collection of crap. It went from knowing no one, to knowing many new faces, people, and friends. To having a 'local', to learning to spell in British English, not just American English. It went to getting a first salary paying job - in the pound, not the dollar. Learning how to pay rent on time can be easier than understanding why English men are more difficult than American men.
And being in my mid-twenties in a fabulous city outside of my old comfort zone could have been the greatest decision I ever made. It's funny to look at my old life, and think of how frustrated I would be. Wondering where I was going, and when my big break would be, as my friends grew up around me, got jobs, bought houses, got engaged and settled down. I'm proud of them. But I'm also proud that I didn't just sit back and watch them grow up. I decided to grow up on my own. I'm learning how to take care of myself, what makes me happy, what pisses me off, how to get around, and how much (little) money I can survive on without having to ask for help.
Where will I be next year? Some things haven't changed. I still love surprises. I'll be content waiting until then. Who knows where I'll be, what I'll be doing, and who I'll be surrounded by. But, I'm pretty sure if I know myself yet, I'll be happy. Or, at the very least, comfortable.
Happy Anniversary, Jocelyn. London is more than you were banking on. And that's a good thing.
Friday, 7 September 2007
We are so small
This picture is so amazing. I am currently waiting for a client to get back to me and really don't have much else going on, so I'm exploring 6 Sept's 'Interestingness' photos on Flickr.
This picture was taken in New Brunswick, and I think it's just so gorgeous. It makes me feel really amazed at how beautiful nature can be. It also makes me want to get out of the city for the day. But alas, I'm stuck in the office.
Hope you appreciate this picture as much as I do. Happy Friday!
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