The Trouble with Acronyms

Earlier today, I'm in my cubicle performing the most mundane of all editorial tasks - verifying references in PubMed. And as I waded my way through, I realized that the definition of the word acronym must have changed over the last few years. So, I went to dictionary.com, and here's what I found:

n. A word formed from the initial letters of a name, such as WAC for Women's Army Corps, or by combining initial letters or parts of a series of words, such as radar for radio detecting and ranging.

OK, so if the definition hasn't changed, how the hell does this happen:

Treatment of Age-Related Macular Degeneration with Photodynamic Therapy (TAP) Study Group. Photodynamic therapy of subfoveal choroidal neovascularization in age-related macular degeneration with verteporfin. Arch Ophthalmol. 2001;119(2):198-207.

Or worse yet, this:

Anti-VEGF Antibody for the Treatment of Predominantly Classic Choroidal Neovascularization in Age-Related Macular Degeneration (ANCHOR) Research Group. Improved vision-related function after ranibizumab vs photodynamic therapy. Arch Ophthalmol. 2009;127(1):13-21.

I understand that it's nifty to create a study/reseach group that has an acronym that doubles as a real word, but just how much creative license is being expended these days to create acronyms? I mean, how do we get an acronym like ANCHOR, when only two out of 14 words (and some pretty sizable words at that) are used to create it?

WTF indeed?

The Karate Kid

Another Saturday, another karate class for Jake. Jake's been taking karate at the Y for the past month and a half and just started his second summer session. Like most parents who get their kids into karate, we thought it would be good for discipline and self-confidence. Jake enjoys it, and he's made major strides in terms of doing the moves, focusing on the instructor, and not running over to us five minutes into class to go to the potty. These are major hurdles for a four-year-old boy, particularly when you give them license to hit, kick, and scream "Ki-ya!" for 45 minutes at the top of their lungs, while dressing them in black uniforms that make them look like mini-Ninja warriors.

Last week, the instructor said that he wanted to speak to some of the parents after class. As Mr. Terrance went from family to family, I kept waiting for him to say "Jake's mom and dad"...but that didn't happen. I leaned over to Rich, immediately sensing what this meant. "Jake's not going to test for a belt", I whispered. He was incredulous, as was I. After all, just two weeks ago the instructor came over to us and told us how much Jake has improved since the first 6-week session. I got so giddy about that positive comment, I posted it as my facebook status for the entire weekend (see below).

Maria Moscariello-Pownall is so proud that Jake got a special shout-out from his karate I instructor today. Go Jake!!!! August 1 at 1:07pm · Comment · View Feedback (8)

So how could this be happening? After class, our disappointment was confirmed, as Mr. Terrance told the parents that their kids would be testing for a belt at the end of this six-week session. Simultaneously, my heart sank and my blood pressure skyrocketed. I mean, there's a three-year-old in Jake's class who already has a yellow stripe on his belt and barely knows his left from his right. How is it possible that in a few weeks, this kid will have two more stripes than Jake?

After last week's class, Jake crashed out in the car, which gave Rich and I some time to vent. Phrases like "totally unfair," and "WTF" came fast and furious out of our mouths as we were riding up I-95 to a pool party. Suddenly, I had become some hypercompetitive mother who was talking smack about toddlers and questioning whether Mr. Terrance (who has some serious ass-kicking black belts and a studio of his own) really KNOWS what my son is capable of.

With this in mind, we started this week with a commitment for Jake to do 10-15 minutes of karate practice each day. He wasn't waxing cars or painting fences (yet). Just basic moves, like straight punches, shotguns, reverse punches, and roundhouse kicks. So as I geared Jake up for class today, I was eager for Jake to prove to Mr. Terrance just how wrong he was about Jake's readiness to test.

Due to the size of the class, the kids always get split up between Mr. Terrance and his assistant. And today, Jake was relegated to the back line to train with the assistant... along with the ADHD kid who can't sit still, the cute Indian girl who hardly speaks English, and the five other kids who just started karate this session. The testers made up the front line, and Mr. Terrance told them all about testing and took them through the routine of combination punches that Jake, Rich, and I had worked so hard on last week. Meanwhile, Jake got to practice basic punching techniques (yawn).

So what's a mom to do? Jake doesn't even understand the concept of testing for a belt, let alone feel slighted or dejected at not being asked to do so. And for that, I am grateful. He did great at karate class today, and I know in my heart that that's what this class is supposed to be about - Jake having fun and being proud of what he's accomplishing each week. I know deep down that this is more of a test for me. The bad news is that I am failing at it miserably.

Where the hell is Mr. Miyagi when you need him?

JUGS (Just Us Guys)

Big props to Laura and Lily, who've recently introduced me to this elite club that celebrates women who are just one of the guys. Laura's blog provides a Top Ten List to justify why she's a proud member of JUGS. So now I'm doing the same, even though my list is a little less serious (but still 100% true). I'm guessing that proving that you've got the mettel to join JUGS is like rushing a selective college sorority minus the abject humiliation.

1. I hate bras. I don't think it's natural to have my girls contained all day in some underwire contraption. As soon as I get in from work most days, the bra comes off immediately. As my husband Rich would say when he's in a randy mood, "That bra looks good...on the floor." I couldn't agree more.

2. I like football. I've always loved football since I was little. I remember my dad teaching me the basic rules of the game, and my uncle teaching me how to throw a perfect spiral in our backyard. There's just something great about football and fall weather. Watching the Sunday night came is the perfect end to every weekend. I'll be putting my football know-how to the test this year as I become the only female member of our office fantasy football team.

3. I have fun at strip clubs. If you're offended by strip clubs, proceed to #4. Still here? Good. What I like best about strip clubs is that everyone is always having fun, or at least gives a really good appearance of it. In my experience, A-list establishments aren't anywhere near as fun as the B-list bars for female patrons. The B-list dancers love it when a girl takes her man to the club...and they really love it when she buys him a lap dance (trust me, I know). But the music is good, the people-watching is fabulous, the bartenders make smashing drinks for the female patrons, and the stripper fashions are pretty amazing. All this, plus all that fabulous acrobatic pole work that defies gravity. Always a good time. Always.

4. I'm good at putting furniture together. For me, putting together furniture is just a big puzzle, albeit with sometimes confusing pictures. Build-it yourself furniture is all about reading comprehension and a desire to "get it right" that borders on alpha-male levels of stubbornness. I read every step in the manual before I even start putting anything together. And, like my dad taught me, I always start each DIY furniture project by confirming that all the components that are listed in the manual are really in the box. Because who wants to be halfway through building a Billy bookscase only to discover that shelf E4 is missing.

5. I can sleep anywhere. Car, bus, train, desk, sofa, tub, massage table, hair salon, yoga studio, airplane, carnival ride, floor. You name it, and I'll sleep on it. In college, I actually fell asleep on top of a speaker in a nightclub. Granted, I had mono at the time, but still, it was a working dancefloor speaker. I'm thankful that this happened at the end of the spring semester right before a long summer vacation. Otherwise, I probably would have been known as the "Sleeper Speaker" for my entire college career.

6. I went to the a Phillies World Series with pneumonia. After spending in the low four figures to obtain game tickets, there wasn't anything that was keeping me from the game (again, the alpha-male stubborness). That included almost five hours in the stadium, an hour-plus rain delay, the threat of extra innings, nighttime temperatures in the 40s, and a body temperature close to 104 after the Advil wore off midway through the 7th inning. I don't even remember anything after they won the game. I still have no recollection of walking to our car and driving home.

7. I take every opportunity to prove how strong I am. I abhor weakness in women, so I don't mind lifting boxes or moving furniture. The fact that I'm so short makes people think that I'm really wimpy, so I love it when I can actually say "I got it" and really mean it.

8. I love that my spouse does all the cooking. Rich is a good cook and really seems to enjoy it. I love to eat, but not to cook. If it was up to me, I'd eat cereal for three meals every day. It hardly takes any time or effort to make, you only need to dirty up a bowl and spoon, and those marshmallows are magically delicious.

9. I am good at tuning people out when I'm not interested in what they're saying...but they never know it. OK, well maybe my husband can tell when I'm tuned out...but that's probably only because I tune him out more than most.

10. Sometimes, I'll eat food without heating it up. This kinda goes along with #8 and is probably the result of genuine laziness. Cooking is the only thing that I really give myself permission to be lazy about. Carb-based foods like pizza, spaghetti, marcaroni and cheese, tater tots, and corn on the cob are just as good cold as they are warmed up.

Tell 'em Ray...KMart Sucks!

In this era of economic uncertainty, everyone's trying to stretch their dollars as far as possible. It's no different in our house. So when Rich went to KMart last week to pick up a new memory card for our camera, he came back with two coupons: one for $5 off any $25 health and beauty (H&B) purchase, and one for $5 off any $50 grocery purchase. Today, we decided to visit our sad, sorry Clifton Heights KMart in a valiant attempt to redeem a coupon.

It should be noted that it only takes me about five seconds to come up with a list of H&B items to hit the $25 mark. Before you get all impressed, I should confess that the monthly necessity to purchase both Always Infinity Pads and overnight Pull-ups for Jake gets me to $25 with virtually no thought whatsoever. I thought that our best bet would be to use the $5 for $25 H&B coupon.

Armed with our list, which included other H&B aids like bar soap, mosquito repellant, and toothpaste, we wove in and out of the aisles. Along the way, we picked up some unexpected purchases such as lip balm, a new kitchen mop, a six-pack of Sun Maid raisins, and a sleeve of Planters' peanuts.

At the register, we rang up $67 in goodies. Proudly, we handed over our coupon, which the cashier was unable to scan. To emphasize her commitment to saving us money, she even put on her classes to type in the numeric code for the coupon, but to no avail. She said that we needed to go to the Customer Service desk so they could make the adjustment. At this point, I'm aggravated because the Clifton Heights KMart is really only known for one thing: slow-moving lines. So the prospect of getting in another line was unappealing. But since we're talking about $5 in savings, we trudged over to the Customer Service counter. Because we didn't have enough going on, Rich had a little run-in with a guy whose foot he may or may not have run over with a cart.

After waiting our turn in line #2, I explained our situation to the Customer Service person. She looked at the receipt and starts going item by item, asking us to translate each purchase on the receipt because, as she so astutely (and anti-grammatically) put it: "I don't know what yall brought." Some items, like "RAISINS" were easy to decode. Others, like "HE SPG M/RF" (a replacement mop head) took us a few minutes, which didn't make the guy behind us in line too happy. After we went through every item on the receipt, she told us that we didn't have $25 in H&B aids because things like Pull-Ups, mosquito repellant, and bathroom Dixie cups are considered "grocery" not "H&B" items.

And sure enough, that's exactly how they're broken down on the receipt. In case you were curious, other things that KMart considers "grocery" - the replacement mop head, laundry detergent, and Clorox wipes.

Trying to salvage the day, I pulled out the $5 for $50 grocery coupon because, at this point, I'm not going to lose a battle of semantics to the Customer Service girl at KMart. But, as it turns out, the Customer Service girl has an ace up her sleeve: the receipt, which only shows the cost of the items before the decimal point. So the $15.99 Pull-Ups show up as $15. And adding up the pre-decimal point costs of all the "grocery" items only came to $42, although if you added in all the .89s and .99s at the end of each of the 12 "grocery" items," you'd easily exceed $50.

So, in the end, we left the store, dejected and vowing loudly to never patronize KMart again. And I went home to make a nice dinner of Dixie cups in a light mosquito repellant sauce.

Beware the Facebook Quiz Junkie

Does anyone have a facebook friend who spends way too much time taking quizzes and letting you know about it? I've had to "hide" about five people, most of whom are only friends in the digital world anyway,who seemingly do nothing all day but take quizzes on things like "Which month I should have gotten married in?" and "Which Philly neighborhood are you REALLY from?"

I don't mind a quiz once in a while, and I've even been known to take a few (or maybe more than a few during a slow night of bad TV). But why do these results need to clutter up my facebook page? It seems like the majority of these test-happy facebookers are stay-at-home moms who turn into quiz junkies while junior is napping, playing at camp, or watching SpongeBob in the other room. How much more could I possibly need to know about these people who I don't really know in the first place??

Thinking about the quizzes makes me think about who's actually writing them, and perhaps more importantly, how are they being validated? How can I know that I'm really a "Kensington" if I don't even know where that part of Philly is? Would married life have really been easier if we tempted the meteorological fates and gotten married at the end of February instead of the middle of October? If only facebook had existed back in 2000 when we were planning our wedding!

But what I really want to know is if it's possible that I could use my extensive background in multiple-choice test construction, pop culture minutiae, and social networking sites to score a job that can tell you what John Hughes character you are most like by just answering 10 simple questions about underwear preference, what kind of car you drive, and what color dress you wore to your senior prom....

...Because that would be an AWESOME job!

BB Bats

An office trip to our local Nuts to You on 20th between Market and Chestnut Streets brought me face to face with a candy I hadn't seen in about 10 years: BB Bats. For those who don't know, BB Bats are rectangular taffies on a stick. They were great for chewing to loosen teeth back in the 70s, when losing baby teeth was cool. Apparently, they've been around since the Great Depression (the one before George W. Bush, that is).

Anyway, in addition to changing wrapper style to be more "modern", I noticed that the core four flavors have changed. Back in the 70s, you had banana, strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla. For today's more post-, post-modern kids, vanilla has been replaced with peanut butter. Given the craziness of people clamoring about peanut allergies in kids, this seems like an odd flavor choice. I mean, what was wrong with sticking with classic vanilla in the first place.

It just seems unfair. First the white Easter Peeps are discontinued. Now the vanilla BB Bats are replaced with anaphylactic-shock inducing peanut butter. Which white classic candy will be the next to fall victim to this candy conspiracy?

Welcome!

Hi readers,
I'm Maria. Just a 30-something mom with something to say. Sometimes it's about something important...other times, it's just random. It all depends on the day, what's happening in the world (or in the little corner of my world in Philadelphia), and how much free time I have to blog.

Happy reading.