Pass the Eye

The Man With Five Kidneys ...

The headline is my clever way of introducing one of the better New Yorker stories I've read in a while.

(That's more an indictment of my inability to keep up with their output than a crack at their editorial chops.)

Larissa MacFarquhar has an excellent piece on the moral and emotional issues surrounding kidney transplants. With the introduction of a new site that allows donors to choose their recipients based on recipient profiles, a new dynamic is emerging -- and it's often tense and angst-ridden.

That aside, there are plenty of interesting tidbits that are the hallmark of a great New Yorker story.

During a kidney transplant, it's not required that a nonfunctioning kidney be removed. As a result, a person who's had multiple kidney transplants may have more than three kidneys. That is, assuming they were lucky enough to find multiple kidneys.

Kidneys are flushed free of blood prior to transport to their new donor. The blood inside would cause them to rapidly deteriorate. The scene in the story describing a transplant operation is fascinating -- the moment the kidney is attached to the donor's artery is incredible.

There's more, including a brief -- but illuminating and heartbreaking -- description of dialysis, but I'll leave the other gems unearthed so you'll read the story.

Random Scent Review: Costes

Ok, this is a good one. I was always drawn to the leathery red color and skinny Helvetica font that jointly are the distinctive calling card of the Costes product line -- if not the price. The entire line is ungodly expensive! (The small handsoap pump will run you about $50 with tax.)

But, even with the price, the original Costes scent is in my current holy trinity of fragrances, rounded out by two from Hermes: Eau d'Orange Verte and Terre d'Hermes.

So what does it smell like? Like a warm gingerbread cookie served up by a naked, sweaty man in a black leather apron. 

'Nuf said?

Random Movie Review: Rachel Getting Married

I watched this movie the same reason most people did: To see if Anne Hathaway could act her way through a tearjerker. While I found her performance far from Oscar-worthy (even Oscar-nomination-worthy), it wasn't the worst part of the movie. 

The worst part was the fabulist wedding of the title, and the painful cinema verite documentation of the days leading up to it. 

No normal wedding this -- more like a pan-cultural extravaganza. This modern bride didn't wear white (or black, pity), she wears a sari and, may I say, not a particularly attractive one. The bridesmaids get similar treatment, in lavender. 

And, as I suppose it must be, this is a "home" wedding. And let me say a word or two here about the home: It's a rather attractive clapboard house on the outside, but on the inside, well, let's just say that the hodgepodge of brightly colored florals and stripes would make Lily Pulitzer blush. But, lest things feel too caucasian, there are a few African drums piled in the corner. 

Other annoyances? There are the little amusements of the wedding party. They play who can load the dishwasher the fastest and break bread (er, naan) in an Indian restaurant that is decorated, strangely, with portraits from Byzantium. And while they laugh, fight, cry, and remember, a small troupe of bluegrass string players practice in the background. 

The "happy" scenes are interminable as character actors are rolled out ad nauseum to toast a couple that as a viewer I hadn't the slightest interest in. It was a bit like being forced to participate in well-wishing a couple you not only didn't like, but didn't know -- and being charged ($4.99 via On Demand) for the privilege.

Yes, it was fun to see Anne slog through a 12-step meeting and get into a slap fest with her absentee mom (DEBRA, fucking WINGER!). But, even with the dash of drama, this is one wedding I gladly would have skipped.