On an episode of the TV program Curb Your Enthusiasm (HBO) I watched recently, Larry David took off on one of his famous stream-of-consciousness digressions – this time about his preference and tendency to use stalls, rather than urinals, when visiting public restrooms.

Interestingly enough (or maybe not), his admission stimulated some electrical impulses and activity in my warped brain that led me to think of Hund’s Rule of Maximum Multiplicity – a topic you must remember from general chemistry class. Of course, this postulate is often referred to as “the bus-seat rule.”

Hund’s Rule describes the process of populating atomic orbitals with electrons – specifically the way those electrons are arranged – as atomic number increases. Quite simply, the rule stipulates that if two electrons have two spaces (i.e., orbitals) to occupy, then they would rather occupy one orbital each rather than “pair up” and occupy just one orbital.

So, for example, take the case of the element Boron which has three “p” orbitals but just one electron in that particular energy level. For argument’s sake, let’s say that that lone electron occupies the p(x) orbital. The next element on the periodic table, Carbon, has the same number of p orbitals (but one more electron than Boron) with one electron in each of the p(x) and p(y) orbitals. And Nitrogen, the next element in line, has three electrons in this energy level, one in each of the p(x), p(y), and p(z) orbitals. Can you visualize this at all? Electrons are distributing themselves among the p orbitals much as passengers on a bus: nobody sits next to someone else unless and until they really have to. So, in the case of Oxygen, yet the next element under consideration, the configuration would have two electrons in p(x) and one each in the other two orbitals. (The two electrons in p(x) are said to be a “lone pair.”)

So, you’re probably wondering where I’m going with this? (If you’re still reading, that is). What does Larry David’s use of stalls have to do with Hund’s Rule and electrons?

Well, actually, hardly anything. It’s just that I’ve been thinking about bathroom behavior myself (remember I’m talkin’ Larry David not Larry Craig kinda stuff here!)…given that last summer, in some of the buildings on campus, new urinals were installed. Our urinals are supposedly the latest in “green” technology – as they are waterless devices that don’t use H₂O to flush with. They actually don’t flush: all in all, not a bad idea to conserve water, and the campus is making points in the community for its conservation efforts.

The thing is, the urinals have been installed with no privacy dividers between them. When you’re standing there doing your business, it’s sort of like lining up at a public trough. And, for me, that’s not the most comfortable situation in the world. What’s the deal here, anyway? We’re already conserving 2.5 million gallons of water per year (!) …do we really have to give up our privacy rights too?

So: this is where the bus-seat rule comes into play. With no dividers between the urinals (hence no privacy) and, I think, many of us modern men having similar reservations about the public-trough concept, what we do is situate ourselves as far apart as possible when we’re in the restroom doing our thing. For example, I’ll walk in and I’m the only one in there. I’ll take the urinal that’s next to the partition separating the sink and the urinal sections. The next guy comes in and will take the urinal that’s tenth (out of ten) in line…around the corner a little bit. If a third person comes in, he’ll take one of the urinals approximately midway between us. And so on.

Given this, doesn’t it seem that our bathroom behavior is a little like seating on a bus or electrons in orbitals? Or, I guess, even other types of human behavior. For example, a blogger named Vishy, in a post from early 2005, observed that Hund’s Rule can also apply to seating ourselves in a cafeteria or taking the elevator.

Not that keeping your distance from others is such a bad thing. Sometimes there are certain activities that are just plain better when performed alone. Hund tells us that the pairing of electrons is an unfavorable process where energy must be expended in order to make it occur. I suggest that the closeness of humans, in some situations, is not the greatest of things either… with there being energetic, emotional and social barriers to making it (i.e., the closeness) happen.

Me? I support the practice of privacy dividers in our public restrooms or, in their absence, maximum multiplicity.

There I was, last Tuesday night (October 30). Minding my own business, at home. Vegging out on my sofa, watching TV.

It was a little after 8:00 p.m. (the cable box said exactly 8:05) and The Daily Show’s nightly re-run (of the previous evening’s broadcast) had just begun.

I vaguely remember that I was laughing out loud at something when: HOLY SHIT!

All of sudden it happened. It seemed as if I were, for a moment there, floating above my sofa. As if some immense cosmic force had picked me up with giant invisible hands and was joking around, having its way with me. The whole experience was a little bewildering, a lot frightening, and, weirdly, somewhat exciting.

Unlike the last time (which was actually my first time) I found myself in an earthquake situation, when I didn’t know exactly what was going on…this time there was no mistaking things: this was an earthquake! Holy craperino (I thought…), this is amazing! (And: I just hope I live through this!)

I was picked up and shaken once, then it seemed if as if there were a slight hesitation; subsequently I found myself being shaken again, even more vigorously the second time. The entire experience lasted only a few seconds, I suppose (quite literally, time seemed suspended), but that was enough for my thought processes (i.e, panic) to kick in and wonder if the whole apartment was going to detach from the building and slide down the cliff: with me scratching and clawing the entire way. To my ultimate, very painful, demise.

Then things stopped. Just. Stopped. The Daily Show continued on. The world switched back to normal, at least in my neighborhood. I continued to think and wonder: where was the epicenter? How far away was it? What must it have been like to be right ON TOP? How big was this thing, anyway?

Here’s the deal: news reports of the event listed it as a 5.6 quake, with the epicenter five miles northeast of the Alum Rock neighborhood of San Jose, along the Calaveras Fault. (I’m not exactly sure how far that is from me…but I suspect it’s at least 50 miles.) This temblor just happens to be the largest one to hit the Bay Area since the (6.9-magnitude) Loma Prieta disaster in 1989. (I safely followed news reports of that one from home on October 17…as I was watching, on TV in Corvallis, Oregon, the third game of the World Series.)

Just so you know: I’m keeping score. My arrival in the Bay Area was greeted by a 4.2 quake on July 20…just 18 days after I moved here. (It seems like only yesterday!) And, here I am again…this time experiencing the largest shaker since 1989. How (NOT!) lucky can I get?

One of the reports of Tuesday’s quake indicated that “the fault ruptured at a depth of 5.7 miles and the shaking was felt as far north as Eugene, Oregon.”

Well, good. I really wouldn’t want to have all the fun to myself. So, tell me: did any of my fine friends in the Great State of Oregon feel this thing, too?

Soundtrack Suggestion

I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down, tumbling down
I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down
I just lose control
Down to my very soul
I get a hot and cold all over
I feel the earth move under my feet
I feel the sky tumbling down,
Tumbling down, tumbling down...

(“I Feel the Earth Move” – Carole King)

The last entry was about my rather ambitious level of physical activity during the weekend. Activity that came with a price. Silly me! As it turns out, there can be too much of a good thing. Since then, I’ve been dealing with the fallout from those outings. Oh, woe is me; my aches and pains have flared up.

Which has me asking, as always: what’s the deal with my body?

The medical establishment clearly does not have it together when it comes to understanding, diagnosing and treating this mysterious affliction called fibromyalgia. Theories about this disease (or is it a syndrome — who knows?) abound.

Right after the first medical opinion came in suggesting that fibromyalgia was the label for my condition, one of the first reference works I found was Fibromyalgia and Chronic Myofascial Pain (Starylanyl & Copeland, 2001). This book became the starting point in my search for answers to what ails this aging shell. The authors state that they “believe that there is often an initiating event that activates biochemical changes, causing a cascade of symptoms” (p. 11). There are many statements throughout the text that fibromyalgia “may be due to this” or “may be due to that.” And there is an incomprehensible preoccupation with the distinction between tender points and trigger points and their role in fibromyalgia and myofascial pain. The book is subtitled “A Survival Manual,” and that’s exactly what it is: a blueprint for living with chronic pain.

In an ambitious 2006 book (What Your Doctor May Not Tell You About Fibromyalgia), authors R. Paul St. Amand, M.D., and Claudia Craig Marek postulate their theory of “inadequate energy as the cause of fibromyalgia” (p. 32). They suggest that the bodies of sufferers do not produce enough ATP (adenosine triphosphate), which they label as the “currency of energy” (p. 31) in our cells. They claim to have “stumbled upon the treatment for fibromyalgia quite by accident” (p. 40). And that treatment, they say, is a substance called guaifenesin (an expectorant drug, often present in cough and cold remedies, and also available in pill form as a supplement).

In an equally-impressive analysis and argument, Dr. David Dryland (of Ashland, Oregon), just this year (2007), published The Fibromyalgia Solution. His hypothesis is that fibromyalgia victims suffer from fight-or-flight fatigue (an ubiquitous condition of modern living), which leads to sleep deprivation and a diminished supply of the neurotransmitter dopamine. In terms of possible treatment implications, Dryland suggests that two dopamine drugs (originally prescribed for Parkinson’s disease and/or restless-leg syndrome) are likely candidates to provide relief for many. These drugs go by the names of Mirapex and Requip.

What is going on here? Well, what I’ve just provided is a brief list of examples demonstrating that fibromyalgia remains a total mystery not only to me but to the entire medical world. And those of us who suffer with this illness, or think we do, are left to go from doctor to doctor, or one alternative practitioner to another, in order to find some relief from our ever-present pain.

This last week, in the space of three days, I revisited my Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner and my body-work therapist. They are both very skillful and helpful in my quest for pain relief. I will keep seeking them out, especially when I’m in the kind of state I find myself in now. However, of all the approaches I’ve tried, in all the experiments I’ve performed on myself, the single most effective remedy I’ve found so far is the element magnesium (in the form of a supplement called Fibroplex.) I discovered this particular miracle because of an off-hand remark made last winter at a neurofeedback specialist’s office. He said, “Jim, you may want to try some of this” – as he went over to the shelf to pick up a bottle of the product. I purchased it, tried it, and I’ve felt much, much better ever since. Of course, it wasn’t the cure, it’s just the one thing that has made the most difference in my life in years. Since then, I’ve discovered much evidence to suggest that magnesium deficiency is commonly associated with a significant percentage of my current symptoms.

Now, another possibility has come along. A few days ago, good friend “V” in Oregon suggested that I take a look at the latest issue (November 2007) of Scientific American. In a persuasive article (pp. 62-72; the full article is not available online without a subscription) entitled “ Cell Defenses and the Sunshine Vitamin,” researchers Luz E. Tavera-Mendoza and John H. White outline the dangers to a human body without enough Vitamin D.

In short, the authors offer evidence to suggest the possibility of “widespread vitamin D deficiency contributing to a number of serious illnesses” (p. 64). And, as it turns out, fibromyalgia may be one of them. Yes, you guessed it: doing a Google search on the topic turned up several references, among them an article entitled “Vitamin Deficiency Causes Fibromyalgia!”

Who knows. Maybe this is the answer. At any rate, it seems easy enough to check out. I’ve now added 4,000 international units of D₃ to my daily regimen of supplements.

I’ll keep you posted.

For the time being, I’ve given up running and aerobics. Perhaps I am forever retired from the world of Jazzercise, who knows? Now I walk for my physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health.

I base my practice on a proverb in Traditional Chinese Medicine which says that…

Worms will not eat living wood where the vital sap is flowing; rust will not hinder the opening of a gate when the hinges are used each day. Movement gives health and life. Stagnation brings disease and death.

So far here in Marin, most of my daily walking-time has been spent on one particular bikepath near my apartment. It’s a good route and very accessible. It quickly became known to me after I moved here. And it quite rapidly evolved into my routine.

And, of course: now it has become boring as well. I have been caught in a rut with no new scenery, no variation from the norm.

So, this last weekend, I decided to change all that. You know, mix things up a little bit…and live on the wild side!

On Saturday I drove down the road a little ways to the Natalie Coffin Greene Park in the Town of Ross – and actually found a place to park this time. Spots are very limited there (24 spaces or so), so on my previous visits, I had always ended up turning around to find someplace else to park and hike (namely my old standby path).

The trail leading from this park goes very quickly into the woods and splendid isolation along Phoenix Lake. It’s a beautiful place, rather hilly and secluded (except for other like-minded outdoor folk), and I fell in love with the place immediately. I suspect that from now on I’ll wait my turn to park in the lot, just to be able to enjoy this amazing little getaway place so near home. (Perhaps it’ll be my new “Mt. Pisgah” – the favorite hiking spot of all time for me, right outside Eugene, OR.)

Then, on Sunday, I did something I had envisioned myself doing ever since I entertained the thought of moving to Marin: I walked the length of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a cloudless and balmy afternoon, and I figured: it’s time! I discovered directions on the web about where to park, so I found my way to the Vista Point lot on the north side of the bridge. I walked the bridge from north to south, wandered around the visitor’s facilities at that end (i.e., the gift shop and café), then walked the span again back to my car.

What a totally perfect day to do this! I’ll have to go back again soon, though, when the photos will turn out with more “mood” associated with them.

Soundtrack Suggestion

I’m walkin’, yes indeed and I’m talkin’ ’bout you and me
I’m hopin’ that you’ll come back to me, uh uh.

( “I’m Walkin’” – Fats Domino)

Is it acceptable for a sixty-year-old like me to label another person “elderly?”

I wonder…

Anyway, whatever possessed me to make a trip to the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, I’ll never know. But that’s what I did. I traveled over to San Rafael late today to pick up a few things from Trader Joe’s. It was very, very busy — and it took about 15 minutes to check out of the “express lane.”

Then, after I got back out into the parking lot, I started the car and proceeded to wait and wait just to back out of my spot. The traffic surrounding the store was totally ridiculous!

While looking in my rear view mirror to watch for an opening, I noticed an “elderly” guy (80ish, I’m guessing) exit a vehicle across the way. After he got out of his car, I could see that he glanced my way. Then it seemed as if he was staring at something in my direction.

It turned out he was. When there was a little break, and a car stopped for him so that he could safely cross, he walked directly over to me and tapped on the window.

When I rolled it down a notch (he looked harmless enough, but I was still suspicious of his motives), he immediately asked, “are you a Beaver?”

This is a rather strange question, of course. And, for many of you out there, I’m sure it could be a tad offensive. But, for me, given that I have an “Oregon State Beavers” license-plate frame and a “Member, OSU Alumni Association” sticker on the rear of my car, the inquiry was a pleasant surprise.

“Yes I am,” I answered. “I have two degrees from OSU and lived in Corvallis for twenty years.”

“Did you see the game last week?,” he asked.

“Yes I did! Was that amazing, or what?!” (OSU toppled the Number 2-ranked team in the country last Saturday, defeating California, at Berkeley, 31-28.)

We traded names, shook hands, and then continued on with our respective Saturday afternoons.

So I found another member of the Beaver Nation! (Or rather, he found me.) Right here in Marin!