Le sigh...

I love my car, but this is silly. I'm engaged and live with my fiancee now, so Teslagrl's car is an option most of the time. And I commute by train. I literally have started my car twice in the last week, to move it off the "street cleaning today" side of the street... and that's just because it was street-cleaning week.

One sure way to know I don't really need it is that since it went all freaky and broken and refuses to obey simple instructions, I've been able to adjust quite happily to not using it.

So... wanna buy a car? (This used to be a Craigslist link, but the car sold and the listing expired.)

I have some pretty significant ennui about ditching the VW. It's been fussy and expensive, but it was my first "grown up" car. It was my first non-junker car since the divorce, mid-1990s, and the new car we'd bought way back then was a damn Geo Metro, for cryin' out loud. My Passat has twice as many cylinders. It's honestly true to say that

Geo Metro : VW Passat :: VW Passat : Jaguar XJ12

This is the car that gave me independence, symbolically. It gave me power (of the "horse-" variety) I had never had before. It gave me a whole list of things I didn't know I really liked in a car, and won't do without in the future, if I can help it. It took me out east, to school, and helped me start this new chapter of my life. It was the car I always drove, for as long as my future wife has known me. After a string of crappy 'college cars,' this was the one that made me feel legitimate showing up to a business function (or a first date), and it was the most fun to drive. It's just that gradually, it turned into a college car, albeit a nice one.

So that's how I'm billing it on Craigslist.

And whatever I get next, about two years from now, that sucker will have a really $!#@ good warranty.

At least it's organized chaos

Here's what I have going on in the Fall term:

General Medicine & Infectious Disease
-- a huge, year-long course that covers... kind of everything. Right now it's Neurology... plus infectious disease. Ask me about the many different classes of antibiotics! (On second thought, don't. Not yet.)

Pharmacology
-- merely a two-quarter-long course. One more arena in which I can demonstrate a lack of excellence in memorizing enormous quantities of data. (Although, having taken Microbiology, Biochemistry, Cell Bio, and what turns out to have been a very decent Physiology course already, this isn't that bad. Not yet.)

Interviewing and Documentation
-- where we learn to do stuff like write up a clinic note (like the ones I typed as a transcriptionist) and do an interview (like the hundreds I witnessed in the ER). I like this class.

Psychosocial Aspects of Care
-- where we, essentially, learn not to be a-holes whilst speaking with patients and administering care. Fun class.

Research and Statistics
-- where we remember that being in a Masters program entails a special kind of pain. I need to decide whether to a) jump onboard a faculty member's research, b) convince a faculty member to sponsor (read: be the first author of) research I come up with myself, or c) just do a series of smaller papers on anything I want. I am actually struggling with this, because I have areas I'd like to do publishable research in, and my school has really good resources. Plus I wrote a lot of papers in undergrad.

Clinical Laboratory
-- which does not take place in a lab, but a classroom. This one is all about all the tests we might order, and how they work. So far it's been "fun stuff you kind find out from a cup of urine."

Complementary and Alternative Medicine
-- where we, essentially, learn not to be so obnoxiously patriarchal and stick-up-the-bum about the alleged superiority of Western scientific medicine. A nice touchstone and reality check.

Intro to EKG
-- given the size of this list, and the fact that Winter term starts in November(!) with a whole new slate of punishments, I figure I can be really truly good at one course per term. I've decided this one will be my good course for Fall. EKGs rock.

Am I insane? Not yet, but ask me again in a few weeks.

How do I keep it all together? How do I keep from going completely sideways?

Oh, I have my ways.

Med School Microcosm

Sigh...

95%


And meanwhile...

Yes, I'm being blog-lazy by reprinting stuff, but it's all about efficiency these days.

Now there can be no doubt

The sorting hat says that I belong in Gryffindor!

Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those with brave deeds to their name."

Students of Gryffindor are typically brave, daring, and chivalrous.
Famous members include Harry, Ron, Hermione, Albus Dumbledore (head of Hogwarts), and Minerva McGonagall (head of Gryffindor).

Take the most scientific Harry Potter
Quiz ever created.

Get Sorted Now!

Harry Potter and the L-1 Dermatome

No spoilers here. I will not discuss the book yet.

I read it in a little under 36 hours, taking frequent brief breaks to eat, sleep, pee, and do homework. (Weird, how the work is done so much more efficiently when it's done as a break from something fun I get to return to. I might re-read the whole damn series now.)

I just want to point out that for the last eight weeks, I've been learning about stuff that has amusingly Potteresque nomenclature. Take a pen or pencil in your dominant hand, and flourish it with a sweeping motion, ending in a point directly out and away from your body, and yell out an Anatomy term. Then you'll see what I mean. Here are some to get you started:

Infundibulum!
Intercostalis!
Semispinalis!
Vastus Medialus!

Being hit with the gubernaculum charm would likely be no damn fun, if it did what I suspect. "Toxic Megacolon" sounds like a large, noxious creature that might live in the Forbidden Forest. You could store your spare tubercles in a vesicouterine pouch, assuming they had them in stock at Flourish & Blotts. Rectus Capitus might be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. It just goes on and on.

And I've figured out why. Rowling uses such decent fake-Latin in the books that it captures the sometimes just plain goofy-assed nature of actual Latin names. One example: There's a bit of the tibia, the shin-bone, where certain thigh muscles attach. Three muscles attach there, you see, so you get this triangular, webbed effect. I think it looks kind of like a duck's foot. If it didn't have a name already, I'd call it "the duck foot."

The actual, official, proper scholarly name for this little structure? Pes Anserinus. Sounds impressive, right?

Until you realize it's Latin for "Goose's Foot." Oh yeah, so much more professional than the thing I said, with the duck. Definitely.

And that's why I don't feel the least bit disrespectful, waving my pen in the air and repeating funny-sounding terms to the guy sitting next to me in lectures.

Plus, by now I can do a pretty decent levatores costarum spell.

Overheard in the Anatomy Lab

"Thanks, [Feb], for showing me your penis!"

It's pelvis and perineum week. My friends have a female cadaver, so they needed to check out what in the medical world we call 'the dude parts.' And my guy has some fine anatomy going on. We've spent enough time in this class now, about ten weeks or so, that we've really started taking ownership of our learning experience. That's reflected in the way we talk about cadavers as though they were books, or any other learning tool.

Naturally, I told the girls they were welcome to come by and check out my penis anytime they want.

Finally, something important to talk about

Here's a diverting little hypothetical, courtesy of one of the messageboards I frequent:

Assume you have been offered your dream job (that is, the dream version of your job, or else the job you really want to do). The catch is, you need to choose from only two possible job sites. One is in Gotham City, and the other is in Metropolis. Which would you choose, and why?

Obviously, there are some stark differences. How much you like sunlight, for instance, will probably be a factor. As would whether you prefer to carry cash on your person, outdoors, ever. Your feelings about the occasional superhero/ supervillain fight spilling over into your building and destroying a fair bit of it should probably come into play as well. There a pros and cons either way.

As for me, I found it was kind of an easy choice because I'd have to be working in one of the two ED's. No way am I going to deal with the Joker's deadly laughing gas, or some fiendish nano-virus engineered by the Riddler. I'm going Metropolis, hands down. Let the superintelligent gorilla commandos and trans-dimensional shockwaves fall where they may.

Plus, I bet the cafeteria food is nicer at Metropolis Memorial. That's just a guess, but it's an educated one.

So, how about you?

EDIT: Guess we got our answer on that one, eh?

Have I Mentioned...

a) My own personal theory about what happens at the end of the Harry Potter saga?

or

b) How much I love Keith Olbermann?

No? Really? Hmm.

Well, it's a good thing I can do both at once, because I need to be efficient these days... and also, it just so happens he has the exact same theory.

Spoilers, sort of, but only if Olbermann and I are right. Which we both think we are.

My Cadaver is More Fun Than I Am

...lately.

Sorry about the radio silence. I'm planning to dedicate some time soon for a post about my new room-temperature friend; I think you'll like him. He's got a good heart, and we try not to let it dry out. He's not quite all there anymore, if you get my drift, but it's okay because we're keeping track of all the bits we take out.

I also wanted to put in some words on the subject of medical blogs, and all the controversy in that little world lately. By the time I get around to it, maybe there will be a whole new quasi-scandal to get excited about.

For those keeping score, I have now done my first written test and my first lab practical in Clinical Anatomy. Both, I believe, went well enough. There's a way of looking at my program that boils down to a Pass/Fail paradigm. I kind of like looking at it in that way.

It's getting late, and I have some stuff to go over before tomorrow, so check back on the weekend. Approximately.

A little present from your uncle Feb

People, listen up. You need to go see this movie. Seriously. (Minneapolis people: it's at the Uptown this very week.)

We were going to see Knocked Up (and we will, sooner or later). But it's my birthday, and dinner happened to be finished at an inconvenient point between showtimes for the big Hollywood comedy... so I used my Birthday Power™ to go see Once.

I shit you not: I haven't seen a better movie in years. Everything I hate about big dumb musicals stays a world away from this story, and yet somehow everything that's awesome about them finds its way in. It's very strange, and -- here's an adjective I haven't used about a movie in a while -- surprising. Go. Then come back and tell me how right I was.

...it was the opposite of Ninja-like, actually.

Today we cut our cadaver's heart out of his thoracic cavity. It was bitchin'.

My hands. Human heart. Whoa.

There's a lot to talk about, kids, and maybe this weekend I'll have some time. It'll require some thought to properly frame the thoughts and emotions that I've been experiencing in the first few days of anatomy lab.

One thing's for sure, though: today's events definitely tugged on someboody's heartstrings, har har har.

Life Lessons from American Idol

Oh yeah... so that's why I don't really watch. I saw the beginning, with the Minneapolis auditions and the horrid singers, and I saw the final few weeks. I'm happy for Jordin, inasmuch as she has genuine talent and charisma, plus now a car and a record contract and I think the winner gets some money or something. But it's sad to think she'll be another serf toiling in the soul-crushing fields where crap pop music is grown from the dry and rocky soil. Clarkson and Underwood, if they're lucky, may survive long enough to become cringe-worthy self-parodies like Bette Midler. Taylor Hicks was pretty good, but it wouldn't hurt to bring him in to a neurologist. Just in case.

Oh, so that's that Haley chick everyone is sure will appear in Playboy soon. I see... and yes.

Whoa, Green Day. How did a powerful and mature rock band wander onto this show? And, wait, how did a powerful and mature rock band grow up out of Green Day? Damn.

In my house, "This Is My Now" has become a great all-purpose punch line.

"How come you drank the rest of the orange juice and didn't leave any for me?"
"Why are you still up, and surfing the Internet?"
"What makes you so sure it's not going to rain tomorrow?"

Because, baby: This Is My Now.

Today at orientation, our program director said one of the cooler things I've ever heard in all my reading and talking about medical education. I'm paraphrasing.

You know how in some classes, the professor says to look to your right, and look to your left, and think about how at the end of the class, one of those two people -- or maybe you -- will not be there? Yeah, well, we don't do that. You're done competing. You're all very smart. We had about 1000 applicants, and there are between 50 and 60 of you. So you're the top 5 or 6 percent. Now it's time to work, and there so much to do there is not enough time to waste it with competing. Look at the person to your right, and the person to your left. Two years from now, you're all going to finish, and you're going to help one another to get there.

See, that's a reality show I'd be into. Except lacking competition, it would be a little tough to explain, or to follow.

A case of the Mondays has been scheduled for Thursday

So, I am all excited to start school. Except for the first day. Day after tomorrow.

I'm in my little study-nook area, where untold amazing things will start to pour into my noggin soon. It's late, but I power-napped today... just because I could. So it's me, a cup o' tea, and Teslagrl's younger and weirder cat, who is apparently diggin' the wood floor because she's rubbing her back on it. So this is what they get up to at night. No wonder they rest up for it all day.

I have most of my forms filled out; the school I was at last year will be sending some immunization stuff, and the school where I did the distance Biochemistry course will send a transcript just as soon as they get the request for it. I read the online orientation info and the student handbook. I have begun to feel like a medical student.

For the Biochem, by the way, I got my usual chemistry grade. Which is to say, I'm a little better than average, but it's clear I'll never be an actual chemist. I always heave a big sad wet sigh of regret when I find that out, but somehow I soldier on.

I know where and when to catch my train on Thursday morning. I cajoled the Future Wife into giving me some cash so I can buy a ticket and everything. (All I had to do was promise not to call her "mommy" when I ask for stuff like that.)

I even have a classmate living a mere four or five blocks away. This will be my daily commuting (and studying) buddy. I guess she'll need some kind of blog code name, but I don't know her well enough for one to present itself yet.

When I left my former job, one of my cohorts in the maroon-scrub-wearing ranks of the ER techs gave me a present: she had gone school shopping for me following the template of shopping for her kids. It was sweet, and wicked useful. Now I have notebooks and pens and a bitchin' stack of note cards, and a box to put 'em in.

I even got myself some new shoes, after about a year of listening to everybody yap about how great Nike Shox are -- and about five seconds after realizing that actually, clogs still look really ugly to me, and anyway in my new lifestyle I'll be sitting down, sometimes.

So, why am I not completely pumped? Why am I a little "mehh" about this orientation day thing? They're providing food, after all.

It's because aside from a tour and some introductions, most of the day will be team-building exercises. Ewwwwww.

I spent twelve years in the corporate world. During some of the most fun years, I was one of those corporate trainers. Although I had my cranial vault firmly incarcerated a fair piece inside my own rectal vestibule, even the younger and far stupider version of me could tell that some of that forced jocularity is just wrong. I know, we have a limited time to stop being 50 to 60 individual schmoes and become a class. We'll have some heavy cadaver-lab stuff to deal with, as a class, as soon as next week. We need to learn a little about who's next to us in the classroom and at the tank. It's a necessary evil. But it's still evil.

Some glimpses of the day, based on photos I saw as part of the tour when I interviewed, and now in the handbook, make me suspect company-picnic-style physical challenges. Didja see "The Office" a couple weeks ago?

I will most assuredly have to say something about it later. But if I don't, it's because it was too horrible to recount, and I've chosen to just move on and concentrate on something more pleasant... like my dead guy.

North-siiiide!

I live in Evanston now. It's pretty stellar.

There will be a whole lot more about all this. The place is a disaster at the moment; right now we have boxes for art, boxes for about half the furniture, and because Future Wife started working in the Chicago office today and the cats are sleeping, I have boxes for company.

And of course you, my sweet, sweet Internet.

But this is my last few days off -- actual, true days off with no responsibilities -- for quite a while, so I'm taking it easy. I may be showered before the Cubs take on the White Sox this afternoon. I may head to Target later on. I may take a nap.

It's rough, being the future of healthcare in America. But I'm just the guy to do it.

Changing Your Life

Back in the day, circa 1994, somehow boxer briefs became a subject of great interest in my home.

This was several homes ago -- way, way back when I was a married guy (or, as I prefer to think of it now, practicing for the day I would eventually be married for real). We were playing landlords to a good friend of the ex, who had become my bud as well. He lived in the guest room, kind of like a nerdy version of Fonzie, to our incredibly young, uptight, and not-at-all self-aware Mr. And Mrs. C.

Can it be true that boxer briefs only came into widespread usage 10 to 15 years ago? Because that's the underwear of choice in Feb World, and it's been that way since... well, since just about that time. This buddy's girlfriend had bought him a pair, and for a few days he couldn't shut up about how great they were. "They'll change your life," he said. It became something of a catch-phrase. And when I got some of my own, suddenly there were two idiots talking about underwear. But the thing is, it was true. Changed my life.

A little. In a very limited way. But still, it counts. And it should be noted that this was like 10 to 12 years before Garden State. Yes, Zach Braff, the Shins also changed my life, a little. But they weren't the first, I'm saying.

It's weird, because as the narrative of my life went on, it almost became a motif. I met others who had similarly strong opinions. One woman I briefly dated declared her love for thong underwear with the snappy phrase "every step's a pleasure." She was, in hindsight, maybe not the best match (or, to be pithy, she was crazy), but she was evidently right -- I recognized the same sort of minor transformation must have happened somewhere in her history.

It's not all about underwear, though. A few other key events and exposure to certain paragons of excellence have "changed my life" in that way, and recalibrated my ideas about the way things should be. Pulp Fiction. Pearl Jam. Having a sunroof in my car. Learning to bake bread. Working in the ER.

I'm in this mood right now because I decided to go a little nuts with my tax return money. I was in Target looking at all the mouthwash flavors, and decided that the acrid sizzling of my poor, sad gums was maybe not even worth it... when I spotted the citrus flavor. I figured if ever I have the ability to just blow $3.29, this would be the time.

Citrus mouthwash might just change my life, yo.

Oh, and also: my Biochem final is done. I'm moving to Chicago on Monday. And grad school starts two weeks from today.