1) Annual physical today. It was fun to be able to talk to the med student, knowing I'll be in that exact spot before long. Plus it allowed the student to be able to say stuff like "okay, so I'll talk to Dr. Joe, and see if he wants to throw some pills at you or anything."
For the record, I lost about 10 pounds since last year's physical, and my blood pressure is slightly high. We'll check cholesterol sometime soon. And Dr. Joe still looooooves the ol' hernia check. Damn his iron grip on my gonads. I have no hernia, okay? Gawd!
2) You know how while I was at school I was always going on about some band or another? Yeah, that was not a school-related thing. I have the new Snow Patrol, and it's the best thing since thin-sliced black-pepper smoked turkey. For serious.
3) My car is falling apart. The mufler is finally rusting out so the V6 sounds like a Harley now. The passenger side mirror fell off. The rearview mirror remains floppy on its stalk like some sad injured insect. The driver door handle has stopped working entirely, so one needs to open the window a bit and reach in. Hell of a theft deterrent, though. I guess I need to call the garage down the block and see what they charge for de-FUBAR-ification.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Late nights and antibiotics
I've been quiet lately, because I've been having issues with my giant, swollen, reddened pinna.
That's the outside part of my ear, you degenerates. It's just a matter of time before exposure to MRSA and GRSA and whatever-else-RSA fells us ER warriors. Happens a few times a year, maybe. Usually it's a cold; no big deal. I have an immune system just a tetch less powerful than Wolverine's anyhow. But this time, I must have touched my ear with some bug hitching a ride. Stoopid itchy ears. Tuesday after work I spiked a mild fever, and Wednesday I actually called in sick, with all-over aches and a craving for fistfuls of ibuprofen. By yesterday I was mending but not yet better, so I got the Urgent Care experience.
This will be another topic for another post; it was cool that they recognized me there, and I totally got the VIP version. Land speed record for managed care. But anyway, I have Augmentin tablets that are large enough to kill stuff just by running into it, and I'm back to work. Huzzah.
And, in grad school news, I submitted my app. Funny enough, I thought of the line from the first good Star Wars movie, where Luke talks about "transmitting (his) application to the Academy." That's pretty much what you do. So, the deadlines and the editing? The worrying and fine-tuning? Over with. Now it's out of my hands.
I'll enjoy it, when the flesh-eating bacteria gets out of my system and both my ears are the same size again.
That's the outside part of my ear, you degenerates. It's just a matter of time before exposure to MRSA and GRSA and whatever-else-RSA fells us ER warriors. Happens a few times a year, maybe. Usually it's a cold; no big deal. I have an immune system just a tetch less powerful than Wolverine's anyhow. But this time, I must have touched my ear with some bug hitching a ride. Stoopid itchy ears. Tuesday after work I spiked a mild fever, and Wednesday I actually called in sick, with all-over aches and a craving for fistfuls of ibuprofen. By yesterday I was mending but not yet better, so I got the Urgent Care experience.
This will be another topic for another post; it was cool that they recognized me there, and I totally got the VIP version. Land speed record for managed care. But anyway, I have Augmentin tablets that are large enough to kill stuff just by running into it, and I'm back to work. Huzzah.
And, in grad school news, I submitted my app. Funny enough, I thought of the line from the first good Star Wars movie, where Luke talks about "transmitting (his) application to the Academy." That's pretty much what you do. So, the deadlines and the editing? The worrying and fine-tuning? Over with. Now it's out of my hands.
I'll enjoy it, when the flesh-eating bacteria gets out of my system and both my ears are the same size again.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
The Tao of the Who
Odd story tonight: I pretty much did a real-life interpretive vignette of the first verse of the Who's "Who Are You."
For those of you not Who-conversant, first of all shame on you, and next, here's what I'm talking about...
I woke up in a Soho doorway,
A policeman knew my name.
He said,
You can go sleep at home tonight,
If you can get up and walk away...
Basically, I came home from Teslagrl's place at 1:30 or 1:45, and because I live where I do, I had to park around the corner. So I walked down 9th street, and prepared to turn left; I can go ahead past the row of "fancy brownstones" that is just like where the Huxtables live, or I can turn left and walk past the complex of buildings that became merged when city redevelopment money turned a cracked-out, condemned brick building into the place I would eventually live. I crossed the street, and decided to stick to the right and go by Chez Huxtable, on account of there being a guy passed out on the sidewalk there.
He was half in the street. A parked car shielded this dude's creased black trousers and shiny loafers from being run over; the upper half of him, clad in a short-sleeved, combed-cotton polo shirt, was up on the sidewalk, and he had his neck sort of cricked at an angle to accomodate the parking meter. Way classy.
He didn't look dead, which was nice. Dead people, mind you, have a look. It's tough to describe; basically if you see a movie and you think, "that dead body is obviously fake; it doesn't look real," then you're probably right, but then again maybe it looks perfect. Actual dead bodies don't look entirely real either. Or they look too real, to be metaphysical about it. Anyway, this guy looked alive. No pools of blood under him, no smears of blood on him. No foamy mouth, no stink of incontinence. Just a guy sleeping under the stars, not a care in the world. Except for being passed out in the middle of the city.
I was carrying a basket with assorted cleaning supplies, stuff I'd left at T-grl's when I was out east, and which she still had two of. I also had a paper bag with a six of Leinie Red and a bottle of Shiraz, but the irony of this was not yet clear.
I said, in that clear, neutral, calm EMT voice, "hey." Then a pause, looking for a fluttering of the eyelids or a movement of an extremity. "Hey, buddy. Are you okay? You're lying on the sidewalk, man." Nuthin.' Not wanting to poke the guy with the toe of my shoe -- a little dignity is important -- I set down my stuff and knelt over him. I gave him the ol' shoulder shake. Then the chest-poke. When you're doing the chest-poke, you're skating on the edge between concerned citizen and EMT.
"Hey, guy. You're lying on the sidewalk. What's going on?"
He opened up glassy, drunk eyes. Slight odor of alcohol, but c'mon, you know where I work. No way was he over 0.09. He slurred some type of "leave me alone, I'm fine, who are you and why do you care?" -type blather at me. I explained that a guy lying on the sidewalk at 2am is noteworthy, and said I was concerned about him being okay. I took his pulse. Steady, strong, 80 or 85.
I love the way you can just reach out and grab someone's wrist to feel their pulse, and if you do it right, not only do you learn some helpful information, you also reinforce the notion that you are there to help and you know what you're doing. I've written here before about the theater of medical care, and it's totally applicable on the street.
Along with mild alcohol only, there was no odor of ketones. That was the other first thing I thought of: diabetic who drank a little much and put himself into DKA, or induced a diabetic seizure or syncope. That sounds smart and all, but basically, here's how the medical thing works: when you see a guy lying on the sidewalk, there are many questions. Who is he? How did he get here? Where was he earlier, and who was he with? How come they left him here? How long has he been here?
The only question you actually care about, however, is this one: what caused this guy to be lying here, now? The answer is probably "because he's drunk, and this seemed like a good spot." But it could be lots of stuff. He has a seizure disorder, or diabetes. He hit his head. Someone hit his head for him. He fell just now, from a low-flying and very quiet zeppelin. Things on the list get less and less likely as you go down it.
So he's coming around a little, and he's taking his time doing it, but I explain to him that if I don't see him at least sit up, I'm going to call an ambulance. He sits up. He starts asking questions I can't answer, questions like, "what happened?" I explain that all I know is, I walk along and here he is. He expresses skepticism. I acknowledge that it's weird, but hey, here we are.
We talk a little more. I get some yes/no answers to relevant medical questions. I tell him I work at the hospital, and I can get an ambulance here quickly. (Never mind that anyone with a phone can do the same thing; I'm maintaining control of the scene, dammit.) By now it's pretty clear he's merely drunk, but he's not moving, and I'm not going to just leave him here. I explain that I'm worried about him being hit by a car. Or robbed. Or hauled in to Detox. He tells me he lives a block away, in the swanky high-rise condo building I see out my window. But it starts to look like he can't stand well, much less walk, so I push the button and dial 911. By the time the dispatcher is talking to me, Drunk Guy has done some mental calculus and has sucked it up to an impressive degree.
I talk with the dispatcher for a minute. I explain, in hospital-speak, what's up. I give our location. I report that he's looking able to walk, and says he lives a block away, so we're good. Okay, says the dispatcher, call back if things go otherwise. Drunk Guy has heard my half of this 30-second conversation, and gets the picture -- it's not okay to be asleep on the sidewalk -- and repeats that he lives a block away, and he'll be fine. At which point, we do our little Who Theatre bit; I tell him I'm going in the direction of his building, and I'll walk with him. Let's go.
And we do. He's crap at walking right now, but he's uninjured. He's making sense, in that drunk-guy way. He hasn't had a stroke, or a seizure, or a heart attack. And he's really lucky, because he still has his watch and presumably his wallet. The people he was with presumably had the wrong condo building, and ditched him at the sidewalk. He probably told them he was fine.
And as we're walking, he says to me that the funny thing is, he has a $300,000 condo and a $70,000 car, and he needs me to walk him home. Yep, that's funny. I tell him what's funny to me is that I have this night off in a string of overnight shifts, and here I get me a patient.
I got him to the right side of the street, half a block from the entrance to his complex. It's well-lit, and security-patrolled, and I figured he'd be welcome to pass out on the grass verge there if he likes. Could be a character-builder. And then I went home. I'm looking out my window right now at the complex in question, and all is calm.
I've always liked the common-sense approach of the cop in that song. It's a diagnostic test and a treatment all in one. It's an "if/then" algorithm. So long as Roger Daltrey's character isn't asleep in that doorway for some more serious reason, it's a win-win situation.
This guy had not spent eleven hours in the tin-pan. But lord, there's got to be another way.
For those of you not Who-conversant, first of all shame on you, and next, here's what I'm talking about...
I woke up in a Soho doorway,
A policeman knew my name.
He said,
You can go sleep at home tonight,
If you can get up and walk away...
Basically, I came home from Teslagrl's place at 1:30 or 1:45, and because I live where I do, I had to park around the corner. So I walked down 9th street, and prepared to turn left; I can go ahead past the row of "fancy brownstones" that is just like where the Huxtables live, or I can turn left and walk past the complex of buildings that became merged when city redevelopment money turned a cracked-out, condemned brick building into the place I would eventually live. I crossed the street, and decided to stick to the right and go by Chez Huxtable, on account of there being a guy passed out on the sidewalk there.
He was half in the street. A parked car shielded this dude's creased black trousers and shiny loafers from being run over; the upper half of him, clad in a short-sleeved, combed-cotton polo shirt, was up on the sidewalk, and he had his neck sort of cricked at an angle to accomodate the parking meter. Way classy.
He didn't look dead, which was nice. Dead people, mind you, have a look. It's tough to describe; basically if you see a movie and you think, "that dead body is obviously fake; it doesn't look real," then you're probably right, but then again maybe it looks perfect. Actual dead bodies don't look entirely real either. Or they look too real, to be metaphysical about it. Anyway, this guy looked alive. No pools of blood under him, no smears of blood on him. No foamy mouth, no stink of incontinence. Just a guy sleeping under the stars, not a care in the world. Except for being passed out in the middle of the city.
I was carrying a basket with assorted cleaning supplies, stuff I'd left at T-grl's when I was out east, and which she still had two of. I also had a paper bag with a six of Leinie Red and a bottle of Shiraz, but the irony of this was not yet clear.
I said, in that clear, neutral, calm EMT voice, "hey." Then a pause, looking for a fluttering of the eyelids or a movement of an extremity. "Hey, buddy. Are you okay? You're lying on the sidewalk, man." Nuthin.' Not wanting to poke the guy with the toe of my shoe -- a little dignity is important -- I set down my stuff and knelt over him. I gave him the ol' shoulder shake. Then the chest-poke. When you're doing the chest-poke, you're skating on the edge between concerned citizen and EMT.
"Hey, guy. You're lying on the sidewalk. What's going on?"
He opened up glassy, drunk eyes. Slight odor of alcohol, but c'mon, you know where I work. No way was he over 0.09. He slurred some type of "leave me alone, I'm fine, who are you and why do you care?" -type blather at me. I explained that a guy lying on the sidewalk at 2am is noteworthy, and said I was concerned about him being okay. I took his pulse. Steady, strong, 80 or 85.
I love the way you can just reach out and grab someone's wrist to feel their pulse, and if you do it right, not only do you learn some helpful information, you also reinforce the notion that you are there to help and you know what you're doing. I've written here before about the theater of medical care, and it's totally applicable on the street.
Along with mild alcohol only, there was no odor of ketones. That was the other first thing I thought of: diabetic who drank a little much and put himself into DKA, or induced a diabetic seizure or syncope. That sounds smart and all, but basically, here's how the medical thing works: when you see a guy lying on the sidewalk, there are many questions. Who is he? How did he get here? Where was he earlier, and who was he with? How come they left him here? How long has he been here?
The only question you actually care about, however, is this one: what caused this guy to be lying here, now? The answer is probably "because he's drunk, and this seemed like a good spot." But it could be lots of stuff. He has a seizure disorder, or diabetes. He hit his head. Someone hit his head for him. He fell just now, from a low-flying and very quiet zeppelin. Things on the list get less and less likely as you go down it.
So he's coming around a little, and he's taking his time doing it, but I explain to him that if I don't see him at least sit up, I'm going to call an ambulance. He sits up. He starts asking questions I can't answer, questions like, "what happened?" I explain that all I know is, I walk along and here he is. He expresses skepticism. I acknowledge that it's weird, but hey, here we are.
We talk a little more. I get some yes/no answers to relevant medical questions. I tell him I work at the hospital, and I can get an ambulance here quickly. (Never mind that anyone with a phone can do the same thing; I'm maintaining control of the scene, dammit.) By now it's pretty clear he's merely drunk, but he's not moving, and I'm not going to just leave him here. I explain that I'm worried about him being hit by a car. Or robbed. Or hauled in to Detox. He tells me he lives a block away, in the swanky high-rise condo building I see out my window. But it starts to look like he can't stand well, much less walk, so I push the button and dial 911. By the time the dispatcher is talking to me, Drunk Guy has done some mental calculus and has sucked it up to an impressive degree.
I talk with the dispatcher for a minute. I explain, in hospital-speak, what's up. I give our location. I report that he's looking able to walk, and says he lives a block away, so we're good. Okay, says the dispatcher, call back if things go otherwise. Drunk Guy has heard my half of this 30-second conversation, and gets the picture -- it's not okay to be asleep on the sidewalk -- and repeats that he lives a block away, and he'll be fine. At which point, we do our little Who Theatre bit; I tell him I'm going in the direction of his building, and I'll walk with him. Let's go.
And we do. He's crap at walking right now, but he's uninjured. He's making sense, in that drunk-guy way. He hasn't had a stroke, or a seizure, or a heart attack. And he's really lucky, because he still has his watch and presumably his wallet. The people he was with presumably had the wrong condo building, and ditched him at the sidewalk. He probably told them he was fine.
And as we're walking, he says to me that the funny thing is, he has a $300,000 condo and a $70,000 car, and he needs me to walk him home. Yep, that's funny. I tell him what's funny to me is that I have this night off in a string of overnight shifts, and here I get me a patient.
I got him to the right side of the street, half a block from the entrance to his complex. It's well-lit, and security-patrolled, and I figured he'd be welcome to pass out on the grass verge there if he likes. Could be a character-builder. And then I went home. I'm looking out my window right now at the complex in question, and all is calm.
I've always liked the common-sense approach of the cop in that song. It's a diagnostic test and a treatment all in one. It's an "if/then" algorithm. So long as Roger Daltrey's character isn't asleep in that doorway for some more serious reason, it's a win-win situation.
This guy had not spent eleven hours in the tin-pan. But lord, there's got to be another way.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Moo hoo, ha ha
Thursday (and the day before, and several of the days before that) were practice tests. I was being cute about revealing the scores on those, because not only were those scores... not bad, but not awesome, but moreover there was a chance that the actual, real GRE test scores would be similar, or worse. So I didn't want to be blabbing about my 540 on the math part and my 650 on the verbal part, because wow would I look like a dork if the scores I'd actually be using turned out lower.
I did the real test yesterday, on Friday. Not to worry. It turned out very well. Thank you to all who helped, supported, or just wished me well and put up with my weird schedule and lack of availability.
You know, now that I am apparently a high achiever, I'll need to re-think my jaded, hipster disregard for people who succeed at stuff. Actually, all I need to do is refine it a little: here's what I've actually been talking about all this time, when I say snotty things about "straight A students" or "those damn pre-meds."
What I hate is an obvious sense of entitlement. When people crow about their awesome GPAs and their stellar experiences and how their dad the cardiothoracic surgeon set them up with a great guy who happens to be the 3rd most blah blah blah. They make us workin'-class kids think we are in danger of being shut out, because we had to work full-time and pay our own way, and that may have eclipsed some of what might make us amazing applicants in our own right. How could an admissions committee possibly know that a 3.3 for us might be more difficult, and more meaningful?
So if my own crowing becomes annoying, please call me on it. And also, please know that I mean it in the spirit of enthusiastic and grateful good-wishes to everyone who helped me get this far. I can't believe my good fortune, and yes I suppose I do feel like I earned it, but it's still a gift. I don't mean to be obnoxious to anyone, except maybe those dillweeds I mentioned earlier. As rare as they are, and seriously I have met very few, they're toxic. People who behave as though it's the most normal thing in the world to be fortunate, and anything less is a character flaw, are a danger to fortune and to character. And I hope to never be one of those people. I know you'll help me make sure of that.
So, are you ready, then? Here goes: I got--
Awwwww; a day later, and now I'm shy about it. I've re-edited this post. Let's just say I got a math score that's much higher than I had expected, based on the practice tests. In Verbal, meanwhile, I figured I'd do well, but I did well enough that I blew away a little goal I'd set for myself, which had seemed possible but not likely.
The combined score is high; the mean of the two scores is high; the difference between the two is actually not horrible. Based on some Web searching, I'm in great shape. That's the thing.
I did the real test yesterday, on Friday. Not to worry. It turned out very well. Thank you to all who helped, supported, or just wished me well and put up with my weird schedule and lack of availability.
You know, now that I am apparently a high achiever, I'll need to re-think my jaded, hipster disregard for people who succeed at stuff. Actually, all I need to do is refine it a little: here's what I've actually been talking about all this time, when I say snotty things about "straight A students" or "those damn pre-meds."
What I hate is an obvious sense of entitlement. When people crow about their awesome GPAs and their stellar experiences and how their dad the cardiothoracic surgeon set them up with a great guy who happens to be the 3rd most blah blah blah. They make us workin'-class kids think we are in danger of being shut out, because we had to work full-time and pay our own way, and that may have eclipsed some of what might make us amazing applicants in our own right. How could an admissions committee possibly know that a 3.3 for us might be more difficult, and more meaningful?
So if my own crowing becomes annoying, please call me on it. And also, please know that I mean it in the spirit of enthusiastic and grateful good-wishes to everyone who helped me get this far. I can't believe my good fortune, and yes I suppose I do feel like I earned it, but it's still a gift. I don't mean to be obnoxious to anyone, except maybe those dillweeds I mentioned earlier. As rare as they are, and seriously I have met very few, they're toxic. People who behave as though it's the most normal thing in the world to be fortunate, and anything less is a character flaw, are a danger to fortune and to character. And I hope to never be one of those people. I know you'll help me make sure of that.
So, are you ready, then? Here goes: I got--
Awwwww; a day later, and now I'm shy about it. I've re-edited this post. Let's just say I got a math score that's much higher than I had expected, based on the practice tests. In Verbal, meanwhile, I figured I'd do well, but I did well enough that I blew away a little goal I'd set for myself, which had seemed possible but not likely.
The combined score is high; the mean of the two scores is high; the difference between the two is actually not horrible. Based on some Web searching, I'm in great shape. That's the thing.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Hello, lamp-post. Whatcha knowin'?
Good evening, Internet. It's a balmy summer night here in the big city. Welcome... to 'Febrifuge After Dark.'
Tonight, we have a lovely skyline view, from here at Studio Dudeio's big window. We have a screwdriver, with good vodka, fresh OJ, and just a splash of pomegranite juice (and incedentally, we're refusing to give this delightful little drink a nasty name; there will be no "bloody screw" or "hematuria" here, thank you very much; in fact, "sunrise screw" is over the limit, that's just how classy we are around here tonight).
We have no particular plan, because today's tasks are accomplished. Shocking, I know, but true.
I also had the day off work, which is nice, because it's been good 'n' weird, down at the ol' ER. I emailed my sis a bit ago, and I think I said something like "it seems anytime some poor guy gets a limb sheared off, or a small child falls three stories, they come to my workplace." Which is true, of course. And that's good, in the sense that the care my workplace offers is bar none the best around, and folks in need get excellent attention. It's also gratifying to be even a small part of that, and humbling to be allowed a place in the ongoing battle between order and chaos.
But dang, a day off from that is a pretty sweet thing. I'll assume you understand.
Today I did more GRE prep. Math math math math. Math. Huzzah. It's to the point where I do verbal because I like looking at high scores for a change. I've become jaded on verbal. I know it's bad, but for now it's a coping mechanism and it's valuable.
For the "Feb About Town" part of today's festivities, I road-tripped down to the exurbs, to get an official transcript sent from the CC where I did my EMT class. Hey, I paid tuition; I got a grade; it was a good grade. Heck yeah, I'm sending that one. In reviewing the CASPA, I realized that all this time, I somehow left off the Vermonty grades. Heh heh heh. The transcript is in, and has been for a while, but CASPA has thus far had nothing to compare them to. Problem fixed. And by the by, this means my illustrious history involves more like 89 college courses. Um... yeah. Non-traditional student here. Hi.
I also did a complete practice GRE today. I will tell you the scores later, if by "later" you mean "once the real one is not only done, but I'm safely accepted into the Best School Evah(tm)." I'm not saying they're bad -- they're not -- but I hope to have scores that, as Eppie Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh said, "announce my presence with authority." These were more like "this is my first time taking this test in its real format." Thankfully, I know where the hand-holds are as I make my way back up the learning curve, so it'll be quick. This is why we practice, kids.
That's it from the professional and academic side. Now we turn to the social side, where the After Dark crowd likes it. Soon, I'll be over all this test silliness, and on to other things, like: hey, I live downtown. I can see n available parking spaces out my window right now, where n is a positive integer greater than or equal to 3. True, those spaces cost money until 10pm, but from that prime time until 8am, they are as free as sweaty hippie love, my friends.
And so, I'm putting you on notice, Internet. I'm putting out the call. I'm making it known. I live downtown, and I have a weird schedule. I have motive, means, and opportunity to have way more fun than I've been allowing myself, and soon I'll have a break between high-stakes, career-deciding moments. Let's catch up.
In a nutshell, it's like this: I have way more people I talk to on the phone, via email, or whom I see on the odd weekend than I do people who are ready, willing, and able to enjoy this swingin' downtown scene, and I'd like to remedy that somewhat. Because most of you are responsible adults with jobs and whatnot, I'm not going to roust you from your beds on a Wednesday at 11:30 and demand you hit the bars with me. I am a civilized brute, after all.
No, I'm going to issue a challenge. I'm going to throw down a gauntlet. I'm going to run up a flag and see who salutes. Come on downtown, and we'll hang sometime. Who's with me? ...Or are you going to make me bust out a St. Crispin's Day speech?
EDIT TO ADD: One reason for this desired change is that it's been wicked awesome to see my old friends M. Giant and Trash more frequently of late, since Trash is my GRE guru. Having a good excuse to hang with them has got me thinking: I can either come up with equally good reasons to see everyone, or I can just eliminate the need for an excuse altogether. So, to my friends with small children, naturally you need not come to me. I can be a bad influence on your kids just as well at your place.
Tonight, we have a lovely skyline view, from here at Studio Dudeio's big window. We have a screwdriver, with good vodka, fresh OJ, and just a splash of pomegranite juice (and incedentally, we're refusing to give this delightful little drink a nasty name; there will be no "bloody screw" or "hematuria" here, thank you very much; in fact, "sunrise screw" is over the limit, that's just how classy we are around here tonight).
We have no particular plan, because today's tasks are accomplished. Shocking, I know, but true.
I also had the day off work, which is nice, because it's been good 'n' weird, down at the ol' ER. I emailed my sis a bit ago, and I think I said something like "it seems anytime some poor guy gets a limb sheared off, or a small child falls three stories, they come to my workplace." Which is true, of course. And that's good, in the sense that the care my workplace offers is bar none the best around, and folks in need get excellent attention. It's also gratifying to be even a small part of that, and humbling to be allowed a place in the ongoing battle between order and chaos.
But dang, a day off from that is a pretty sweet thing. I'll assume you understand.
Today I did more GRE prep. Math math math math. Math. Huzzah. It's to the point where I do verbal because I like looking at high scores for a change. I've become jaded on verbal. I know it's bad, but for now it's a coping mechanism and it's valuable.
For the "Feb About Town" part of today's festivities, I road-tripped down to the exurbs, to get an official transcript sent from the CC where I did my EMT class. Hey, I paid tuition; I got a grade; it was a good grade. Heck yeah, I'm sending that one. In reviewing the CASPA, I realized that all this time, I somehow left off the Vermonty grades. Heh heh heh. The transcript is in, and has been for a while, but CASPA has thus far had nothing to compare them to. Problem fixed. And by the by, this means my illustrious history involves more like 89 college courses. Um... yeah. Non-traditional student here. Hi.
I also did a complete practice GRE today. I will tell you the scores later, if by "later" you mean "once the real one is not only done, but I'm safely accepted into the Best School Evah(tm)." I'm not saying they're bad -- they're not -- but I hope to have scores that, as Eppie Calvin "Nuke" LaLoosh said, "announce my presence with authority." These were more like "this is my first time taking this test in its real format." Thankfully, I know where the hand-holds are as I make my way back up the learning curve, so it'll be quick. This is why we practice, kids.
That's it from the professional and academic side. Now we turn to the social side, where the After Dark crowd likes it. Soon, I'll be over all this test silliness, and on to other things, like: hey, I live downtown. I can see n available parking spaces out my window right now, where n is a positive integer greater than or equal to 3. True, those spaces cost money until 10pm, but from that prime time until 8am, they are as free as sweaty hippie love, my friends.
And so, I'm putting you on notice, Internet. I'm putting out the call. I'm making it known. I live downtown, and I have a weird schedule. I have motive, means, and opportunity to have way more fun than I've been allowing myself, and soon I'll have a break between high-stakes, career-deciding moments. Let's catch up.
In a nutshell, it's like this: I have way more people I talk to on the phone, via email, or whom I see on the odd weekend than I do people who are ready, willing, and able to enjoy this swingin' downtown scene, and I'd like to remedy that somewhat. Because most of you are responsible adults with jobs and whatnot, I'm not going to roust you from your beds on a Wednesday at 11:30 and demand you hit the bars with me. I am a civilized brute, after all.
No, I'm going to issue a challenge. I'm going to throw down a gauntlet. I'm going to run up a flag and see who salutes. Come on downtown, and we'll hang sometime. Who's with me? ...Or are you going to make me bust out a St. Crispin's Day speech?
EDIT TO ADD: One reason for this desired change is that it's been wicked awesome to see my old friends M. Giant and Trash more frequently of late, since Trash is my GRE guru. Having a good excuse to hang with them has got me thinking: I can either come up with equally good reasons to see everyone, or I can just eliminate the need for an excuse altogether. So, to my friends with small children, naturally you need not come to me. I can be a bad influence on your kids just as well at your place.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Good news, and bad news
Today I took the little half-length practice GRE (minus essay-writing) that I bought when I bought the book. Smart, I would think, to actually use what one has paid for, right?
I got about 76% of all questions right. Not bad, actually. I see 76% and think, "C, maybe a C+ if the instructor gets me," but no, things don't work quite like that. Trash might be by to comment on just what sort of score that could translate into, but I'm assuming it's "decent, not spectacular."
The fun part is the breakdown of how that 76% comes about. Out of 41 questions in the Verbal and Quantitative sections, I got 31 correct. 10 wrong, in other words.
7 of the 10 were math questions. Things like, if I remembered that the circumference of a circle is two-pi-r, I would have recognized the correct answer. Probably. Maybe. Two of the last three were super-sneaky analogies using words that (gasp!) I didn't know that well, and the final one was a total bastard rip-off word trap contained in a reading comp question. Ha ha, you got me. Oh well.
So, strategically speaking, I should pretty much just practice essays and study math. And hey, it's not like a guy needs much math to practice medicine... right? Dude, I can add, and I can multiply. What else matters? Plus all the cool drugs are one, two, or ten milligrams per kilogram anyhow. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
I got about 76% of all questions right. Not bad, actually. I see 76% and think, "C, maybe a C+ if the instructor gets me," but no, things don't work quite like that. Trash might be by to comment on just what sort of score that could translate into, but I'm assuming it's "decent, not spectacular."
The fun part is the breakdown of how that 76% comes about. Out of 41 questions in the Verbal and Quantitative sections, I got 31 correct. 10 wrong, in other words.
7 of the 10 were math questions. Things like, if I remembered that the circumference of a circle is two-pi-r, I would have recognized the correct answer. Probably. Maybe. Two of the last three were super-sneaky analogies using words that (gasp!) I didn't know that well, and the final one was a total bastard rip-off word trap contained in a reading comp question. Ha ha, you got me. Oh well.
So, strategically speaking, I should pretty much just practice essays and study math. And hey, it's not like a guy needs much math to practice medicine... right? Dude, I can add, and I can multiply. What else matters? Plus all the cool drugs are one, two, or ten milligrams per kilogram anyhow. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Welcome To The Jungle, indeed
The Fake Doc has a lovely and amusing post on the ecosystem of the hospital jungle, and the creatures one is likely to encounter there. You should read it, and then return to this post, because in the spirit of blatant theft appreciative reinforcement, I think I can offer a couple more animals one might spot:
Carpenter Ants (ER Techs): Constantly busy, able to lift several times their own weight, and frequently unnoticed by the other creatures in the jungle, the Ants take care of things that would be problems, if they were allowed to go unchecked. Ants can be annoying at times, but one should be careful about wishing them gone: if they really were to disappear, disgusting remnants of the daily work of the jungle would litter the landscape in a matter of moments. A wise Grizzly, Hedgehog, or other larger creature will cultivate an alliance with the Ants, because at times of need, the greatest help can come from the smallest of sources.
Otters (unusually competent MS4's): Otters are impressive and comical, all at the same time. They work nearly as hard as the most skilled of Beavers, and have an ability to get along with Beavers that too many other creatures lack. They are almost as quick as Hedgehogs, and only slightly less cute than full-on Bunnies. They are not nearly as powerful as Grizzlies, but what they lack in killing power they make up in agility. Sometimes an Otter can be doing well enough to be mistaken for a Hedgehog; when moving at full speed, the blurred shape of the two creatures is remarkably similar.
Wolves (Physician Assistants): Wolves can function very well alone, but by nature they travel in packs. You will usually find at least one Wolf in each of the busier areas of the forest; sometimes the wolf will be doing the exact same thing as the Bears, Badgers, or even Otters, side-by-side with them. Sometimes the Wolf will be silently stalking something the other animals haven't noticed yet. You may see the odd flash of violence as a Wolf works quickly and efficiently, but more likely the Wolf will simply appear to come and go with no discernible pattern. Often faster, more cunning, and more deadly than the larger, more powerful predators, Wolves will occasionally swoop in and take a tasty bit of meat from the other forest creatures; nothing is more amusing than a Grizzly Bear rumbling up, fully expecting a meal, only to find that the Wolf has already taken care of it.
There are undoubtedly more where those came from, too.
Carpenter Ants (ER Techs): Constantly busy, able to lift several times their own weight, and frequently unnoticed by the other creatures in the jungle, the Ants take care of things that would be problems, if they were allowed to go unchecked. Ants can be annoying at times, but one should be careful about wishing them gone: if they really were to disappear, disgusting remnants of the daily work of the jungle would litter the landscape in a matter of moments. A wise Grizzly, Hedgehog, or other larger creature will cultivate an alliance with the Ants, because at times of need, the greatest help can come from the smallest of sources.
Otters (unusually competent MS4's): Otters are impressive and comical, all at the same time. They work nearly as hard as the most skilled of Beavers, and have an ability to get along with Beavers that too many other creatures lack. They are almost as quick as Hedgehogs, and only slightly less cute than full-on Bunnies. They are not nearly as powerful as Grizzlies, but what they lack in killing power they make up in agility. Sometimes an Otter can be doing well enough to be mistaken for a Hedgehog; when moving at full speed, the blurred shape of the two creatures is remarkably similar.
Wolves (Physician Assistants): Wolves can function very well alone, but by nature they travel in packs. You will usually find at least one Wolf in each of the busier areas of the forest; sometimes the wolf will be doing the exact same thing as the Bears, Badgers, or even Otters, side-by-side with them. Sometimes the Wolf will be silently stalking something the other animals haven't noticed yet. You may see the odd flash of violence as a Wolf works quickly and efficiently, but more likely the Wolf will simply appear to come and go with no discernible pattern. Often faster, more cunning, and more deadly than the larger, more powerful predators, Wolves will occasionally swoop in and take a tasty bit of meat from the other forest creatures; nothing is more amusing than a Grizzly Bear rumbling up, fully expecting a meal, only to find that the Wolf has already taken care of it.
There are undoubtedly more where those came from, too.
I refuse to accept the evidence that I am old and sad.
Because CASPA not only needs to know everything about my academic history, but needs to know it from several different points of view, I took a little tour yesterday. It was harrowing and disturbing, so naturally it's a story that needs to be told here.
I've gone through my own copies of all my college transcripts and entered every college course I've ever taken; this sounds like no big deal unless you know that I basically drifted around for several years, studying nothing in particular. The idea was to knock off basic requirements like English, Math, and Social Sciences, and to an extent it worked. However, when I went back to the U at the age of 25, finally getting somewhat organized, I had taken a full four years' worth of coursework, and only about a third of it was accepted in transfer.
All in all, the listing on my grad school application has four colleges, spanning 27 academic terms, and 77 courses. This may change slightly as I clarify whether the English course I took while a high-school senior should count. I got U credit for it, so yes... but on the other hand, that would mean I've been in college, on and off, for over 18 years. That just ain't right, because last time I looked, I am not a wealthy and esteemed neurosurgeon.
Yesterday compounded and focused the agony, because I had to arrange official copies to be sent to CASPA, together with the official CASPA form. Not wanting to dick around with faxing or mailing documents, this meant a drive up memory lane. Actually revisiting the various community colleges I attended was pretty hellish; who wants to bask in the misty memories of the C they got in Geography of Western Europe at the local ju-co? And how much worse if it was so long ago, you can't actually remember all that much about being there in the first place?
Long story short, somewhere among the current crop of freshmen at Anoka-Ramsey, there is almost surely someone who would have been born when I was a freshman at Anoka-Ramsey CC.
I've gone through my own copies of all my college transcripts and entered every college course I've ever taken; this sounds like no big deal unless you know that I basically drifted around for several years, studying nothing in particular. The idea was to knock off basic requirements like English, Math, and Social Sciences, and to an extent it worked. However, when I went back to the U at the age of 25, finally getting somewhat organized, I had taken a full four years' worth of coursework, and only about a third of it was accepted in transfer.
All in all, the listing on my grad school application has four colleges, spanning 27 academic terms, and 77 courses. This may change slightly as I clarify whether the English course I took while a high-school senior should count. I got U credit for it, so yes... but on the other hand, that would mean I've been in college, on and off, for over 18 years. That just ain't right, because last time I looked, I am not a wealthy and esteemed neurosurgeon.
Yesterday compounded and focused the agony, because I had to arrange official copies to be sent to CASPA, together with the official CASPA form. Not wanting to dick around with faxing or mailing documents, this meant a drive up memory lane. Actually revisiting the various community colleges I attended was pretty hellish; who wants to bask in the misty memories of the C they got in Geography of Western Europe at the local ju-co? And how much worse if it was so long ago, you can't actually remember all that much about being there in the first place?
Long story short, somewhere among the current crop of freshmen at Anoka-Ramsey, there is almost surely someone who would have been born when I was a freshman at Anoka-Ramsey CC.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Breakfast: awesome :: Standardized tests: not
Back in the day (i.e., two months ago) my neighborhood greasy spoon was the Blue Benn, a diner famous in diner circles.
Now that I'm ensconced downtown, my new neighborhood greasy spoon is the Band Box. Awww, yeah. I think it's fair to say that your pal Feb has the gift of awesome breakfast joints.
Best of all, the BB is truly in my neighborhood. I can walk there in minutes. And as much as I rock at cooking breakfast my own damn self, I can't touch the home fries at the Band Box. They're made the right way, which is time-consuming and annoying unless you're cooking on a commercial grill, in bulk.
It's a damn fine thing to be able to get off work at 7am, walk to a holy shrine of bacon n' cakes, and then walk home with a full belly to sleep the day away.
The latest snag in my little plan to lead the perfect life would be this little thing here:
Name: [ febrifuge ]
Program: GRE TESTING
Exam: GRE-GREAM-GRE GENERAL TEST
Appointment Date: 11-Aug-2006
Appointment Time: 12:00 (12:00 PM)
Cue the dramatic music. Dun dun daaaaaaah...
Now that I'm ensconced downtown, my new neighborhood greasy spoon is the Band Box. Awww, yeah. I think it's fair to say that your pal Feb has the gift of awesome breakfast joints.
Best of all, the BB is truly in my neighborhood. I can walk there in minutes. And as much as I rock at cooking breakfast my own damn self, I can't touch the home fries at the Band Box. They're made the right way, which is time-consuming and annoying unless you're cooking on a commercial grill, in bulk.
It's a damn fine thing to be able to get off work at 7am, walk to a holy shrine of bacon n' cakes, and then walk home with a full belly to sleep the day away.
The latest snag in my little plan to lead the perfect life would be this little thing here:
Name: [ febrifuge ]
Program: GRE TESTING
Exam: GRE-GREAM-GRE GENERAL TEST
Appointment Date: 11-Aug-2006
Appointment Time: 12:00 (12:00 PM)
Cue the dramatic music. Dun dun daaaaaaah...
Monday, July 17, 2006
You can't spell 'egregious' without G-R-E
Because the admissions deadline of the Best School Evah(tm) is so much earlier than the deadlines of most of my other potential schools, I've had to think a little about whether to turn on the juice and get ready for the test in time for BSE's deadline, or just let them go and concentrate on all the others as a group.
And then I started studying for the thing.
Hey, you know what? It's going to be okay. Sure, there's a boat-load of math for me to review and/or learn, but the GRE is more than anything a test of a person's ability to take standardized tests like the GRE. And I'm starting to think I could be very good indeed at that skill, just now in my little personal adventure.
So I'm doing it. I'll take the test in a little less than four weeks, is the plan. The worst that can happen is a really, terribly, awfully lousy score. In which case I can take the thing again, a month or six weeks later.
And then I started studying for the thing.
Hey, you know what? It's going to be okay. Sure, there's a boat-load of math for me to review and/or learn, but the GRE is more than anything a test of a person's ability to take standardized tests like the GRE. And I'm starting to think I could be very good indeed at that skill, just now in my little personal adventure.
So I'm doing it. I'll take the test in a little less than four weeks, is the plan. The worst that can happen is a really, terribly, awfully lousy score. In which case I can take the thing again, a month or six weeks later.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Green warrior needs food. Badly.
It was halfway through the shift, and I had just a few minutes before switching over to another area of the ED. Things had been completely nuts in the acute-care area; out of 16 beds, 13 of them were people waiting for admission to the hospital. The other day, I'd helped some fresh new 3rd-year med students find the library, and when I said I'd see them sooner or later down in my department, they commented that all their patients came from the ED anyway. Today, this seemed like it might be literally true.
Before I leave an area, I always ask "so, before I go, is there anything I should take care of as a last-minute thing?" This makes me kind of a dork, I know, but it's the kind of thing I'll encourage when I'm giving orders to techs. Because this day was pretty bad, I wound up with two assignments to take care of in one fell swoop: take a patient upstairs to the cardiac short-stay area, and run over to another building to the radiology department, where the ED's "big boy chair" -- the extra-wide wheelchair -- had been somehow left. No sweat. Since I'm going to be running all over hell anyway, I thought, why not make a detour and come back with the chair? All it takes is some forethought and planning, plus some good decision-making along the way. So I brought the patient up, and got her situated in her room...
6th Floor, Green building - elevators
You are standing in the elevator lobby of the Green building. An empty patient cart is with you. The cardiac unit is behind you. To the left and right are parts of the hospital you don't care about right now. The elevator doors are in front of you. The elevator doors open.
> Push cart into elevator
Elevator (6th floor Green)
You are in the elevator. The doors you came through are behind you. There is a second set of doors ahead of you. There is a bank of buttons on the elevator wall. An empty patient cart is with you.
> Push button
You must specify which button you wish to press.
> Push 5R
Elevator (5th floor Red)
The elevator doors ahead of you open.
> Push cart out of elevator
5th floor, Red building - elevators
You are standing in the elevator lobby of the Red building. The elevators are behind you. To your left is a hallway that leads to offices. Ahead is a long hallway. To your right is a row of high windows that look out on the city. An empty patient cart is with you.
> Push cart forward
5th floor, Red building
You are walking down a long hallway. Behind you is the elevator lobby. To the left is another set of elevators. To the right is the Purple building. Ahead there is a set of locked doors. An empty patient cart is with you.
> Walk forward
5th floor, Red building
You are standing at a set of locked doors. Behind you is a long hallway. An empty patient cart is standing in the hallway. There is nothing to the left. To the right, there is a door to the stairs.
> Stairs
Do you want to walk up the stairs, or down the stairs?
> Down
4th floor, Red building
Behind you is a door to the stairs. To your left is a long hallway. To your right is a set of locked doors. There is nothing ahead of you.
> Left
4th floor, Red building
You are walking down a long hallway. Ahead of you is the elevator lobby. To your right is another set of elevators. To your left is the Purple building. Behind you is a set of locked doors.
> Left
4th floor, Purple building
You walk down a long, narrow hallway. At the end, there is a set of locked doors. To your left, there is a bank of elevators. A sleep-deprived resident is shuffling by. He takes no particular notice of your presence.
> Open door
You need an ID badge to open this door.
> Inventory
In your pockets and on your person, you have:
Trauma shears
A DRG PureTone Classic stethoscope with SafeSeal diaphragm and gel-filled earpieces
Two sets of purple non-latex gloves
A cheap ballpoint pen
Your hospital ID badge
> Use badge on door
The ID reader blinks from red to green, and then back to red, rapidly. Your ID is not coded to open this door.
> Resident
You look blankly at the resident, and before you can speak he looks at you through half-lidded eyes and says, "it's locked. You have to go around."
> Slap resident
You can't do that here.
> Kick resident
You can't do that here.
> Defenestrate resident
You can't do that here. Also, there are no windows nearby.
> Left
4th floor, Purple building (elevators)
You are facing a bank of elevators. To your left and a little behind you is a set of locked doors. There is nothing behind you. To your right is another set of doors.
> Right
4th floor, Purple building (Radiology doors)
You are facing a set of doors that lead to the main Radiology area for the hospital. At this hour, the department appears to be deserted. You can see the wheelchair through the glass portion of the door.
> Open doors
You need an ID badge to open this door.
> Use badge on doors
The ID reader blinks from red to green, and the doors open.
> Forward
4th floor, Purple building (Radiology)
You are in the main Radiology area for the hospital. At this hour, the department appears to be deserted. A large wheelchair is here.
> Take chair
You get behind the chair and wheel it in front of you.
> Thank Jeebus it's about damn time
You can't do that here.
(Yes, my dear sister in KC, that title is a shout-out to you.)
Before I leave an area, I always ask "so, before I go, is there anything I should take care of as a last-minute thing?" This makes me kind of a dork, I know, but it's the kind of thing I'll encourage when I'm giving orders to techs. Because this day was pretty bad, I wound up with two assignments to take care of in one fell swoop: take a patient upstairs to the cardiac short-stay area, and run over to another building to the radiology department, where the ED's "big boy chair" -- the extra-wide wheelchair -- had been somehow left. No sweat. Since I'm going to be running all over hell anyway, I thought, why not make a detour and come back with the chair? All it takes is some forethought and planning, plus some good decision-making along the way. So I brought the patient up, and got her situated in her room...
6th Floor, Green building - elevators
You are standing in the elevator lobby of the Green building. An empty patient cart is with you. The cardiac unit is behind you. To the left and right are parts of the hospital you don't care about right now. The elevator doors are in front of you. The elevator doors open.
> Push cart into elevator
Elevator (6th floor Green)
You are in the elevator. The doors you came through are behind you. There is a second set of doors ahead of you. There is a bank of buttons on the elevator wall. An empty patient cart is with you.
> Push button
You must specify which button you wish to press.
> Push 5R
Elevator (5th floor Red)
The elevator doors ahead of you open.
> Push cart out of elevator
5th floor, Red building - elevators
You are standing in the elevator lobby of the Red building. The elevators are behind you. To your left is a hallway that leads to offices. Ahead is a long hallway. To your right is a row of high windows that look out on the city. An empty patient cart is with you.
> Push cart forward
5th floor, Red building
You are walking down a long hallway. Behind you is the elevator lobby. To the left is another set of elevators. To the right is the Purple building. Ahead there is a set of locked doors. An empty patient cart is with you.
> Walk forward
5th floor, Red building
You are standing at a set of locked doors. Behind you is a long hallway. An empty patient cart is standing in the hallway. There is nothing to the left. To the right, there is a door to the stairs.
> Stairs
Do you want to walk up the stairs, or down the stairs?
> Down
4th floor, Red building
Behind you is a door to the stairs. To your left is a long hallway. To your right is a set of locked doors. There is nothing ahead of you.
> Left
4th floor, Red building
You are walking down a long hallway. Ahead of you is the elevator lobby. To your right is another set of elevators. To your left is the Purple building. Behind you is a set of locked doors.
> Left
4th floor, Purple building
You walk down a long, narrow hallway. At the end, there is a set of locked doors. To your left, there is a bank of elevators. A sleep-deprived resident is shuffling by. He takes no particular notice of your presence.
> Open door
You need an ID badge to open this door.
> Inventory
In your pockets and on your person, you have:
Trauma shears
A DRG PureTone Classic stethoscope with SafeSeal diaphragm and gel-filled earpieces
Two sets of purple non-latex gloves
A cheap ballpoint pen
Your hospital ID badge
> Use badge on door
The ID reader blinks from red to green, and then back to red, rapidly. Your ID is not coded to open this door.
> Resident
You look blankly at the resident, and before you can speak he looks at you through half-lidded eyes and says, "it's locked. You have to go around."
> Slap resident
You can't do that here.
> Kick resident
You can't do that here.
> Defenestrate resident
You can't do that here. Also, there are no windows nearby.
> Left
4th floor, Purple building (elevators)
You are facing a bank of elevators. To your left and a little behind you is a set of locked doors. There is nothing behind you. To your right is another set of doors.
> Right
4th floor, Purple building (Radiology doors)
You are facing a set of doors that lead to the main Radiology area for the hospital. At this hour, the department appears to be deserted. You can see the wheelchair through the glass portion of the door.
> Open doors
You need an ID badge to open this door.
> Use badge on doors
The ID reader blinks from red to green, and the doors open.
> Forward
4th floor, Purple building (Radiology)
You are in the main Radiology area for the hospital. At this hour, the department appears to be deserted. A large wheelchair is here.
> Take chair
You get behind the chair and wheel it in front of you.
> Thank Jeebus it's about damn time
You can't do that here.
(Yes, my dear sister in KC, that title is a shout-out to you.)
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Today's Splash of Brilliance
The Webtender
This handy Web site has every drink recipe its users have ever heard of, plus many (too many) they have supposedly created themselves. Back circa 1997, when I was transcribing Ortho Surgery clinic notes and discovering this wonderful new WWW thing, I found a site devoted to bringing back cocktails (and to criticizing "shots," which the authors found to be a cancer on the esteem that civilized drinking had spent so much time building up, a growing blight that needed eradication, and soon). That's where I came across the Delilah, my all-time favorite hard-liquor drink:
By the by, if I were to adopt a motto for my life, I could do a lot worse than "shake hard; serve up."
The Webtender does indeed have Delilah listed, and gets the recipe right. This was a cocktail popular in the 1930's and 1940's, as best I can recall, and I see today it's also known by the name White Lady (named after a poisonous spider, if Wiki is to be believed). One site says Delilah "is basically a Sidecar, but with gin instead of brandy."
Yeah, okay, and by that same token, Minneapolis is basically Seattle, but in the Midwest rather that the Pacific Northwest. There are three frickin' ingredients, caballero. Of course there are things that go with gin as well as brandy; you know how much similarity that brings to the two drinks? To quote Douglas Adams, "none at all."
Perhaps the handiest, yet most-flawed feature of Webtender is the "In My Bar" section, where you can select from a pick-list of ingredients. Highlight everything you have on hand, and the Webtender will tell you what you can make with it.
Like many Web-based tools that rely on user-submitted info, this nifty app is a long way from perfect. There are way too many recipes that use, say, Crystal Light. There are too many duplicate listings (okay, a true Cuba Libre has diet cola, but do we seriously care whether we have one brand of ginger ale or another?). One gets the idea that a team of intrepid editors could turn this sucker into something mighty, though.
And as many combinations as there must be, nobody saw this coming: I'm drinking banana liqueur and cream soda... and it's not only pretty tasty, it's not listed. Maybe I'll call it "fuzzy monkey" or something. It's good, but not good enough to be called "the Febrifuge;" for that I'd need to fine-tune those Blue Curacao things I was making the first time I was in college.
* If anyone knows what that pro-cocktail, anti-shot site was, and whether it's still in existence, please let me know.
This handy Web site has every drink recipe its users have ever heard of, plus many (too many) they have supposedly created themselves. Back circa 1997, when I was transcribing Ortho Surgery clinic notes and discovering this wonderful new WWW thing, I found a site devoted to bringing back cocktails (and to criticizing "shots," which the authors found to be a cancer on the esteem that civilized drinking had spent so much time building up, a growing blight that needed eradication, and soon). That's where I came across the Delilah, my all-time favorite hard-liquor drink:
- 1.5 oz Gin (pref. Bombay Sapphire)
- 0.5 oz Cointreau (triple sec will do)
- Juice of one half lemon, freshly squeezed
By the by, if I were to adopt a motto for my life, I could do a lot worse than "shake hard; serve up."
The Webtender does indeed have Delilah listed, and gets the recipe right. This was a cocktail popular in the 1930's and 1940's, as best I can recall, and I see today it's also known by the name White Lady (named after a poisonous spider, if Wiki is to be believed). One site says Delilah "is basically a Sidecar, but with gin instead of brandy."
Yeah, okay, and by that same token, Minneapolis is basically Seattle, but in the Midwest rather that the Pacific Northwest. There are three frickin' ingredients, caballero. Of course there are things that go with gin as well as brandy; you know how much similarity that brings to the two drinks? To quote Douglas Adams, "none at all."
Perhaps the handiest, yet most-flawed feature of Webtender is the "In My Bar" section, where you can select from a pick-list of ingredients. Highlight everything you have on hand, and the Webtender will tell you what you can make with it.
Like many Web-based tools that rely on user-submitted info, this nifty app is a long way from perfect. There are way too many recipes that use, say, Crystal Light. There are too many duplicate listings (okay, a true Cuba Libre has diet cola, but do we seriously care whether we have one brand of ginger ale or another?). One gets the idea that a team of intrepid editors could turn this sucker into something mighty, though.
And as many combinations as there must be, nobody saw this coming: I'm drinking banana liqueur and cream soda... and it's not only pretty tasty, it's not listed. Maybe I'll call it "fuzzy monkey" or something. It's good, but not good enough to be called "the Febrifuge;" for that I'd need to fine-tune those Blue Curacao things I was making the first time I was in college.
* If anyone knows what that pro-cocktail, anti-shot site was, and whether it's still in existence, please let me know.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
jack of all trades
Just some random things, from recent shifts:
It was hella stupid, from the point of view of "send the right equipment, ya losers." The patient was annoyed that I had to deal with it, and I was annoyed that the patient had to deal with it. We concentrated our mutual hate on the dude who brought the chair, and that was sort of cathartic. I like to think he, in turn, learned a valuable lesson about life, and therefore everyone wins. If not, then screw the company he works for. Bahhhh.
Which means you have a choice; you can talk to the patient beforehand and tell them what you're doing, or you can be evil and just stroll into the room with this SAW in your hand. I was my usual gracious self, so the patient had been forewarned. I entered the room and said, "yep -- that leg will have to come off," but he just laughed. Sometimes I am way too easy on people.
UPDATE 7/11: Two canes in two days. I guess my job is merely that odd. There's nothing special about busting out the saw at all.
I do find it kind of charming that someone took a marker to the wide part of the sawblade, and in big block letters wrote "ORTHO." As if we would use it anywhere else. Even better, though, is that a second person's handwriting added "Cane Saw" nearby. I am fighting the temptation to write on the other side, "AMPUTATION SAW" or "OL' RUSTY."
- I disconnected and flushed out an IV in a dude's frickin' external jugular vein.
- I got to be an auxilliary foot-rest for a paraplegic patient.
It was hella stupid, from the point of view of "send the right equipment, ya losers." The patient was annoyed that I had to deal with it, and I was annoyed that the patient had to deal with it. We concentrated our mutual hate on the dude who brought the chair, and that was sort of cathartic. I like to think he, in turn, learned a valuable lesson about life, and therefore everyone wins. If not, then screw the company he works for. Bahhhh.
- I was a carpenter.
Which means you have a choice; you can talk to the patient beforehand and tell them what you're doing, or you can be evil and just stroll into the room with this SAW in your hand. I was my usual gracious self, so the patient had been forewarned. I entered the room and said, "yep -- that leg will have to come off," but he just laughed. Sometimes I am way too easy on people.
UPDATE 7/11: Two canes in two days. I guess my job is merely that odd. There's nothing special about busting out the saw at all.
I do find it kind of charming that someone took a marker to the wide part of the sawblade, and in big block letters wrote "ORTHO." As if we would use it anywhere else. Even better, though, is that a second person's handwriting added "Cane Saw" nearby. I am fighting the temptation to write on the other side, "AMPUTATION SAW" or "OL' RUSTY."
Friday, July 07, 2006
moving up in the world
The perks of being a full-time ER monkey are pretty sweet. To wit, today I picked up (and took home and washed, because I'm like that) my three new sets of scrubs. Paid for by the hospital.
That's right, kids! Not only do I never have to wear a tie, not only do I get to wear what are basically pajamas with handy cargo pockets, but I don't even have to buy them myself.
I mean... well yeah, I have to pay to park, when I work afternoon/evenings. And yeah, I get no discount whatsoever at the cafeteria, much less get my ID badge charged up with fun bucks like the residents do. No, I can't just waltz away with suture materials to practice with, and speaking of the ID badge, I have to use it to leave some areas, and to get into others. But here's how much fun I'm having, knowing I'm committed to being in this environment: the scrubs thing feels as though it makes the rest worth it.
I'm not unrealistic. Any job, no matter how cool, will sometimes feel like a job. If you're lucky, it feels like good work. If it doesn't feel like work at all, then either it's not that hard a job, or maybe you're just not doing it right. In my experience, if it doesn't feel like work, it doesn't feel like fun, either. Anyway. I have had a sufficient number of shifts back in the ER since my glorious return that I have been reminded of how it's work for the full eight hours. But also of how much I love it.
I get paid a pretty sad pittance, really, but I get to see and to be a part of some very cool moments. I've done the thing where I count to three and then a bunch of people move a person. I'm nerd enough to still think that's cool. I get to witness how awesome some parents are with some kids, and see the good in people when they help one another.
And I get to reinforce the idea that the people who do the EM-doctor job are people just like me. By personality, if not by education and training, I could have been either one of the people in this little exchange:
ER Doc: This guy seems like he should be okay to go to detox, right?
ER Tech: Ehh... [indicates a specimen cup full of urine with a scary red tinge]
ER Doc: D'oh!
ER Tech: Yeah.
That's right, kids! Not only do I never have to wear a tie, not only do I get to wear what are basically pajamas with handy cargo pockets, but I don't even have to buy them myself.
I mean... well yeah, I have to pay to park, when I work afternoon/evenings. And yeah, I get no discount whatsoever at the cafeteria, much less get my ID badge charged up with fun bucks like the residents do. No, I can't just waltz away with suture materials to practice with, and speaking of the ID badge, I have to use it to leave some areas, and to get into others. But here's how much fun I'm having, knowing I'm committed to being in this environment: the scrubs thing feels as though it makes the rest worth it.
I'm not unrealistic. Any job, no matter how cool, will sometimes feel like a job. If you're lucky, it feels like good work. If it doesn't feel like work at all, then either it's not that hard a job, or maybe you're just not doing it right. In my experience, if it doesn't feel like work, it doesn't feel like fun, either. Anyway. I have had a sufficient number of shifts back in the ER since my glorious return that I have been reminded of how it's work for the full eight hours. But also of how much I love it.
I get paid a pretty sad pittance, really, but I get to see and to be a part of some very cool moments. I've done the thing where I count to three and then a bunch of people move a person. I'm nerd enough to still think that's cool. I get to witness how awesome some parents are with some kids, and see the good in people when they help one another.
And I get to reinforce the idea that the people who do the EM-doctor job are people just like me. By personality, if not by education and training, I could have been either one of the people in this little exchange:
ER Doc: This guy seems like he should be okay to go to detox, right?
ER Tech: Ehh... [indicates a specimen cup full of urine with a scary red tinge]
ER Doc: D'oh!
ER Tech: Yeah.
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