It may look like a walnut...

There is a notorious phenomenon that occurs in people who are in medical training; as you learn more and more about the various things that can go haywire with the human body, you gradually come to believe that an implausible number of them are happening to you. I believe that some of the reason my school's student-health clinic is staffed with semi-retired old docs is that they've seen and done everything, and most of the reason is that none of us are ever actually sick.

I, being older and presumably wiser than many of my classmates, have avoided too much trouble with this. I had a hacking, body-shaking cough for about 8 or 9 weeks, but I knew that was just a virus, combined with the dry air, combined with my train commute and incarceration in the same windowless classroom every day. Even when Teslagrl told me to go get a damn chest x-ray, I knew it wouldn't show anything. And anyway, we covered chests & lungs in the Physical Exam class, and nobody could hear anything wrong.

But then, a couple weeks ago, we got around to the male genito-urinary exam. Yeah... so I'm 37. You see where this is headed?

Before learning the correct way to inspect, cradle, squoosh, and prod another man's junk, and then go around back and knock on the back door, we learned the right way to talk about the exam. What it is, what it isn't, and why it's important. At my school we use 'professional patients,' people who are trained in much the same way we are, with all the attendant anatomy, physiology, and pathology... but from the other side. They learn how the exam is supposed to feel, when done correctly, so they can tell us stuff like "okay, you can press a lot harder than that," or "yep, you're right over it now; you should be able to feel it."

Yes, it's weird, and even though we'd already done the breast exams, the five dozen or so in my program were all quietly freaking out on "Nuts & Butts" day. We went into rooms in groups of four, which somehow made it worse. But once the guy did his intro speech, dropped the Caesar Ocatvius sheet he had added to his patient gown, and the first volunteer got to business, it was all very technical and interesting, and somehow we were all professional and more or less relaxed.

So, speaking now as a future professional, it's not a big deal. And the thing is, it's really super-imporant. A decent exam takes three minutes out of your life, it doesn't hurt, and it involves no needles and no radiation, unlike so many other tests. And the risks of being a big wuss about it and doing nothing are fairly dire. Ask Lance Armstrong about that.

Which brings me back to my own experience. Having honed my little speech, I had to consider my own very mild symptoms, from the past year or so. Nothing major, really, but some research pointed me toward an issue with the tissue, in the palace of the pants. Gradually I had to admit that if I were hearing from a friend what I was thinking, I'd tell that friend to go in and get checked. So I had to go see the stately, joke-cracking, HMO-hating doc over at the clinic.

This is a guy who graduated the very same medical school, more than 40 years ago. He's kind of a role model for me. He works pretty much because he loves medicine, and he'd be bored out of his mind puttering around at home with, I don't know, bonsai trees or model trains or some shit. He'd much rather be gloving up and getting to know me better than either of us anticipated.

He needed to leave for a minute to go find the tube of lube. I told him to TAKE ALL THE TIME YOU NEED, man. Search high and low.

And it turned out fine. My prostate is, apparently, awesome. I have no blood anywhere it's not supposed to be. Best of all, that info is documented, bitches! I'm not saying the exam doesn't suck just a little, but it's no worse a sensation than, say, the feeling of having crud stuck under your contact lens. It's less painful than irritating. You go ow ow ow ow shit ow, and you take out the lens to wash it. Then you're fine. And I'd rather have a rectal than some of that bullshit that dentists do to your gums with metal hooks.

The preliminary diagnosis? It would be nice if I didn't have to sit motionless for ten hours a day. So basically, my man-bits are suffering from IRONY. But yes, I absolutely did the right thing by going in.

The moral of the story for all my friends who are, or who love, guys: a dude should check his sack, once a month. And don't fear the finger.

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.

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.

Missing in Action (as well as Inaction)

Biochemistry class has begun to eat my life. And then break down and absorb the constituent pieces of my life, eventually reducing them to a few key classes of chemicals, which are then put through various complicated processes and converted into... knowledge about biochemistry, I guess.

Guitar Hero II has occupied enough of my time and attention that I've seen the little dots of the game screen coming at me when I close my eyes. On the other hand, Teslagrl has bought the first game and her own controller, so soon there will be tales of wild parties involving tiny plastic guitars and copious alcohol. Which will be broken down into a few key classes of chemicals, and put through various complicated processes. Most happily, I've started playing my real guitar more often. Together with my insanely fun effects pedal, it frickin' rules.

I bought some cool new shoes, for incredibly cheap. As much as I am a total dude, I have my moments of being a clothes-horse too. Hopefully, I'm as interesting, astute, and agreeably cranky a clothes horse as Dack from dack.com.

I've been out to see a lil' bit of the rock show scene, and I've chilled with my peeps. A bunch of interesting stuff has happened at work, but as always I can't really get into it, because the stuff that interests me most is frequently the stuff it would get me fired to talk about.

I got to meet Amber for beers. That was awesome. Hopefully there will be more such meetings of the minds; it seems like we could totally get some kind of blog Justice Society thing going. or at least a cheesy, Superfriends version. Long as I'm not Aquaman, that is.

The Soundtrack

Hmm. I just found an interesting idea, over at Amber's, and although it's a Web meme and therefore ever so slightly hateful and lame, I'm intrigued. Not to mention, it's 6am on my day off, which means I need to kill an hour until the time I would be getting off work, so I can maintain a sleep schedule for the overnight shifts I have later in the week.

I shall cut n' paste the instructions, so as to save those precious keystrokes. I'm tired, dudes.

If Your Life Was A Movie
Here's how it works:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Play, iPod, etc.)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool.

Okay, so interesting idea, right? Now, immediately upon seeing this, I planned to steal it. In fact, it would be rude of me not to actually read what whatsername has listed for songs. One minute, k?

...

Cool. I don't know about half that music, but that's fine. Cool idea, well-executed.

Anyway, as I was saying, simultaneous to deciding to steal this idea for a blog post of my own, I wondered whether I should mention that I sort of have a soundtrack already. See, I was/am toying with doing something screenwriter-ish with my year out east in school, and that's why the extremely rough treatment I have for that already has, if not a soundtrack, at least a concept and an iTunes playlist.

I do know actual real screenwriters and authors and whatnot, and I myself have some training and a sliver of experience -- just none of the arts-helpful sorts of discipline or ambition. Still. I'm throwing that out there. It might be fun to see whether there's any overlap. However, I won't cheat and use just that playlist, because the thematic unity would be too heartbreakingly awesome.

I will, of course, personalize and refine this exercise by adding way too much commentary. You know how things work around here. Ready? Here goes. Full library. No Mulligans. Hitting 'Play'... now.

Opening Credits:
Anybody Wanna Take Me Home, by Ryan Adams
(Well, this is clearly The Awesome. It's good credits music and everything.)

(Oh, and by the way, may I just take this moment to say I don't endorse or condone what, judging by a look down the list of upcoming scenes, is a fairly boring and far-too-linear biopic structure for this movie? Cool, thanks. Okay, hitting 'Next' now.)

Waking Up:
Jesus on the Radio, by Guster
(Well, sweet. We even get a song in which the first words are "Five AM, March Sixteenth," which is about as literal as a "waking up" song can get. So it's in keeping with the anvilicous strucure. I do love me some Guster, though, and waking up to banjos means it's a bouncy morning.)

First Day of School:
In Like With You, by the Judybats
(Anybody who knew me in my school days, just shut up right now. Next.)

Falling In Love:
Confetti, by the Lemonheads
(Oh, too good. As a child of the 80s and a man of the 90s, this is a Hell Yes. )

Sex Scene:
Wildflowers, by Tom Petty
(Hmm. Okay, sensitive yet driving. Sure, why not?)

Fight Song:
Across the Universe, by the Beatles
(That is just all manner of fucked up. Maybe the flock of birds at the beginning is scared off by me scuffling with schoolyard bullies, or getting mugged, or something. "J'ai Guru Deva, muthafucka! Bamm!")

Breaking Up:
The Zephyr Song, by the Red Hot Chili Peppers
(Hm. Maybe. If I'm turning away at the right moment, and striding toward the camera manfully, while some chick gradually fades into out-of-focus irrelevance. Even still, it's too on-the-nose. You never put a song with the words "fly away" into a breakup scene. Plus the guitar solo is hella lame.)

Prom:
It Takes a Lot to Laugh, It Takes a Train to Cry, by Bob Dylan
(Ummm... all I'll say here is, that would have been a much better prom. And also, I've become confused by the structure all of a sudden. In this movie, I've had sex and violence and we're only now getting to the prom? Jeez, how long is this epic film?)

Life:
Catchy, by Pizzicato Five
(It's in a language I don't speak, it's too long and rather repetitive, and yet there's something about it that makes me want to shake my ass. Also, some woman is sighing heavily in between verses. Yep, that's life all right.)

Mental Breakdown:
(Please be something cool... be something cool... no whammies...)
Here Comes the Groom, by John Wesley Harding
(AH HA HA HA HA HAHA HA! I love you, iTunes! You are a funny, funny program.)

Driving:
She Goes On, by Crowded House
(I always thought of this as a song that would be at someone's funeral. Let's say I'm driving, but I'm preoccupied with somebody dead.)

Flashback:
The Disappointed, by XTC
(Damn, this is getting to be one broken-hearted drag of a movie, man. Bummer.)

Getting Back Together:
High, by the Cure
(Well, okay, then.)

Wedding:
People Love to Watch You Die, by John Wesley Harding
(People, it's official. My iTunes is a bitter, broken, sarcastic bastard. Sorry about that. It's a great song, really, just... hm.)

Birth of A Child:
Gyroscope, by the Dismemberment Plan
(Wow, for just a fraction of a second there, I thought that said "Gynoscope." I think I've nearly stayed up late enough.)

Final Battle:
(Oooh, the climactic final confrontation. Nice. Let's see what we've got... the tension mounts... aaaannd...)
1974, by Ryan Adams
(A hit! A palpable hit! It's guitar-driven, it's aggressive. "The city is an animal, ready to eat..." And bonus points for hearkening back to the opening credit music, too... just like John Wesley Harding is the bloomin' Angel of Doom in this movie, Ryan Adams is the Patron Saint of Kick-Ass. I can deal with that.)

Death Scene:
When it Started, by the Strokes
(I have no complaints about this thoroughly kick-ass closing credits music. I guess maybe in this movie, I died of coolness. By the way, this is the version with "New York City cops, they ain't too smart," so maybe I was gunned down in a hail of bullets, reaching for my cell phone. Or maybe, I had a black iPod, and I was trying to fast-forward myself out of a jam. I bet it was John Wesley Harding's fault, somehow.)

(Yeah, I like that. It's pretty Meta. Like "Adaptation" meets the end of "There's Something About Mary," when Jonathan Richman gets shot through the chest. Fade to black, kids. I'm going to bed.)

Disturbing signs of getting older

I was awakened from a dream this morning by the ringing of the phone. But that was cool with me, because what started as a dream with decent potential to get all sexual had instead turned into a dream that featured a very large buffet of tasty mexican foods. The hell? Even in my dreams, I'd rather attend a cheese-drenched cocktail party than an orgy?

The three-cheese burrito was particularly excellent, it's true; all the nubile college women agreed.

freaky-deakies need medical care, too

Dear Admissions Committees,

Check how well-rounded I am. Even after a complete 3-to-11:30 shift in the ED, I managed to get home, put on my House outfit (which is eerily similar to what I wear anyhow), and get over to a Halloween party. A party documented by my pal, future Golden Globe-winning screenwriter (and eventual Hollywood Squares center square) Diablo Cody. click for the scoop, Twin Cities insiders!

Taking time to play is vital to the ability to work hard. In my 12 years in Corporate America and the year I spent in my intesive, one-year post-bac program, I learned how important it is to be where you are. Ya know, dude?

Hah, no pictures of me there! My anonymity is safe for one more day.

Now I need to come up with a good answer to that question about "what is your weakness?" So far, I'm not past the idea that it's an unfair and a sort of stupid question, and so my best answer so far seems to be this:

INTERVIEWER

That is very impressive. Tell us about some areas where you're not as strong. What about your weaknesses?

FEBRIFUGE

(Pauses, thoughtfully. Leans forward in his chair. Makes eye contact.)

Kryptonite.

Yeah, I'm working on it. Trixi has turned out to be an unexpectedly rich source of interview prep, and has a decent answer. I'll tell you later. And maybe I'll get over the idea it's a dumb question if I hear some additional good answers. What do you say, in a job interview or whatnot, when asked about your weakness?

Eww, baby, eww

Tonight, at work, I was in on a childbirth. I got to witness the Miracle of Birth -- the human version, not the State Fair farm-animal version.

Yes, it was magical. I was suffused with a sense of the world being a good, kind, and loving place.

On the other hand, it was not so different from the State Fair version, when you come right down to it. And the bit they did on Scrubs pretty much nails it: in a faux-1950's Health Class filmstrip, JD-as-wise doctor guy intones "you'll fart, pee, and poop in a room full of people." A-yup. There was in fact a lil' bit of that.

So I have to revise my rule about when you smell the poopoo in the trauma room. If it's a trauma patient who has lost bowel control, then yes, that is still a dire neurological finding, and a sign things are Very Bad Indeed. However, the mere fact of a "code brown" does not mean badness; there's a loophole in the rule allowing for childbirth-related dropping of the deuce.

Still a miracle, though. Tiny fingers and toes, etc. Yes yes. I'm not totally jaded.

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...

bacchanal

I may write more about this later, but before the term ends and all the ducks are safely in a row, I should mention that Saturday night I finally attended the big, Bennington-style rager that had been implicitly promised to me all along.

All is well, and I was entirely well-behaved. Nonetheless, it was glorious excess; if in the future I donate money to the school, it may well be because of the sweaty half-naked people dancing inside and jumping into the kiddie pool outside, as much as it is because of the education. Then again, maybe this is the heart of the real education.

I saw my friends who live in that house for probably a total of ten minutes; they were clearly occupied with their own mini-dramas, but that was fine because it left me to talk with just about anyone and everyone. It warms my grizzled old heart to have such a wide array of people all give me the same comment: "you're the only Post-Bac I see around." Well, yes, I'm afraid that's largely true... but thanks for noticing and thanks for the warm reception, ya crazy kids. And meanwhile, in work-related news:



My experiment went well. What you're looking at is his-auxotrophic e. coli bacteria, growing on a minimal-medium agar that should make their presence impossible. The reason the little guys are so hardy is that the substance being tested, a solution soaking that little round filter paper disc, caused reverse mutations that brought them back to self-sufficiency. They're making their own histidine, just like regular e. coli do, and partying down Bennington-style like everyone else.

I'll say more about the details another time, but the practical upshot is to be careful with some of your "natural" or "herbal" remedies: they can cause some impressive stuff to happen on a cellular level. And just because I didn't go in the kiddie-pool with the naked kids doesn't mean I would want to know what the heck is growing in that thing now.

Like, totally awesome

You know what's fun? Roller skating.

You know what's more fun than merely roller skating? Roller skating after midnight, in the wood-floored auditorium normally used for orchestra concerts (and fashion shows, since I go the school I go to, but still; it's at school, see). And to ramp up the fun to stupid levels, what you do is you rent 300 pairs of skates, you hang a disco ball in the rafters, and you have 80s music blaring.

Then, since I go to the school I go to, what happens is the kids get all dressed up like crazy rolling ravers. Sugary snacks were provided, so at any given time about a quarter of the people on the floor were sporting pacifier-style suckers with big red plastic lips on the outside. We had ice princess skirts, we had roller derby people of many genders, we had one dude dressed like a mountain goat, we had a woman who wore bloomers and a camisole with the face and boobs of an inflatable doll pasted on the appropriate places of the outfit. And we had me, looking completely normal but being one of the few if not the only one who ever went roller skating like that, as a suburban youth, when the music was current.

What's different now, as opposed to when I was 14? Well, for one, I watched the Suns beat the crap out of the Lakers at the campus pub before I went over, and had a nice four-beer buzz on, so I was more fluid and relaxed -- and that turns out to be quite handy when you're negotiating a crowd of skaters that's 30% better than you, 40% as good as you, and 30% much, much worse. Like the man said: you fall three times, you get up four. That was me. But three falls in three hours ain't bad.

Other than that, it was exactly the same as 7th grade: say hi to some friends, but generally keep moving. Get the hell off the floor to show the DJ my disdain for Meat Loaf, and get out there for the Duran Duran and the Van Halen. Totally not get any much attention from the ladies. (Which of course is more than okay these days.)

The college's irony switch was on the fritz that night, so I couldn't tell who was making fun of skating and who was just skating. Several people might have had actual, non-snarky fun. Someone I know was shouting at a friend at intervals, as he came around the oval each time:

"Admit that you're skating!"

Exactly.

August 18th

I am approximately 60 days from graduation. My class at South Side of Town College ends late in April, with the final in the first week of May, and graduation at North Side of Town College is right around my birthday, the first week of June.

It's a bittersweet thing. It will be great to have gone through my self-described big, transformative year, especially if my GPA looks good. (Which it will, because I'm focused and capable now in ways I wasn't in undergrad.) It will be double-plus-great to be back in a "normal" relationship with Teslagrl, without the pesky distance. But it'll be sad, too. I'll miss my classmates, and certain of the undergrads I've bonded with.

Plus, I'll need to get on that GRE thing, and keep up with the application process I'll be starting even before I'm done here. It's going to be a whole new kind of tough, high-stakes mission. More on the line than ever before; less time to get it all to work out; closer to what I'll be doing for the rest of my life. Heavy stuff.

But it'll all be okay, because mid-August, Snakes On A Plane is coming out. I will make sure that I'm not supposed to be working that night; I'll clear my calendar of all else. I and everyone I know (or at least those who recognize the purity and joy surrounding this movie's release) will be in a cineplex, watching Samuel L. Jackson taser a snake in the face.

It doesn't have to be a good movie. It's already perfect. It's snakes, on a plane. You dig?

Overlooked and Under-Appreciated

No, I'm not referring to myself. I get a fair bit of appreciation from my peers and professors, actually. Sure, it's rarely of the simple eyebrows-up, dude, I'm impressed variety; what I get is more frequently of the head-shaking, I'm being understanding of your specialness right now variety; or the you sure have guts, kid, but why do you have to make it so tough on yourself? variety.

...And of course, to the latter I can only respond with a shrug and a look that says, because I'm a good cop, dammit, and this city has seen enough compromise! Now are you going to take away my badge, or should I get back to doing my job? And then, after a tense five-second staring contest, I stride back out into the squadroom while the Chief slumps in his chair and knocks back a slug of Pepto-Bismol. Maybe he yells after me about how someday (I'm) going to stick my neck out so far not even (he) can stop the axe, and maybe not.

No, wait. Was that me? Hm. Anyway, I'm not under-appreciated, really. But at least 100 movies are. The Online Film Critics' Society has compiled a list; these are, one is given to understand, the Top 100 Overlooked Films of the 1990's.

Thanks to Girl D for making me aware of this -- I learned the phrase "Cheese Sandwich Blog" from Diablo C earlier today, and if there's a phrase or a vocab word for I read this on someone else's blog and thought it was so cool I just nakedly stole it to recycle for my own purposes, then this would be a shining example of that.

(If there isn't already a word, I'd like to nominate "yoink!," for reasons that are obvious to Simpsons fans.)

Things that impress me about this list include, of course, how many of the 100 I have seen (31, which I assume to mean I'm approximately 31% cooler than the hypothetical person or people who could have made it through the 90's easily without seeing any of these films). Also the fact that it includes movies I've championed in movie-nerd discussions before. If the Interweb is for nothing else, it's for hollow validation from random strangers! Plus, the vast majority of the list is films I have been intending to see for... well, I guess the aughts are over half done with, so six to 16 years, with a median of 11. (Yeah, I took Stats and liked it.)

I know you're dying to know some of my faves when it comes to movies. I'm technically a playwright (in much the same way people are "technically a virgin"). You're especially dying to know if you've ever asked me, and received that weaselly answer of mine, which requires a genre or a time period to even get close and -- okay, nobody really cares that much. Suffice to say, the OFCS gets my appreciation for including, among others, such films as...

16) That Thing You Do
18) Sneakers
19) Zero Effect
21) Truly, Madly, Deeply
32) Defending Your Life
34) Bringing Out the Dead
39) Beautiful Girls
42) Richard III
45) My Neighbor Totoro
59) Joe Versus the Volcano
63) Croupier
and
74) Flirting With Disaster

Whoa. And that's just the ones I was really excited about. Who wants to argue? Who wants to agree? Who's got something that shoulda been on that list?

Heal myself? Ha!

Yes, it's usually a bad idea, but it was so obvious in this case that I have self-diagnosed: I've got me some of that March Madness.

Why, Syracuse, why?

While I'm at it, I've diagnosed my iPod, as well. It's true, there's nothing like a good history to explain symptoms that would otherwise be mysterious and vague. But the presentation is exactly the same as it was the last time the Pod crapped out on me, except this time I'm armed with the knowledge of what the problem was last time.

Funny story about that. My Pod had been a champ, a faithful companion... until last fall a month or two past the warranty date. Then it started skipping in much the way a CD player with a dirty laser lens would. This developed into an amusing game where it would play the first few seconds of a song, then flip ahead to the next. The end stage of this malady was just flipping through songs without actually playing any of them. I'd watch the display and wonder if the ectoplasm of a disapproving ghost was hitting "next" and growing more frustrated at my lame taste in music.

I wondered if the copy-protection cops were on to me -- had I downloaded files that self-destructed? But no, stuff from my own CDs did the same. I fretted about file types. I tried converting, only to find that some files would rewrite fine and others would crap out partway through. I wiped the whole thing (nooooo!) and re-imported from CDs... in Apple Lossless format. Which was fine, since instead of 2200 songs, now I had 140, and room to spare.

I took the thing to Albany, and since they were unable to get the Pod to "mount" just as I had been unable to at home, they couldn't apply their magic touch to it. Then upon questioning, they admitted their idea of magic was the same iPod updater program I already had. They suggested I buy a new Pod. Some "geniuses." Their bag of tricks wouldn't hold so much as one of the crack rocks they was smokin', I thought to myself, as I stalked out of the store.

But then I went home for break, and added a little more ammo to my "New York is cool and all, but Albany/Troy is basically Dubuque" attitude. A guy at one of the stores in the Minneapolis area listened to the useless spinning of the hard drive, observed the freaky-deaky display behavior, and took the Pod to the back. He came out with the thing working perfectly, explaining that there's a cable that sometimes comes loose; without the connection to its own hard drive, the Pod can't make anything work.

So now, I'm convinced that carrying the Pod back and forth to the car, etc. in New England winter conditions has caused the connector to expand and contract to the point where now, it's out again. And here's your O. Henryish twist to the story: back in Albany last week, to pick up the woman* at the airport, I signed in, sauntered up to the Genius Bar when it was my turn, and helpfully suggested that they go in the back and open 'er up. I said that if they did, they could expect to find a loose cable connector. They shocked me by reporting -- are you ready for this?

"Oh. No, we don't open them up. We can't, actually. Against company policy."

So, to the crazy Genius somewhere in the TC metro area who made things so right: you, sir, are not the one who's out of order. They're out of order. The whole damn system is out of order!

And now I just need to find out if Albany is merely genius-free, lacking in some core skills no matter what the name tags say, or actually FOS. (That's a medical term.)



* who is totally awesome