Here's what I've been on about lately. Watch; learn; discover; discuss.
Microbiology is cool. My girlfriend is, of course, just the coolest. But watching Dave Letterman complimenting my bud Diablo on her "entertaining... informative... insighful... very funny" book is this week's whole new brand of cool. It'll bend your brain to see it: holy crap, there's someone I know on Letterman. And as a real guest, too, not for some bullshit "random guest" reason like because she built a ten-foot lunar Lander out of cardboard tampon applicators. Which she totally would, under the right circumstances.
I guess one reason this subject gets me so jazzed is that, now that I'm on my path to a real, grown-up life, I can hope for a certain brand of coolness and satisfaction, maybe even a careful and respectful kind of celebrity. But if I'm to ever become a rock star, it'll have to be within a context that I don't get to choose. It'll be with modifiers and specificity, or else it'll be utterly underground. Which is actually sort of bitchin', but still. As I recall, Dave trotted out the team who took care of him during his bypass operation. That was awesome. But he didn't banter a whole lot with them, and I don't think they spoke at any length.
Note please: I'm not feeling regretful here. Nor am I suggesting regular folks like me can't achieve. One of my oldest and dearest friends spent a year writing for A Prairie Home Companion. I myself spent a season with the coolest acting company in a town full of great theatres, and I road-tripped to see one of my own little one-acts performed in a festival. I know no fewer than four people who write better screenplays than 80% of what's in cinemas now. It's just that, y'know, I have massive loan debt and the best job in the world out there, someplace ahead... on something of a rigid, circumscribed road. It's great, only now I really, really can't chuck it all and join the circus. (Well, in fact, I just did that last summer, so what I mean is, I can't do it again.)
So if I'm a little ebullient, a wee bit pumped up about the latest and, we shall see, perhaps biggest of these successes-by-association, maybe there's an element of melancholy too. Let's say I write essays like Atul Gawande, only snarkier. Or I join up with some damn medical drama on TV for a while. Would I have patients who would think it's cool, and not inappropriate, if some little part of their story gets woven into fiction? Would I ever have patients again?
'Course, there's always the pseudonymous blogger-turned "real" writer thing. I hear that can work, sometimes. I'd just have to stick to magazine interviews with no photos. Hey, Scrubs: call me! (Hey, Grey's Anatomy: DON'T call me!)
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Saturday, March 18, 2006
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
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
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Rectify!
From Teslagrl:
"I think you have more posts referencing (Diablo) than me, the gf. I think you must rectify!"
Too right. But when you're working on becoming a medical person and can't really talk too much about the interesting and amusing episodes which comprise that process, then you go for more of the pop culture stuff the readers can get a little more involved with (hi, reader/s!). I mean, here's a partial list of cool stuff I can't really get into:
I can't describe patient encounters. At least not until some more time passes, and the details get better-obscured by simply not mentioning when they took place.
I live, and shadow, in a small town. Sure, I tend to scramble the identifying details when I talk about patients, but I can't do it right until I've seen hundreds of people who fit every one of the phenotypes I might describe. In trying to protect the identity of the burly dairy farmer, I might wind up describing the bratty teenager instead, and if they're both among the last 400 people I saw, then so what if the story as told has them switching maladies (or dialogue)? Nope, better to say nothing about anyone. Sorry. It'll have to come down years later as "oh yeah, this one time, I saw somebody who..."
I can't talk in too much detail about school. There are of course the frustrations and triumphs of any situation where you're locked into a path (maybe a little less locked in, in my case, but still) which lasts a year and involves a core of 12 people. Again, these stories will be great, eventually. For now I need to do this thing. Plus the process of writing my essays and think "competitively" has me paranoid enough to believe that musings and clever turns of phrase out here in piecemeal form could be picked up by another kid headed where I am. I want this blog to be of use to people in the future... just not too much use, and not in my app cycle.
I probably should make at least a weak attempt at anonymity. I have nothing to hide, and in fact I plan to follow in the footsteps of good medical writers. But again, for now, while I'm preparing to be evaluated and scrutinized, as well as having to just function well, it seems smart to compartmentalize the writing and the schooling. I promise I'll wear a t-shirt reading 'Febrifuge' once I'm safely in school. I'll wear it on the day I lead a tour for prospective newbies, or if I'm giving an inservice at my hospital to students. Someday I might gain the underground celebrity I'd be so good at. But for now, to paraphrase Douglas Adams: hey, I'm just this guy, you know?
So, I'll talk about my experiences with the process of school and applications. I'll talk about issues in medicine, like all the other med-bloggers. I'll talk about stuff I've seen and heard when it's safe. I'll talk about movies, music, books, the Web. And also, more about T-girl and our adventures, sure. Though I bet she wants some editorial control...
"I think you have more posts referencing (Diablo) than me, the gf. I think you must rectify!"
Too right. But when you're working on becoming a medical person and can't really talk too much about the interesting and amusing episodes which comprise that process, then you go for more of the pop culture stuff the readers can get a little more involved with (hi, reader/s!). I mean, here's a partial list of cool stuff I can't really get into:
I can't describe patient encounters. At least not until some more time passes, and the details get better-obscured by simply not mentioning when they took place.
I live, and shadow, in a small town. Sure, I tend to scramble the identifying details when I talk about patients, but I can't do it right until I've seen hundreds of people who fit every one of the phenotypes I might describe. In trying to protect the identity of the burly dairy farmer, I might wind up describing the bratty teenager instead, and if they're both among the last 400 people I saw, then so what if the story as told has them switching maladies (or dialogue)? Nope, better to say nothing about anyone. Sorry. It'll have to come down years later as "oh yeah, this one time, I saw somebody who..."
I can't talk in too much detail about school. There are of course the frustrations and triumphs of any situation where you're locked into a path (maybe a little less locked in, in my case, but still) which lasts a year and involves a core of 12 people. Again, these stories will be great, eventually. For now I need to do this thing. Plus the process of writing my essays and think "competitively" has me paranoid enough to believe that musings and clever turns of phrase out here in piecemeal form could be picked up by another kid headed where I am. I want this blog to be of use to people in the future... just not too much use, and not in my app cycle.
I probably should make at least a weak attempt at anonymity. I have nothing to hide, and in fact I plan to follow in the footsteps of good medical writers. But again, for now, while I'm preparing to be evaluated and scrutinized, as well as having to just function well, it seems smart to compartmentalize the writing and the schooling. I promise I'll wear a t-shirt reading 'Febrifuge' once I'm safely in school. I'll wear it on the day I lead a tour for prospective newbies, or if I'm giving an inservice at my hospital to students. Someday I might gain the underground celebrity I'd be so good at. But for now, to paraphrase Douglas Adams: hey, I'm just this guy, you know?
So, I'll talk about my experiences with the process of school and applications. I'll talk about issues in medicine, like all the other med-bloggers. I'll talk about stuff I've seen and heard when it's safe. I'll talk about movies, music, books, the Web. And also, more about T-girl and our adventures, sure. Though I bet she wants some editorial control...
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Critical Care
You know what's weird? When you read a book written by someone you know.
And no, it's not because of the naughty language and the adult situations. Shee-oot, I knew about all that from the first time I met Jon and Diablo, the skinny white Oprah, queen of all media. Heck, we've had lengthy discussions at our little suburban All-Drunken Round Table about deviant sex among Muppets, and cutting out half the White Album. We've drawn some cartoons on napkins that on reflection I really hope we did not leave behind. No, it's weird because for a long time it was a project, the kind of thing you ask about, and then on Xmas morning the thing's a damn book.
But you know what's weirder? Trying to be a critic, and explain in writing why you liked it so much. And consequently having to admit that you're essentially biased as all hell. So I'm going to wuss out on my intended 250-word review, and just summarize: books ain't blogs; this is a fine example of an important evolutionary step; it's a damn fine read; and as always, Diablo rules. There just happens to be a small dead-tree corner of the ruleage now, and yay for that.
That's the short version. If you're looking for the short version, off with you, then. The rest is expansion.
A couple weeks ago, I was procrastinating some work by doing some other work: I was attempting to write clearly about "Candy Girl," hoping to provide something more substantial to my karaoke bud than just props and congrats. I mean, I do fully intend to drink the booze and fall off the stripper pole in the refurbished basement of the Cody-Cave, once I return home this summer. I wanted to give back, y'know? Anyway, my housemate the poet surprised me when he said he does that too; it's good writing practice to play critic. I'll have to keep doing it, but I'm recusing myself from this one. It just can't come together, because I'm not objective. However, I got some nice little runs bult up there, and I'm loath to just trash them. So here are a few of the better crit-niblets for ya:
Yeah, well, so I'm no NYT Sunday Magazine. But I'm ready to adopt the proper Pussketeer attitude and declare reviews of "the book" to be, like, so February already. So now that we're all Codyfied, I'll end here. Back to medical crap soon, most likely.
IN: Email exchanges with DC, which lead to a picture of Hobbes peeing on something, for a change
OUT: lurking at MNspeak, feeling pride because you ain't made it 'til you have haters
FIVE MINUTES AGO: mentioning casually that "...oh yeah? Cool. I know that author. So what did your internship boss at the publisher think of it?"
And no, it's not because of the naughty language and the adult situations. Shee-oot, I knew about all that from the first time I met Jon and Diablo, the skinny white Oprah, queen of all media. Heck, we've had lengthy discussions at our little suburban All-Drunken Round Table about deviant sex among Muppets, and cutting out half the White Album. We've drawn some cartoons on napkins that on reflection I really hope we did not leave behind. No, it's weird because for a long time it was a project, the kind of thing you ask about, and then on Xmas morning the thing's a damn book.
But you know what's weirder? Trying to be a critic, and explain in writing why you liked it so much. And consequently having to admit that you're essentially biased as all hell. So I'm going to wuss out on my intended 250-word review, and just summarize: books ain't blogs; this is a fine example of an important evolutionary step; it's a damn fine read; and as always, Diablo rules. There just happens to be a small dead-tree corner of the ruleage now, and yay for that.
That's the short version. If you're looking for the short version, off with you, then. The rest is expansion.
A couple weeks ago, I was procrastinating some work by doing some other work: I was attempting to write clearly about "Candy Girl," hoping to provide something more substantial to my karaoke bud than just props and congrats. I mean, I do fully intend to drink the booze and fall off the stripper pole in the refurbished basement of the Cody-Cave, once I return home this summer. I wanted to give back, y'know? Anyway, my housemate the poet surprised me when he said he does that too; it's good writing practice to play critic. I'll have to keep doing it, but I'm recusing myself from this one. It just can't come together, because I'm not objective. However, I got some nice little runs bult up there, and I'm loath to just trash them. So here are a few of the better crit-niblets for ya:
...a book is simply not a blog. I'd take that idea farther, and say that both the strengths and weaknesses of Cody's book derive from this fresh stylistic angle; events that are most vivid and engaging in the book are those that are related in the loose, chatty, candid, snarky, insightful manner that is her key strength in the blog. Her writing persona is juvenile, horny, and hopes to shock -- adolescent, in a word -- but it's also quietly wise and disarmingly insightful.
(...blah blah literati, coffee, deep chairs, retail, yadda yadda, selling not books or writing but the experience of reading...)
...but the blogger's advantage turns against her at times. Being unwilling to submit to the traditional book-to-reader dynamic, with its implications of authority and passivity -- or hoping to rise above it -- can backfire. When things in this particular blog-turned-book don't work, it's largely because the same looseness and immediacy that gives Diablo's blog its chatty intimacy can defy or undermine a compelling narrative sweep, and in the place we're trained to expect a narrator to be, we find there's more or less a reporter instead.
Then again, we play along far too willingly with memiors that are surely edited with the ruthlessness and artifice of season's worth of reality TV. So good on Cody for just telling her damn story, and risking a titillating topic becoming a day job. Good on her for doing this project for her own reasons, and not just to entertain or elicit some response from us. That's quite possibly the point, anyway.
(...blah blah literati, coffee, deep chairs, retail, yadda yadda, selling not books or writing but the experience of reading...)
...but the blogger's advantage turns against her at times. Being unwilling to submit to the traditional book-to-reader dynamic, with its implications of authority and passivity -- or hoping to rise above it -- can backfire. When things in this particular blog-turned-book don't work, it's largely because the same looseness and immediacy that gives Diablo's blog its chatty intimacy can defy or undermine a compelling narrative sweep, and in the place we're trained to expect a narrator to be, we find there's more or less a reporter instead.
Then again, we play along far too willingly with memiors that are surely edited with the ruthlessness and artifice of season's worth of reality TV. So good on Cody for just telling her damn story, and risking a titillating topic becoming a day job. Good on her for doing this project for her own reasons, and not just to entertain or elicit some response from us. That's quite possibly the point, anyway.
Yeah, well, so I'm no NYT Sunday Magazine. But I'm ready to adopt the proper Pussketeer attitude and declare reviews of "the book" to be, like, so February already. So now that we're all Codyfied, I'll end here. Back to medical crap soon, most likely.
IN: Email exchanges with DC, which lead to a picture of Hobbes peeing on something, for a change
OUT: lurking at MNspeak, feeling pride because you ain't made it 'til you have haters
FIVE MINUTES AGO: mentioning casually that "...oh yeah? Cool. I know that author. So what did your internship boss at the publisher think of it?"
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
NKOTB
http://hatesexy.blogspot.com/
Go. Read. Enjoy. This is the blog of my Friday night homie and sometime Everly Brother, Jon Hunt.
Jon talks more than I do, which is fine because he's smarter and has more to say. Me, I'm just killin' time here, between Genetics and Microbiology. I have very few stories that would earn strong response from anyone, and most of the time I need to keep those to myself anyhow.
Jon's one of those guys that makes guys like me feel better, because one, it must be possible after all to make it all hang together; two, the crap we go through can eventually lead to very good places; and C, I guess maybe we're not so unalike as we've sometimes been lead to believe.
This place is about what it's like to chuck your cubicle job and go back to school; it's about what it's like to gradually become a medical person, while hoping to retain a shred of coolness and personality. Jon, by my reckoning anyhow, is largely about not having to do that. His cool side stays cool and his hot side stays hot, without a lot of outwardly visible effort. I guess his blog might be about that too; time will tell.
Go. Read. Enjoy. This is the blog of my Friday night homie and sometime Everly Brother, Jon Hunt.
Jon talks more than I do, which is fine because he's smarter and has more to say. Me, I'm just killin' time here, between Genetics and Microbiology. I have very few stories that would earn strong response from anyone, and most of the time I need to keep those to myself anyhow.
Jon's one of those guys that makes guys like me feel better, because one, it must be possible after all to make it all hang together; two, the crap we go through can eventually lead to very good places; and C, I guess maybe we're not so unalike as we've sometimes been lead to believe.
This place is about what it's like to chuck your cubicle job and go back to school; it's about what it's like to gradually become a medical person, while hoping to retain a shred of coolness and personality. Jon, by my reckoning anyhow, is largely about not having to do that. His cool side stays cool and his hot side stays hot, without a lot of outwardly visible effort. I guess his blog might be about that too; time will tell.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
booyah!
I am presently at the library, re-reactivating my virtual dissectible dude. It's a sweet program -- basically like the old-style antomy books with plate upon plate of plastic sheets you can peel back and look deeper -- except it periodically and spontaneously stops working. Then I email the pleasant-enough support guys, who send me a new activation key... and I wait a day or three until I can be on the Web with my laptop.
So I'm set up among the reference materials and periodicals. It's like 55 degrees here for no reason, and it's awesome, except this friggin wasp flies over to me and alights on the screen. Not cool. I brush it gently away with the envelope from the CD-ROM, without thinking back to the sting I got ON THE HAND when I caught one and tried to release it out the porch door last fall.
And it buzzes lazily over to my head.
Screw it. As of now, it's on. I am totally President Dubya now; maybe I started it, who can say, it was so long ago and anyway that's your opinion -- but the wasp reacted predictably with something that might have been defensiveness. Except I'm not like the Prez, because I killed the wasp swiftly and well. It landed on top of a road atlas; I moved the atlas to the floor, then dropped something subtitled 'the National Geographic Atlas of Ancient Places' on top. With a newspaper protecting the book, because I'm not a barbarian.
In other news, is anyone still reading this thing? Or have I completely reverted to "this is a good place to put stuff I'll need later" mode?
So I'm set up among the reference materials and periodicals. It's like 55 degrees here for no reason, and it's awesome, except this friggin wasp flies over to me and alights on the screen. Not cool. I brush it gently away with the envelope from the CD-ROM, without thinking back to the sting I got ON THE HAND when I caught one and tried to release it out the porch door last fall.
And it buzzes lazily over to my head.
Screw it. As of now, it's on. I am totally President Dubya now; maybe I started it, who can say, it was so long ago and anyway that's your opinion -- but the wasp reacted predictably with something that might have been defensiveness. Except I'm not like the Prez, because I killed the wasp swiftly and well. It landed on top of a road atlas; I moved the atlas to the floor, then dropped something subtitled 'the National Geographic Atlas of Ancient Places' on top. With a newspaper protecting the book, because I'm not a barbarian.
In other news, is anyone still reading this thing? Or have I completely reverted to "this is a good place to put stuff I'll need later" mode?
Sunday, February 12, 2006
No, really...
...I will post a review of "Candy Girl." Sometime. Another way I practice writing skill is to attempt media criticism (and as the book will attest, media criticism can get some people hot). So I have some organized thoughts. Right now, it's an ass-long yet not very good essay. If only it were more impenetrable, it would work for City Pages (I kid, because I love).
Friday, February 03, 2006
Batten the hatches...
...the "Things I Learned From My Patients" thread on SDN's Emergency Med board has been boingboinged, which is apparently a lot like being Slashdotted. This most ripe and piquant dish is something I've contributed to, from time to time. God help me.
Hopefully, this is roughly akin to Wyld Stallyns' demo tape finding its way to the airwaves.
Hopefully, this is roughly akin to Wyld Stallyns' demo tape finding its way to the airwaves.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Mnemonic Follies: Blood Cells
Neutrophils, eosinophils, and basophils are granulocytes; monocytes and leukocytes are agranulocytes. So, Phil looks grainy. Use any visual involving someone named Phil, and imagine a grainy photo. (Warning: multi-channel learners may associate visuals of musicians with that person's music, and bad music may lodge in your brain. Most Elvis Costello tunes will drive out "Sussudio.")
Neutrophils neutralize infections, usually bacterial ones.
Basophils release histamine and heparin; they pump out the bass of immune response.
Eosinophils (EE-oh-sin-uh-filz) fight parasites. Parasites; ewwwww!
Monocytes are single-minded killing machines.
Leukocytes come in T and B varieties; TB is a nasty bug itself; being given a grim diagnosis is as shocking and sucky as hearing, "Luke, I am your father."
Yes, that's Phil Collins and Empire Strikes Back. Yes, 'non-traditional student' does mean 'older.' Shut up.
Neutrophils neutralize infections, usually bacterial ones.
Basophils release histamine and heparin; they pump out the bass of immune response.
Eosinophils (EE-oh-sin-uh-filz) fight parasites. Parasites; ewwwww!
Monocytes are single-minded killing machines.
Leukocytes come in T and B varieties; TB is a nasty bug itself; being given a grim diagnosis is as shocking and sucky as hearing, "Luke, I am your father."
Yes, that's Phil Collins and Empire Strikes Back. Yes, 'non-traditional student' does mean 'older.' Shut up.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
I can't handle my handle
Hey cool. Look what I found:
http://vikingzen.blogspot.com/
Well, slap my ass and call me Shirley. Could it be that 2006 is the year I just gracefully give up on the 'zen viking' moniker? I mean, I try to maintain a certain equanimity and peacefulness in my dealings with the world and people in it. But in truth, I'm really more closely aligned with Taoism than Zen, if you want to talk seriously about philosophy and belief systems. And I almost never want to talk seriously about philosophy and belief systems. Plus, several people near and dear to me are actual, real practitioners of Zen. I'm merely Zen-esque, at best. I accomodate and engage in a certain amount of Zenoform behavior, to be medical-y about it.
Must mull this one over. I've been reading, listening, and generally experiencing the med-blog world a little more recently, and it could be time to make a leap to more frequent, shorter posts, so as to acknowledge I'm part of a genre now... and maybe even allow for some future inclusion in a list or blogroll.
Hmm. Thinking... thinking...
http://vikingzen.blogspot.com/
Well, slap my ass and call me Shirley. Could it be that 2006 is the year I just gracefully give up on the 'zen viking' moniker? I mean, I try to maintain a certain equanimity and peacefulness in my dealings with the world and people in it. But in truth, I'm really more closely aligned with Taoism than Zen, if you want to talk seriously about philosophy and belief systems. And I almost never want to talk seriously about philosophy and belief systems. Plus, several people near and dear to me are actual, real practitioners of Zen. I'm merely Zen-esque, at best. I accomodate and engage in a certain amount of Zenoform behavior, to be medical-y about it.
Must mull this one over. I've been reading, listening, and generally experiencing the med-blog world a little more recently, and it could be time to make a leap to more frequent, shorter posts, so as to acknowledge I'm part of a genre now... and maybe even allow for some future inclusion in a list or blogroll.
Hmm. Thinking... thinking...
Friday, January 20, 2006
Back in the Empire State, and the... flannel and Subaru state
And lo, it did come to pass that the non-trad did set out from his home, and traverse the miles. He did eat of the Steak N' Shake, and find a really decent, cheap motel in Elkhart, IN, and so it was that he was finished paying tolls for crappy roads and did settle back in rural New York.
And the school did begin, at the college on the "nice" side of the town, and as far as he could tell, he was appropriately registered and ready to rock. And thus did the study of blood commence.
And in that time of vacation, some modest events had transpired, and those stories would eventually be told on their own, but the main points were that the long-distance relationship was healthy and intact; the non-trad discovered he enjoyed single-malt Scotch; his mobile phone did plummet into an icy storm drain; and the chick from Friday karaoke with the book deal's book did indeed come out, and furthermore it did not suck. (Fuller review to follow, yo.)
And the Playstation football did recommence, and the non-trad found a very curious thing happening: a three-game winning streak. And thus was he moved to talk of the trash, as that is how the housemates did show their manly regard. And, it was good.
And the school did begin, at the college on the "nice" side of the town, and as far as he could tell, he was appropriately registered and ready to rock. And thus did the study of blood commence.
And in that time of vacation, some modest events had transpired, and those stories would eventually be told on their own, but the main points were that the long-distance relationship was healthy and intact; the non-trad discovered he enjoyed single-malt Scotch; his mobile phone did plummet into an icy storm drain; and the chick from Friday karaoke with the book deal's book did indeed come out, and furthermore it did not suck. (Fuller review to follow, yo.)
And the Playstation football did recommence, and the non-trad found a very curious thing happening: a three-game winning streak. And thus was he moved to talk of the trash, as that is how the housemates did show their manly regard. And, it was good.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
it's weird to be proud of this...
...but that's what working in healthcare is all about: re-ordering what used to be a normal, somewhat sane sense of how the world works.
I was back in the ED today for a few hours, doing my job. Wearin' of the maroon scrubs again. It was good to be back, nice to see some people. I even got to talk a little with a PA there who's been a great source of info and encouragement. And I was happy to find that my prime ED tech skill, the thing that sets me apart from the rest, is intact. Just as reliable and strong as if I hadn't been away six months. And that's what's weird, because while it's a pretty cool skill, it's not exactly "hits the vein every time" or "can instantly estimate heart rate within 2 beats a minute." I'm reasonably good at those things, but what do I win in the tech-skill lottery, as something I'm awesome at?
"Obtains rectal temp without baby crying."
Hey, whatever. You probably have some odd stuff you can do, because of your job.
I was back in the ED today for a few hours, doing my job. Wearin' of the maroon scrubs again. It was good to be back, nice to see some people. I even got to talk a little with a PA there who's been a great source of info and encouragement. And I was happy to find that my prime ED tech skill, the thing that sets me apart from the rest, is intact. Just as reliable and strong as if I hadn't been away six months. And that's what's weird, because while it's a pretty cool skill, it's not exactly "hits the vein every time" or "can instantly estimate heart rate within 2 beats a minute." I'm reasonably good at those things, but what do I win in the tech-skill lottery, as something I'm awesome at?
"Obtains rectal temp without baby crying."
Hey, whatever. You probably have some odd stuff you can do, because of your job.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
I'm on break. This is, I think, almost excuse enough for not posting. I have plenty to say, and some of it might be interesting, but I am tired, dude.
There will be more soon, because as of mid-January I'll be back out at the Farmhouse, and taking only one of my three courses (for wacky two-school schedule reasons). I'll also be shadowing a local PA pretty much one day every week until June. Maybe then I can talk about my groovy recent shadowing experience in a notable ED which should remain nameless, or being kinda-sorta back in my home-base ED. I have a half-shift tomorrow, and I suppose that means I'll get paid a little.
Plus maybe there can be some random stuff about TV and movies, because while at school I just plain don't have much to say about those. For now, though: naps.
There will be more soon, because as of mid-January I'll be back out at the Farmhouse, and taking only one of my three courses (for wacky two-school schedule reasons). I'll also be shadowing a local PA pretty much one day every week until June. Maybe then I can talk about my groovy recent shadowing experience in a notable ED which should remain nameless, or being kinda-sorta back in my home-base ED. I have a half-shift tomorrow, and I suppose that means I'll get paid a little.
Plus maybe there can be some random stuff about TV and movies, because while at school I just plain don't have much to say about those. For now, though: naps.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Poor poor misunderstood horny giant ape
Saw "King Kong" tonight. Liked it, didn't love it. It was clearly a labor of love, and there's no questioning the commitment or the passion. But there is questioning some of the choices. Now that I have a scotch to drink, and I've played the Steve Miller Band's "Jungle Love" to get it out of my head, here's a few random thoughts:
* Naomi Watts is pretty. Pretty excellent!
* Adrien Brody: Mostly Harmless.
* Three hours, and they couldn't bring several of the plot threads to satisfying (or any) conclusions? Stand by for the five-hour director's cut, or else maybe the two-hour fifteen minute one.
* CGI in general was not awesome; several times it was obvious that people were green-screened. CGI for Kong was, as has been detailed elsewhere, awesome.
* Hey, you know, a stampede of brontosaurs would be pretty impressive all on its own. We don't necessarily need them to be a mobile rugby scrum which then turns to break-dancing.
* Jack Black: not just for comedy anymore.
* The natives; yes, racist. Any culture capable of building and maintaining those elaborate mechanisms of sacrifice-delivery would be capable of getting the fuck OFF the island. And we saw no reason for them to stay, like for example Kong-delivered fresh kills for the big village BBQ.
* Ape versus dino: yeah, that's what opposable thumbs can do for ya, beeyotch!
* When you bring a chick over to your place, you might find that she feels more at home if the bones of your ancestors aren't just lying about in plain sight. Unless she's gothy.
* For as wonderful as Watts is, seriously, somebody should have helped her learn to juggle for real. CGI rocks is Lucas-level indulgent.
...and in a word, that's my summation of the film. It was wonderful in spots, pretty solid overall as an entertainment in that Saturday-serial kind of way. But so very indulgent.
* Naomi Watts is pretty. Pretty excellent!
* Adrien Brody: Mostly Harmless.
* Three hours, and they couldn't bring several of the plot threads to satisfying (or any) conclusions? Stand by for the five-hour director's cut, or else maybe the two-hour fifteen minute one.
* CGI in general was not awesome; several times it was obvious that people were green-screened. CGI for Kong was, as has been detailed elsewhere, awesome.
* Hey, you know, a stampede of brontosaurs would be pretty impressive all on its own. We don't necessarily need them to be a mobile rugby scrum which then turns to break-dancing.
* Jack Black: not just for comedy anymore.
* The natives; yes, racist. Any culture capable of building and maintaining those elaborate mechanisms of sacrifice-delivery would be capable of getting the fuck OFF the island. And we saw no reason for them to stay, like for example Kong-delivered fresh kills for the big village BBQ.
* Ape versus dino: yeah, that's what opposable thumbs can do for ya, beeyotch!
* When you bring a chick over to your place, you might find that she feels more at home if the bones of your ancestors aren't just lying about in plain sight. Unless she's gothy.
* For as wonderful as Watts is, seriously, somebody should have helped her learn to juggle for real. CGI rocks is Lucas-level indulgent.
...and in a word, that's my summation of the film. It was wonderful in spots, pretty solid overall as an entertainment in that Saturday-serial kind of way. But so very indulgent.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Name-checked on Velcrometer. Sweet.
M. Giant said this, in a recent post about his offspring M. Small (aka Cuter Than Your Favorite Internet Kid)...
Screw the biological clock; the main reason you want to have a kid before a certain age is because you want to be young enough to be able to stand the levels of random cacophony that can burst forth at any moment.
Sigh. I am soooo boned. I already holler "get outta my yard!" at my traditionally-college-age friends, and it's only funny because it's true.
But thanks to RealAge.com, I can now confidently say that what I've suspected for years might be true: I can take back seven years. The calendar might talk some wack-ass jive about me being 35 and a half; but my diet, exercise, and other habits contribute to my being a lot more like 29.
(Between the ears, of course, I'll forever be a precocious 15. Ehhh, whatever. I've learned to accept it.)
SPECIAL BONUS NOTE: Blogger's spell-check applet doesn't recognize 'Velcrometer,' and suggests I replace with a list that's headed by "belligerent." Heh.
Screw the biological clock; the main reason you want to have a kid before a certain age is because you want to be young enough to be able to stand the levels of random cacophony that can burst forth at any moment.
Sigh. I am soooo boned. I already holler "get outta my yard!" at my traditionally-college-age friends, and it's only funny because it's true.
But thanks to RealAge.com, I can now confidently say that what I've suspected for years might be true: I can take back seven years. The calendar might talk some wack-ass jive about me being 35 and a half; but my diet, exercise, and other habits contribute to my being a lot more like 29.
(Between the ears, of course, I'll forever be a precocious 15. Ehhh, whatever. I've learned to accept it.)
SPECIAL BONUS NOTE: Blogger's spell-check applet doesn't recognize 'Velcrometer,' and suggests I replace with a list that's headed by "belligerent." Heh.
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