Extermination and Creeping

I am lucky enough to report back that the Infectious Disease module -viruses, bacteria, prions, parasites, helminths, and all- has been exterminated and is thankfully tucked away in the "Win" column. (For those keeping track at home: school is still winless while I am undefeated.)

In lieu of summarizing the modules and its disgusting contents, I am instead going to go back to enjoying my spring break and leave you with this photo of my dog creepin'.

                                       So pop-pop-pop your peepers. 




Until next time.

Not Quite The Beginning - Part 2

Carter grimaced when he saw the number. Pushing the side button on his phone, the call disappeared from view but remained in his mind. Could it have really been 3 years? Leaves crunched under his feet as Carter cut through the small park toward his dreary apartment building. The wind nipped at his exposed skin and forewarned the coming cold front and autumn storm. Trash littered the worn stoop of the old brick building before him. Dropping his shoulder to push open the heavy door, Carter doubted himself. Did you really think he wouldn't show up? Come calling as soon as he was out? You know him and you know he'll never change. But can't I change, he thought, arguing with himself.

After he had climbed the four flights to his one bedroom apartment and set down his bag, Carter's phone vibrated against his thigh. The accompanying tinny ringtone stopped when he pushed the talk button.

"Carter Hamilton, it's about time you picked up," Jackson's familiar voice said. "You really gonna leave an old pal like me hanging?"

"Jackson," Carter said, "how are you doing?"

"What do you mean, 'How am I doing'? How would you be after breathing free air for the first time in 3 years? I'm fucking fantastic. Glad to be out of that concrete shithole."

"I can imagine," Carter replied. Specks of dust drifted through the air in front of him, catching the evening light.

"Well now, no you can't, can you?" Jackson spat. "You weren't caught. Weren't even arrested or talked to, if I remember correctly," he added. Carter stopped pacing. Seconds ticked by. "But, let's not rehash the past. A new leaf and all that bullshit." Carter heard the squelch of a train through the phone.

"What can I do for you?" he asked. Unease twisted through his stomach, as he waited for the words he knew would come.

"I've got a job," Jackson replied. "And I could use your services." Carter felt bile seep into his throat.

"Jackson," Carter began, "I don't know if I ca-"

"You shut it. Stop right there," Jackson interrupted. "I don't want to hear a thing. Not one word. I knew you'd go soft with me gone. You never had a damn backbone." Carter closed his eyes and willed himself to say something, anything. "I don't know what you don't understand. You're the alarm guy. That's it. You deal with all the electronic crap, cutting your wires, and I handle everything else. Stealing ain't exactly a complex science."

"You don't understa-" Carter stuttered.

"No," He said. "Just meet me in an hour at the old diner on 23rd. I could use some real food." And with that, Carter heard the line go dead.

Not Quite The Beginning

As they ran, the alarm slowly faded behind them. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, Carter thought. He and Jackson darted through the alley, their footfalls heavy and loud on the uneven concrete. No one was supposed to be there. No one was supposed to get hurt. Rounding the corner, Carter saw the flashing lights of police cars. He felt grief well inside him, the ocean of inevitability pulling him into the undertow. Jackson, struggling to keep up, gained ground as Carter stepped from the alley and abruptly stopped at the edge of the road. The wail of the police sirens grew as it bounced from the empty buildings. 

The first of the black and white cars whipped around the corner. Knocking Carter to the side as he ran past, Jackson darted into the street. Carter felt the world slow as the cruiser's brakes locked into a skid. The bumper clipped Jackson's legs at the knee and bounced his body off the hood. He flew forward into the air. His face hit the pavement with a wet slap. The bones in his neck cracked with a hollow pop. Carter stared, aghast.

"Sir!" The policeman yelled, as he jumped from the car. "Sir, are you alright?"

Blood seeped into the cracked cement. Carter looked up and saw police cars surrounding the area. He looked to the growing crowd of policemen.

"What happened?" a patrolman asked.

"Is that the suspect?" another said, motioning to Jackson's lifeless body. The officers looked to Carter. Their faces wore concern beneath the flashing red and blue lights. The sirens had ceased, giving way to disturbing silence.

"Sir, what did you see? Do you know this man?" the original officer asked. Carter looked to them in disbelief. He realized how the scene must look to the policemen. They don't know what happened, he thought. Jackson's dead eyes looked through him from the street. Carter felt a heavy weight creep into his stomach. The tar brewing inside grew thicker as he paused, choking to keep it down.

Taking a shuddered breath, Carter began to speak.

Nothing But The Rain

Throughout my life, my hobbies and interests have widely varied. I can remember devouring everything I could about ancient Egypt and dinosaurs in elementary school. This transitioned to drawing and sketching to playing percussion which lead to freestyle biking to golf to learning the guitar. My unending desire for knowledge and the revolving door of activities that engaged me have both given me countless experiences. The changing focus resulted from my starting something new, tearing through it as fast as I could until I felt I had a good handle on it, then being stolen away by something else. Fortunately, the spoils of my sporadic nature have never completely abandoned me when I seemingly ditched them. I love riding my bike when I get the chance, obviously still draw and sketch, occasionally hit the links with my friends, and maintain a prehistoric presence in my life (Winston, duh).

Certain passions, however, have endured throughout my life. One of my greatest can best be described as a love of the story. Since Kindergarten, I have loved to read and have been drawn in by books and stories. From Dr. Seuss to The Boxcar Children and Goosebumps to Scottish detectives, a perpetually walking man, and a sprawling epic, this has grown throughout my years and manifested most obviously in my studying English in college. Yet, my interest in stories has never been confined to just the written word, bound and printed. Movies, TV shows, plays, musicals, bands? They can all show the complex weave of human interactions and emotion. And I love it, being more than willing to commit and dedicate bits of my elusive free time (namely whenever I can't hang out with my wife/friends and my brain can no longer handle studying).

An interesting addition began during college. Rather than merely taking in the stories, I began to produce my own, writing fiction, first for a writing class and then for fun. Much to my chagrin, the time-sinks of life and medical school stopped any continual creative progress. This fact has been sitting my mind, gnawing at my post-central somatosensory gyrus (not really- I'm just in the Brain/Behavior module right now). Throughout the day, I'll imagine bits of scenes, shadows of characters, and inevitably think I should write a story with this. Considering the frequency of my blog updates, you can imagine my success rate (hint: dismal).

Because of this, and in an effort to change it, I'm going to try and write- short stories, scenes, chunks of dialog- and probably post them here. Will these be complete stories? Good stories? Worth reading? I honestly don't know. As any writer or would-be-writer will tell you: writing is hard. It's work; it's tough; but, I think it might be worth it.

In closing: what are some of your favorite stories? Personal stories, books, movies, TV shows, anything. Feel free to post away, if you're out there.



Until next time.

A Severe Lack of Free Time

A Little More Personal

In honor of a previous post of mine, I've decided to again talk about things I like and/or like to do. This stems not out of disdain for my current academic situation as before; we've only just begun second year and I think I'm going to like it. Instead, this blossoms from my simple desire to think about things I like and have something to do while my better half isn't around. So, without further ado:

Things I Like More Than...Other Things?


-Extra computer storage space. External hard drives, USB sticks, blank CDs/DVDs, I am an equal opportunity advocate. I don't actually know why I have such a fascination with extra space (I may or may not have three external hard drives, two USB sticks, three spindles of discs, and an iPod), but I think it goes back to a feeling of freedom and potential. Do I have space to buy that [electronic media]? You bet your ass I do. I have space three hundred times over.

-Naming inanimate objects. This partially ties to the previous comment as I also name all of my computer drives (don't tell me "T-REX" isn't cooler than "C-Drive"), but it goes beyond that. My computer? Persephone. My T-Rex? Winston. Turtle Ottoman? Herbert. iPod? Nightwing. Phone? Alfred. Doing so just gives everything a bit of punch and personality. Try it. Need to kick you off? Spartacus.

-Discovering my water bottle to be full without remembering having filled it.

-Forgetting about E-learning assignments for class (online assignments) only to find that we never had any.

-Stepping outside on the first real day of Autumn. The air has just enough chill that you know Summer is finally over.

-Fruit snacks.

-Having a good author draw you in and then finding out he/she writes a series or has additional books.

-An indie girl, an odd but wonderful group of people, and two crazy Frenchmen.

-The Library.

-The Wire. I'm through season 3 and would argue it's the greatest story told on television, and I'm a frakkin' Lostie. ((+10 nerd points if you know what else I'm referencing here)).

-The unusual feeling/pain that you feel in your face after laughing so hard you start to cry and can barely breath. This exclusively happens with friends, usually when ridiculous stories are being told.

-Anything that satiates my ridiculous need for trivia.

-The ultimate gateway fruit.

-Hanging out with old friends, and feeling so at home it's almost like you never left.



Thoughts? I'd love to hear them in the comments below.
Until next time.

A Very Talented Man

Last Saturday, nary a week ago, I attended the kicking wedding reception of my two friends (these ones: here and here). The beer flowed tastily, if not entirely clearly, from the tap. The speakers thumped with a good mix of dance music and people were out tearing up the dance floor. For those of you who don't know (which I don't imagine to be many), I occasionally tap my foot to music. Or...well...how else could I put it?

If there's a party with good music, I will dance like hell all night.

I imagine this to be an accurate representation of both myself dancing and others' reactions. I call those others "losers who should be dancing."

This has never been a problem before. I wouldn't even go so far as to call it a problem in this circumstance, it just had... unforeseen consequences. Literally not seen.

Let me begin by stating my new, and now passionate, belief: drinks should be restricted from the dance floor. Be honest. Have you ever been able to really dance well holding a drink? You're always worried about someone bumping into it or you spilling it on yourself or someone else. You may just be worried about losing any of your precious drink, not even on yourself or others. And forget about looking good while dancing and holding a drink. One arm either becomes a magic stabilizer and awkwardly doesn't move while the rest of your body shakes, or you opt for the up-in-the-air, my-drink-is-safer-up-high hold. Either way, it just doesn't work out. The solution? Ban drinks from the dance floor. It would make everyone less worried and look cooler.

Such a ban would also prevent awkward, dance-ending injuries that freakishly happen out of nowhere and could obviously happen to anyone not just a guy who was GIVING it on the dance floor and has genetically lax knee ligaments.

Obviously.

It's true. I'm such a talented man that God Dance and God Awesomeness must have taken note and said, "Whoa. That is too much dance for a mere mortal. We must stop it. Brother God Misfortune: shut him down." And down he shut me. With a perfect storm of events, my left foot at once betrayed me, jutting quickly to the side of my body riding that frictionless train of spilled beer. Mere nanoseconds later, at the moment when my foot jumped from the beer train and landed at a standstill on dry floor, my body was jostled- unmaliciously- by a fellow dancer. This led Left Knee, previously one of my most dependable soldiers on the battlefield of dance, to be attacked on simultaneously on two fronts. Painfully, he exclaimed,"FFFUUUUUUU[[CENSORED]]!" and hit the ground.

My left knee popped, buckled, and I went down. Having had a past experience of dislocating my right patella and it being surgically repaired, I was worried and cautious. I hopped up and was able to get off the dance floor and onto a nearby bench. The knee felt really tender and sore, but fortunately did not have any sharp or continuous pain. This took any kind of a bone break off the table for my differential diagnosis, but ratcheted a ligament tear to the top of the worry list. Being the stupid man that I am, I tried to "walk it off" and do a few laps around the place. I was able to walk,which was definitely a plus, but could tell it was going to be out of commission for a while. My caring but concerned wife and I were able to make a quiet departure from the reception, grab some NSAIDs and ice from a friend in town, and make our way home. Over the next few days I made a doctors appointment and self-prescribed the RICE protocol and ibuprofen. My knee seemed to improve and I became mildly confident it was a sprain with no tears. Yesterday, the real doctor concurred with my diagnosis. He recommended I take it easy for a week and then slowly work back to normal use and exercise. Also advised was this bold fashion statement.

I fully expect it to become the hot and wild new trend of the upcoming fall fashion season. I hear it's already huge in Europe.

Pretty strange events, all things considered. My advice? Keep dancing like hell. If you don't already, give such dancing a go the next time you have the chance. It's just too damn fun not to.

Until next time.

What Really Happened

So everyone is clear: this post is my response to the LOST finale and frustrated place to vent about how some people just don't seem to get what happened.

So: if you're a LOST fan- SPOILERS.
If you're not a LOST fan- sorry, this blog will suck.

Begin rant:

Did other people just not get it? People seem to think that the characters were dead all along, or there was no plane crash, or they all died when the nuke went off, or that the island was purgatory. No, no, no, and no!

The island is/was decidedly NOT limbo or purgatory. As Christian (Jack's father) said, everything that happened in life and on the island was real. The plane crashed, the oceanic 6 went home and went back, everyone time traveled. All real. Jack fixed the Well of Life, that last bunch of people got off the island, and Hurley/Ben took over guarding it. Jack died on the island. All real. Thinking anything else is simply not understanding what happened on the show.

The ONLY THING that was them being dead/in purgatory was the sideways world that we STARTED TO SEE after the bomb went off at the beginning of the season. In "real life" the bomb exploded, brought the characters into present time, but the island/life never "reset." The writers simply started showing us the sideways purgatory world at the same time.

"What was the point of the sideways world?" you ask.

It allowed the show to essentially give us, the viewers, half of a season of character resolution. Having the sideways world be the characters post-death was perfect. It allowed us as viewers to see what each character truly thought of themselves at their core and then reconciled those feelings with the happenings and conflicts of the tumultuous lives they had with each other on the island. We got to see Sawyer be the good man he knew he could be and always wanted to be as a cop in LA. Jack became the father and family man he never had. Kate was no longer a murderous fugitive, but an innocent fugitive. Locke lived a life where he loved others and, most importantly, loved himself without feeling shorted for being in a wheelchair.

The characters being "touched" (by Desmond or otherwise) and remembering each other was them remembering their REAL LIVES and being able to then grow and move on (which is what happens in purgatory). How could it get any better?! Ben stayed outside the church because he was not contented with himself and the life he led, hence him not moving forward. People you didn't see in the church? All people who had either moved on individually (as I suspect Richard had- he knew what he wanted- his wife) or weren't ready yet, such as Daniel Farraday and Charlotte (this is what Desmond and Eloise were discussing at the concert. Desmond was not "taking" Daniel because he wasn't ready).

((Fun Did-You-Remember Moment: Sideways (aka dead) Jack looks in the mirror and asks his mother where he got that scar on his abdomen because he doesn't remember. She says he had his appendix out. We know better than that now. StabbedbyFakeLockeduringtheEpicLastBattletoSavetheIsland.))

The only people who will be truly upset are the ones who don't understand what happened (but now hopefully they do with my explanation) or those who do not accept that the show is about the characters more than the mysteries (which it always has been). People will ask about Michael/Walt and other characters, or other mysteries on the island (the numbers- etc), but I respond: we KNOW answers for most of them and for the others- who cares? Will it make any difference knowing those details? We know Michael has become a "whisper" on the island- which is what happens to people who die on the island but are not finished. We can assume Walt has gone on to lead a normal life. The numbers relate back to Jacob's master plan of bringing the candidates to the island to save and protect it. They stem from the lighthouse, as each candidate had a number (1-108). 4,8,15,16,23,42 were the numbers of Locke, Jack, Sawyer, Hurley, Kwans, etc.

It comes down to this: Did you enjoy watching a thought-provoking, well-made program, that is and will be different than anything on television?

For me that answer is a resounding YES. Well done. Fantastic finale.

Thoughts? Comments?

End Rant. End of LOST. Sad face :(

Until next time.

The Beginning of the End of the Beginning

This just might be the current feeling. Or at least the one that seems to crop up right at the end of any breaks.

(Click for better view)

Thoughts?


Until next time.

A Different Type of Battle

You wouldn't think that multiple choice exams could be that intense, right?

(Click for a better view)

I'm thinking of doing more drawings. Thoughts?


Until next time.

Must Be Done

UPDATE: Victory. Check out the facts here. Rock Chalk.

In honor of the game tonight, I post a reminder of the last encounter and follow with a preview of what's to come this evening.

Reminder:


Preview:

I fully expect this to be a good and challenging game. My desired outcome is slightly obvious.

Rock Chalk.

A Quick Update

First off:

Thank you so much for the responses on my last post. I really appreciate it and will be parsing through everything and posting a response tomorrow. "Why tomorrow?" you may ask. And I respond: Cardiopulmonary is finished (and has been beaten into submission to be more accurate) and I'll have the time to get everything done the right way.

In the mean time, to hold you over, check out this fantastic little number:

That is wonderful. Want to see it for yourself? Well, check it out here.

Until next time.
(tomorrow)

A New Decade

2010, eh? I'm down with that (but really only if we call the 00s the aughts like we're supposed to).

While everyone seems to be excited about the new year (and sure, I'll go along with that), I'm more excited about the prospect of a new official decade. When I look back at the past decade, my mind explodes when I see just how much of my life has changed (and oddly stayed the same)

What changed? During the aughts I:

-cycled through middle school, high school, college, and am now studying medicine.

-have lived in three different towns and progressed from living at home to living "on my own" with people who are essentially brothers (if I didn't already have 3 good ones- that I gained in this past decade) to being wonderfully married.

-went from being an awkward and strange single teen to an awkward and strange (but very lucky) husband.

-became an uncle to not one, not two, but three hilarious boys.

What didn't change? I still:

-read incessantly (but like to think that I read better now thanks to that whole college degree thing)

-play and/or unabashedly enjoy video games/comic books/computers/tv shows/etc. (although I like to think my that tastes have refined)

-maintain a ridiculous competitive streak that school has been kind enough to keep alive.


The point of all this? I don't really know. Perhaps just to stop for a moment and think back at what's happened and changed over the past 10 years. You should, too. This is, after all, your life. Don't forget the immortal words of advice.

Until next time.

Edit: Upon reading this post, my new year resolution will be to slash my use of parenthesis. My bad.

Quite Interesting

While I shy away from directly copying direct work (and instead prefer to link), I repost this from another (who was herself doing so), because I think it's quite interesting and raises some good questions.

Washington, DC Metro Station on a cold January morning in 2007. The man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time approximately. 2 thousand people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After 3 minutes a middle aged man noticed there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried to meet his schedule.

4 minutes later:

The violinist received his first dollar: a woman threw the money in the hat and, without stopping, continued to walk.

6 minutes:

A young man leaned against the wall to listen to him, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.

10 minutes:

A 3-year old boy stopped but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time. This action was repeated by several other children. Every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.

45 minutes:

The musician played continuously. Only 6 people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.

1 hour:

He finished playing and silence took over. No one noticed. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this, but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the greatest musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before Joshua Bell sold out a theater in Boston where the seats averaged $100.

This is a true story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organized by the Washington Post as part of a social experiment about perception, taste and people’s priorities.

The questions raised:

*In a common place environment at an inappropriate hour, do we perceive beauty?

*Do we stop to appreciate it?

*Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?

One possible conclusion reached from this experiment could be this:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made.

How many other things are we missing?

The source article from the Post can be found here and is worth a read. It includes a video.

Until next time.

Real Med School

That is how our current module, I2, was described to all of us, the wee-little first years, by a few of the M2s. Sadly, three weeks into the module (with the test looming on this coming Wednesday) it seems they are correct. Evidence of this? My lack of blog posts. Inflammation and Immunity, while great for a person's well-being, seems to be decidedly bad for any free time I might have had this month.

That being said, what have I been doing for the past half an hour?

Not I2.

After finishing my review of this morning's lecture and review (that's right, a review...of...a...review...) I felt like a break was in order before a student panel here in a few minutes. As some of you may or may not know, I have one blood sibling, an older sister, who also writes a blog. Now, while she is a great sister, loving mom, and probably caring wife, she also exploits her children for blog-hits. I thought, If she uses my nephews, why can't I?

So! Behold! I present photos that my sister took in an attempt to capture the spirit of her children. Sadly, where she fails, I succeed. She captured their expressions; I have revealed their true thoughts.

*Note*: As my sister was the photographer, the thoughts of the subjects naturally reference her.

Series 1!

Series 2!




This is all. I must study. Again.

Until next time.

What Think You I Take My Pen In Hand?

The Gen/Neo module currently dominates my calendar and all its time enclosed. So, in order to escape from its tedium and rote memorization, this post will instead focus on everything not medicine related. Specifically...

Things I Like More Than Gen/Neo:

-Pouring just the right amount of granola into a cup of yogurt so that it doesn't spill over when I mix it.

-Being able to "hide" the annoying status updates (such as "Farmville" and "MafiaWars") on Facebook.

-The chill an autumn evening's air leaves in your chest.

-Feeling completely content wandering through a book store, even when not buying anything.

-The 3rd or 4th bite of a really good apple, once you've really broken through the skin and can get a crisp chunk of it.

-Getting an unexpected package, letter, magazine, or item in the mail.

-Jason Sudeikis on SNL.

-Opening the door to the mail box and seeing anything there.

-Top 10 (or 20/25/30/50/100) lists of just about anything, but particularly things to do with books or movies.

-The Sandman series by Neil Gaiman.

-Getting a really good Sporcle game when the "random" button is clicked.

-Hyperlinking.

-Writing with a really nice pen.

-Coming up with (what I think are) clever tags for blog posts.

-Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

-Having a wonderful wife (not at all because she will make a few extra said cookies when she's making them for work).

-All of the backgrounds and photos of InterfaceLift.

-Hitting a crosswalk at just the right time so that you don't have to break stride.

-Getting more than 6 good songs in a row on Pandora.

-The Office.

-Reading.

-Finding a good excuse to not study.



Until next time.