Cretin de Mayo OR Cinco de Moron

Last night, Winning Run and I went to Cinco de Mayo party hosted by a friend. Once there, we grabbed a couple of margaritas and mingled with some folks to whom we just been introduced.

One of these folks was a British woman, a friend of our friend. What started out as a pleasant enough conversation took a quick turn for the odd in about, oh, ten minutes. After the pleasantries, she began her diatribe about how immigrants in this country should be required to speak English. She preceded her discourse with the disclaimer that America is a lovely place but that one of it's major flaws is that immigrants are not assimilating because they aren't speaking English. Also, by "immigrants" she apparently exclusively meant our brown brothers and sisters from south of our border.

"I mean, it's America after all. For example, I went to Miami and there were places there where you wouldn't believe you were still in the United States," she said, reliving her horror.

"I'm not so sure that I agree with you," Winning Run countered. "I think that diversity is a great thing."

"But this is America; they should be speaking English, the official language. Your country does a lot of things right, but it should really enforce that everyone speaks the language. I was at a friend's house and her maid only spoke Spanish: she couldn't understand a word I said. That's not right. If they don't want to speak the language they should go back home. The U.S. should really tackle this problem."

Winning Run didn't take the bait and countered, "I lived in Houston during grad school. There was a huge Latino population there and everyone was functional in English."

"But there are places that don't even feel like America," she reiterated. "This doesn't happen in England, English is the official language."

"Hold on a minute," I interrupted, "this is a universal occurrence, not just a U.S. phenomenon. I mean, there are tons of Pakistani immigrants in England who don't really assimilate into the culture. France, also, has a ton of Muslim immigrants who are still operate totally separately in their neighborhoods. Seems like you guys are having more problems with it than we are."

"Everyone in England speaks English. France, I don't know about," she dismissed.

At that point, both Winning Run and I tuned out of the conversation but shared a quick roll-of-the-eyes. Here we were, listening to a non-naturalized immigrant (who had been in the U.S. for a few decades) rant about the supposed threats posed by Spanish-speaking immigrants...while drinking margaritas...at a Cinco de Mayo party. The irony of the whole situation was easily apparent to the two of us. To our friend from across the pond, not so much.

You know, I'm fine with differences of opinion and radically different political views. But, I cannot abide poorly informed parroting of what pundits blab on television. It is too much to ask that one thinks for one's self? If you adopt a view, at the very least, put a few minutes into thinking about it and coming up with some reason why the issue is important to you and how it affects you. If you can't think of your own reasons for either, shut the hell up.

For the Win:
Later, she was telling us about the country club she lived in and was asking if we knew where it was.

"Yeah. You guys are the Georgian epicenter for the swine flu outbreak, aren't you?," I said with a quick wink to Winning Run.

"No, that's not our country club," she quickly dismissed. "It must be the church down the street."

Unbelievable.

Rest In Peace, Captain Chaos

Another FOB (Friend of Burt) joins the Cannonball Run in the sky.

Dom with Kermie and Fozzie

In the words of Dr. James Three Thousand:

"First, Snowman; now, Captain Chaos?
Ned Beatty better watch his ass."

Baseball's Back!

I've missed you. Can't believe how strange it'll be to see Smoltz in a RedSox uni. I'm very conflicted about this.

Washington It Is

So, I'd been mulling over the decision for schools: CA or WA? Well, after considerable thought, I decided on the school in Yakima, WA. For me, it's the better fit. The school in CA was very nice but I didn't get the same vibe that I did in Washington. So, the decision has been made, the die has been cast. Now, the logistical work of moving 2500 miles away begins to take shape.

Freedom

Today, I got the cast off. I'm amazed by how quickly my arm atrophied and by how much dead skin flaked off. Oh yeah, to make up for the lack of range of motion, I've got plenty of stiffness and soreness. Awesome.






Although the saw might not "cut" you, it does get hot enough to burn you when the blade touches your skin. I've got a nice cut-shaped burn on my forearm from where it sunk through the cast and into my flesh.

Spring

Sure, it's technically not until the 20th of the month but, after this past weekend, it feels like it's here. Winning Run and I were at the mountain house in the north Georgia mountains with her folks and grandmother.

When I'm there, I love to wake up early, sneak outside with a cup of coffee, and watch and listen to the Sautee Valley come to life for the day. It makes me happy.

Dew on a metal gate at sunrise.

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

So, I just got word today that I've been accepted into the school in Vallejo. Now, I've got to really make a decision about where I'd like to be (and where Winning Run would like to be) and about the programs. For the most part, I'm still awed by the Yakima area and the Pacific Northwest. The Bay Area is pretty cool but, at the moment, is the distinct second-place finisher.

I guess that this is a pretty good dilemma to be facing: trying to choose between two schools that want me.

Anywho, more from the decision front as it unfolds.

My Final Admissions Interview

After returning from the slopes and spending two nights in my own bed, I headed out to the San Francisco area for my final med school admissions interview. This school is in the Vallejo area on a decommissioned naval shipyard. I chose it because the Bay area might be a little easier for Winning Run and me to maintain some sense of normalcy during school. (This is, of course, in contrast to being separated by at least a two-hour drive.)

After a lengthy delay, I finally arrived at SFO, grabbed my rental car, drove up to Vallejo, checked into the hotel, and passed out for the evening.

On the Bay Bridge heading toward Oakland.

The interview day was pretty routine, except for the fact that the interview was conducted by a panel of people in front of other applicants. Supposedly, this is to put you under stress to see if you can maintain your poise in front of your peers like you'd need to do on rounds at the hospital. Sounds like bullshit to me but, if that's the way they do it, so be it. It wasn't really all that bad. I mean, hell, I've had much tougher interactions in any job I've had or on any consulting gig on which I've worked.

When I heard the question "What do you think is harder: doing stand-up comedy or being a physician?" I nearly fell out of my chair. Are you freaking kidding me? The best thing you can come up with from my file is the stand-up comedy that I did in college nearly fifteen years ago? Nothing about fundraising thousands of dollars for cancer and brain tumor research? Nothing about caring for my dying grandfather in the hospital while my dad, who'd just been diagnosed with cancer, was recovering from surgery two floors below? Nothing about completing six marathons? Nothing about the inspiration drawn from my mother, the former emergency room nurse? Nothing about any of the other, more pertinent info in my file? I answered the questions but just couldn't believe that they'd focus almost exclusively on the stand-up thing.

To make matters worse, the person interviewing me vaguely reminded me of Professor Trelawney, Emma Thompson's character in the Harry Potter movies. The resemblance was uncanny enough that I had to really focus on concentrating on what she was saying.

"...neither can live while the other survives..."

Oh yeah, during the campus tour, we stopped into the cadaver lab and the student giving the tour actually showed us her cadaver. So, I got a free lunch and saw someone reach into the chest cavity of a human body and pull out the lungs and the heart. Sweet.

After the interview, I drove down to Santa Clara to visit with my buddy, Deep, and to catch up with C-Dub and his family in nearby Menlo Park. We ended up having dinner and a few beers at the Dutch Goose. A word to wise: avoid the spicy deviled eggs at the Goose; nothing good will come of them.

That night, I crashed at Deep's place. The next morning, I walked with him over to his office at Santa Clara University's Law School and hung out until he had to teach. After I strolled through campus, back to his place, grabbed the car and headed to the airport. One reason that I like California: fruit trees. At Deep's front door, there is this awesome lemon tree. In his back yard, an enormous avocado tree drops fruit all over. Just awesome.

Free lemons at the front door.

Tons of lemons on this tree.

Yep, another lemon.

So, I should know something next week about the school's decision. Personally, I still think that I'll be headed to WA because that school seems a better fit for me but having to choose between the two would certainly make things interesting. More news as I know it.

Ski Trip Revisited

After a few days of rest and rehab, I was able to get back out onto the mountain. The doctor told me that if I fell with the cast, it would "hurt like hell but I wouldn't do further damage." Armed with that knowledge, I approached the mountain like a frightened child. During the first few hours of being back on the slopes, I wiped out hard on a crunchy patch of snow. The doctor was right, it hurt really, really bad. In retrospect, this was just what I needed. After taking the spill and feeling the pain, I got back up on and tried it again. Within a couple of days, I was on black diamond runs and boarding with confidence. I managed to make it back to Blue Ox, the double diamond, one of my favorite runs at Vail. I tried to use a helmet cam to get footage of my final run down Blue Ox but, alas, due to user error and/or poor batteries, the camera didn't get it. Bummer.

Although Hot Rod and I were the only ones with lasting damage, it seems like most everyone on the trip took a spill or two. Here's a photo of Jazzy in the middle of a blink-and-you-miss-it tumble on Blue Ox. He was back up and cruising within a second. Even though it betrays his prowess on the slopes, this photo of him makes me laugh.

It looks much worse than it was.

Detailed view of the impact zone.

Can't wait to get back out there.

The Mountain Claims Another

Yesterday, expert skier "Hot Rod" tasted the mountain's wrath and lived to tell about it. On his way back to the condo, he fell victim to a heavily worn trail. While cruising quickly, he hit a gully carved out by people returning to the slope-side hotel. Seeing that he was being thrown toward a fixed obstacle, "Hot Rod" wisely sat down to minimize the impact. Unfortunately, he didn't get his first choice of trees but, instead, slammed into a stone wall. People came out to check on him but he waved them off, got back up despite the awful pain in his knee, and, without looking at his wound, continued back to the condo...another five minutes of skiing to a gondola and, then, a shuttle bus. On inspection at the condo, he noted a rip in the knee of his ski pants and a deep puncture wound on his knee.

Wisely, "Hot Rod" opted to visit Avon's urgent care facility where he learned that he'd sustained a very deep puncture wound that had ruptured his bursa sac. The docs sutured it up with three stitches, gave the kid some heavy duty antibiotics, and advised that he take at least a day off. So, maybe he'll be back on the mountain.

Hot Rod's wounded, swollen grapefruit of a knee.

Damn you, Beaver Creek and Vail, damn you and your wicked, snowy beauty.

Always Bet On Black

Got the cast put on today. Because I'll need to wear it for a few weeks, I opted for black: it goes with everything.

Getting ready for the cast.

The application of the Gore-Tex sleeve.

Putting on the fiberglass.

Adding the finishing touches.
Becoming indestructible.

Adding Insult to Injury

Yesterday, during another day of not being on the mountain, I built a fire. Once it got going well, I went to the restroom and returned to a smoky living room. In an attempt to clear the smoke, I opened the doors and went to check that the fireplace flue was open. Evidently, I was just in a hurry to sear the flesh on my fingertip...on the only functional hand that I have. Nice job, guy. Today, I might try to accidentally stab myself in the thigh or otherwise damage one of my remaining pristine extremities.

Things You Cannot Easily Do Without Your Dominant Hand

• Type
• Read a book
  
• Open a bottle of beer
• Put on / take off clothes
• Wipe after pooping
• Pull up pants and boxers after pooping
• Take a leak
• Tie shoes
• High five
• Throw anything
• Shower
• Scoop ice cream
• Eat
• Drive a car ... in the snow
• Get out your wallet
• Fight a snowbo (snowbo = hobo who camps near ski area)

Vail Exacts a Price in Blood

So, I'm here in Avon, CO for my annual snowboarding trip with the gang. We've returned to the scene of Winning Run's knee injury. Evidently, the mountains here have some blood feud with us because it has taken its vengeance out on me this time.

Yesterday, we went to Vail after spending some of Wednesday at Beaver Creek. The conditions were great: sunny, packed powder, not too crowded. We returned to one of our favorite runs, a double black diamond called Blue Ox. It's pretty steep in a few spots and thrilling to ski.

A view up Blue Ox.

Anywho, near the end of the day, we decided to head to Vail's enormous back bowls for a few runs before the lifts closed. In what would prove to be a regrettable choice, we hit Marmot Valley, a black diamond mogul run. During the run, I caught my board's heel edge on a mogul and fell ass-over-tea kettle backwards. I heard a crunch like someone snapping a celery stalk and immediately felt searing pain in my right wrist.

I should avoid these in the future.

A moment later, Rodney skied up and asked if I was okay.

"Nope," I said. "I just broke my f*ing wrist."

After trying (and failing) to board out, I took off my board and climbed down the hill to the lift. I uncinched my gloves and wrist guards to have a look. Sure enough, the wrist was swelling in a pretty little lump above my thumb.

"Damn it. Maybe it's just sprained," I remarked to Rodney and Jeff.

"Maybe," they said.

Because we were on the back side of the mountain, we had to take a lift out. Then, I tracked down the ski patrol for a snowmobile ride to the gondola which took me to the base. From there, I hopped a shuttle back to our car to meet up with the gang and make the 20 minute drive back to Avon and the urgent care facility.

I was quickly seen and x-rayed. The doctor showed me the ray and pointed out the minuscule fracture. He told me that if I weren't doing snow sports, he'd send me home with a removable splint that I'd wear until I could do push-ups without pain. Because I was on a snowboard trip, however, they'd splint my arm for a few days until the swelling went down. Then, if I wanted, I could come back in to get a cast put on so that I could get back on the mountain and snowboard. Prior to leaving, I could come back in to get it cut off and replaced with a removable splint.

"Is that something you'd like to do?," the doctor asked.

"Absolutely," I told him with a huge smile. "I didn't come out here to sit around."

"Very good," he said. "We'll get you fixed up and see you on Sunday for the cast."

"Sweet. Thanks very much," I beamed.

Out-of commission for 72 hours until I get my cast.

So, now I need to figure out what color cast to get put on. I'm thinking hot pink.

For the record, I think that this was a freak sort of accident in which I fell in exactly the right way to do damage. Without the wrist guards that I always wear, I might be looking at a pretty serious break with no chance to get back out there.

Another Awesome Day at the YMCA

Once more, a simple workout at the local Y has made me question the mental capacity of my fellow members. Like many other gyms, the cardio equipement (ellipticals, bikes, treadmills) have televisions for you to watch either cable television or a DVD of your choice. Today, I'm on the treadmill and notice that the woman next to me is futzing with the DVD player. People bringing their own media to watch is certainly an exception. Typically, most folks listen to their iPod or watch TV. So, I think little of it until I finish my run and am cooling down. At that point, I notice that she's watching something with a doctor giving a woman a pelvic exam. Yep, right there on the treadmill, you see a woman in profile on the bed, naked from the waist down. If pubic hair is visible for a few minutes of your movie, should you really be watching it on a treadmill in a crowded gym, specifically the YMCA? Methinks not.

Shit, tomorrow, I'm definitely wearing my thong and watching some 70s porn during my workout. Evidently, anything goes.

You Can't Win If You Don't Play

After a discussion about how much medical school will cost, Winning Run offered the following idea:

"I'll quit getting a coffee every morning if you'll use that money to buy a lottery ticket every week."

Not sure it's the best fiscal plan but it can't hurt, right?

Pouring Iron

Over the weekend, some friends invited me to tag along with them to a pub to watch an "iron pouring." In the Castleberry Hill neighborhood on the west side of downtown Atlanta, the Elliot Street Pub is home to a recurring iron casting event where you can gather 'round, have a few beers, and watch some guys melt iron and cast it into molds. For a small fee, you can create your own mold and take home an iron plate bearing your design. It was a pretty cool way to spend an evening. I highly recommend it to break up any monotony of experience.

Safety first: one of the pub owners (Mike or Pete?) keeps watch

Heating up the ladle to receive the molten iron

The iron is almost hot enough to flow

Collecting the iron in the ladle

Casting the iron into the molds

All in all, it was a fun way to spend a Friday night.

Today, I, Too, Have Made History

To the best of my knowledge, I'll be the first person in my family to attend medical school.

A few moments ago, I got the call from Yakima offering me a seat in their incoming class.



I wish my Grandaddy, Bamba, and Papa were here; they'd be thrilled.

A New Day

Promise. Hope. Intelligence. Oratory skills.

So Long, W

I've been waiting for this day since 20 January 2001.

I won't miss you. I won't write.

Heckuva job, Dubya.

The Palm Springs of Washington

After the interview, I returned to the hotel and mostly stared blankly at a television for a few hours. Honestly, it was bliss. I always underestimate exactly how taxing an interview day can be. Winning Run and I went for a short walk on the Greenway, a bike and running path that follows the Yakima River. When I felt thoroughly frozen which took only about ten minutes, we returned to the hotel. On the walk back, we saw a couple of bald eagles flying over the river. After a couple of beers and a light dinner, we managed to fight the urge to sleep long enough to nerd-out and watch the season premier of Battlestar Galactica. As soon as the credits rolled, however, the lights were off and we were snoring.

Saturday
Saturday, we got up and began our day of adventure. To combat the cold, we stopped at one of the ubiquitous drive-through espresso shacks for hot coffee. Seriously, what the hell is it with the Pacific Northwest and coffee? I thought it was an exaggeration but these damned things were everywhere. Best part was, their coffee was excellent.

Brewlesque Espresso
(Note the dancers painted on the shack.)

Mocha House Espresso
(Looks like they couldn't fully commit to the gray paint.)

Coffee Cravings, a Winning Run favorite

Armed with delicious, hot coffee, we set out on a driving tour of the Yakima area to get a feel of what it's like because, frankly, being holed up at a cheap hotel near the interstate doesn't really offer an honest picture of a place. So, for a while, we drove around, looked at things, and tried to get lost. The fog started to lift during the morning, giving us the ability to see some of the surrounding mountains and orchards -- and a bald eagle. We made a point to drive through some of the agricultural areas on the outskirts of town: open range for livestock, apple orchards, vineyards, and hops farms. (My beloved hops! I imagine that in the summer, the wind carries the scent of a double IPA; the notion made me thirsty.)

Trees coated in frozen fog.

After concluding our driving tour of Yakima, we decided to broaden our area. We headed south to visit a winery for a little tasting. Along the way, we managed to get in a stop at a tiny little tourist attraction: The Teapot Gas Station.

The Teapot Gas Station.

After the abbreviated wine tour, we decided to fit in a little more adventure before retiring for the day. We aimed to get to Natches and see a little wildlife before the sun set on us. Since the 1950s, the government has been feeding a herd of elk in an effort to minimize conflicts between landowners and the animals. On the way in, we spotted about 30 elk on a plateau above the highway. We stopped the car to shoot a few photos.

Elk grazing near the highway.

Satisfied with our elk sighting, we headed toward the visitor center. Man, I felt a little foolish when we pulled into the parking lot and looked into the valley in front of us to see hundreds and hundreds of elk. It was Marty Stouffer's wet dream. Not only were elk everywhere but several bald eagles were lurking nearby.

One of many, many elk at the government feeding site.

With the sun and temperature quickly dropping, we jumped in the car and headed back to town.

Sunday
This morning was, perhaps, the largest snafu of the trip. Our flight from Yakima to Seattle was canceled which, in turn, caused us to miss all of our other connecting flights. So, shortly after the cancellation, we managed to get rebooked on a later flight from Yakima and on the redeye from Seattle. As the Yakima airport is "Wings" tiny, we asked the desk agent, Beth, if there was anyplace to get a bite to eat and kill the 3 hours before our flight. She mentioned that there were a few restaurants nearby and that she'd be happy to give us a ride to one of them when her shift was over in about fifteen minutes. Floored by how friendly she was, we accepted.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Beth from L.A. picked us up and drove us to Miner's, an old hamburger joint, and dropped us off with well wishes for safe travels. Holy crap, the food was great: just a good old hamburger and milkshake (chocolate and fresh banana). Kudos to Rose, who'd worked there since 1970, for helping us navigate the menu and make the best choices.

Winning Run enjoying a shake.

After the gluttony, we killed some time in a bookstore and grabbed a taxi back to the airport to hop our puddle-jumper to Seattle for a seven hour layover. We'd considered heading into Seattle for a quick visit to Pike Place Market but, as we didn't have boarding passes for our flight, we decided to have a few beer and watch the Steelers/Ravens game. After an eternity, we finally got on the flight at 11:00pm PST and began our journey home. Today has been a little rough.

What's Next?
I'm supposed to get a call from the school on the 20th to notify me of their decision. Personally, I think that the interview went really well. Unfortunately, however, I've stopped trusting my feeling on these things. About 70% of the class is to come from the Pacific Northwest, the rest would need to show some great interest in the area that is convincing enough that they'll gamble on you to stay and practice there. More as it unfolds.

Yakima

Holy crap. The people out here are awesome.

The interview experience was the complete antithesis of the trip down to Florida. Not only was it well-organized but everyone was friendly and genuinely enthusiastic about the program. Students stopped by all day long to meet us and chat. They weren't after a free lunch but just wanted to spread the gospel about their program. Really, the positive energy from the place was great.

The interview itself was smooth. I spoke with two people for about 45 minutes, answering their questions and chatting with them. After, we had a quick lunch and toured the brand-spanking-new facility. Pretty damned cool. Then, I hung around and spoke with many of the other applicants as they waited to have their interviews. The spirit of camaraderie and politeness that I experienced was unbelievable. Hell, I thought I was getting Punk'd or something. Really, where where all the kids jockeying for position in the pissing contest? They weren't here, that's for sure.

Anywho, I'm pretty emotionally spent. I'll know their decision on me in the next couple of days. Yippee. Tomorrow, we go out to explore the area. Photos to follow.

I Thought He Was Kidding

Our voyage to Yakima took place in three legs yesterday: Atlanta to Minneapolis, Minneapolis to Seattle, Seattle to Yakima. Our travel time took over twelve hours including layovers but, thanks to Skymiles, the flights only cost us $35 each. Yippee!

When landing in Minneapolis, the pilot announced that it was "20 below" outside. Naturally, this announcement was met by laughter by most everyone on the plane. When I stepped onto the jetway, I suddenly knew that the bastard was telling the truth. Seriously, 20 below? C'mon.

Anywho. We finally made it to the hotel. More on the trip later; at the moment, I'm doing some final prep for the interview.

Overheard

Today's bit of wisdom comes from a hipster sitting next to me while he got his haircut. He loudly spoke the following words as he got his long, highlighted hair cut into a conservative style prior to the start of his "corporate" job.

"Rock-n-Roll ain't about what you look like;

Rock-n-Roll is about what you do."

Thanks you, Lester Bangs, for those words. Truer ones have never been spoken.

Tomorrow morning, Winning Run and I head out to Yakima, WA for another of my med school interviews. Wish me luck. More as it unfolds.

A Big Heartfelt "Thank You"

I'd like to take a moment to wish a big, heartfelt "Thank You" to the person in the YMCA who thoughtfully decided to uncork a putrid fart while standing right in front of an oscillating fan, ensuring maximum dispersion for maximum enjoyment. Strong work there.

Yes, this was the event in my day worthy of a post. Someone please rescue me from me.

Flip the Calendar; It's 2009.

I'm still shaking my head wondering where the hell the past year went. Seems like just yesterday, Winning Run and I were in Rhode Island bringing in the New Year with Dr. J3K, Sandy, and The Captain.

This year, we headed down to Valdosta for a quick visit with Crazy Greg. During a conversation with J3K prior to heading south, we gauged the probability of someone requiring medical care:

"So, what's he got planned?," asked the good doctor.
"Well, he told me that he's been in the timber stand to find a few pine trees to burn. Oh, he mentioned that he's got the golf cart fixed and that we'll be going to Florida to buy a bunch of fireworks."
"Uh oh."
"Yep. Seems like the chances are good that someone's going to lose a hand or an eye."
"Just tell him that if he does the fire right, they'll be able to smell it all the way in Atlanta like a few years ago."
"Deal."

Shortly after arriving, we piled into the Crazy Greg's truck and headed to the Florida line to buy some fireworks. Evidently, we stumbled onto one heck of a year-end sale: Buy One, Get Two Free. At the register, Greg found out that he'd actually gotten about $140 of "free" fireworks.

It's a wonder that fireworks stores don't have a prosthetics aisle.
It really couldn't make the places any more strange or uncomfortable.

After buying the contraband fireworks, we headed back to his place, had a few drinks, ate dinner, and scouted some wood for the bonfire.

As darkness fell, the fire was raging, Georgia Tech was getting their ass handed to them, and everyone anticipated a fireworks show that would make the Beijing Opening Ceremonies look like sparklers at the VFW. The secret to a successful pyrotechnics program is the Magic Black Snake; easily the most terrifyingly awesome firework in existence. The runner up is any type of mortar round. Honestly, it's pretty exhilarating to stuff a cardboard tube with a giant projectile explosive, fumble with a lighter in the darkness to ignite the fuse, and run like hell to a presumed safe distance.

Lightning.

Roman Candle vs. Spark Fountain.

Maintaining safe distance from trees.

Turns out that the evening was much more low key than anticipated. All the promised elements didn't yield any calls to 911 or trips to the hospital. This is, of course, a very good thing. Shortly after the champagne toast at midnight and a few phone calls and text messages, we turned in for the night with eager anticipation of a UGA victory and high hopes for the new year.

Sparkle Motion.

Sparkle Motion Revisited.

Best wishes for a fantastic 2009.

Happy Holidays!

Here's hoping that you don't mysteriously find yourself trapped in the Insurmountable Stairwell of Sadness (physically located in Phipps Plaza Mall). If you are in the stairwell, keep pushing deeper and deeper into the bowels of the building into you are expelled into the cold night air. Then, dear friend, run as fast as you can toward the MARTA station and get yourself to The Majestic for a soothing Patty Melt.

Regardless of what or how you celebrate, I wish you the happiest of holidays.

A definition? That's the best argument you have?

As usual, Jon Stewart cuts though the crap to the heart of the matter.

"It seems like semantics is cold comfort when it comes to humanity." Indeed.

Well-played, Jon.

Winning Friends, Influencing People

Or: Shitting the Bed in Which I Sleep (Title pending outcome.)

Yesterday afternoon, I received a call from the director of admissions at PCOM. She mentioned that she received a note to call me regarding my application. I quickly filled her in on my previous conversation with the admissions office. She explained how the admissions committee designs the requirements and the requirement for a recommendation from the institution that granted your bachelor's degree. She continued to describe how she constantly gets questions on this topic from applicants.

"Well, the letter is intended to get feedback from your pre-med advisor or, failing that, the dean of the college in order to prove that you graduated in good academic standing without disciplinary problems."

"Ma'am, I graduated in 1995 with degrees in liberal arts. The deans who are there now have no idea who I am. I fail to see how a letter from someone who doesn't know me or, much less, have any recollection of me will be of any benefit to you guys."

"That's the requirement as designed by the committee."

"I graduated with honors. Shouldn't my transcripts prove that I graduated in 'good academic standing?' "

"We don't have your transcripts."

"But I submitted my transcripts to AACOMAS* and they're included on my primary application."

"We never get the transcripts. All we receive from AACOMAS are a printout of your classes and grades."

"Would you like me to send you my official transcripts from UGA?"

"No. That's not necessary."

"Well, it seems to me that your requirement is biased against older, non-traditional applicants."

Finally, she agreed to accept the letters that I submitted and consider my application complete for the Philly campus. She explained that the GA campus is governed by a separate admissions committee over which she, the director of admissions, has no authority to deem my application complete. She would, however, make a note on my file to let them know her decision regarding my other app with them.

To recap, here's my simple three-step method of problem resolution:

1. Phone the office and complain
2. Tell the admissions director that the requirement they drafted sucks and is biased against you
3. Offer to send an official copy of information that they currently possess

And that, my friends, is how to make yourself known to the admissions committee and to ensure that a director of admissions scrawls the word "ASSHOLE" across your application in thick magic marker. I can't wait to get their rejection letters.

*AACOMAS is the application service of the American Association of Colleges of Osteopathic Medicine. All applicants to osteopathic medical schools must use this service. In addition to essays that detail your motivation for applying to med school and detailed histories of your life, work, volunteer, and academic career, the application service requires that you submit official transcripts from every college or university you attended. Submitted official transcripts are authenticated and validated against information entered on the application. When complete, this "primary"application is submitted to each school to which you apply and is the basis for their decision to invite you to complete a supplemental application.

Three Cheers for Bureacracy!

After submitting all of my required letters to the schools, I've received interviews from 3/5 of them. I've yet to hear from both PCOM campuses (Philly and GA). Thinking it strange that I've heard nothing, I rang them today to follow up regarding why I've receive no contact from them. Here's a recap:

"Hi. I'm trying to follow up on my application status. I've submitted everything and heard nothing from you guys."

"Is your application complete? Have you submitted everything?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out. It should be complete because I submitted everything via Interfolio last month."

"Hold please."

[Holiday music plays while I'm on hold for a few minutes.]

"Okay, I see that we received a letter from [private women's college] and looks like one other one..."

"That would be from the D.O. that I shadowed Dr. [name withheld]."

"Okay, just let me look and I can tell you who it's from."

"It's from the D.O.; it's the only other letter that I've submitted."

"It's from the D.O., you're right."

"So, you guys have had these for a month, can you tell me what's going on with the application?"

"It's incomplete."

"What? Why? You have all of my letters."

"We don't have a letter from the institution where you got your Bachelor degrees."

"I graduated almost fifteen years ago with liberal arts degrees. I submitted a letter from my post-bacc program that I recently completed. They are much more familiar with my sciences work."

"I'm sorry but we require a recommendation letter from the institution that granted your bachelor's degree."

"You want a letter from UGA by someone that I don't know -- and who certainly doesn't know me -- from a department that has nothing to do with science to write a recommendation letter for me? How will that help anything?"

"That's what we require, sir."

"That doesn't really make any sense. Every other school to which I've applied has happily accepted my letters from my post-bacc program."

"I'm sorry, sir, that's our requirement. Can I take your information and have someone get back to you on this?"

"You better believe it."

Evidently, they don't have too many older applicants. I find it ludicrous that they are holding things up because I didn't submit a letter from my undergrad institution. Also, I think it's pretty shitty that I've received no notification that my application wasn't complete.

By the way, after giving them my information, I've not received a call. I can't wait to continually hound them on this.

One down, more to go

A few hours ago, I returned from my interview in Ft. Lauderdale. Happy to be back home and away from the stress that is med school interview day.

After spending the night waking hourly between 2:00am and 5:00, I finally got up. I showered and shaved. If they only knew how much it pains me to be clean-shaven, they'd give me bonus points. Around 8:30am, I made my way over to campus and found a parking spot near the building. A few minutes before 9:00, I opened the door to the admissions office and was surprised to see about forty people nervously sitting there, staring at everyone who walked into the room. Apparently, they were interviewing other professional schools (optometry, dentistry, etc.) on the same day.

After waiting and waiting in what was becoming a sweltering room, we separated into two large groups of about 20 and began the process. Usually, this involves an admissions counselor speaking about the awesomeness of their school, someone from financial aid to scare the shit out of you about the $150,000 worth of debt you'll incur, and someone to toot your horn about how good you should feel that you're even on campus for an interview. Turns out that they receive about 2300 applications, invite 500 to interview, and accept about 230. So, sure, I guess that I could feel good about almost making it. Problem is, I don't really hope to be "runner-up."

We heard about the clinical education program they run, their awesome rural medicine effort, and their international medical missions. I was on the edge of my seat when they mentioned a three-month elective rotation in Argentina in which the lodging was provided by the school. Pretty nifty, I thought.

The Interview
After leaving the initial meeting, we were taken to meet our interviewers. I met with two faculty members who were tasked with interviewing me in order to present an evaluation to the admission committee. Per the schedule, I was supposed to interview with them for nearly an hour. Turns out that after waiting for 40 minutes, we chatted for about 15, and then I was on my way. The conversation was pleasant but I'm still trying to process how I felt about it. I was not asked directly about any of my background or anything about the interesting things I've done. Essentially, I got another "tell us how you got here" approaches. This was followed by a "why osteopathic medicine?," and "do you think you'll be able to manage the study load of medical school?" question. My reactions to all of these inquiries were, simply, to curse a lot, insinuate that the interviewers were racist and sexist, and throw my chair across the room. Personally, I think it's going to work out well for me.

Honestly, though, I felt like they weren't all that well prepared for me or - and here's where the neurotic applicant mindset takes root - that they'd already formed an opinion of me prior to my arrival in the room for the interview. What opinion they held escapes me. If they were biased against me, I think I would've detected a little antagonism. If they were biased in my favor, could they not have offered an innocent high-five or a terrorist fist bump? Anyway, I might be over thinking it a little bit. The point is that I could've phoned in for a fifteen minute interview and saved the several hundred dollars that it took to get my ass down there.

The Jackass
During these things, there is always at least one person who does their best to show off their pedigree. Usually, this is either in the form of bragging about an MCAT score, discussing their awesome research, detailing how many interviews they have, loudly asking overly detailed questions or raising points for the purpose of being noticed. This one guy from "suburban New Jersey" was this jackass. Not only did he have a voice that would make Fran Drescher nauseaous, he never shut his pie hole during the entire lunch session. He made it a point to loudly contradict or question everything that the two female 1st year students said during lunch. Keep in mind that they're joining us, in part to evaluate us, but, most likely, for a free lunch. Still everything they said was challenged or met by a overly-detailed follow-up question. Example:

"This chicken wrap is tasty. I love the tomato tortilla." [Takes bite of sandwich.]
"Actually, it's a sun-dried tomato tortilla. A tomato tortilla has a different hue."
"Umm, okay." [Rolls eyes, continues eating.]
"C'mon, you have to know the difference. You can also tell by the different texture it has."
"Umm, okay." [Fastens rope to ceiling, affixes noose to own neck, steps out of chair.]

The Dean
After lunch and an endless wait for someone to tell us something about what was going on, the Dean of the college stopped in for a conversation. If I were the school, I definitely would've put him on stage early in the day. He was enthusiastic and gregarious; a perfect salve for the rash of obsessive/compulsive, Type A applicants. (For the record, I'm not nearly as OCD or Type A as the majority of these folks. I'm quietly confident not loud and boastful.) To top it off, the guy wears quite the mustache and, I might add, he effing nails it. Personally, I'd like to believe that he enters any room though a cloud of white smoke that immediately follows a magician's explosion. Ideally, he'd be out of breath and muttering about leaving the damsel bound in rope on the railroad tracks in the desert with no hopes of the hero liberating her before the 3:10 passed.

It's so much better in person.

His talk with us was rambling but very engaging. Essentially, it was this: don't give up on your dream of being a doctor. If someone is trying to talk you out of going to medical school, don't listen to them. Also, if someone is trying to talk you into going to medical school, don't do it. It must be your dream to pursue for your own reasons.

Honestly, it was nice to have someone in his position eliminate a lot of the bullshit that gets thrown at you during these things. It was pretty refreshing to witness that degree of candor. He's a friendly, outgoing guy with a fascinating life history.

Afterward
We were told to expect a decision by the DEC 17th or so. If accepted, we have 30 days to pay a deposit to hold a place in class. The good thing (sic) is that my other interviews (WA and CA) are just on the other side of a 30-day window. :(

While waiting in the airport for my flight, I had a couple of beers with one of the guys from the interview who was from Boston. It's nice to talk about the Sox and "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." For the record, I think that Sunny has a disproportionately loyal following in New England.

Ready, Set...

I'm in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. Tomorrow, I'm interviewing at the local Osteopathic medical school for a spot in their incoming class. So, I'm a bit anxious and excited and hopeful. This South Florida thing is sort of strange. It's pretty flat and strip-mallish. The thing is that I'm not in Lauderdale proper but Davie which is akin to telling people you're in Atlanta but really hanging out in Alpharetta: close but not quite the same.

Anywho, I interview for most of the day tomorrow. Hopefully, all will go well. I've already taped a note to the door tomorrow morning reminding me to wear pants. Yep, that should do it.

More later.

Auditorium

Anyone else heard of or played Auditorium? Check it out; it's strangely relaxing.

School Updates

Well, I have interviews with at least two D.O. schools. Later this week, I'll head to Ft. Lauderdale for my first D.O. interview. In February, I'll head out to the San Francisco area for another one.

In the meantime, I'm waiting to hear from schools in Atlanta, Philadelphia, and Yakima, WA. Keep your fingers crossed for me. I need at least one stinking offer of acceptance.

The Devil and Daniel Johnston

Just watched "The Devil and Daniel Johnston" for the second time in the last few days. It's really an amazing documentary.

The film's trailer.

Like many, I'd been peripherally aware of Daniel Johnston's music via others' performances of it. During the mid-80s, I was just cutting my teeth on music that was off the beaten path. As a result, he was off my radar until many years later; his story was one about which I new a few details but nothing comprehensive. I'm awed by the peaks and valleys of his musical career and, even more importantly, of his life.

I must admit that, while viewing the special features on the DVD, the filmed reunion between Laurie and Daniel made me cry. I'm not so sure that it should've happened (the reunion, not my tears) or, at the very least, that it should've been filmed. It broke my heart.

I can't get his songs out of my head. "Speeding Motorcycle" has been stuck there for days.

Anyway, give this one a shot.

I'm Thankful For...

UGA's utter refusal to play defense in the second half. Nice job, guys.

Old Friends

Many moons ago, I worked as a camp counselor at Rock Eagle 4-H Center. During my three summers as a counselor, I met many kids from across Georgia, worked until I was exhausted, and made the friends that I still cherish today. Without hesitation, I'd do it all again for free.

During my second summer as a counselor, 1993, I met a little girl who was there for a week of camp. At the time, she was homesick, crying, and ready to throw in the towel and go home. I spent a few minutes with her to cheer her up and calm her down. I'm pretty sure that we pinky-swore to be friends and for her to stick it out a few more days. After her week at camp ended, she wrote me as did many of the campers that we got to know. The next summer, she returned to camp for what was a better time than the previous year.

Since 1993, we've traded letters with one another. Through our correspondence, I've witnessed her grow from a homesick little girl, to a high-school student facing adversity, to a college student choosing a path in life, and into a wonderful, confident woman.

"A Skunk Went Around My Leg."

Last week, I went to the wedding of my penpal, my friend through fifteen years of letters. I felt quite happy, if old.

If You Look at Only One More Web Site Today...

Make it this one. Bookmark it. You must learn all that you can about your enemy.*

*Thanks to Dr.J3K for passing along the site and the encouragement to study it.

Facebook Faux Pas

A few months back, at the behest of a good friend, I joined Facebook. At times, I think it's pretty cool. At many others, I find it to be pretty creepy or annoying. For the record, I'm one of those people who never updates a status and never ever sends or accepts flair or pokes or drinks or anything. At most, I'll log in and check it about twice a week for about ten minutes. It is, in my opinion, just one more thing to manage. Personally, I already have enough things that deserve my attention.

In spite of all of the annoyances, there are some redeeming qualities about it. There are some folks from high school with whom I'd lost touch that I've traded a few emails. Unfortunately, after not hearing from or, in many cases, thinking about someone for fifteen years, I now have the ability to know what they are doing at any given moment courtesy of the Facebook's wretched Status updates. Is it critical, for example, to know that someone has paused "The View" to run to the restroom? Methinks not.

Anyway, it can be a better way to email someone than email, you know? There's no bother of remembering an email address. If you're connected to someone, you can send them a message. I've probably done this about ten times.

Several days ago, I emailed a buddy that I've know for many years. I told him how I missed seeing him at the bachelor party/tailgate for K's bachelor party weekend, that he picked the right game to miss because Alabama kicked our ass, that I hoped to catch up with him and his family soon, and that we should go snowboarding again this winter. It felt nice to email him. After I, I did miss seeing him there. Yesterday, I popped into my Facebook account and got his reply:

Dude, I was there! We had our picture made together. Guess I was just that forgettable.LOL. Still trying to figure out if I can go on the ski trip. I really want to. Keep me posted on the updates.

I'll have no recollection of this moment in 3 ... 2... 1...

So, not only did we have our photo made but, I recall that we talked at length about snowboarding again this winter. On top of that, I walked to the stadium with him and his buddy from back home.

My only explanation is that, yes, the tailgate was that good. Yes, I am just that idiotic. Yes, I had a blast.

School Update

A couple of weeks ago, I submitted the next batch of supplemental applications and recommendation letters for osteopathic schools. Now, I'm waiting to hear back from everyone. At this point, I have, hopefully, what will be the first of several interview offers. Currently, I'm trying to get it on the books for next week but it might get pushed until after Thanksgiving.

Chasing My Shadow

I thought I'd share more from last week's shadowing experience, including a bit that I frantically wrote prior to the start of my first day. That morning, I arrived at the doctor's office, talked with him a bit, then went to the hospital to meet the resident that I'd follow for the day. While waiting, I decided to jot down some things in my journal. Here's what I wrote:

I'm sitting here in the doctor's cafeteria. Man, do I feel like a fish out of water. I have this white coat crumpled in my lap and am sitting here alone at the table: the new kid on the school playground. The problem is that I don't even go to this school. My fear: putting on the white coat, walking across the parking lot, being caught in the middle of some big accident or something, and having someone yell "Doctor! Doctor!" while I just freak out. Yep. This is my terrible fear. At the very least, I should get my community CPR and First Aid renewed pretty quickly. This might help me feel a little more comfortable in my own skin.

As it is now, I'm sitting here waiting, waiting for my contact to show up. The room is full of docs scarfing down breakfast and just being normal. SportsCenter is on in the technology noon, pleasantly low volume, recounting the Phillies win last night. So, I'm here. Consciously trying to blend into the background but feeling like I might as well be standing on the table screaming. Just a perception really; things are probably fine. I'm likely unnoticed by most. What will the day hold for me? Will I see crazy things or just a normal day?

The awesome thing is that I nearly crapped myself this morning. Nerves? Probably. I was on a military strike mission to find and destroy a nearby toilet. Using the facility inside the office wasn't an option. No easier way to thoroughly alienate people than to violently defecate in a small office toilet. Seriously, it would've been something from Dumb and Dumber: me with a branch clinched in my teeth levitating over the seat. Anywho, after the initial "shock and ewww," I met with Dr. B who told me about today's assignment.

Pulitzer worthy stream-of-consciousness stuff, isn't it?

Anyway, as I mentioned previously, I saw a fantastic amount of stuff on the first day. The next day, however, seemed to be much more subdued. I worked with a doctor in a clinic seeing patients for most of the day. Here are few notes from my journal regarding day two:

Spent the night at mom and dad's place. This morning, I slept in a little and made my way to the doctor's office. Surprisingly, I've had no violent ass-plosions this morning. I think yesterday made me feel a good deal better about everything. So, at the moment, I 'm waiting for the doctor with whom I'll be paired to show up and take me to the clinic.

[Six hours later...]

Today has been pretty cool. I've been with a doc who's pretty close to my age. He'd been giving me some very helpful insight into D.O. schools. Seems like a lot of the patients we've seen today have diabetic conditions that require medications. We've given the 1200-calorie ADA (American Diabetic Assn.) diet to about half of the folks we've seen.

So, that's about it. It was pretty cool and has gotten me really jazzed about school again. All of my secondary apps have been submitted and I'm awaiting recommendation letters to be sent. Then, the ball is rolling once more. Keep your fingers crossed that I won't have to retake that damned MCAT.

Mission Accomplished!

Holy shit. I'm so proud of our country.

All the Way!

This morning, we got up around 5:45, threw on some clothes, and walked a few blocks to our polling place. Instead of early voting, we decided to go on election day to get the full experience. We walked up to the polling location at about 6:00 and took our place in line. The place was buzzing with excitement and hope. The gaggle of elderly African American women in front of us were a riot. They were as giddy as schoolgirls, full of smiles, and teasing one another. One lady offered her friend a baggie stuffed with Cheerios, demanded that she take some, and said "Don't ask me for them later. You won't get none." They all laughed.

On the walk home, we passed a gentleman that I see often in the village during my walks with the dog. Typically, he looks a little unkempt. Mostly, he keeps to himself as he rummages through the trash cans on the sidewalk. This morning, he looked up from digging through the trash. We said our "good mornings" to each other, introduced ourselves, and shook hands. I'm not sure if he has some learning disability or some other disability but his speech is affected and difficult to understand.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning."

"You guys smoke? You have a cigarette?"

"Sorry. We don't smoke," I replied, convinced that this was going to be a run-of-the-mill bait-and-switch for money.

"I'm going to the store to buy some cigarettes," he confided.

"Well, you're almost there. It's not too much farther."

"I pick up cans for money," he told us. Then, he asked "You guys vote?"

"Sure did. Just got finished. We've been in line since six o'clock this morning."

"Who'd you vote for?"

We told him and his face lit up.

"He's going all the way! All the waaaaayyyyy! All the waaaaayyyyyy!," he cheered. "He's going to change everything, make things better!," he added with a smile absolutely beaming across his face.

"I certainly hope so. That'd be nice, wouldn't it?," I added. "How about you? Did you vote?"

"I voted early for Obama."

"You vote over in Decatur? You have to stand in line for a long time?"

"Yeah. Had to wait about three hours."

The three of us meandered down the sidewalk toward the store and toward our street. When we turned off, he told us goodbye and kept going. I had to fight back my emotions to stave off welling up on the last block of the walk.

What a statement it is that a guy with some type of disability and likely living with some assistance, who's visibly impoverished and on the societal fringe, not only takes the time to vote but is genuinely concerned about the election and moved to hopefulness and cheer by a candidate.

Although I'm sure that my recollection of it doesn't really capture the power of this simple conversation, I know that it is why I voted. Simply put, it is the promise of America where everyone has a voice. It is the embodiment of hope and of potential. It is the power of a unifying, uplifting message based on hope instead of fear and divisiveness. We're on the edge of something wonderful.

Please, please, please don't let the Dems lose this one.