Still Working on Applications

Sorry for the lack of posts; I'm still heads-down in applications. The list of schools continues to grow. Added since my last post:

• Temple
  
• Brown
  
• Georgetown
• Tulane
• Tufts
• Mt. Sinai
• Emory
• Morehouse
• Northwestern
• Thomas Jefferson U.

EAV Strut
Last weekend was our neighborhood's annual "Strut." Essentially, it's a day-long celebration. We have a small parade, tons of artists & festival vendors, and ample Sweetwater beer tables. It's a block party. Well, the weather was perfect for it. My wife and I walked to the village with some of her friends from work. During the course of the day, I bumped into about six or seven people that I know from various periods of my life here in Atlanta. It was pretty comforting to see people that I'd not seen in years. At the same time, it was a little disturbing that I've been in Atlanta for over ten years. I suppose that most any place can feel small when you've been there long enough.

September Baseball
Anything better than close pennant races? Seriously, the RedSox are making me pucker up a bit. They'd better take care of business and close out the season on a high note. Seriously. I'm not sure if I can take the taunting from Dr.J3K if the Yankees win the division.

Completely Random Occurrence Over SEC Football
Last weekend, my friend Kanishka was in D.C. bar, watching the UGA game. He sends me this message:

Do you know Wally B? He wants to know if you remember the time that Lee threw up at a Waffle House after drinking EverClear and Now&Laters.

During my freshman and sophomore years at UGA, Wally lived across the hall from me in the Reed Hall dorms. At least ten years have passed since I've seen him or spoken to him. I replied:

Does he remember the time when Mike D. mooned the UGA police from his car and they were almost arrested?

Next thing I know, Kanishka called and put Wally on the phone. We quickly revisited our litany of misdemeanors and other hijinks. . With exception of the vivid memories of Lee vomiting on the table at Waffle House, it was a fun little trip down memory lane.

As it turns out, both of them were out watching the game and struck up a conversation as complete strangers. After a long conversation, they each discovered that the other knew me. From there, I guess some of my social circles collided without me. I think they're watching the game at the same place this weekend. It makes me happy.

The List

As part of my warts and all approach, I thought I'd make a running list of the schools that have invited me to submit a supplemental application. So far, here they are:

• Columbia University
  
• Boston University
  
• Medical College of Georgia
• George Washington University
• University of Chicago (Pritzker School of Medicine)
• University of Alabama at Birmingham
• University of Vermont
• University of Pittsburgh
• University of Pennsylvania
• University of North Carolina
• New York University

I'm excited but I'm not getting too carried away with it. I think it's probably best to take the invites with a grain of salt because some schools invite everyone to fill out a secondary application. Think about it: In most cases, several thousand applicants are competing for just a few spots. If everyone is invited to complete a secondary application at a cost of, let's say, $100, the university earns a nice sum of money from people who have a snowball's chance of getting into school.

Nice system, huh? People just line up to give you money. Maybe I should open a medical school, invite all applicants to complete a $100 secondary application, and reject them all. Doesn't sound like all that bad of a plan.

The Rollercoaster Ride

Well, I decided not to take the test. I feel at peace with the decision, if bruised and battered by it. So, the die is cast. From here on out, I'll work on my secondary applications and, with luck, be invited for an interview or two. Keep your fingers crossed for me. Send me good vibes. Call anyone you know at any medical school and sing my praises. (I'm only slightly kidding on the last bit there.)

Worst case scenario is that I don't get in this year. If that happens, I'll take the MCAT again next spring and kick its ass. Also, I'll continue to do more volunteer work and really max out my application. Again, this is the worst case scenario. Sigh.

You Call That Advising?
Shortly after my last post, I played a short game of phone tag with my advisor at my post-bacc program. He's a really great guy but I think that the folks in the program are a little out-of-touch with reality. Prior to speaking with my advisor, I emailed him with three issues I wanted to discuss. First, I wanted to talk over my thoughts about sitting (or not) for the exam. Second, I wanted his thoughts on how most schools viewed scores. For example, do they look at only the composite or do they look at the highest recorded score in each section? Finally, I wanted his opinion on how much my experience factors into my applications. Will schools see me only as my MCAT scores or will they actually look at my life experiences? After all, I'm not a kid who is just wrapping up my undergrad.

After a brief round of phone tag, we finally spoke. He told me that he'd discussed my questions with the program director. In short, he told me what I needed to hear about sitting for the test: if my scores weren't significantly improving and I didn't feel confident about it, don't sit for it. I'd arrived at this conclusion but I needed to hear it from him, I suppose.

Understandably, he didn't really address the second issue. Honestly, schools are all a little different as to how much emphasis they put on the scores and to how they look at those scores. So, no loss on this question. It makes sense that I'd get a vague response. Unfortunately, I didn't get really great information about the schools for which I'm completing secondary applications.

His thoughts on the last issue, however, really did surprise me. Essentially, he sidestepped the issue and returned to me sitting for the exam. Even if I did sit for it, he said, it would probably be too late for me to get any offers for secondary applications.

"Really?," I asked. "That's funny because I've got seven or eight right now. I've actually already submitted one of them."

He seemed to be at a loss for words. And also a loss of credibility in my view.

Post-Bacc Doesn't Equal Non-Traditional
The thing is, I suppose, that the program is for post-baccalaureate students. The majority of my classmates in the program were only a few years removed from school. For me, it was ten. I'm thinking that I probably am farther along the "non-traditional applicant" path than all of my classmates, save one. For me, fear-mongering isn't that great of a motivator. I'm set on achieving this goal. I'm tenacious. Maybe a lower score on one section of the exam will hinder my chances this year. I fail to believe, however, that my wealth of life experiences don't count for a significant portion of my value as an applicant. We'll see, I guess.

On an unrelated note:
I've added a music player to the blog. You'll notice it on the right side of the page. These are a few songs by some artists that I'm really enjoying. Give them a listen. If you like them, pick up their albums. If you want to know more about one of them, let me know. Enjoy.

Honesty is Difficult

The MCAT is taking me on a rollercoaster ride. I'm scheduled to take it again this Friday but I'm rethinking whether or not I should sit for it. Since getting my scores from the July sitting, I've definitely been through a series of emotional highs and lows. First, I was thrilled to submit my application and get to work on supplemental applications. Next, I was a little disappointed in my scores -- not entirely but on a single section.

Well, in the month between getting my scores and this next test, I've not progressed to my expectations. So, I'm weighing the decision of letting my scores ride and seeing what happens or taking the test again, less than fully prepared, and living with the consequences. The problem is, if you do worse, people take note of it. Presently, I doubt that I'll have serious gains in any section. If my practice scores are indicative, I'm in a hole that I need to dig out of to get back to my previous scores.

Anywho, I'm fairly tired of obsessing over it. My gut is telling me not to take it, to take it again in April, and to devote the coming months to making a ridiculous improvement in scores. Instead of getting just enough, I should break the bank, you know? Anywho, being honest with yourself is one of the most difficult things to do isn't it? I feel like I'm letting everyone down, myself included, by not taking this damned test again. I do not, however, think that I can give it my best effort and improve things.

Anywho, keep your fingers crossed that one (or more) of my secondaries will come through with an interview request and an acceptance.

I'm Still Heads-Down

Still fighting the battle with studying for the MCAT. Oddly, I'm having a much more difficult time trying to remain focused this time around. WTH? Anywho, by 6:00 p.m. on Friday, I'll be done again.

By devoting myself to studying, I missed the DragonCon parade in Atlanta. The following photo is from the AJC's coverage of the event. Evidently, this is the "super heroes" part of the parade. I've pointed out my favorite costume. Nothing like devoting your time to dressing as a second-tier member of the Super Friends.

No Black Vulcan or Apache Chief? What gives?

The Highs and Lows

I'm convinced that the whole process of applying to schools is a series of peaks and valleys. One moment, I'm elated; the next, I'm deflated. Last week, I submitted my primary application. Essentially, it's a single application that is completed online and broadcast via an official application service to all the schools you select. So, I finished a comprehensive application with a pretty good essay and sent it to a bunch of schools, most of which are on the East coast (and Chicago).

The next step in the process is to complete supplemental or secondary applications. For this round, interested schools invite you to complete a secondary application. In theory, this application is a more detailed, school-specific application. Oh, you also get to pay the school somewhere between $80 and $150 bucks to apply. Personally, I think it's a revenue stream for the schools. For example, some schools have hundreds of applicants apply for each opening in the class. One can assume that schools rake in a lot of money by having people apply although most of them won't be admitted.

So, at the moment, I'm working on a few secondary applications and trying to get those back in for review.

MCAT Update
I got my score from my first test and I'm not as happy as I want to be with them. As a result, I'll be taking the MCAT again on 07 SEP 2007. Lucky me. On three of the four sections, I was very pleased with my scores. On the Physical Sciences section, however, I'd like to see my score improve a little. Personally, I think that I was nervous on this section and it took me a little while to settle down. (It was the first section of the test, after all.) Also, the crappy old mouse on the crappy old computer screwed me up on one section of this part. I accidentally clicked on a part that took me to a main page instead of the next question. Then, I had to quickly work my way back the right question while my timer continued to tick down. Anywho, it was stressful.

I'm not making excuses, of course, but I'm not sure that I was at my peak during this section. As a result, I'll take it again and we'll see how it goes from there. Hooray for me. I'd rather get a prostate exam than take this damned test again. Such is life, right?

Dreams and Other Weirdness

I continue to work on applications. I thought I'd share some gems from the last few days.

Awesome Dream #1
So, about a week ago, I had the following dream. I woke up at 2:20 a.m. laughing and almost dialed Dr. J3K to tell him about it. Enjoy.

J3K and I are in a Michael Bay movie. As is typical in Bay's pictures, we're back lit by the setting sun. We're armed to the teeth and heading into an amusement park to battle the bad guys. Each of us is carrying several enormous guns, wearing bandoliers, and almost any conceivable weapon of destruction. It's similar to the scene in Commando where the Governator prepare to go ashore to rescue his daughter. As we get fully outfitted and begin making out way into the amusement park, dramatic music plays and the camera shot widens to reveal that ... we are dressed like Care Bears.

That's it: Care Bears. My once in a blue moon bad-ass dream and I'm dressed like Hugs-a-lot Bear. What the hell?

Not pictured: Special Forces Bear and Shoots-a-Lot Bear

Strange Dream #2
This probably has something to do with Ingmar Bergman dying.

I'm in a black and white film with Max von Sydow running around the countryside. We're fleeing Death just like in The Seventh Seal. Unlike the movie, Death isn't as benign but more ruthless and cold-blooded. We run and run, just barely staying a step or two ahead of him. Finally, we take refuge in my Uncle Mike's house as he blasts music from Koyaanisqatsi on his home stereo. Death arrives.

Maybe, just maybe, I'm a little stressed about getting my MCAT scores.

Neighborhood Weirdness
This morning, I'm taking Dylan down to the park for his morning walk. As I get into the heart of the village, two guys pass me. One of them is carrying a foil. Neither are dressed as though they're on their way to a fencing match. (In fact, they're dressed as though they're on their way to the nearest park bench or shelter.) I curse myself for not having a camera and promise myself that if I hear the phrase "En garde!," I will run away very quickly.

Better than seeing someone carrying a gun, I suppose.

Urban Bikini

Last night, I was with Dr. J3K's family and other friends celebrating his graduation. (His official graduation ceremony is today at Georgia Tech.) Anywho, we spent the evening chatting over a few beers and some really nice food. When the festivities wound down at about 11 p.m., I dropped him and his girlfriend off at his car on campus. On our short drive through midtown toward the GT campus, we spotted several hookers out on the streets. One "woman" was wearing a shiny turquoise bikini with fishnets; "she" was also about six feet tall and appeared to have an adams apple and a five o'clock shadow.

Sorry for the Hiatus

My MCAT-itude
Well, it's done. I've taken the test and have been, essentially, recovering from it for the last couple of weeks. Actually, it killed most of my desires to write or read or think more than base, superficial thoughts. On many occasions, I've been asked how it went. When faced with such a daunting question, I usually respond with "It went." Honestly, I can't really gauge how I did on the test other than I didn't feel as though I did as well as I would have liked. Hopefully, there's a gap between how I felt I did and my actual score. Furthermore, I'd prefer the score to be much better than I felt I performed.

This photo represents how I felt about the MCAT.
Note: I'm represented by the chap in green.

My Testing Center Was Equipped with Cutting Edge Computers (for 1984)
The MCAT recently changed formats from paper-based to computer-based testing. So, anyone taking it is really at the mercy of the testing centers contracted to administer the test. I expected something with fairly modern equipment although my wife tried to lower my expectations. She'd completed all of her NCARB exams at these same centers and spoke about the outdated equipment. I didn't fully believe her.

When I arrived for the exam, I was pretty quickly signed-in and fingerprinted. The electronic fingerprinting station didn't work that well for me. I probably tried about 8 times to get it to read my print. This trouble led to a very awkward exchange in which the lady at the testing center gave me a nice dollop of hand lotion, massaged it onto my hand and finger, and repeated the process with my greasy hand. Remarkably, it worked but I felt dirty. For the record, alleging that you'd removed your fingerprints and making a sarcastic joke alluding to Spacey's character in Se7en won't earn any laughs from the testing center lady.

After successfully completing the registration, she led me to my workstation. I stood there and looked over my wee cubicle with about 4 inches of usable desk space, a CRT computer monitor about 8 inches from my face, and a well-worn roller-ball mouse. I almost asked her if she was kidding me. Really, a few hundred dollars gets me this? Classic.

That $#%* Was Hard
Really, there isn't too much more to be said for the actual content of the exam other than it was hard.

Aftermath (Read: Beers)
After the test, I walked to my wife's office where we'd meet for a late lunch. On the way, I called my dad and managed to string together a few obscenities to describe how I felt. After that, my mental faculties began to shut down. I couldn't do simple math, make simple decisions, or carry on a decent conversation. I was shot. Luckily, a nice Caribbean meal helps to alleviate some of that.

Later that afternoon, Dr.J3K, his girlfriend, and I headed to the FlatIron in EAV for some beers. We were on our second pitcher of Sweetwater when we heard the crack of gunfire. We looked up the street toward the row of shops and saw a few people sprinting away from a few of the shops. We tried to reassure ourselves that it probably wasn't gunfire but, more likely, fireworks or something. Then, we heard sirens approaching. As a resident of the village, I felt like I should at least have an idea of what was happening so I left Dr.J3K and Sandy and walked toward the mayhem. Turns out that some people stole a laptop and some shoes from one of the boutiques. The owner, a huge guy who packs heat, chases them into the alley where the perps are entering their get-away car. Shots are fired; the proprietor takes a bullet in the ankle. Bystanders got the tag number, administered first aid, and called the po-po.

This was during daylight! It's 4:30pm and this shit happened! What the hell? I guess it was some of the Friday, the 13th madness or something. Shaken, I rejoin the gang at the bar. We were convinced that, at the time, we were in the safest place in Atlanta with all the cops swarming the area.

Vacation
On Sunday, I joined my wife's family for a vacation on Edisto Island, South Carolina. I spent the week outside in the sand, staring at the ocean, and soaking in the sun and surf. It was bliss.

The view from our bedroom.

We ate tons of shrimp caught on this boat.

Also, we took a trip to the island's serpentarium. I saw tons of rattlesnakes and strange, dangerous exhibits. Picture this: an outdoor pit filled with tons of venomous snakes and surrounded by lots of kids leaning precariously over the edge. Entertaining? You betcha!

One of the Serpentarium's finest.

The gift shop was as entertaining as the reptile exhibits:

"Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this jumbo bag of snake skins."

Happy, Fun Surgery Time!
A few days after we returned from vacation, my wife had surgery to repair her torn ACL. So, I've been acting as her nurse, chauffeur, chef, personal assistant, and (on one occasion) whipping boy. She's doing well and is recovering nicely. When possible, I'll post some surgery pics.

Here We Go...

I'm about an hour and 15 minutes away. This is probably going to hurt.

This Pretty Much Sums It Up

I'm in the final throes of studying for this Friday's MCAT. To get a sense of what my days have been like, watch the following video gem.

Onward, Upward

Ten days and counting until the MCAT (pronounced: MCrAP). At this point, I'm really ready for this damned thing to be over. At the moment, however, I'm not pleased with my scores on the practice exams, so I'll continue to work, work, work.

Stay Out of Room 237
Over the last week, I was alone for much of the time at the mountain house in north Georgia. I thought it was pretty funny to picture a scenario like "The Shining" but with me descending into madness in about 48 hours. Hilarity ensues! Pretty funny until I started thinking about the movie a little too much and actually ended up spooking myself a little bit.

One night, a thunderstorm blew threw the area. I'd been upstairs watching SportCenter before heading to bed. When I made my way to my downstairs bedroom, I noticed that the door leading outside was standing open, the room felt like it was about 1000 degrees, and it was filled with insects. For a few minutes, I like I was in "Temple of Doom."

That night, I had one of the most disturbingly violent and bloody dreams I've ever had in my life. Seriously, it was like being in some freaky, freaky version of "The Shining." Instead of 'redrum' being painted on the doors, it was more like physics and chemistry formulas and such. Sounds a little funny but, trust me, the details I'm withholding make it really terrifying.

Mileage of the Devil
So, returning to Atlanta last night. My car started having some problems with temperature. I ended up getting off the highway before the car overheated entirely. As I'm pulling into the gas station, I noticed my trip odometer: 66.6. Freaky.

Pizza of the Devil
Luckily, my wife came to the rescue and met me at the gas station in Duluth. She arrived about 5 minutes before the tow truck showed up. After the car was loaded and sent on its way, we drove back into the city. As we were pretty hungry, we phoned in a take-out order from Savage Pizza and headed there. I paid and went outside with the wife and Dylan to pass some time. After about 15 minutes of waiting, they told us that some moron took our pizza by mistake. This occurred, evidently, while I stepped outside momentarily. Seems the ding-dong was in a non-stop conversation on his mobile, looked up when they said my name, and took the pizza. When I looked at my beer, guess what number was on it? The number: 420.

So...
Of course I'm stressed, why do you ask?

18 Day Countdown

MCAT in 18 days. Holy smokes, I'm suddenly very nervous. This weekend, I was back up in North Georgia to study. Last night, we came back to ATL so that I could do some volunteer work at Grady. Then, Tuesday, I return to the mountains to sequester myself and study.

The following pages say only "Oh crap! Oh crap! Oh crap!"

I'm starting to get my "freak out" on.

3 Nights at Fenway South

Tonight marked the final night of the inter-league play between the Braves and the Red Sox. Normally I pull for the Braves but, when the Sox are in town, I unabashedly root for them. Evidently, so do 90% of the attendees. Honestly, it's like being at a large, really nice Fenway without the monster or the obstructed views. Well, let's say the obstructed views aren't caused by columns being in your way but, rather, people who feel it's appropriate to stand up and chat during play. Here's my recap of the series:

Monday, Red Sox Lost 4 - 9
My wife and I took in the game from the visitor's section, midway between 3rd base and the left field wall. Unfortunately, the Sox lost this game. Schilling got shelled. Apart from the game, I was annoyed/amused by the Yankees fan in front of us and the d.b. right behind us (team allegiance unknown).

The Yankees fan was a real prima donna. Each time the stadium erupted with a "Let's go Red Sox" chant, he'd turn around and scowl at all the Sox fans surrounding him. Then, whenever the Braves made an excellent play, he'd stand up, turn around and gloat. I pointed out to him that he was dressed in full Yankees apparel. My point was that him acting so smug was a little misplaced as he had no obvious ties to the Braves organization. I loathe the Yankees fans who believe their team is God's gift to baseball and the world. By the end of the night, I'm two feet behind him and openly attempting to photograph him doing such idiotic things. Unfortunately, my photographic exploits were fruitless. I've only the following images.

Awesome Yankees fan!

The real winner might've been the gent behind us. In typical Atlanta fashion, he arrived a few innings late and proceeded to do the worst Matt Foley: Motivational Speaker impersonation I've ever heard. I might not be the best at it but I know when something is bad. Trust me, this cat was rotten. Then, he affects a Boston accent and uses "Green Monstah" in every sentence for the next half hour. Later, he and his buddies are talking about hockey and, in all seriousness, he says: "You know, my favorite hockey movie might be 'Slapshot.'" His buddies were oohhing and awwing at his insightfulness. ("Slapshot? " Really? You sure that any of the "Mighty Ducks" series aren't up there? How about "Mystery, Alaska?" Honestly, aren't there about 3 hockey movies? By the way, "The Cutting Edge" doesn't count as one of them.) Then, he pontificated about what a great movie "Caddyshack" is. Genius and timely, I thought.

Anywho, a fun night. Coco Crisp had an amazing night with 2 HR and a great attempt to catch a McCann homer. Too bad the Sox lost.

Tuesday, Red Sox Won 4 - 0
My buddy the Renegade joined me for this one. This time, everyone around us was pretty cool. Again, we were mostly surrounded by Sox fans. I sat next to an old leatherneck who was there with his wife and granddaughter. He was a chisel-faced old man with a stark-white crewcut. When I walked up and took my seat, he noticed my Red Sox cap, looked my square in the eyes, and shook his head in disappointment without ever speaking a word. He scared me.

Here's a nifty little game to play with your pals: Before first pitch at the ball game, predict the winners in the upcoming, goofy jumbo-tron distractions. You've three "games" to predict: the Napa Cap Shuffle, the Harrah's Cherokee Casino Pinball Game, and the Home Depot tool/paint race. I chose the middle cap, pinball #2, and the paintbrush/saw. None of my predictions stuck. The Renegade, however, went 3 for 3.

Beckett pitched a hell of a game and managed to squeeze in a hit off of Hudson. Coco Crisp had another fine game, making a fantastic diving catch to Rob Tim Hudson of a hit. (You probably saw it on ESPN.) Papi hit a homer and so on. It's nice (and a little humorous) to see Papi in the field, playing 1st base.

I love what this guy does.

Wednesday, Red Sox Won 11 - 0
Tonight, PJ2K7 and I hit the stadium for the final game. Again, there were hardly any Braves fans around us. Honestly, it was amazing to see such an outpouring of fan suport for a visiting team. In reality, it's probably much, much easier for Boston fans to score tickets in Atlanta than at Fenway.

PJ2k7 realizes he just ate too many free peanuts.
Uncle Jesse, on the other hand, thought we were spying on him for Boss Hog.

Anywho, we ended up getting free peanuts from the first concession stand we hit. Peej bought two beers and a bag of nuts. The two guys working looked at each other, did terrible math, and somehow ended up giving us a free bag of peanuts. We gladly took them. Hell, it's a seven dollar value.

The first two innings were amazing. The Sox almost batted through their order on poor Carlyle who attempted to pitch for the Bravos. In the first at-bat of the game, J.D. Drew took one out of the park. Later that inning, Coco went deep. Next inning, Papi drilled one. Later on, Manny went yard, followed later in the game by Hinske. Seriously, they put on a hitting clinic for the Braves. And, they played great defensive ball. I think the Braves had 5 hits on the entire evening. Good stuff.

Player of the Series?

Coco was en fuego for the last few games.

Retirement for Old Faithful?
At this year's series, I realized that it might be time to retire my favorite Red Sox cap that's been with me since January 1993. Together, we've been through a lot. For the past several years, it's gotten fragile to the point that I only brought her out for Red Sox games: a few at Fenway, many more here in Atlanta, and the playoffs. Last year, the adjustable strap had failed beyond repair, so I taped it with duct tape. This year, the duct tape kept failing, so I taped it, stapled it, and re-taped it. Although it pains me to say it, I think tonight might've been its last game at the park. All in all, I'm pretty sad about it. They just don't make 'em like that anymore. Where can I get it bronzed?

After 14 years, it might be time to retire my favorite cap.

I love baseball.

Volunteer Orientation at Grady is Efficient, Informative*

*By "Efficient, Informative," I mean an endless journey to the ninth circle of hell.

Monday, I returned from north Georgia to attend a orientation at Grady Memorial Hospital. Over the next few months, I'll be volunteering a few hours a week at ATL's trauma hotbed, the Grady ER. If anything, the orientation was a frustrating example of the inefficiency of our public health system.

The session was scheduled to begin at 4pm with no listed completion time. (Did you catch the subtle foreshadowing in the previous sentence?) I arrived a few minutes early and walked into a room packed with about 30 people. Some were sitting; about a third of us were standing because there were only about 20 chairs. At one end of a long conference table, a nurse administered TB skin tests. At the other end, a woman took photos for ID badges.

At first, I wondered if this was some sort of social experiment in which a bunch of people were cramped into a room and left to descend into chaos. Essentially, that's what it amounted to minus any scientific observation or the death of some fat kid with glasses. The volunteer coordinator was noticeably absent. There was no order to anything: no lines for photos or injections, no circulation of paperwork, no explanation for what we needed to be doing. We simply jockeyed for position, stared at one another, and laughed at it all. Occasionally, the volunteer coordinator's secretary popped into the room and looked around. Later, she announced that the orientation would take place in a "larger" room upstairs that could accommodate everyone. She instructed us to go upstairs when we finished with the photo and TB test.

At 5:15 pm, I made it upstairs and joined the masses. We sat there waiting for everyone to join. Again, nobody official was present to set any sort of expectation of when we'd even begin, much less finish. It was apparent that we were waiting on every person to arrive before starting. "Obviously, there is some really important information that we'll get if we're waiting for everyone to begin," I thought.

At 5:30, an hour and a half late, orientation started. Everyone received an information packet full of papers and protocols. Finally, the volunteer coordinator swept into the room and promptly began the orientation by bitching about how slow the nurse was, complaining about how this particular nurse would never be back at orientation, questioning the nurse's professionalism, and other rantings that demonstrated a glaring lack of professional decorum. After being delayed an hour and a half, I was thrilled to see her using everyone's time so wisely and respectfully. Honestly, it was a fantastic use of my afternoon. I listened intently from the edge of my seat, waiting on her next enlightening words!

Next, she reviewed the contents of our packets which contained mostly administrative info for those new to the hospital. (In retrospect, this portion of the orientation was the most informative and efficient.) Then, she read, verbatim, a two page checklist in our packet that we were apparently incapable of reading ourselves. She did, however, add tons of insight to it with comments like: "I don't know why those elevators are sooooo slow but they are. You should really be ready to wait and wait. You could take the stairs but not if you're going up to a really high floor. You wouldn't want to do that." My eyes welled with tears; I swallowed my tongue.

Next, we flipped though our packet to the hospital's policy regarding respectful treatment of its patients. In theory, we were to read this policy and sign it. Instead, we were treated to a 10 minute explanation of it. She performed a lively, dramatic reading of it, frequently pausing to embellish it with every scenario one could imagine! This is the hospital's policy toward patients:

Treat everyone respectfully. Even the poor people. Even the crazy people. Even the homeless people. Even the poor, crazy, homeless people.

(Now, try to turn it into a 10-minute song and dance number. Hard, huh?)

The crown jewel of the whole ordeal was her review of the following safety pamphlet:

Based on a 2-minute review, it's not too important.

In my opinion, this was perhaps the most critical thing in the whole damned packet. Time spent to review it: 2 minutes. These 120 high-powered seconds included a lackluster paraphrase of the entire brochure and the answers to the quiz we were required to complete, sign, and submit as part of our training.

She attempted to conclude the session by having everyone sign and submit their forms individually, so that she could make sure the handwriting was legible. I had none of it; I went around the room, collected everyone's forms, and gave them to her. This seemed to catch her off guard, as if nobody had ever given her a stack of papers.

So, to recap: an insanely elaborate explanation of "be nice to people" and a ten-second, oversimplification on how to avoid accidentally contracting a lethal infection. Correctly prioritized? You bet your ass it is. (Be sure to ask me again in a couple of weeks when I'm in Denver for treatment of the drug-resistant TB that I'll soon contract.)

That's just the way it goes at Grady, I guess. It's not like I shouldn't have expected things in the administration to be the same version of the bat-shit craziness that goes on in the ER. Hopefully, I won't have to sit through any more of this woman's presentations. If so, I'll definitely bring something I can use to stab myself which would get me to the ER where people are a little more sane.

Happy Fun Study Times Explosion!

This weekend, I'm at my in-laws' house in the north Georgia mountains. I came up this afternoon for weekend study retreat. I'm about a month away from the MCAT and getting increasingly anxious about it.

Anywho, I'll study hard this weekend before heading back to ATL on Monday. I have a volunteer orientation at Grady Hospital on Monday afternoon. A few hours later, I'm seeing the first game in the Red Sox @ Braves series. I've been waiting for these three games since opening day. Yippee!

On the subject of baseball , the following photo really makes me laugh. Click it to enlarge and just drink in everyone's expression. I'm alone here in this huge house, laughing hysterically at the people in the photo. Good stuff.

That's probably going to leave a mark.

Bob Barker is an Ass

Maybe knowing that Bob had taped his final TPIR show made be a little nostalgic. Maybe I thought I should actually heed his suggestion to "have your pets spayed or neutered." For whatever reason, we had Dylan neutered and I feel terrible about it. Rather than take responsibility and own my guilt, I place it squarely on the shoulders of Mr. Barker. Help control the pet population, my ass.

Earlier this week, my wife asked me if I'd mind taking Dylan to the appointment. As I recall it, the conversation went something like:

"Yeah, I mind. I don't want to do it; I feel like I'm selling him out. He's going to be pissed at me," I confided.

"But you agreed that we should have this done. Now, you're telling me we're not going to do it?," she asked.

"No, we should do it. You asked me if I wanted to take him and I don't. I don't want to do it but I will."

And from there, the balls were in motion. I made the appointment for Friday. As I hung up with the vet's office, my anxiety began and my guilt started to build. Whenever, I'd take a study break and look outside to check on Dylan, it just so happened that he'd be licking his figs. You don't even know what's about to happen, I thought. There's a storm on the horizon, my friend, a storm that's going to leave you with an empty coin purse.

He had no idea how this week would turn out.

Thursday night, I met the gang for our usual THAD (THursday Afternoon Drinking, an admitted misnomer) where we get together for a few beers and some nachos. Dr. S, our vet and a good friend, was there with her husband. I let her know that she be working on Dylan the next morning. We chatted about it for a while. She assured me that it was the right thing to do, that it wasn't that bad for Dylan, that the surgery didn't take that long, and so on. She really put me at ease. I asked about prosthetics balls; she laughed and waved me off. She did, however, tell me to go visit the Neuticles site. (You should too, it's good stuff.)

I remember, as a kid, watching the vet work some cows at our home. I specifically recall the crazy look in the cow's eyes as he stood in the headgate, as if he knew that no good would come out of the next few minutes. I was awed by how quickly the vet seemed to work. Seriously, it seemed like only a couple of minutes for the entire procedure: one swift incision, reaching for the testicles, tossing them onto the ground nearly out of the animal's sight. Then, to add insult to injury, our dog Sam would run up and feast on them. Recalling this memory, there is no way for me to think that it wouldn't be that bad for Dylan.

As we finished dinner and were leaving, Dr. S asked me if I wanted to keep Dylan's boys.

"Sure," I said, "why not? I'll put them on the mantle."

"Great. I'll put them in a little 'formyl' for you and you can take them with you."

"Sweet. As the very least, I can give them to PJ."

That night, I barely slept. What sleep I did get was fitful and restless. I woke at 5:15 am and went to the gym. Then, I came home and gave Dylan a bath. He needed to be at the vet's between 8:30 and 9:00. I put off getting in the car as long as I could. Normally, Dylan loves riding in the car. Today, however, he was as happy and excited as I've ever seen him. It crushed me.

At the vet's office, he rushed in, sniffed things out, and promptly peed on the wall. Everyone had a good chuckle about it. A few minutes later, the vet tech came to take him back. I patted him on the head, scratched him under the chin, and handed over his leash. As I watched him leave the room and the door slowly close behind him, I felt queasy. I turned to the woman next to me and said, "I am such a traitor." She smiled but didn't disagree.

Later that afternoon, I went to go get him. When the vet tech brought him to the waiting room, he was still high from the anesthesia. It was sad but a slightly amusing: his eyes were bloodshot and droopy; he was slow and clumsy. A minute or two later, Dr. S comes out and we chat about how the surgery went, what to watch for, how long the recovery should take and so on. Then, she excuses herself for a moment, and disappears into the back.

A moment later, Dr. S comes back with a clear plastic bag with two specimen jars in it. As she's walking out, a vet tech asks her what she's got. Without missing a beat, Dr. S in a very clear, loud voice announces to the entire waiting room, "They're Dylan's testicles. He's taking them home."

Dead silence fell over the room. Judging eyes fell on me. Dr. S laughs, gives me a big hug, and gives me the goods. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Now, I'm in some strange version of Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart."

My Dog Just Doesn't Get Me

So, I'm coming up on almost a month since classes have been over. This is about two weeks since I've been fully relaxed and feeling OK again. I realize that I'm missing the human interaction that I took for granted when I was on campus. Usually, I'm here at the house in the office trying to study and keep occupied.

When I make some funny, self-deprecating comment about how I just don't get something, Dylan raises his head, stares at me for a second, grunts, lays back down, and goes back to sleep. I feel like he's just not really giving me the respect I deserve.

I gotta get out more.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Unfulfilled Potential

Last night over beers with some friends from school, we somehow started talking about Harry Potter. Many at the table were eagerly anticipating the release of the final book and the next film in the series. I let everyone know that I had the inside scoop on what happens to Harry. I'll share with you what I told them:

Harry gets the Weasley girl pregnant and drops out of Hogwarts to take a job slinging burgers at a fast-food place in Diagon Alley. Occasionally, Voldemort visits the establishment to harass his once-powerful nemesis. Harry chokes back his anger during these infrequent visits. Each time as Voldemort leaves, Harry whispers "I'm Harry Potter, a very powerful wizard. I am the one." And each time, Harry's manager always yells at him to get back to work because "this ain't no fancy quiddich match, 'ere." In the evenings, Harry is emotionally distant and attempts to drown his sorrow in Butter Beer.

We all shared a good laugh and the conversation moved on to other topics. About five minutes later, one of my classmates yelled "That would never happen! They're wizards, they have contraceptive spells!"

"Fertilization renuncio!"

We all agreed. Then for the next ten minutes sat around randomly yelling spells and making wand motions to cast them. Overheard:

• "Fertilization renuncio!"
  
• "Spermato retreato!"
• "Zygotus obliteratus"
• "Abortivo levioso"
• "Coitus interruptus!"
  

I Am Older. Wiser.

Birthdays
My grandmother would have turned 88 on the 25th of May. As my birthday is on the 26th, I always think of her. Every year, we'd call each other with wishes for a happy birthday and invitations to dinner. She's been gone a few years now and I still miss her terribly; I was absolutely crazy about her. I miss her laughter, the way her eyes would light up when you walked into her house, the incessant offerings of food or candy, her political rantings, the way she would hug you goodbye, and about a million other things that I didn't realized I'd noticed until she was out of reach. Make sure that those people you care about know it; go give them a hug or something, damn it.

My sister with Bamba, our grandmother.
This might be one of my favorite photos of her.

This year, my wife and I hosted a cookout on my birthday. My goal was to see people that I've not seen in a while due to school. My plan worked. It's pretty fun (and tiring) to see several distinct social circles mixing and mingling with one another. Anywho, we had a good time catching up with everyone, having some cold beer, and grilling.

I Am a Horseshoe Pitching Champion
On Sunday, we drove to my in-laws' mountain house near Helen for some R&R and quality time with the family. On Monday, they opened a horseshoe set and, wouldn't you know it, a tournament broke out. Seriously, people were challenging one another. Then, you followed through in your bracket. Intense. Unbelievably, I won the whole thing. In a proud day for our household, 1st and 2nd place trophies are on the mantle here. I defeated my wife in the championship match. Following is a video that I made from still photos I shot from my perch on the victor's throne. (At the time, though, it was a simple lawn chair; revisionism is awesome.)



In directly related news, I'm thinking of pushing the MCAT back indefinitely so that I can properly train for the rematch that will surely happen over the summer. I must defend my crown with strength and honor. I've joined the National Horseshoe Pitchers Association of America and signed up for regional tournaments. Look for me on ESPN2 in the coming months.