Crazy, Crazy World; Crazy, Crazy Times

Since the Virginia Tech shootings, I've really been unable to get thoughts of Jamie out of my mind. For some reason, I keep remembering a field trip that the gifted class took in high school to the state capitol. My memory is one that is neither terribly enlightening or encapsulating of him as a person; it's simply this:

We're on the interstate heading either to or from Atlanta in a school bus full of kids. I was a freshman at the time, very close to his younger sister. The bus was loud in the way that buses are when filled with kids and barreling along a highway. Things were blowing around inside because everyone had a window cracked. I remember looking back at Jamie and some of the older guys. They were the older, bright kids that I admired; I looked up to them. So, there in the din of the bus, Jamie sat in the rear with his friends, talking and smiling.

That's the one image that keeps coming back to me.

My Dream
Obviously, the tragedy of this event is haunting me. The other night, I had terribly strange dream that, in it's own way, helped me deal with it a little better.

In the dream, I'm again working at a software company with my colleague, Scott M., we're teaching a big class to what seems to be an auditorium full of people. I don't know, we could've been at a convention or something. I remember hearing the R.E.M. song "Fireplace." Anyway, some sort of commotion breaks out. Unsurprisingly, it makes us question our lives, identify those things which we hold so dear that we'd sacrifice ourselves to protect. He talks to me about his kids, all four of them, and his wife. Those are the things for which he'd die without any reservations. Then, he started talking to me about living a good life, the life you want to live not necessarily the one you're living. If you love what you're doing and die doing it, things are OK.

I don't know, I woke up comforted by Scott's words. Even though they occurred in my sleep, I don't think they're terribly different than something he'd tell me over lunch.

More coverage about Jamie:

• NPR stories here.
• An article in The Red & Black, UGA's student newspaper, here. This one has great photos of Jamie playing Toli while at UGA.
  
• An article in The Columbus Ledger-Enquirer, here.
  

On a Lighter Note

From yesterday's Red Sox game...

Food at the park is way too expensive to waste ... unless you get on television and written about in the Boston Herald.



John Tomase at the Boston Herald caught up with the parties involved. Read his article here. An excerpt:

... Sole had given them grief about having a large pizza in the stands just moments before the at-bat. He wanted to know where they got it.
“He turned around and said something like, ‘Your mother,’ ” Sole said.
“No,” interjected Ho. “He said, ‘The pizzeria.’ ”
Either way, all parties were annoyed.
“They had been giving us (expletive) about it,” Madore said. “Next thing I know, there’s a fly ball to left field and it goes foul and my buddy says, ‘You want some pizza now?’ And he hits him right in the face. Hey, the guy wasn’t paying attention. When you’re in the stands you’ve got to be ready for anything - a foul ball, a flying slice of pizza, everything.”

This will be my strategy for ballgames this season. At the very least, I won't pay for any pizza.

Thinking of the VT victims

This morning, my thoughts and prayers are with the families and friends of those involved in the shootings.

Jamie Bishop, the German instructor who was killed, went to my high school. He was a couple of years older than me. At the time, I was close friends with his sister who is my age. Admittedly, I never knew him well. In fact, I probably had only a handful of conversations with him. I know, however, that he was a ridiculously smart kid who had grown into a pretty interesting guy.

I'm trying to process all of my emotions about this. Like most everyone, I'm shocked by it, disheartened by it, saddened by it. With this tangential connection to it, I'm drawn to the story, more empathetic to the victims, hungrier to know why this happened.

I am so sorry for his family and his friends.

At this point, I'm waiting for more information to come in from friends with contacts back home. If you'd like more info, leave a comment on this message (with your email address) and I'll pass it along as I learn more.

Go to the AJC article about Jamie, here.

A Few Thoughts on Major Media Coverage
Thankfully, I missed most of the story as it was unfolding yesterday. As horrific as it is, I really hate the media's coverage in times of such crisis.

Flipping by CNN last night, I was treated to Dr. Phil preaching about the dangers of allowing potential psychopaths to play hyper-violent video games. I'm thrilled that he used that time to so wisely instead of offering any sort of advice on how to emotionally comfort the survivors and the family and friends of the victims. This confirmed my suspicions that Dr. Phil is a self-serving, talentless ass.

Later, I watched as the reporter on "Anderson Cooper 360," who, in fact, was not Anderson Cooper, clumsily revisit the story, attempting to entrap a student into claiming that the university president was negligent in not closing campus, and literally saying that "this is a story with a human toll." Then, he fumbled his tag line, "Live from Virginia Tech...Massacre at Virginia Tech."

Honestly, I find that an on-site reporter narrating such an event in such a manner is highly insulting. People are smart enough to realize that such an event is horrific, that it has snuffed out promising lives for no reason, that families and friends will never fully understand why their loved one was killed, and that the experience was truly, utterly terrifying for those involved.

I await the day when the media shows respect for the situation, for those involved, and for those who want to be informed by the news, not entertained by it.

In the Grind

Gearing up for finals. Had a killer Physics test today covering Optics. Anyone need any custom crafted lenses to correct near-sightedness? I'm your man. Of course, they'll be constructed from Saran Wrap and Scotch tape and will be accompanied by a pencil drawing of how they should work.

In better news, this afternoon, I shadowed by friend Beth (aka Griffer) at her pediatric practice. By shadowing, I mean that I followed her around and watched her work her magic all afternoon. At first, I thought that the parents and kids wouldn't be that accepting of an older, unshaven man wearing tight-fitting denim cutoffs and a neon green muscle-shirt but, boy, did they surprise me. I really think that winking and raising my beer can whenever they looked at me helped to alleviate any tension. Really, Griffer is fantastic. She's got an incredible way with the kids. They love her.

(More on this later. Very tired at the moment.)

How 'Bout Them (Horse) Apples?

This evening, I had to do an "out-of-class" swim. Essentially, the instructor takes a day off from class and we have to do the workout at an odd time. Usually, we try to stick to the class schedule and get it out of the way. Last week's Orgo test prevented it.

So, me and another guy in the class meet to swim this afternoon. Little did we know we'd be the oldest ones in the pool. It was kiddie swim day. Between laps, I'd take a look at all the kids learning to swim. I bet the oldest kid in there was maybe four. They were killing it! Splashing around, having a great time, swimming with better techniques than I use.

"Damn, they're cute," I'd think before swimming some more. When I finished my swim, I walked into the locker room intent on a quick rinse before heading home to study.

Two steps toward the shower, I thought I saw some dirt. Then, I thought I smelled some poop.

"Certainly, I'm not seeing this, am I?," I asked myself aloud. I leaned in for a closer look. "Son of a bitch," I say, "it is poop." I stopped and stared at it, not believing what I was seeing.

Either some kid had dropped a deuce in the shower or a tiny horse had gotten into the locker room or this was some prank. Either way, the shower was littered with tiny, stinky turds. Further inspection revealed neither a tiny pony or Ashton Kutcher. It was a kid. (FYI - If the med school thing goes bust, I can fall back on my awesome skills as a private detective.)

This is crap. In the shower. Left by adorable little defecators.

Suddenly, those adorable kids weren't so damned cute; they were living containers for tiny little bowels packed with feces and tiny little bladders filled with urine, all ready to discharge anywhere with no notice.

Then, I thought about all the pool water that had gotten in my mouth during my swim.

Hours later, I'm wondering what will kill the taste of the chlorine bleach. Just for the record, stick to Listerine or something. Never bleach.

Danny's Mangled Kicker -The Photos

My sister and I visited Danny and his family yesterday. He continues to look better. (As long as you don't make eye contact with this leg, a.k.a. the mangled kicker.) I'm still feeling really, really terrible about this whole thing. I'm also more than a little gun-shy about playing. If you're looking for me when the Sleestaks take the field, I'll be the jackass in the medieval armor.

For your viewing pleasure/displeasure, I've dropped some photos of Danny's leg online. For more, click the photo.

What's wrong with this photo?

If you guessed:
Dan's beard - Shame on you; deduct 10 points.
Lack of leg wounds - Correct; award yourself 1 billion points, smarty.

By the way, rumor has it that Danny held on to the ball during the collision, meaning that his tibia and fibula weren't the only things out on the play.

Ouch.

Three things that I've been thinking of this week:

1. My wife's torn ACL
2. Danny's gruesome broken leg
3. Organic Chemistry

ACL Hell
Today, we're going for an MRI to determine the extent of the damage to the ligaments. The doctor said that even if the ACL is completely torn, she'd wait until the MCL had healed before doing surgery on the ACL. This way, the recovery might be faster because the body will be healing from the surgery instead of surgery plus additional ligament damage. Anywho, it sort of sounds as though surgery is a likely outcome.

One of the best parts of the ordeal is that while I'm busting my hump yesterday studying for my Orgo test, the MRI imaging service calls to tell us that we'll need to pay $550 out of pocket for the MRI because our insurance won't cover it because it's a "pre-existing" condition.

"Huh?," I ask. "Pre-existing? From when, a week and a half ago?"

"Just telling you what they said, sir," the voice on the phone told me.

"Seriously, they realize that this is the result of an injury that we reported a week ago, right?"

"I don't know, sir. All I know is that they denied payment for a code of 'pre-existing condition.'"

"Fantastic."

Anywho, here's what a $550 MRI scan will get you:

Although I'm no doctor, comparing this image
with info on the internets
leads me to believe her ACL is busted.

O' Danny Boy
My boy Danny went home from the hospital the other day and now starts the road to recovery with his leg. Honestly, I've been haunted by the very thought of being injured so badly. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain. Stories from the field (the softball field) keep rolling in, each with a different take on how bad the situation was:

• J3K told me that the sound of the bones snapping sounded like a gunshot that he clearly heard in the outfield. At the sound, coupled with Dan's awful moaning and screaming, he immediately ran infield.
• Danny recounting that he heard and felt his leg snap. After falling to the ground, he reached to grab his leg and it just flopped around ... not at the joint or anything but in the middle of his shin.
• A teammate in our dugout passed out as a result of the sights and sounds of the ordeal. She fell and hit her head really good. She's OK.
• Keith, the guy who, in my absence, is playing shortstop, has remarked that if his throw to home was off (instead of a laser-precise bullet), Dan wouldn't have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
• PJ2k7 (aka Dokken) said that the first paramedic to arrive thought he was responding to a "possible fracture" call. Evidently, the phrase "the bones are sticking out of his shin" didn't translate into a for-the-love-of-God-please-hurry-your-ass-up response call. He arrived at the field and meandered up to the scene where he quickly realized that he was unprepared. Think Brody in Jaws when he sees the shark and says, "We're going to need a bigger boat."
• Because they paramedics didn't think they were responding to a high priority call, they didn't bring a fully stocked ambulance. Danny keeps recalling the complete lack of any kind of pain medication until after he reached the hospital. His story about being in the ambulance as it drove off the field, evidently hitting every single bump possible, makes me wince.
• The surgeon described the approach of implanting the metal rods in Danny's legs. Noting, of course, that he would first thoroughly clean the bones to rid them of the dirt from the softball field. (?!?)
  

Luckily, the surgery was successful. The kid is at home recovering with his family, beginning his physical therapy and the road to recovery. I'm going to see him tomorrow and promise to get a photo of his mangled kicker.

Orgo-asm
I took a big Organic Chemistry test this week. I did my best to study my ass off for it. Honestly, it was a welcome distraction from all the health issues. As usual, it was tough.

One of the questions dealt with synthesizing a tri-substituted benzene ring. For my answer, I drew SpongeBob. In really big, block letters, I wrote his name under it. It was all done in crayon. I think I wrote the "S" backwards.

Right when I was finishing, my arm shattered, sending my bone and blood all over the desk.

Absorbent and yellow and porous is he.
(And able to synthesize benzene with glee.)

Stuck Between Stations

I'm roasting in Organic Chemistry hell. Big exam tomorrow and I'm trying to make the big push to be ready.

Tough week. My pal Danny broke his leg during a softball game. Actually, some ding-dong put his knee through Dan's shin while trying to score. Dan's tibia and fibula broke and burst through the skin in his leg. Later that night, he spent three hours in surgery having everything cleaned up and nice new metal rods inserted into the bones of his leg. Everything seems to be fine; he's recovering. More details later.

Life. It really throws some curveballs, huh?

Here's a video for a song from a band that really, really makes me happy. It's "Stuck Between Stations" from The Hold Steady.

Spring Break 2007

I’m wrapping up my spring break. Unlike me and J3K had planned, I’m not in Daytona. (The very idea of it didn’t fly well with the wife.) Anywho, I’m in Avon, Colorado and have been skiing Vail and Beaver Creek. The weather has been good but terribly warm. We’ve been catching the first lift and making first tracks on the mountain before all the idiot college spring breakers (myself excluded because I represent a classy women’s college) dust off their hangovers and get on the mountain.

Yesterday, I did a double black diamond. It was ridiculously steep. Honestly, it scared the hell out of me. On the trail map, it was only a single diamond but when we got there, it was a double black. Anywho, one for the record books.

By the way, here are two contrasting methods to get a free day of skiing:

My way:
Get off of the plane, drop off luggage in the condo office because it’s too early to check in. Change clothes in the bathroom, grab snowboard and head to slopes. Present boarding pass for flight that arrives as Vail/Eagle airport. Receive free lift ticket (a $70 value). Kick ass on slopes before anyone else arrives.

Yep, that's me owning the mountain (but not the photo).

My wife’s way:
Have a great day on slopes. Warm up on some green runs with an occasional blue. After a lunch break, hit another blue run. Unfortunately, catch ski in slushy mogul, twist knee while falling, strain MCL, and tear ACL. Receive refund from resort for purchased lift tickets.

Bones are OK; ligaments are hosed.

All told, I think my approach was a little easier.

Jedi Mind Tricks Would Help Me Erase This

Last week, I was in Physics lab, mapping magnetic field vectors. My lab partner left our workstation and walked over to another table full of women in our program. She started talking to one of our younger classmates. While continuing to work, I overheard her congratulate our classmate. The younger woman responded, “Thanks. We’re excited but we’ll probably wait until after I finish this program to really start making plans."

At this point, I didn’t want to be left out of congratulating her, so I shouted across the room: “Congratulations! So, when did it happen? How? Gimmie some details!”

As soon as the words left my mouth, any noise from the class ceased. I’m talking needle scratching the record, nothing but crickets sort of silence. Everyone silently stared at me.

My lab partner returned to the table and urgently whispered to me, “Do you know why I was congratulating her?”

“She didn’t get engaged?” (I think my voice cracked when I said this.)

“No. She just found out she’s pregnant.”

“She’s not engaged, huh?”

“Nope.”

At this point, I broke the silence by yelling: “On second thought, I don’t need any details at all. I don’t care about when or how it happened. Congratulations, though.”

I packed up my things and left with tons of eyes watching me.

Heads Down

Trust me, I know it's been a while since my last post. I've the best intentions of writing more often but, lately, life has had a funny way of preventing it. Generally, things have been quite chaotic both in and outside of school. At home, we built a fence so that we can leave The Destroyer outside during the day. If the whole med school thing goes belly up, I think I could probably eek out a living building fences. (Only one style and with my dad's help, of course.) Anywho, it was nice to actually make something that doesn't resemble a damned molecule or protein synthesis or anything.

So, classes are moving along. Swimming is the belle of the ball. My swim coach is absolutely a female version of a high school football coach. During swims, she has already yelled at me the following things:

• "C'mon, the girls are making you look bad!"
• "Are you going out for the knitting club?!?"

Classic. She's nice but intense in a really jocky sort of way. Honestly, had she yelled those things at me when I was 21, they might've worked to motivate me. Now, they just make me start laughing, get water in my nose, pee in the pool, and start pawing for the side. Knitting club? Priceless. Guess it's the swimsuit.

The first round of tests were a little rocky. For some reason, I consistently back myself into a corner and have to fight my way out of it. Nobody puts baby in a corner. (Except me, I guess.)

Jump on the Obama Wagon

God bless Colbert.

My favorite:
"So you're judging blackness not on the color of someone's skin but on the content of their character...which I think realizes Dr. King's dream in a special way."

Classic.

I'm a Punk Rocker, Yes I Am

I am not, however, an Organic Chemist. Big test on Thursday. Again, this crap is pretty tough. Very nice. Anywho, more in a few days.

Check the video. The band: Teddybears. The man: Iggy Pop. Seriously, has he not aged since 1975?

Updated: Link with better video quality.

Getting Back in the Swing of Things

Break is over. Today was my 4th day of class in the new semester. Already kicking me around a little bit. The holidays were fantastic. Even though I was going a little stir crazy with cabin fever at the end, I really enjoyed the time off. Aside from the lack of funds, being a student beats the hell out of working for a living.

So, this semester my classes are pretty much the same. I'm taking the next sessions of Organic Chemistry, Physics, and Biology. Plus, I'm taking a fitness swimming class. In 1991, I got my lifeguard certification. Today, sadly, I realized that some of the women I'm in school with were probably only about 2 at the time. My first lifeguarding job was at a daycare center's pool. In fact, I could've been lifeguarding some of the very classmates that are now kicking my ass in chemistry. Pretty sad, huh? Well, just to make up for it, I've decided on showing up for the first day of swim class in the following swimsuit:

Get your own here.

Of course, I'd probably lose a testicle and put someone's eye out with that thing if I actually dove into the water and tried to swim. Plus, I'd probably get my ass kicked swiftly and sued. Most likely, I'd have to fend off tons of unwanted romantic advances from the ladies while reminding them that I'm married. It's a tough life I lead.

Anywho, I'm back, baby!

Rattlesnake Roundup

So, James Von Waverton (aka J3K) and I decided that it would probably be in our best interests to wear helmet cams at all times to fully capture how ridiculously stupid we can be. Usually, we find it very amusing but who knows -- or really cares -- how observers might interpret us. Anywho, I found a great site for helmet cams.

James quickly pointed out the best action shot from the site:

It's not a headband; it's a Helmet Cam!!!

Inevitably, this led to a friendly wager. With his first paycheck after completing his PhD, Mr. Von Waverton will buy a helmet cam if I wrangle a live rattlesnake with my bare hands. After a little discussion, I must have a least one bare hand and can use a snake stick to help. Unfortunately, this wrangling will occur at a time and place of J3K's choosing. So, I fully expect to discover a rattlesnake in my bath one day.

For the record, we haven't made it official with a pinky swear yet. I need to find some place to take wrangling lessons.

By the way, my posting hiatus continues just a little longer. Tomorrow, I'm heading out to Colorado for a few days of snowboarding. Sadly, class begins next Thursday.

Rest In Peace

Seriously, forget the drama that has plagued him since 1988. He was a bad, bad man. Don't think so? Go dig up "Funky Drummer" parts 1 and 2 and listen to them over and over. They're just ridonkulous. You'll be conviced and converted.


I have a very fond memory of using "Get On Up" to wake up my sister when she came to visit me in college. I just blasted it on the stereo and we danced our asses off in the early morning. It worked better than any alarm clock ever has and put us in such a good mood for the day. Makes me happy even now. Thanks, Godfather.

The Pink Pig

Today was Joey's annual "guys' shopping day" at Lenox and Phipps malls. Typically, it starts with a group of about 15 guys getting together for drinks and light appetizers at one of the few bars in the mall. Then, after a good hour or so of socializing, we tend to be more amenable to shopping. So, after a couple of mojitos at Prime, we split for some shopping before meeting up again for another round of drinks and more alienating the patrons around us. (Tonight's surrounding patrons included Dominque Wilkins; I think we were equal opportunity offenders and not blinded by celebrity.)

Anywho, during our lightning round shopping, J3K decided to give me my holiday present, a human anatomy book. Part of the reason he chose it, however, was because it is enormous, heavy, and completely conspicuous. So, in kind, I decide to purchase us tickets to ride the Pink Pig at Macy's. We stand in line together for about 20 minutes waiting to ride the darned thing. Seriously, it's the two of us and a sea of 4-year-olds and their parents. I'd not felt this out of place since Parris and I bought tickets to a matinee showing of "Elf" on opening day. (That, of course, is another story.)

After an eternal wait, we finally get up to the front before the pink-clad high school workers pulled the velvet rope in front of us. Denied again! This did, however, mean that we'd get the very front on the next ride. After a few minutes, the ride concludes and the freshman opens the rope for us. We sprint to the front of the pig and shove ourselves into the first seat. I'm essentially sitting in J3K's lap holding the Pink Pig's ears to stay up. The "safety guy" comes by and tells us that, unless the seatbelt buckles, there is no way we're going to be able to ride the pig in our present state. Actually, there is no way in hell that the buckle would even remotely close. Luckily, J3K had a satchel with him that had a plastic clasp that matched the seatbelt. I clipped the belt into the satchel and fooled the safety guy. Then, we were home free.

Honestly, it was a disappointing ride. No loop-de-loops. It was vaguely haunting with a bunch of pink pigs everywhere and some overdone Southern accent narration piped in. Imagine the 'Pig in a Poke' set from the beginning of "European Vacation" and you're halfway there. Freaky, it was just freaky.

After a couple of laps, the ride was over and J3K and I quickly made our way to the Olan Mills studio for our free photo to commemorate our ride. My friends, I share with you our proud moment.

Note the enormous Human Anatomy book which weighs about 15 pounds.
If you carry it through the mall, no fewer than 50 people will stop you to inquire about it.

Happy holidays.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, I Have an Ulcer

Two finals today. Animals and Evolution and Organic Chemistry. Pretty damned stupid to take them both on the last day but, man, is that beer going to taste delicious tonight. Presently, however, I think I've got a bit of an ulcer. Oh well, must get to studying. I have more good grades to destroy by taking the finals.

As soon I opened my eyes at 4:55 this morning, I was fully awake yet terribly tired. Mr. Tambourine Man has been running through my head. (And, of course, Europe's "The Final Countdown.") Anywho, I suppose that there are worse things to have in your head. For example, I could be thinking about evolutionary patterns, how cells depolarize to allow conduction of an action potential, or even the mechanism for an oxymercuration-reduction reaction. Nope. Lyrics. I've got friggin' lyrics. Think I can get extra credit for them?

I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade into my own parade
Here are the parts from Dylan's "Mr. Tambourine Man" that are repeating over and over and over in my head:

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

The Answer For Every Question

If I could submit a video answer for every question to which I must respond on my final exams, the following would be that answer.



It is, after all, perfectly aligned with my test-taking strategy.

Finals

I've been terribly busy lately getting my ass kicked by school. More peaks and valleys. Lately, mostly valleys.

Anywho, I'm in the midst of finals. It's pretty strange actually. They're all self-scheduled which means that I take them whenever I choose. Prior to the end of classes, everyone purchases an "exam envelope" and provides it to each professor. The prof places the exam in your envelope and sends it to the central testing building. Then, when you want to take an exam, you simply show up at one of the exam periods (9am, 2pm, 6pm) and request the subject you want to take. Pretty strange but interesting.

Yesterday, I show up to take my physics final. Without a doubt, I was the only male in a sea of women. When I walked into the hall a few minutes before exams were distributed, a hush fell over large group of previous chatty women. Seriously, nothing but crickets.

I stood there waiting, feeling everyone scrutinizing my every move. Suddenly, I remembered a nightmare I had before I started the program:

In this dream, I was standing in line at the library with my arms full of books getting ready to check out. The place was packed. Curiously, I felt a draft down below. I looked down to see my fly open and, let's just say, the horse was out of the barn. So, I'm trying to get back in my pants and zip my fly in a crowded, quiet library without drawing any attention to myself.

I woke up in absolute panic. Anywho, this is the feeling that I had yesterday. Nonchalantly, I tried to check my fly to make sure it was up. Then, I realized how bad it would look for some strange guy to be really nervously touching his crotch in a big group of young college gals.

I fully expected my last memories to be of the deafening sound of one-hundred rape whistles being blown in unison and of the blinding effect of pepper spray.