Awesome Things Patients Have Said To Me (Volume One)
Me (to the patient's husband): Do you have any children with a previous partner?
Husband #1: Ha! Not that I know of.
Me: Is there any chance the two of you could be related by blood, as in cousins?
Patient #2: God, no. Though, we are from West Virginia...
Me: Any questions?
Husband #3: No, you explained that very well.
Patient #3: We are so proud of you!
Me: Um ... thanks?
Me (in my End of the Day monotone): So- those- are- your- screening- options- in- a- nutshell. Does- that- all- make- sense?
Patient and partner #4: *laugh in my face*
Me: Heh. Sorry.
Jul 9, 2008
Jul 1, 2008
Jun 26, 2008
Not that you noticed. Or cared.
FV went on vacation. Sri was left alone with the work of two counselors. Some of Sri and FV's coworkers ... well. It's enough to drive an oftentimes sane young woman to refer to herself in the third person.
But the ones who are really suffering are thechildren blogs. I have fallen into a funk and am unable to summon my usual comedic genius. For that, I am truly sorry. The few witticisms left at my disposal is being poured into emails and face-to-face communication. While this is not an efficient method for the dispersal of quips, I find that it is necessary to maintain my reputation as a well-respected socialite and philanthropist (please, someone, get the Bruce Wayne reference and realize that I'm comparing myself to Batman).
But you know what they say - misery loves company. And so I bring you...
Disturbing Things I Know
If you were born at the end of October, your parents were probably doing it on Valentine's. If you were due to be a Christmas baby, like me, you were conceived around April Fool's Day.
10% of paternity is "other than reported." Think of your nine closest friend - if they look like their dads, it might be you.
Not only do we share 99% of our genes with chimps - we also share the majority of our genes with bananas.
There really is such a thing as a mouse genetically engineered to grow a human ear on its back:
Behold!
What's that? You're going to be sick? Funny, I feel much better.
*whistles*
But the ones who are really suffering are the
But you know what they say - misery loves company. And so I bring you...
Disturbing Things I Know
If you were born at the end of October, your parents were probably doing it on Valentine's. If you were due to be a Christmas baby, like me, you were conceived around April Fool's Day.
10% of paternity is "other than reported." Think of your nine closest friend - if they look like their dads, it might be you.
Not only do we share 99% of our genes with chimps - we also share the majority of our genes with bananas.
There really is such a thing as a mouse genetically engineered to grow a human ear on its back:
Behold!What's that? You're going to be sick? Funny, I feel much better.
*whistles*
Jun 23, 2008
Inexplicable Bruising
Well, not completely inexplicable. But for the interests of time and hilarity, I will restrict my comments to the events in question. I was at Busch Gardens on Saturday when someone had the genius idea of going on the Log Flume ride. I didn't want to get soaked, so I scooted all the way up and tucked my legs into the front of the log. This seemed to work swimmingly until I made to exit the ride.
Me: *struggling* I can't get out. My legs are stuck.
Ride Operator: I dunno? Try pulling a little harder?
Me: *struggling harder* It's not working.
Rider Operator: Um... this has never happened before? Maybe I should get my manager?
Me: *struggling even harder, beginning to panic*
My "friends": HAHAHAHA! Look, logs are piling up behind her! HAHAHAHA!
Me: If I ever get out of this, I will kill you all in your sleep.
Ride Operator: I'm sorry? Do you mean me?
Me: Especially you.
Not to spoil the ending, but I did manage to get out with the majority of my kneecaps intact. Never again, Log Flume. Never again.
On Sunday I went tandem skydiving - I was petrified, until I discovered that my instructor was a graduate of William and Mary, my old alma mater.
Me: What was your major?
Instructor: History.
Me: Huh. I was hoping you'd to say Physics, with an emphasis in the Aerodynamics of Plump Indian Women.
Instructor: I usually skipped class, anyway, so I could go fishing on Lake Matoaka.
Me: I didn't realize that was allowed.
Instructor: It isn't. Ready to jump out of a plane?
Luckily, he was much more diligent in his studies of skydiving. He was conscientious about checking the equipment, especially the harness attaching me to him (and, by extension, the parachute). But when he pulled the rip cord, the jerk of the harness around my thighs hurt like a mother trucker. Of course, I was hardly complaining at the time. And once I had stopped my terrified screaming, it was quite exhilarating. He even let me pretend to steer the parachute, which was very kind of him. Once we were on the ground, he complimented me on my skydiving form.
Instructor: You should consider getting certified - you fell just like a bowling ball!
Me: Thanks, I think.
After all that, not a single coworker has asked me what I did this weekend. Which is a pity, because I was so looking forward to saying, "skydiving and roller coasters!" And then limping away on my poor, abused legs.
Me: *struggling* I can't get out. My legs are stuck.
Ride Operator: I dunno? Try pulling a little harder?
Me: *struggling harder* It's not working.
Rider Operator: Um... this has never happened before? Maybe I should get my manager?
Me: *struggling even harder, beginning to panic*
My "friends": HAHAHAHA! Look, logs are piling up behind her! HAHAHAHA!
Me: If I ever get out of this, I will kill you all in your sleep.
Ride Operator: I'm sorry? Do you mean me?
Me: Especially you.
Not to spoil the ending, but I did manage to get out with the majority of my kneecaps intact. Never again, Log Flume. Never again.
On Sunday I went tandem skydiving - I was petrified, until I discovered that my instructor was a graduate of William and Mary, my old alma mater.
Me: What was your major?
Instructor: History.
Me: Huh. I was hoping you'd to say Physics, with an emphasis in the Aerodynamics of Plump Indian Women.
Instructor: I usually skipped class, anyway, so I could go fishing on Lake Matoaka.
Me: I didn't realize that was allowed.
Instructor: It isn't. Ready to jump out of a plane?
Luckily, he was much more diligent in his studies of skydiving. He was conscientious about checking the equipment, especially the harness attaching me to him (and, by extension, the parachute). But when he pulled the rip cord, the jerk of the harness around my thighs hurt like a mother trucker. Of course, I was hardly complaining at the time. And once I had stopped my terrified screaming, it was quite exhilarating. He even let me pretend to steer the parachute, which was very kind of him. Once we were on the ground, he complimented me on my skydiving form.
Instructor: You should consider getting certified - you fell just like a bowling ball!
Me: Thanks, I think.
After all that, not a single coworker has asked me what I did this weekend. Which is a pity, because I was so looking forward to saying, "skydiving and roller coasters!" And then limping away on my poor, abused legs.
Jun 18, 2008
Jokemaster... the master of jokes
So I was walking down the street the other day, and who should I see but a real, live pirate! He had a peg leg, a hook hand, and an eye patch. He was even dressed in full swashbuckling regalia. So I went up to him and said,
"Sorry, you must get this all the time, but ... are you really a pirate?"
He replied, "Yarr, lass, that I be. That I be."
"Wow," I said. "Your life must have been rife with adventure! Do you mind if I ask, how did you loose your leg?"
"I was swimmin' off the coast o' Madagascarrr, and a great white shark leaped out o' the water and chomped me leg clean off!" He stomped his peg for emphasis.
"God, that's terrifying! Did something similar happen to your hand?"
"This?" He brandished his hook. "I was in a mighty sword fight with the Admiral o' the Royal Navy, and with a mighty blow he struck me hand from me wrist!"
"Incredible! One last question, if you don't mind. How did you lose your eye?"
"Yarr," he muttered. "Seagull pooped in me eye."
I frowned, perplexed. "That's pretty disgusting, but how do you lose an eye from bird poo?"
"It was me first day ... with the hook."
"Sorry, you must get this all the time, but ... are you really a pirate?"
He replied, "Yarr, lass, that I be. That I be."
"Wow," I said. "Your life must have been rife with adventure! Do you mind if I ask, how did you loose your leg?"
"I was swimmin' off the coast o' Madagascarrr, and a great white shark leaped out o' the water and chomped me leg clean off!" He stomped his peg for emphasis.
"God, that's terrifying! Did something similar happen to your hand?"
"This?" He brandished his hook. "I was in a mighty sword fight with the Admiral o' the Royal Navy, and with a mighty blow he struck me hand from me wrist!"
"Incredible! One last question, if you don't mind. How did you lose your eye?"
"Yarr," he muttered. "Seagull pooped in me eye."
I frowned, perplexed. "That's pretty disgusting, but how do you lose an eye from bird poo?"
"It was me first day ... with the hook."
Jun 12, 2008
Is it Friday, yet?
I used to wonder what unemployed people did all day. No school, no work, with nothing but daytime TV to keep you company? The horror. It reminded me of summer vacation, how long and boring it was. You remember that nerdy little weirdo on your street who could not wait for September? Yeah, I was that kid.
Now, I think someone could do without a job easily. First of all, there's Facebook - cyberstalk all your old boyfriends/ girlfriends/ crushes, there goes your morning. Of course, not leaving the house would make coming up with amusing status updates difficult, so you'd have to find something to do after lunch. You could go for a walk, all the way to your nearest coffee shop. Think Jared and Subway, only with less weight loss and more caffeine. Taking a book or laptop along purely for camouflage, you can people-watch for a while. Depending on how bizarre your neighbors are, this could take up several hours. By then, some of your friends would be getting off of work - all you have to do is con one of them into buying you dinner. Once you're done listening sympathetically to their work-related stresses, it would be time to go home and watch Netflix movies. Fall asleep right there on the couch, and you're done - you've just had the perfect day.
And maybe it would get old - but then you can always take a Yoga class or try macramé (or, if you're a dude ... I dunno, fix a car). These activities have the benefit of being easy to set aside if something more important comes along - like a Buffy The Vampire Slayer marathon on TV. If you're feeling especially ambitious, you can start a blog and publish your feverish ramblings two to three times a week.
Of course, there's one teensy weensy flaw in this plan. No one is going to pay you to do any of it. Which is a pity, really, because I would kick ass at unemployment.
Now, I think someone could do without a job easily. First of all, there's Facebook - cyberstalk all your old boyfriends/ girlfriends/ crushes, there goes your morning. Of course, not leaving the house would make coming up with amusing status updates difficult, so you'd have to find something to do after lunch. You could go for a walk, all the way to your nearest coffee shop. Think Jared and Subway, only with less weight loss and more caffeine. Taking a book or laptop along purely for camouflage, you can people-watch for a while. Depending on how bizarre your neighbors are, this could take up several hours. By then, some of your friends would be getting off of work - all you have to do is con one of them into buying you dinner. Once you're done listening sympathetically to their work-related stresses, it would be time to go home and watch Netflix movies. Fall asleep right there on the couch, and you're done - you've just had the perfect day.
And maybe it would get old - but then you can always take a Yoga class or try macramé (or, if you're a dude ... I dunno, fix a car). These activities have the benefit of being easy to set aside if something more important comes along - like a Buffy The Vampire Slayer marathon on TV. If you're feeling especially ambitious, you can start a blog and publish your feverish ramblings two to three times a week.
Of course, there's one teensy weensy flaw in this plan. No one is going to pay you to do any of it. Which is a pity, really, because I would kick ass at unemployment.
Jun 9, 2008
Go ahead and cry for me, Argentina
I must have had Fox & Friends for breakfast on Friday, because something I ate just did not agree with me. Ba dum chh!
Seriously, I was miserable. And because misery lovescompany coddling, my parents drove up to nurse me back to health. We spent the weekend fixing things (my dad), doing laundry (my mom), and sleeping (me). Good times had by all!
But I didn't force them to work all weekend - some of the time was spent on the couch, watching TV movies. We sat through My Big Fat Greek Wedding and The Princess Bride in rapid succession, to hilarious effect.
Gus Portokalos: I come to this country with just eight dollars!
Dad: I came to the country with only eight dollars! Though ... I did spend one dollar on the plane, to listen to music.
Me: Dad! That's 1/8 of my inheritance you threw away!
Wesley: *climbs Cliffs of Insanity*
Mom: Is that ... Zorba The Greek?
Me: Do you mean Zorro?
Mom: Yes!
Me: Um... Zorro is Mexican.
Laughter being the best medicine (take that penicillin!), I am sure I will be all better in no time.
--
Update: My expert in all things Mediterranean, FV, informs me that there really is a movie called Zorba the Greek. Who knew?
Seriously, I was miserable. And because misery loves
But I didn't force them to work all weekend - some of the time was spent on the couch, watching TV movies. We sat through My Big Fat Greek Wedding and The Princess Bride in rapid succession, to hilarious effect.
Gus Portokalos: I come to this country with just eight dollars!
Dad: I came to the country with only eight dollars! Though ... I did spend one dollar on the plane, to listen to music.
Me: Dad! That's 1/8 of my inheritance you threw away!
Wesley: *climbs Cliffs of Insanity*
Mom: Is that ... Zorba The Greek?
Me: Do you mean Zorro?
Mom: Yes!
Me: Um... Zorro is Mexican.
Laughter being the best medicine (take that penicillin!), I am sure I will be all better in no time.
--
Update: My expert in all things Mediterranean, FV, informs me that there really is a movie called Zorba the Greek. Who knew?
Jun 4, 2008
Words Have Power
My first speech at Toastmasters International ...
Good evening Madame Toastmaster, fellow toastmasters, and guests.
At a small departmental reception during my college graduation, I was happily introducing my mother to all of my favorite teachers. Over crackers and veggie dip my zoology professor, Dr. Heidemann, praised my scholastic dedication and complimented my mother on having such a studious young woman for a daughter. My mother replied:
“You know, we raised her just like a little boy.”
There I was, half-chewed baby carrot hanging out of my open mouth, mortified beyond belief. Dr. Heidemann stammered out a polite response and, with one last sympathetic look in my direction, excused himself back to the cheese cube tray. My mother simply smiled.
The thing is … I knew exactly what she meant. My mother was born in a small village in India. It was common for girls to marry young and never finish their formal education. My mother herself narrowly escaped betrothal to a man she didn’t love, only by excelling in her studies. Her education landed her a successful career and carried her across the ocean, to build a life in America entirely different from the one she was raised to expect. That her daughter was not only allowed to pursue the field of her choosing, but encouraged to do so, was remarkable to her. Of course, I wish she had found a better way of phrasing it.
These little misunderstandings are common in the Sri household, and are in no way unique to my mother. English is not my father’s first language – it’s his third. Whenever he goes to use a proper noun, I can almost see the Kannada and Tamil versions running through his head as he struggles to find the one that I will understand. He and my mother agreed not to teach these languages to my brother and me. I suspect it is because they wanted us to think in English, to succeed in the American school system before bilingualism was so highly regarded. English will forever be a foreign language to my parents – they never wanted that for their children.
But nothing could have prepared them for having a child who fell in love with the English language. Growing up, I would spend all day during my summer vacations in the library, soaking up the air conditioning and the written word. One year I developed spontaneous nosebleeds and my pediatrician blamed the constant exposure to cold, dry air. My mother was terribly concerned, but I could care less. Once I’d worked out a way to press a tissue to my nose, tilt my head back and read out of the corner of my eye, I was happy. My father developed a habit of searching me out a sunset, just to remind me to turn on a reading light. He warned me I would ruin my eyes and, sure enough, by sixteen I could hardly see without my glasses.
Even then, I was not content to merely absorb the English language – ever since I was a child, I have dreamed of being a poet or novelist. And my two biggest fans are my mother and my father. Often, one of them will read something I've written and shake their heads in wonder. “Where this is coming from?” They constantly underestimate their influence.
Words are what set my mother free from the constraints of traditional Indian society. Words are my father’s gift to me, that I may achieve even more than he did. Words are what I use to honor their dedication, their struggle. Words have power.
Thank you.
Good evening Madame Toastmaster, fellow toastmasters, and guests.
At a small departmental reception during my college graduation, I was happily introducing my mother to all of my favorite teachers. Over crackers and veggie dip my zoology professor, Dr. Heidemann, praised my scholastic dedication and complimented my mother on having such a studious young woman for a daughter. My mother replied:
“You know, we raised her just like a little boy.”
There I was, half-chewed baby carrot hanging out of my open mouth, mortified beyond belief. Dr. Heidemann stammered out a polite response and, with one last sympathetic look in my direction, excused himself back to the cheese cube tray. My mother simply smiled.
The thing is … I knew exactly what she meant. My mother was born in a small village in India. It was common for girls to marry young and never finish their formal education. My mother herself narrowly escaped betrothal to a man she didn’t love, only by excelling in her studies. Her education landed her a successful career and carried her across the ocean, to build a life in America entirely different from the one she was raised to expect. That her daughter was not only allowed to pursue the field of her choosing, but encouraged to do so, was remarkable to her. Of course, I wish she had found a better way of phrasing it.
These little misunderstandings are common in the Sri household, and are in no way unique to my mother. English is not my father’s first language – it’s his third. Whenever he goes to use a proper noun, I can almost see the Kannada and Tamil versions running through his head as he struggles to find the one that I will understand. He and my mother agreed not to teach these languages to my brother and me. I suspect it is because they wanted us to think in English, to succeed in the American school system before bilingualism was so highly regarded. English will forever be a foreign language to my parents – they never wanted that for their children.
But nothing could have prepared them for having a child who fell in love with the English language. Growing up, I would spend all day during my summer vacations in the library, soaking up the air conditioning and the written word. One year I developed spontaneous nosebleeds and my pediatrician blamed the constant exposure to cold, dry air. My mother was terribly concerned, but I could care less. Once I’d worked out a way to press a tissue to my nose, tilt my head back and read out of the corner of my eye, I was happy. My father developed a habit of searching me out a sunset, just to remind me to turn on a reading light. He warned me I would ruin my eyes and, sure enough, by sixteen I could hardly see without my glasses.
Even then, I was not content to merely absorb the English language – ever since I was a child, I have dreamed of being a poet or novelist. And my two biggest fans are my mother and my father. Often, one of them will read something I've written and shake their heads in wonder. “Where this is coming from?” They constantly underestimate their influence.
Words are what set my mother free from the constraints of traditional Indian society. Words are my father’s gift to me, that I may achieve even more than he did. Words are what I use to honor their dedication, their struggle. Words have power.
Thank you.
Jun 3, 2008
TV Blog Updates
MSCR: Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law (5/10/08)
Summer Lovin' - Law & Order: Criminal Intent (5/15/08)
Public Enemy No.1 - the many crimes of Flava Flav (5/29/08)
Summer Lovin' - Law & Order: Criminal Intent (5/15/08)
Public Enemy No.1 - the many crimes of Flava Flav (5/29/08)
May 19, 2008
"I haven't gotten to wear a poncho since marching band!"
Having a GC student rotating with us means I have zero opportunity to "home from work." This means updating in the evenings, which takes precious time away from vegging on the couch. But I told myself very sternly that I either had to blog or do chores tonight. And so, while my dishes grow mold (and eventually, sentient life), I give you Highlights in the Life of Sri.
Friday before last Maggie and I met up in Richmond for Friday Cheers on Brown's Island featuring one of our favorite bands, Carbon Leaf. Maggie was disappointed that it didn't rain, because she had her inclement weather gear all ready. I was amused that she was such a dork. We made a weekend of it - caught a movie (Prince Caspian, Edmund = love), went to Chris' birthday party on Saturday. I didn't know many people at the party, but I used my mad social skillz to make friends and influence people. Hahahahahaha, yeah right. I spent the first half of the party on the balcony trying to feed my soy dogs to Glen and Pheobe, the actual-dog dogs. I spent the second half of the party watching Golden Girls in bed with Chris' boyfriend, Kent. Actually ... I had a wonderful time.
That Sunday, Chris, his friend Stephanie, and I did the Washington Post Hunt. Basically, it's a game that combines all the physical activity of a scavenger hunt with all the mental activity of solving a Rubik's cube. Some of you are thinking, "that sounds like fun!" More rational individuals are wondering, "why the hell did you get out of bed before noon on a Sunday for that?!?" First of all, the top three prizes were trips to Florida (oddly enough, several teams drove up from Florida to participate). Secondly, one of the organizers was my writing idol, columnist Dave Barry. I imagined myself strolling up to Dave, making chitchat about slice-of-life humor and how it can change the world. Our actual interaction boiled down to this:
Me, Chris and Stephanie: OMG, WE SOLVED IT!
Dave Barry: If you're coming to me, you actually haven't.
Me: {expletive}
I'll get you next time,Gadget Barry! Next time!
Next Time:
So... I joined Toastmasters International. Don't judge me.
Friday before last Maggie and I met up in Richmond for Friday Cheers on Brown's Island featuring one of our favorite bands, Carbon Leaf. Maggie was disappointed that it didn't rain, because she had her inclement weather gear all ready. I was amused that she was such a dork. We made a weekend of it - caught a movie (Prince Caspian, Edmund = love), went to Chris' birthday party on Saturday. I didn't know many people at the party, but I used my mad social skillz to make friends and influence people. Hahahahahaha, yeah right. I spent the first half of the party on the balcony trying to feed my soy dogs to Glen and Pheobe, the actual-dog dogs. I spent the second half of the party watching Golden Girls in bed with Chris' boyfriend, Kent. Actually ... I had a wonderful time.
That Sunday, Chris, his friend Stephanie, and I did the Washington Post Hunt. Basically, it's a game that combines all the physical activity of a scavenger hunt with all the mental activity of solving a Rubik's cube. Some of you are thinking, "that sounds like fun!" More rational individuals are wondering, "why the hell did you get out of bed before noon on a Sunday for that?!?" First of all, the top three prizes were trips to Florida (oddly enough, several teams drove up from Florida to participate). Secondly, one of the organizers was my writing idol, columnist Dave Barry. I imagined myself strolling up to Dave, making chitchat about slice-of-life humor and how it can change the world. Our actual interaction boiled down to this:
Me, Chris and Stephanie: OMG, WE SOLVED IT!
Dave Barry: If you're coming to me, you actually haven't.
Me: {expletive}
I'll get you next time,
Next Time:
So... I joined Toastmasters International. Don't judge me.
May 14, 2008
More Lessons from the Family Sri
When dealing with household chores...
Lesson Four - Persistence Pays
Mom: Call Dad and tell him to bring green chili on his way home.
Me: You know, I asked you if you needed anything before I went out earlier. Specifically green chilies.
Mom: Really? You should have asked me again!
Lesson Five - Necessity is the Mother of Invention
Dad,
Thanks for taking out my recycling when you visited last weekend. But what did you do with the box marked 'shred'?
Sri
***
Dear Sri -
We put the papers in the garbage disposal at your place. It does an excellent job of compressing the stuff into unreadable pellet.
Love, Daddy
***
Dad,
?!?
Sri
Lesson Four - Persistence Pays
Mom: Call Dad and tell him to bring green chili on his way home.
Me: You know, I asked you if you needed anything before I went out earlier. Specifically green chilies.
Mom: Really? You should have asked me again!
Lesson Five - Necessity is the Mother of Invention
Dad,
Thanks for taking out my recycling when you visited last weekend. But what did you do with the box marked 'shred'?
Sri
***
Dear Sri -
We put the papers in the garbage disposal at your place. It does an excellent job of compressing the stuff into unreadable pellet.
Love, Daddy
***
Dad,
?!?
Sri
May 12, 2008
This is not the counselor you're looking for
Yesterday I was having lunch with two of my graduate school classmates and the conversation turned, inevitably, to the crazy things our patients say and do. No to worry, HIPPA activists, names were changed to protect the insane innocent. One common theme was that patients can't seem to remember which counselor they met with during their appointment. This makes the receptionists' task of fielding follow-up calls to the appropriate person difficult. Confusion arises, work is duplicated, and counselors get frustrated. It feels like a slap in the face - the counselor thinks, I spent and hour answering her questions, and she doesn't even know my name?
One might expect this in my friend Laura's office, as she is one of two blonde counselors of average height with a name beginning with the letter 'L.' More surprising is that the same situation arises for petite (also blonde) Kara, who works with a tall brunette. In our graduate program Laura and Kara were often confused for each other and for Emily, our other blonde classmate. I was fortunate enough to be a unique snowflake of a girl - almost six foot tall, Indian, loud and clumsy. Once I started work, however, I was shocked to find many patients couldn't recall whether they saw me or my colleague FV, a short Mediterranean woman with an accent. The mind boggles.
In actuality, this is a desired outcome of our training. During our clinical rotations, one of the evaluation criteria was 'professional dress and appearance.' We were encouraged to look nice, but not to stand out in any way. It may be depressing to be so easily forgotten, but at the end of the day the patient should be paying attention to the message, rather than the messenger.
I'm sure it's this way in any profession (the Oldest Profession being a notable exception). I'm just being my usual contrary self - wanting to stand out when I should blend in and vice versa. You can go about your business. Move along ... move along.
One might expect this in my friend Laura's office, as she is one of two blonde counselors of average height with a name beginning with the letter 'L.' More surprising is that the same situation arises for petite (also blonde) Kara, who works with a tall brunette. In our graduate program Laura and Kara were often confused for each other and for Emily, our other blonde classmate. I was fortunate enough to be a unique snowflake of a girl - almost six foot tall, Indian, loud and clumsy. Once I started work, however, I was shocked to find many patients couldn't recall whether they saw me or my colleague FV, a short Mediterranean woman with an accent. The mind boggles.
In actuality, this is a desired outcome of our training. During our clinical rotations, one of the evaluation criteria was 'professional dress and appearance.' We were encouraged to look nice, but not to stand out in any way. It may be depressing to be so easily forgotten, but at the end of the day the patient should be paying attention to the message, rather than the messenger.
I'm sure it's this way in any profession (the Oldest Profession being a notable exception). I'm just being my usual contrary self - wanting to stand out when I should blend in and vice versa. You can go about your business. Move along ... move along.
May 8, 2008
Dr. Hadrosaur is nothing but a quack
Recently, a couple atheist friends and I have been kicking around the old Evolution vs. Creationism debate, just for shits and giggles. As a health care professional, my world is filled with scientists. It comes as a great shock to me when I am confronted by someone who doesn't subscribe to evolutionary theory.
Ultrasound Tech: You believe in evolution?
Me: Well, yeah.
UT: So you believe we came from monkeys?
Me: Actually, I think that we have a common ancestor with -
UT: If we came from monkeys, why are there still monkeys in the world? Wouldn't they have become something else by now?
Me: But they did become something else. They became monkeys.
And at that point we just stared at each other in confusion. In my mind, this is the main sticking point of this debate. The two sides just aren't speaking the same language.
Science is all about empiricism - Charles Darwin didn't study finches because he had this great idea called "evolution." He studied finches and got a great idea. It took him twenty years to prepare his theory for publication. This was not something he took lightly, nor did he set out to disprove the Christian faith. As a young man he was deeply religious and had considered taking orders in the Anglican church. However, he gradually came to believe that "the Old Testament, from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow at sign, etc., etc., and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos*, or the beliefs of any barbarian."
Creationists, on the other hand, come at things from a different direction. They know how the Earth was created, and they go looking for evidence to prove it. Anything that doesn't fit their theory is disregarded as false. For the Bible (read: God) tells them so. If there was no other reason, that right there is an argument not to teach creationism in the science classroom. Teach it at church, at home or in Bible study. Teach it as part of World Literature, for all I care. I think 'Dr. Dino' Kent Hovind said it best: "You're welcome to believe that. But it's not science and I resent that being taught in science classes at taxpayer expense ... The fact that you believe it doesn't make it true." Ironically, he was arguing to take evolutionary theory out of the classrooms, as he is one of the most famous proponents of creationism.
Check out the video that sparked this blog entry. Warning: it's almost three hours long and you probably won't get too far past Hovind's first product-placement for his Creation Science Evangelism company. I wish I was kidding about that.
--
*Ouch, Charlie. What did Hindus ever do to you? In his defense ... our creation myths include sleeping gods using cobras as beds, churning seas of milk, and metaphorical human sacrifice. If you're going to teach my kids Genesis 1-3, I get to teach your kids that god took the form of a boar to dig the Earth out of the bottom of the celestial ocean. How do you like them forbidden apples?
Ultrasound Tech: You believe in evolution?
Me: Well, yeah.
UT: So you believe we came from monkeys?
Me: Actually, I think that we have a common ancestor with -
UT: If we came from monkeys, why are there still monkeys in the world? Wouldn't they have become something else by now?
Me: But they did become something else. They became monkeys.
And at that point we just stared at each other in confusion. In my mind, this is the main sticking point of this debate. The two sides just aren't speaking the same language.
Science is all about empiricism - Charles Darwin didn't study finches because he had this great idea called "evolution." He studied finches and got a great idea. It took him twenty years to prepare his theory for publication. This was not something he took lightly, nor did he set out to disprove the Christian faith. As a young man he was deeply religious and had considered taking orders in the Anglican church. However, he gradually came to believe that "the Old Testament, from its manifestly false history of the world, with the Tower of Babel, the rainbow at sign, etc., etc., and from its attributing to God the feelings of a revengeful tyrant, was no more to be trusted than the sacred books of the Hindoos*, or the beliefs of any barbarian."
Creationists, on the other hand, come at things from a different direction. They know how the Earth was created, and they go looking for evidence to prove it. Anything that doesn't fit their theory is disregarded as false. For the Bible (read: God) tells them so. If there was no other reason, that right there is an argument not to teach creationism in the science classroom. Teach it at church, at home or in Bible study. Teach it as part of World Literature, for all I care. I think 'Dr. Dino' Kent Hovind said it best: "You're welcome to believe that. But it's not science and I resent that being taught in science classes at taxpayer expense ... The fact that you believe it doesn't make it true." Ironically, he was arguing to take evolutionary theory out of the classrooms, as he is one of the most famous proponents of creationism.
Check out the video that sparked this blog entry. Warning: it's almost three hours long and you probably won't get too far past Hovind's first product-placement for his Creation Science Evangelism company. I wish I was kidding about that.
--
*Ouch, Charlie. What did Hindus ever do to you? In his defense ... our creation myths include sleeping gods using cobras as beds, churning seas of milk, and metaphorical human sacrifice. If you're going to teach my kids Genesis 1-3, I get to teach your kids that god took the form of a boar to dig the Earth out of the bottom of the celestial ocean. How do you like them forbidden apples?
May 1, 2008
TV Blog Updates
As usual, you can find all my entries at TV Sluts here.
DT on Friday Night Project (4/3/08)
Thoughts on Miss Guided (4/16/08)
Buffy-a-thon 2008 (4/21/08)
Sequels and the law of diminishing returns (4/27/08)
DT on Friday Night Project (4/3/08)
Thoughts on Miss Guided (4/16/08)
Buffy-a-thon 2008 (4/21/08)
Sequels and the law of diminishing returns (4/27/08)
Apr 26, 2008
Should've said...
By even the most conservative calculations, it is estimated that 75% of the world's population are jerks. And if you are thinking, 'this cannot be true, for I am not a jerk,' let me assure you - it is and you are. Maybe not all the time, maybe not every day. But we all have a mean-spirited side that must, occasionally, be given voice.
Sometimes, your inner jerk is someone who stands up for you. Several months ago I was in the Barnes&Noble coffee shop with a big group of friends, laughing boisterously (as one does). Our good time was interrupted by an angry German woman, brandishing a rolled-up newspaper.
Sometimes, your inner jerk is someone who stands up for you. Several months ago I was in the Barnes&Noble coffee shop with a big group of friends, laughing boisterously (as one does). Our good time was interrupted by an angry German woman, brandishing a rolled-up newspaper.
Angry German: Be quiet! You are disturbing everyone!At the time, I was so shocked that I meekly sat down. Looking back, I wish I'd allowed my inner jerk out to play.
Inner Jerk: Listen, hag - if you and your frigid husband want to share an awkward silence over coffee and separate newspapers, do it somewhere else. This isn't a library, I don't have to keep my voice down. Also, that is the ugliest sweater I have ever seen.Other times, the inner jerk is not so justified. But that is what makes it an inner jerk, and not an inner Good Samaritan. For example, take this encounter I had on a Richmond bus...
Sequined-Handbag Lady: (apropos nothing) – the thing is, right up there on Waterford, some guy in a beige truck – can you believe it?In reality, I just kind of sat there. Which is no fun at all. Hilarious retorts always come to me a good five hours after a conversation is finished, and I writhe in agony over what I should have said. That's the beauty of blogging - my Inner Jerk gets free reign.
Inner Jerk: That you’re talking to me? No.
SHL: Freakin’ beige trunk, this guy threw a beer bottle right at my head!
IJ: Someone you know?
SHL: No! He thought he had some balls, but I tell ya he didn’t have no balls.
IJ: At least you had time for a physical exam.
SHL: He wasn’t even cute!
IJ: After he hit you with litter, you wanted his number?
Apr 24, 2008
This week, in Cookie News
Top Story:
On Monday evening, Wistar and I went out for pan-Asian cuisine at Saigon Cafe. The service was bad, but the food was good (and you can't beat the prices at Saigon - you just can't). At the end of our meal, we were provided with the obligatory fortune cookies.
Wistar: Mine says, "Hard work is necessary to attain your heart's desire" - in bed, ha ha ha! How about you?
Me: Um... "Everyone agrees that you are the best."
Both: *awkward silence*
Human Interest:
After a long day at work, there's nothing I enjoy more than relaxing at home. And by 'relaxing at home,' I mean 'spending a couple of hours baking.' I don't know why I'm so obsessed with my oven - it's not like I eat all the cookies myself, either. I take them in for those ungrateful wretches at work. Anyhoo, I tried out (and inevitably modified) a new recipe last night. Here's a link to the original recipe.
Monkey Sri's Bananas for Cookies
3 mashed bananas
1 stick of butter (room temperature)
1 cup brown sugar, packed
3 eggs
3 cups of oats
2 tbsp flour
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
Chocolate chips and/or nuts
(optional, but c'mon - of course I'm going to add them)
1. Mix together the bananas, butter, and brown sugar. Unless you're like me and your brown sugar is all hard and un-mixable - then toss the whole mess in the blender and hit "grind."
2. The real recipe calls for four egg whites, but I almost never just add the whites. For one, it means you have to have scrambled egg yokes for dinner. For two, it's just a hassle. So just add the whole damn egg (x3) and blend again.
3. Dump the dry ingredients in a bowl - if you've used salted butter in your wet mix, you can cut down the salt to just a pinch. Pour the wet mix from the blender into the bowl and stir. Pour the milk into the blender and hit "frappe" to get the bits of wet mix that are stuck to the blades, then add to the bowl.
4. The real recipe calls for "vanilla or banana flavoring," which I did not have. So I just tossed in some vanilla extract - the cookies didn't explode, so I'm pretty sure this doesn't make a difference.
5. My walnuts were in large chunks, so I put them in a sandwich bag and bludgeoned them to death with a scented candle jar*. I added the crumbled nuts, as well as half a bag of chocolate chips, to the cookie dough. I usually prefer mini-chips, because you can achieve a more even distribution.
The resulting dough will seem very gooey, but don't worry. Drop it in large spoonfuls onto a cookie sheet and bake at 350 for 12-15 minutes (often I have to put my cookies back in for another few minutes in the oven, but this time 15 minutes was just right). The result will be soft, delicious cookies which are banana-licious without being overwhelming. Huzzah!
*The candle in question was a housewarming gift - thanks, Kara!
Personal Ads:
Single brown female looking to reconnect with a lost love - the tall, dark and handsome cookie sheet who's been out of my life for some months now. Where did you go? Please come back to me.
On Monday evening, Wistar and I went out for pan-Asian cuisine at Saigon Cafe. The service was bad, but the food was good (and you can't beat the prices at Saigon - you just can't). At the end of our meal, we were provided with the obligatory fortune cookies.
Wistar: Mine says, "Hard work is necessary to attain your heart's desire" - in bed, ha ha ha! How about you?
Me: Um... "Everyone agrees that you are the best."
Both: *awkward silence*
Human Interest:
After a long day at work, there's nothing I enjoy more than relaxing at home. And by 'relaxing at home,' I mean 'spending a couple of hours baking.' I don't know why I'm so obsessed with my oven - it's not like I eat all the cookies myself, either. I take them in for those ungrateful wretches at work. Anyhoo, I tried out (and inevitably modified) a new recipe last night. Here's a link to the original recipe.
Monkey Sri's Bananas for Cookies
3 mashed bananas
1 stick of butter (room temperature)
1 cup brown sugar, packed
3 eggs
3 cups of oats
2 tbsp flour
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
Chocolate chips and/or nuts
(optional, but c'mon - of course I'm going to add them)
1. Mix together the bananas, butter, and brown sugar. Unless you're like me and your brown sugar is all hard and un-mixable - then toss the whole mess in the blender and hit "grind."
2. The real recipe calls for four egg whites, but I almost never just add the whites. For one, it means you have to have scrambled egg yokes for dinner. For two, it's just a hassle. So just add the whole damn egg (x3) and blend again.
3. Dump the dry ingredients in a bowl - if you've used salted butter in your wet mix, you can cut down the salt to just a pinch. Pour the wet mix from the blender into the bowl and stir. Pour the milk into the blender and hit "frappe" to get the bits of wet mix that are stuck to the blades, then add to the bowl.
4. The real recipe calls for "vanilla or banana flavoring," which I did not have. So I just tossed in some vanilla extract - the cookies didn't explode, so I'm pretty sure this doesn't make a difference.
5. My walnuts were in large chunks, so I put them in a sandwich bag and bludgeoned them to death with a scented candle jar*. I added the crumbled nuts, as well as half a bag of chocolate chips, to the cookie dough. I usually prefer mini-chips, because you can achieve a more even distribution.
The resulting dough will seem very gooey, but don't worry. Drop it in large spoonfuls onto a cookie sheet and bake at 350 for 12-15 minutes (often I have to put my cookies back in for another few minutes in the oven, but this time 15 minutes was just right). The result will be soft, delicious cookies which are banana-licious without being overwhelming. Huzzah!
*The candle in question was a housewarming gift - thanks, Kara!
Personal Ads:
Single brown female looking to reconnect with a lost love - the tall, dark and handsome cookie sheet who's been out of my life for some months now. Where did you go? Please come back to me.
Apr 22, 2008
Happy Earth Day!
Last Sunday I attended the Green Apple Music Festival. While I love a free concert as much as the next girl, I'm not sure it was the best medium to increase awareness about global warming. For one, almost none of my friends in DC knew it was going on. The show was located on the National Mall. Earth Day needs to fire its agent. For two, bands like O.A.R. and Umphrey's McGee tend to attract a certain type of environmental activist ... *cough*college hippies*cough* ... who already know all about global warming. In fact, they knew about global warming before it was big, and they have the t-shirts to prove it. This is the kind of activist that may show up for a protest if it's scheduled for the afternoon, but will "totally space" on actually going to vote. They made for hilarious people-watching. Doug and I were having a great time, even when it started to drizzle.
Me: Would you like to share my umbrella?
Doug: No, thanks.
Me: Good, cause it's only big enough for one and I don't know what I would've done if you said 'yes.' Possibly I would've kicked you in the knee and run away.
Doug: Well ... good.
Soon, it started to rain in earnest. The sound of jackets being zipped almost drowned outDean O'Dell's Ed Begley Jr.'s sales pitch for energy-efficient light bulbs. We watched a short documentary on deforestation and tried to ignore the looming cloud cover. Then, just as Chevy Chase took the stage, the sky opened up and a deluge of water was unleashed. It was like a monsoon, only less pleasant (monsoons being, in my admittedly limited experience, quite warm).
Girl on Cell Phone: Maria says she's not coming. Let's leave.
Guy with Her: No way. I drove two and a half hours to get here!
Me: Heh, me too. Wait a sec ... if a bunch of us all drove in from out of town, how exactly is this good for the environment?
Then the cops showed up to break up the party, citing a noise complaint or a high risk of lightning strikes or something. Blah blah blah. Regardless of its brevity, my awareness was raised by the festival. I've resolved to be a little eco-friendlier every month. Today, I took the bus to work! Of course, due to the limited bus service in my area, I walked for twenty minutes, waited for fifteen, rode the bus for about seven and walked for another three. My five-minute commute turned into three-quarters of an hour of travel time. *sigh* The things I do for Mother Nature.
Me: Would you like to share my umbrella?
Doug: No, thanks.
Me: Good, cause it's only big enough for one and I don't know what I would've done if you said 'yes.' Possibly I would've kicked you in the knee and run away.
Doug: Well ... good.
Soon, it started to rain in earnest. The sound of jackets being zipped almost drowned out
Girl on Cell Phone: Maria says she's not coming. Let's leave.
Guy with Her: No way. I drove two and a half hours to get here!
Me: Heh, me too. Wait a sec ... if a bunch of us all drove in from out of town, how exactly is this good for the environment?
Then the cops showed up to break up the party, citing a noise complaint or a high risk of lightning strikes or something. Blah blah blah. Regardless of its brevity, my awareness was raised by the festival. I've resolved to be a little eco-friendlier every month. Today, I took the bus to work! Of course, due to the limited bus service in my area, I walked for twenty minutes, waited for fifteen, rode the bus for about seven and walked for another three. My five-minute commute turned into three-quarters of an hour of travel time. *sigh* The things I do for Mother Nature.
Apr 17, 2008
Poor form, WNRN. Poor form.
My favorite station in C'ville (and possibly of all time) is WNRN. It's a great source for music from artists so indie that no one has ever heard of them. It's alternative in every sense of the word, right down to commercials for natural food stores and Vespa dealerships. WNRN is what I wake up to, what I have on in my car, what I listen to at work on the sly. I donate in every fund drive and I wear station t-shirts with pride.
When I tuned in this morning for the news headlines I was looking forward to having my liberal guilt assuaged by the fifteen-second blurb of world events. I nodded along as the news reader started a story about the Olympic torch traveling through New Delhi, and the ensuing protests from the largest community of displaced Tibetans. And then, the reader mentioned that the torch route was traveling through 'formerly British colonial streets.'
Try this experiment: go up to your closest South Asian friend and imply that the most interesting thing about their country of origin is that it was once occupied by England. See how well that goes over. For those of you without a South Asian friend (or a modicum of common sense), let me tell you how that would go - not well.
Also, come on! It was a story about angry Tibetans, and they chose to highlight a history of imperialism? So ... I called the station to complain. Yes, it was an overreaction. But I'm kind of O.K. with that.
Me: I was just curious why you couldn't find any better description for New Delhi, a cultural hub and the capital of India, than a 'former British colony.'
News Guy: Well, we actually said 'colonial streets.'
Me: Riiight. Listen buddy, unless these streets were paved with Union Jacks, I'm not buying it.
In the end, we agreed that it would've been best to leave the Brits out of it altogether. Still, the whole situation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This won't stop me from listening to WNRN ... but it definitely tempered my passion for the station. My love for Vespas, on the other hand, will never die.
When I tuned in this morning for the news headlines I was looking forward to having my liberal guilt assuaged by the fifteen-second blurb of world events. I nodded along as the news reader started a story about the Olympic torch traveling through New Delhi, and the ensuing protests from the largest community of displaced Tibetans. And then, the reader mentioned that the torch route was traveling through 'formerly British colonial streets.'
Try this experiment: go up to your closest South Asian friend and imply that the most interesting thing about their country of origin is that it was once occupied by England. See how well that goes over. For those of you without a South Asian friend (or a modicum of common sense), let me tell you how that would go - not well.
Also, come on! It was a story about angry Tibetans, and they chose to highlight a history of imperialism? So ... I called the station to complain. Yes, it was an overreaction. But I'm kind of O.K. with that.
Me: I was just curious why you couldn't find any better description for New Delhi, a cultural hub and the capital of India, than a 'former British colony.'
News Guy: Well, we actually said 'colonial streets.'
Me: Riiight. Listen buddy, unless these streets were paved with Union Jacks, I'm not buying it.
In the end, we agreed that it would've been best to leave the Brits out of it altogether. Still, the whole situation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This won't stop me from listening to WNRN ... but it definitely tempered my passion for the station. My love for Vespas, on the other hand, will never die.
Apr 16, 2008
Loganathan Uncle
G.V. Loganathan was an earnest man and, like many such men, easy to take for granted. There was no need to examine him or doubt his word. He was something you knew you could depend upon, like the cross-beam of your ceiling or the fourth table leg. His body was all angles - his square glasses, the precise partition in his hair, and his clean, straight jaw. When he laughed, he would place both hands on the back of his hips so that his elbows jutted out at ninety degrees. Load-bearing, you might say. Reliable.
Then he was gone, and the world fell down around our heads. A year later we're still picking up pieces, shifting through debris... trying not to crumble beneath the weight of our loss. The community we've rebuilt is stronger in some ways, but weaker in others. We've lost part of our framework, our very foundation.
We will never be the same.
Then he was gone, and the world fell down around our heads. A year later we're still picking up pieces, shifting through debris... trying not to crumble beneath the weight of our loss. The community we've rebuilt is stronger in some ways, but weaker in others. We've lost part of our framework, our very foundation.
We will never be the same.
Apr 14, 2008
Younge Guarde Weekende
As many of you know, I am actively stalking my alma mater, The College of William and Mary in Virginia. She and I have a special relationship. No one understands her like I do. *presses lock of hair to nose, inhales deeply* I will take any excuse to go back to campus - up to an including the glorified timeshare sales-pitch that was Young Guarde weekend.
I went into the weekend ready to be sold. There has been a lot of controversy surrounding The College recently - cross debates, sex worker fights, and questions about diversity programs - all culminating in the resignation of President Gene Nichol. Nichol was never president while I was a student, but I liked the cut of his jib - I wanted to be reassured that his progressive ideas hadn't been ousted with him. I was pleased that YGW started up with a Q&A with the interim president, W. Taylor Reveley, III .
Reveley: We want ... mo-ah mon-eh!
Me: More money? We're grad students and young professionals, dude. We haven't got any money!
Reveley: Other schools have lots of money! We want, we want some of that money. How about hedge funds? Hedge funds make lots of money.
Me: Er ... maybe you could outline how you plan to continue where President Nichol left off? You know, increasing diversity, tolerance and equality?
Reveley: Are you gonna give us mo-ah mon-eh, or what?
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating just a bit.
Still, I can't imagine what Int. Pres. Reveley was hoping to achieve by informing us that W&M needs $2-5 million extra in the operating budget, and then waiting expectantly. Did he expect a few Young Guardes to pull out their wallets and mutter, 'well, I've got about half a million here...'? He even dropped the b-word (1) at one point, and half of us soiled ourselves.
But here's the thing ... the only way we can ensure that W&M stays on the right track is to give them the money. For all that W&M is a public school, it only gets about 20% of it's funding from the state - it really depends on donations from alumni. The older alums are so influential because they can threaten to pull their donations. It's the sad truth, children, that money makes the world go 'round.
What we need to do is to pool our efforts, donate in a block. If we have a lot of people giving a little bit we may have a shot of out-performing the older alumni. I have visions of the Young Guarde storming the Board of Visitors meeting to present them with a list of demands and a big, fat check.
Who's with me?
(1) B is for billion, and that's good enough for Reveley ... barely.
I went into the weekend ready to be sold. There has been a lot of controversy surrounding The College recently - cross debates, sex worker fights, and questions about diversity programs - all culminating in the resignation of President Gene Nichol. Nichol was never president while I was a student, but I liked the cut of his jib - I wanted to be reassured that his progressive ideas hadn't been ousted with him. I was pleased that YGW started up with a Q&A with the interim president, W. Taylor Reveley, III .
Reveley: We want ... mo-ah mon-eh!
Me: More money? We're grad students and young professionals, dude. We haven't got any money!
Reveley: Other schools have lots of money! We want, we want some of that money. How about hedge funds? Hedge funds make lots of money.
Me: Er ... maybe you could outline how you plan to continue where President Nichol left off? You know, increasing diversity, tolerance and equality?
Reveley: Are you gonna give us mo-ah mon-eh, or what?
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating just a bit.
Still, I can't imagine what Int. Pres. Reveley was hoping to achieve by informing us that W&M needs $2-5 million extra in the operating budget, and then waiting expectantly. Did he expect a few Young Guardes to pull out their wallets and mutter, 'well, I've got about half a million here...'? He even dropped the b-word (1) at one point, and half of us soiled ourselves.
But here's the thing ... the only way we can ensure that W&M stays on the right track is to give them the money. For all that W&M is a public school, it only gets about 20% of it's funding from the state - it really depends on donations from alumni. The older alums are so influential because they can threaten to pull their donations. It's the sad truth, children, that money makes the world go 'round.
What we need to do is to pool our efforts, donate in a block. If we have a lot of people giving a little bit we may have a shot of out-performing the older alumni. I have visions of the Young Guarde storming the Board of Visitors meeting to present them with a list of demands and a big, fat check.
Who's with me?
(1) B is for billion, and that's good enough for Reveley ... barely.
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