Finals Fever

Well kids and kiddies its that wonderful time of year again, and I'm not talking about Christmas. I've been living in the library for the past 2 weeks ingesting a steady diet of caffeine and government cheese. That is the reason I've been MIA from everyone's radar screens. A couple quick observations from my head:

Things I'm not sure of:

I currently have no idea what day it is, what time it is, or even my own name. I don't even know how I navigated to this website.

Things I AM sure of:

That my first test today (Virology) sucked. There was a significant number of questions on things that weren't even in the notes. Why would you do that? I'm pretty positive I'm a little more crazy than before and I am in a constant state of "Irritability" (the Hunny Bunny is not pleased with this part).

A brief example of my irritablilty:

Just now while returning from an extended lunch after our first exam we passed an undergrad who just finished interviewing for next years incoming class. I offered no "hello, hope it went well"...of course not. I'm in too much of a bad mood. Instead I encourage her with these words of wisdom, "It's not too late to change your mind". Shes probably driving home thinking about getting a job a Starbucks and living the good life all becuase of some mad-at-the-world medical student. Oh well, it's way better than what i'm doing right now...

Anywho, I hope this made sense to at least one person and I apologize for my incoherent thoughts. The keyboard looks fuzzy from the lack of sleep mixed with the coffee I just spilled on them. Next time, I promise I'll be in a better mood. Cheers.

Happy Turkey Day

A quick post to wish all of you happy readers out there a Happy Thanksgiving. I'll be using this weekend to cram my face with turkey as well as cramming my brain full of fun tidbits of pharmacology, virology, and pathology.

So feel free to indulge this weekend. 3 out of 4 doctors* recommend at least 6 servings of turkey per meal...and don't forget to "double-up" on the gravy.

*by doctors I mean medical students

Let Us Get it Schtarted*

Lets face it. Indian accents are funny (Indians from Asia, not America). I never really thought about it prior to medical school. But I have noticed lately that many of my professors have very THICK Indian accents. Currently, 2 out of 4 lecturers have an Indian accent (like my Wirology* professor). I only point this out because of a comical incident that was had today in class. We were discussing the appendix (the organ, not the list of words at the back of your book). Our professor stated that in 50 million years humans would evolve to not have an appendix. I'll come back to that point shortly. He also claimed that our "pinky toes" are unnecessary as well which would cause them to fall off, at which point we would throw a celebratory extravaganza. Yipee. Just then another professor walked in the back and we were lucky enough to hear this little gem:

"Dr. Haiku, welcome. We were just talking about losing our little toes and having a party!"

Now imagine that all of the "W's" are pronounced with "V's" and any "T" sounds like he is trying to say "tart". Hilarious. I let out a huge "belly laugh". It was classic.

OK, back to my appendix. So I guess my professor is trying to imply evolution. An interesting point but I have a couple of questions. If we really are "evolving" and came from monkeys...why are there still monkeys? AND how come we don't see any "monkey boys" popping up all across the country from those dumb little monkeys evolving into humans? I guess I must have slept through that part of lecture or that entire course of biology in undergrad. If evolution does exist, I want a pet monkey boy. So until I get one, evolution will always be a mout point to me.

Well, until this gets straighted out, I guess I'll just concern myself with more important matters...laughing at funny Indian accents.


*Indian accent implied

Hello Jerry...

I was watching Seinfeld last night and a classic episode (which one isn't) came on. It was the one where Jerry and George have to meet Elaine's father for dinner. She is late (of course) and the episode circles around the awkwardness of their meeting. Well before they leave for dinner George starts singing a song from the production, Les Miserables. It goes a little like this:

Master of the house
Doling out the charm
Ready with a handshake
And an open palm
Tells a saucy tale
Makes a little stir
Customers appreciate a bon-viveur

Glad to do a friend a favor
Doesn't cost me to be nice
But nothing gets you nothing
Everything has got a price!

Catchy, I know. But as you would expect, now I have this stupid song stuck in my head. I'm singing it everywhere. Just like Costanza!! And to complicate the matter even worse Jerry warns George of this very thing. He tells George that Schubert went crazy becuase he couldn't get a tune out of his head. Now I believe that I'm going crazy becuase this little ditty of a song is stuck in my head and the little leprechaun prancing around the house is telling me to "Burn Things". How does a "show about nothing" always seem to pertain to something? Darn you Mr. Seinfeld and your uncanny understanding of the human psyche.

Quote of the Day

"Ah Jota, I'm having trouble hearing the lecture. Can you please turn your shirt down?"

-Montgomery


Apparently my friends don't approve of me wearing bright pink shirts to school. Hypocrites.

Ambivalence and Me

I can't believe how uneventful my weeks have become of late. I meander to class, then to the library, then come home and annoy the Hunny Bunny with my antics. Thankfully she loves me and puts up with me. Someday I'll learn how to not push all of her buttons...all the time.

Anyways, the bulk of my weekly entertainment has been coming from my preceptor. It seems I can always get a good laugh from some old fashioned scatological humor. Normally its just me and the Doc, but this week was busy. We had 2 residents farting around with me. One seemed as if he had been around a few years and had a funny name so we will refer to him Vladimir. Well Vladdy apparently likes to ask questions, which led to me getting "pimped" for nearly the entire time I was there. For those of you unfamiliar with that term in the medical setting, I will define it for you:

Being "pimped" is when an attending physician/resident/wife gives you the Third Degree in front of everyone. They just keep asking question after question until you run out of responses. Its a very humbling (and uncomfortable) situation that you want out of as soon as you can.

After a couple hourse of this, we finally came to our last patient of the day and I assumed the position so I could be "pimped" again. The patient was a referal from another doctor in the hospital who had hydronephrosis (the patient, not the doctor). I was grilled for a good 10 minutes on what could possibly cause this. I rambled off a good 2 answers and my brain juices were exhausted. That obviously was not good enough and Vladimir gave me another 10 to match my 2. We also had the luxury of looking at her CT scan before going into the room. As we browsed the films we noticed splenomegaly (enlarged spleen) and some unknown mass at the back of her abdomen which her referring doctor claimed was "Idiopathic Retroperitoneal Fibrosis". This was the mass that was pushing on her ureter and giving her hydronephrosis. It was now time to see the patient and see if the doctor was right...

Now that the spotlight was off of me, we asked the patient a series of questions trying to get the bottom of her problem. In the midst of the exam we asked if she had experienced any recent weightloss. She answered yes and said it had been about 20-30lbs in the past couple of months (Red Flag). She also complained that she "hasn't felt like herself" (another Red Flag) and that foods just haven't "tasted the same" (yet another Red Flag).

I thought back 20 minutes to when I was being grilled by Vladimir and one of our possibilities for this mass was cancer. In that short 2 minutes of information I knew that the previous doctor was wrong and this poor woman had cancer.

Thus, enter my ambivalence. On one hand I was elated becuase everything that I had learned in Pathology had just been manifested right before my eyes in an actual patient. She had all the symptoms I'm supposed to think of when I think about cancer. I felt for once like I was a medical professional. Yet on the other hand this was an actual human being. It wasn't some made up scenario or example out of a book. I was sitting two feet from her, I knew her name, and had her entire history on the table in front of me. And now we had the job of telling her that we now had to seriously consider that she had cancer.

As I think about it even more, thats what medicine is all about. Its the study of disease. Its what we love to do becuase it fascinates us to think about how the body can go awry and given the right circumstances, our intervention can actually help a person get better. But its still grounded in reality. Medicine is not a game becuase these are real lives and we can't take them for granted or treat them as a disease and not give these people a name.

As for this woman, a round of tests and a few more doctors await to just delay the inevitable, the official word of cancer. But in Vladimir, the Doc, and my mind...we already know what is coming.

Ambivalence is a funny feeling...unfortunately, I think it's here to stay.

The Brown-Eyed Monster

It was quite an eventful day in the clinic this afternoon. For those of you who don't know, I've have the priveledge to work in our world class Urology department once a week. Thus far its been a great experience. I have been learning a lot and on top of all of that it has me interested in the field as a possible specialty. But I digress. Today we were swamped, up to ears in patients. I was running fifteen minutes late and turns out I beat the Doctor by five minutes. Yet, nothing out of the ordinary as far as the patients we saw.

But for those unfamiliar with what a "urologist" does, let me fill you in. They help people who can't "pee" or have problems with their kidneys or "unmentionables". Its a subspecialty of surgery, which means they are surgeons. They just don't usually operate as often as other surgeons. All an all, an awesome field if you like surgery, not working 110 hours a week, and the smell of urine.

Anywho, we entered the room of a 92 year old patient. He himself happened to a cardiothoracic surgeon way back in the day (Translation: he's smarter than you and I). He was surprisingly alert for someone his age (obviously a doctor). He suffered from an enlarged prostate (Translation: big prostate makes it hard to pee-pee...you've seen the commercials). He had been on a couple of drugs which has shrunk his prostate but it was still larger than most. I've been in the clinic awhile so I knew the drill. When the doctor gloves up, my job is to squirt some KY Jelly on his finger, then observe. But today was different. Something was wrong with the cosmos, an ardvark farted in Wisconsin, A-Rod contemplated taking a pay-cut, something huge caused the Earth to tilt off its axis and made this day different from all the others...

As you may know the only way to get to the prostate is through the "rear-end", hence the necissity for KY Jelly. Apparently you want to feel a "rubbery" organ (hard masses indicate cancer). I've seen these done a bunch of times, well at least enough so I don't even cringe anymore. But like I said, today was different...today I heard the phrase, "Put some gloves on and go ahead and lube yourself up." GULP.

I was frozen for a split second becuase I couldn't believe the words that just came out of the Doctor's mouth. He proceeded to the tell the patient to drop trow and was about to experience two fingers (at different times of course). The patient seemed unphased and was now staring at me with his one good brown eye. The Doc went first and I followed quickly after with the look on my face that said, "I've done this a million times" when in actually I had no idea what I was feeling for. I was asked if I felt the enlarged prostate and I quickly answered "YES!" while I thought to myself, "I guess it could be enlarged if I only knew what a regular prostate felt like". As we exited the room I B-lined for the sink to wash my hands, just in case the glove had been "structurally compromised" during the exam.

All in all it was a fulfilling experience. It made me feel like a real doctor in a way, even though I had no idea what I was doing (I guess thats some peoples view of doctors anyways). But I have to say if any of you are given the the same situation where you are staring face to face with a Brown-Eyed Monster, I would turn and run for the hills for fingers sake.

Quit Googl-ing Yourself

It was yet another uneventful day of class this morning. Lecturers had nothing impressive or profound to teach, yet I still managed to pay attention. My professionality was not matched however by some of my collegues. D-Rock* and Beez* were up to their same old tricks today. Surfing the web in search of something comical. Then it came...the tap on my shoulder. My attention was now directed towards D-Rocks computer screen as Beez whispered in my ear..."Its You!". Apparently they were correct. I was staring face to face with Mr Ah Jota:



After a quick Google Image Search of my name this is what those two monkeys came up with. Apparently Mr Ah Jota was running for some sort of congressional seat in the UK as a conservative. Obviously, it's the only thing we had in common (being conservative, not a politician).

This got my wheels turning. I wondered which of my closest associates had an alter-ego in existence on the web....

The first person I thought of turned out to be the most comical. Mr Micheala Watsopoplle* (one of my distinguished groomsman from the summer) is apparently wanted in Texas (if you have any more information about him, please contact your local authorities):



And lets just say I'm glad I didn't marry a nurse named The Hunny Bunny*...here is another version of Mrs Ah Jota:



Interestingly enough, when I googled my Brother-in-law Isaacrat*...



I pulled up an actual picture of my actual grandfather-in-law, Isaacrat the Apostle*:



So needless to say, when you think you are alone in this world...you really aren't. Your alter-ego probably exists and is more than likely fleeing the state of Texas for a crime he/she may or may not have committed. And if you can't find your alter-ego on the internet, rest assured that they are out there. They just haven't figured out how to upload an image of themselves to the world wide web yet.

*Names have been changed to protect the innocent, especially since one is awaiting criminal charges if he ever shows up in Texas

Running from Humbleness

Well friends of friends, I've been quite the slacker with this blog as of late. So for those of you who have been crying for my dry sarcastic babel, I'm back. I personally thought I would have plenty of stories to tell after an entire week off from a grueling medical school career, but I was wrong. Last week I basically tried to see how much TV I would be able to take in and avoided human contact (other than my wife's) all together.

Nonetheless, here is one humorous anecdote from the break...it goes as follows:

It had been roughly 3 weeks since the last time I had any physical activity. My days over the past few weeks consisted of meandering in the library, drinking caffeine, and muttering useless movie quotes to myself to keep me motivated (rudy...Rudy...RUdy...RUDy...RUDY...get the picture?). This gave me the great idea to set out on a nice little "jog" around the neighborhood on my first Monday off. One problem I have is I tend to set some pretty high standards for myself and forget to ease my way into physical actviity, especially after my life's longest execise drought. Thus, I poorly chose to circle the ENTIRE neighborhood which made the total distance about 2 miles (wise choice). It started out well, hair flapping in the wind...the whole 9 yards. But as I hit the midway point I began to realize the mistake I had made. My lungs hurt...I mean A LOT. I think it was because they were bleeding and my body was doing just about anything to get me to stop. But you can't stop Ah Jota that easily, I ventured on. As I rounded the 1.5 mile marker my pace had slowed quite a bit but I was determined to make it back to my doorstep. Then it hit me with just about a quater mile left....the unmistakeable urge to BARF! I was now hunched over in the shade behind a tree in some guy's front yard trying to avoid the now inevitable. I took small breaths since one large breath might just give the previous nights dinner a chance of escape. My legs were basically useless at this point, so the idea of "walking it off" wasn't even possible. So I stayed there hunched in the "I was just punched in the stomach" position. But Mexitaliamer's are a tough nut to crack. Yes I reminded myself if Frodo Baggins can carry a stupid little ring, I can suck it up and take the pain. I stood myself up and began staggering home. Though I didn't run home, I reached the front door full of pride because I was able to choke back the unavoidable. I stared the Vomit Comet right in the eye and laughed in its face. I made it home without chundering all over my shoes, which keeps the wife happy and the floor clean. I guess all of us have to humbled every once in awhile. It's too bad that this time it had to be me....

Schooooool's Out....For a Week

Well I know I have been incognito for a little while, believe me if I had it my way that wouldn't have been the case. Sadly, I've been locked away in the library for the past couple of weeks pretending that I'm a medical student. Its been pretty brutal preparing for this round of exams. I've been gone so much my wife didn't even recognize me when I walked through the front door the other night. She screamed and thought that Adam Morrison had come to challenge her to a game of H-O-R-S-E.

Anyways, yesterday I mustered up what little energy I had left and pulled one last hardcore study day. The result: 13 hours straight in the library. Though the rest of the week wasn't as bad as that, it sure felt like it. My only outlet lately has been in my car on the drive home. With my brain resembling the consistency of mashed potatos I click on the radio as I mindlessly weave in and out of on-coming traffic.

What serenades me you may ask? Well, thats the point of this little blog. It is the voice of the one and only Vince Furnier. To the more educated readers, you should already know who that is. To you novices out there, Vince's more well published name is Alice Cooper.



Mr. Nice Guy currently works as a late night DJ for a local radio station that I quickly turn to when I cruise around town any time later than 8 o'clock. This just happens to be every time I leave the library near exam time.

For those of you who are interested, Vince was born in Detroit, Michigan to Ether Moroni Furnier and Ella Mae McCart and after a series of childhood illnesses, he moved to Phoenix, Arizona. His grandfather, Thurman Sylvester Furnier, was an ordained Apostle of The Church of Jesus Christ. I personally met Vince at the ripe young age of 4 years at a church event. As you well know, I can't remember anything past breakfast so the details of this event are known to me only through the stories my mother has told me. But I heard Vince was overcome by my childhood abilities and was forced to cut all ties with me at that time...

Even though the two of us have an obvioius storied history together, he has failed to contact me during his stint as a "hot-shot DJ". I hope he does soon since rumor has it that he has in his possession his grandfather's library which I would salivate at the chance to rummage through given the opportunity. But I can't promise patience forever, I may just have to contact Vince myself to talk about old times and help remind him of his roots....

Meet me at Morrison Avenue

Well with midterms less than a week a time honored tradition was brought back. Every semester the "gang" and I set out to grow Finals Beards. Well, everyone else does and I always seem to fail miserably. I guess I will just have to wait to hit puberty so I can grow hair in funny places and start liking girls. But I digress...since it is only midterms the beard didn't seem so fitting. So thus it was conceived....THE MIDTERM MOUSTACHE.

So about a week ago Montgomery, D-Rock, Beez, Jimmy D and I all began growing our "belly-ticklers". With the exception of Jimmy D, I am a little behind the learning curve. Normally that would bother me but not today....

After sleeping in the morning I took a nice long shower and shaved the peach-fuzz off the rest of my face leaving me with my own personalized "flavor-savor". As I stepped out of the shower, this is what I saw in the mirror:



Yes, I confused myself with the Gonzaga Bulldog star Adam Morrison. For those of you who haven't seen me in awhile my hair is ridiculously long and when it's wet, it just flops all over the place. Granted I'm a little better looking than Morrison as well as a shade or two darker, but the resemblence this morning in the mirror was striking.

So at least for the next two weeks I don't mind that my moustache growing is "sub-par". I'll embrace my Morrison-look-a-like status and maybe even sign some fake autographs while I'm at it.

Fun With Medical Terminology

Surprisingly over the past year and a quarter I've been able to acquire a large repitoire of useless information my professors tell me some day will be useful in saving the lives of my patients. I try not to take it so seriously. So instead, Beez and I have taken it upon ourselves to come up with new applications for common medical terminology we have encountered while in medical school. Here's just a few things we've come up with:

Tamponade - "a situation where fluid collects between the heart muscle and the pericardial sac. The pressure within the sac makes the heart unable to expand and open its ventricles, meaning that no blood flows in or out of the heart. If left unchecked, this condition will end in death."

Our Definition: The worst sports drink ever!

Prostate Chips : "Obtained by a transurethral resection of the prostate, which yields the small "chips" of rubbery prostatic tissue used to diagnose disease."

Our Definition: The worst side dish a person could order.

Bullet Wipe : "A darkened ring around the immediate margins of a bullet hole. This ring of residue is caused by lead being wiped from the surface of the bullet as it passes through the body." (according to our forensic pathology lecture on gunshot wounds)

Our Definition: Toilet paper of the future

Sloughing : "Shedding of endometrial tissue during menarche."

Our Definition: We don't have one, we're just grossed out everytime we hear this term.

Milk Letdown : "Occurs when oxytocin causes contraction of the smooth muscle layer of band-like cells surrounding the alveoli (of the breast) to squeeze the newly-produced milk into the duct system, allowing an infant to be fed."

Our Definition: Again, we don't have one. We just chuckle like a couple of immature 4-year olds when we hear this one.

I know we have many more but since it is so close to midterms...I have bigger fish to fry. This will have to hold you over for now, let me know if you have any that should be added to the list.

Oh, and by the way. Don't call me "immature" for being amused by things of this nature. You know the people who invented each term chuckled just as hard as we do whenever they hear these terms too ;)

Who You Callin' Chicken?

Over the past few weeks I've been exposed to a hilarious sitcom. Apparently it has been pulled from the shelves but it is still available on dvd. Its called Arrested Development. It centers around a crazy family and its business that goes broke and the one sane family member that tries to pull them from the wreckage.

I probably like it so much becuase it sounds a lot like my family. Except my family:

A) Doesn't own a business
B) There isn't one "sane" person left since we all know I don't fit that category
C) There really isn't any wreckage to be pulled from, since we all seem to be doing well for ourselves

Hmmm. Ok I guess I can't draw too many comparisons and probably just like it for the dry, sarcastic humor and the pleasure it brings me outside of any comparisons I try to confabulate.

That long-winded introduction brings me to a point I want to make. The show has an uncanny way of pointing out that somebody is a "chicken". After you clean up from peeing your pants in laughter, please continue reading.

This is so awesome I want to start a trend. Anytime you feel happy, excited, giddy, or just in the mood to make a fool of yourself....you need to perform the chicken dance. ALSO, any time you want to taunt someone I EXPECT you to behave in this manner.

To many I suppose this will sound "silly" or "childish" and to those people I will say, quit taking yourself so seriously. If you bust out with this type of behavior, people will hail you as the life of the party and the funniest person they have met in quite some time. So my suggestion is just to try it. Not only will other people like you, but you'll like yourself more for just stepping out of your comfort zone for once in your life. I ask no monetary reward for helping you down the path of self discovery...just your friendship since I don't have very many friends.

I hope the next time I run into you I'll be a witness to your new-found sense of pride and chicken-dancing ability. You just better not be calling me a chicken....

Quote of the Weekend

"Surlinger" is highlighter-speak for spanish.....what?!?!?!

-Ah Jota

The Monster Known as SWAMBA

Now I know many of you unfamiliar with the term are already shaking in your boots. Some may think its a mystical creature that devour your soul in a blink of its eye, thankfully I am able to say that a guess like that is incorrect. SWAMBA is actually an acronym, so it can't really eat your soul (I hope). It stands for SouthWest Area Missionary Benevolent Association. In short it is the youth group of our church here in the southwest region, of which I belong.

This Labor Day weekend was our annual region campout and boy was it a blast. I had some concerns going in that it wouldn't live up to camps of the past but it did. First of all, this is the first time I was attending camp as a married man, which means no more bunking with the boys. It was just me, the hunny bunny, and any arachnids that could squeeze in through the door frame. Secondly, we had a to have a business meeting during campout. Let me explain the gravity of this situation. By having a business meeting during recreation means no basketball for AJ!!! This was upsetting, but I got over it since in the business meeting The Italian Stallion was elected as the new area president and I got to play basketball on Sunday anyways. So thankfully all of my concerns were addressed and it turned out to be a great weekend.

Saturday camp is more or less kicked off since everyone has arrived by then. We have a short chapel service followed by seminars. Since I have the attention span of a 4 year old, I attended the young people seminar. It was awesome. It coincided with the theme "Ye Who Are Called To Labor" and provided just the boost everyone needed. We discussed a gauntlet of ideas surrounding the theme including what holds us back from doing so, where everyone was able to chime in with what held them back personally from serving the Lord.

The night meeting was powerful and was followed by a bonfire where we had smores (yes I know, smores have nothing to do with the theme but they sure are delicious). I was able to do some catching up with my good buddy Emilio and then went to bed early since I'm an old married man.

Sandwiched between our two services on Sunday we were able to fit in the games which I prepared for the weekend. These were straight from the convoluted thoughts of my own head and one of which went as follows. The Benjaminites (one of the 12 tribes of Israel) had 700 left-handed warriors that could sling a rock at a hair and not miss (Judges 20:16). I was so impressed by this scripture I made a game in honor of it. I thought hair...shaving cream. Rocks....hmmm....can't throw them at church....but you can throw goldfish!!! And the game was born. Throwing goldfish and peoples faces covered in shaving cream, just like its depicted in the scriptures. Here were the winners of this event....



If you look close at this next picture you can see the impish grin on my face because all these people let me cover their faces in shaving cream. Success!!



So I think in the end its pretty self explanatory, church camps can be fun even if you can't bunk with the boys, have to go to a business meeting, and certain individuals (Michella and Lucas Aurelius) manage to testify twice in one meeting. And thus its gets no better than "Loving God, Loving Each Other".....

Old Man McMullen

What I thought was a completely uneventful day turned out to be pretty fulfilling when it was all said and done. Class was basically uneventful other than having to wipe drool from D-rock's face during the Micro lecture. Class was followed by a nice lunch at Rubio's. Then the fun began. As Beez and I meandered up the stairs to the fourth floor of the AHSL library we stumbled upon a shopping cart filled with the remains of the study tables. We decided we would do what any reasonable medical student would do when faced with a similar situation....hijack the shopping cart. We spent the next five minutes unloading the cart piece by piece only to be confronted by one of the constructions workers. He looked at us like we both had 3 heads. I myself was a deer in the headlights while Beez managed to utter "desk....part....take....I". I'm still not sure what he meant. Surprisingly the grizzled looking man let us go free with no questions. The fun began shortly thereafter. I hopped in the basket and we were off...

I discovered the hard way that not all the wheels worked on this cart. The front of the cart took a nose dive and I went with it. I made it out unscathed so I tried to return the favor to Beez. After a good push I let the fautly wheel take over and tried to plant him into the abandoned fourth floor, and as the story of my life goes...I failed again. Not a scratch on him. Darn you Beez and your cat-like reflexes.

The fun continued in the study room as we reviewed hypersensitivity and genetic disorders with Kevin Dim. It was then that our world was turned upside down. The one and the only Natheniel T. McMullen scampered up the stairs to the barren floor.



This strikingly handsome bloake taught many a lectures last year in histology. I personally thought he was top shelf as far as histology professors go. The sexual development lectures he taught were one of a kind...

He looked around as though he was lost (I immediately thought it was Alzheimers or some sort of dissociative fugue). He shortly proved me wrong. Old Man McMullen fell into some deep trance while staring out the window. Then it began...he cracked his neck and went into a 20 minute routine of Tai Chi. I'm not an expert on the subject so was it was fun as ever to insert a "HiiiiiiYaaaaa" every time he reached an attack pose. I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants.

So in summary: shopping cart races are fun, crazy old men doing Tai Chi is funny, and I need to do less of this and study more.

How it Started....

Well I guess I'm going to join the hype of "blogging". I'm still not sure what on earth that word means, but hey half the words I use I don't understand so that eliminates that problem. To make the situation worse, nobody even pays attention to me when I talk anyways....Life is soooo cruel.

Anywho, I'm nowhere as talented as some of my blog-happy friends, nor do I have the vernacular to write more than a couple of sentences without repeating myself without repeating myself. dangit.

The premise of this experiment is to get my creative juices flowing and give the Hunny Bunny yet another avenue to be proud of me for doing something productive with my time. Well if she wants productivity, here it is at its best. And I'll start it off with the story of the fabled creature....THE MEXITALIAMER.....

Ok, so its not so much a fabled creature but a chaotic half Mexican/half Italian/half American blend of 46 X,Y (look ma' proper notation) chromosomes which somehow ended up as ME. Hold it. That did not add up to 100%. The Mexican region of my brain is in charge of mathematics. Thankfully, mathematics aren't necessary in medical school. Apparently studying isn't necessary either since that is what I should be doing right now. Alright back to the subject at hand.

The Mexican part of this devious concoction of genetic inaccuracy is demonstrated by my ability to sweat chorizo straight through my pours as well jump fences in a single bound. Don't act like your not impressed.




My wit, charm, stunning good looks, ability to quote obscure Godfather movie references, pronounce the word "gnochhi" correctly, and identify Italy on a map are a culminated of the Italian part of me.




Lastly, I was born in this great country of Mex...I mean AMERICA. A land where the beer flows like wine and the women flock like the salmon of Capistrano.





And thus you have it Mexican+Italian+American = a Mexitaliamer. Shortly after my birth, this mold was broken so yes, I am one of a kind.




Stayed tuned kids and kiddies. It's going to be a fun year......