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Sometimes there just aren't enough hours in the day.

The saddest book of all time

I just finished “Where the Red Fern Grows;” if you’ve read it before* then you may already know how this story is going to end.

A few days ago I was listening in as my mom and my sister were sorting through the “children’s” section of our books to send some off to the D.I. Afraid that they would throw away “Sideways Stories from Wayside School,” I decided to watch closely. As I did, the old rust-colored hardbound copy of “Where the Red Fern Grows” caught my eye. I had a flashback of driving to California 15 or 20 years ago, my whole family in the Suburban as my parents tried to read the last few pages in between sobs and nose-blows. I picked it off the shelf. “If you don’t cry when you read that then you don’t have a heart,” my mom said.

This put me in a tough position because I didn’t want to end up crying, but the thought of being heartless didn’t sound very good either. Lose-lose situation, right? So I was careful as I started to read. The book was written for teenagers, so how sad could it really be? My strategy was to not start caring for any of the characters—especially not the dogs. And as a backup plan, I read the whole thing with a very critical eye just to make sure I didn’t get too wrapped up in it. Then maybe I would be a little choked up or kind of sad, but not in tears—proving that I am too manly to cry but that I’m not totally machine.

I did really well until the very end. I won’t explain all the details (just in case someone is reading this who hasn’t read the book), but somewhere around the line: “You were worth it, old friend, and a thousand times over,” I lost it. I tried to focus on the fact that he was using words like “old friend” or “a thousand times over,” but it didn’t matter. I was bawling my eyes out. Turns out I do have a heart (which is kind of a relief, I guess), and I’ll agree with my mom—if you can finish this book dry-eyed then you are a heartless beast.

*Turns out everyone I’ve talked to since I’ve read it has seen the movie, but nobody has actually picked up the book. Is it worth reading? A few hours after I finished the book my mom and I both started crying just talking about it—it’s absolutely worth reading.

What it's like being a music snob

One of my rules for keeping a blog is no writing about dating. The tricky thing about this is that most of the interesting stuff that happens to me is in that area of life. But it’s tough to write an interesting blog post about a funny date without making somebody look bad. Here I’m breaking my rule, but only because the only person who looks bad in the story is me.

A couple of months ago I went on an unsuccessful set-up. A couple of days after the date one of my friends was asking me why I had decided it was not going to work. I was having a hard time finding the best way to explain to him that I thought we were just too different in too many ways. He still looked confused so I picked an example:

Me: Like, she didn’t know who Mendelssohn was.

Jake: Who?

Me: Felix Mendelssohn…

Jake: Yeah, I have no idea who that is.

Me: Really? He’s like one of the top twenty classical composers of all time.

I should clarify that I don’t normally talk about classical composers on dates (not even top 20 classical composers), but we were at a choir concert and one of the pieces was by Mendelssohn.

I wasn’t too surprised that Jake wasn’t familiar with him; I just assumed that he didn’t know his classical composers very well. No big deal. Then I decided to take a poll from the rest of the table (like 6 or 7 dudes and one girl).

Me: Hey guys, do you know who Mendelssohn is?

Everyone: No idea.

Me: Really? Randy, you know who he is, right? (Randy is a really talented pianist)

Randy: Dude, I don’t know anything about football players.

Me: Felix Mendelssohn…

Randy:

Me: He’s a classical composer…

Randy: Oh, yeah I thought you were talking about football.

So while I had been wondering what planet the girl who didn’t know about some random music history was from, I was the one from a different planet—the planet of musical snobbery.

Speaking my mind

Two weeks ago I discovered a new dark side to being a medical student. I was talking with a friend of mine who has had mono for six months. Every time I see her I ask her how she is feeling and if it's getting better. This time she told me they discovered that they had done the wrong test at the doctor's office when they first diagnosed her with mono and that they're not sure what she has.

Now, at this point let me just say that if you're going to get hurt around a group of people, try to make sure that none of them are first year medical students because we always think we have the answer even though we are seldom (never) correct. Usually we'll think that you have whatever we've been studying most recently. Foot pain? It's probably some kind of nerve disorder or scoliosis. Sore throat? Probably a secondary symptom of a lung obstruction.

Anyway, when my friend told me that they didn't know what she had the hamster in my head started running. Then I heard myself say "maybe you have cancer." I don't really have words to describe the look on her face, the best I can do right now are horrified, angry, and shocked. The best part is that I was actually trying to be helpful and instead I made her think she was going to die. I guess I still have some stuff to learn about this whole doctor business.

school, break, school

I hope I haven't been removed from anybody's google reader because I haven't written anything for about a month. I blame it on finals. The best word I can think of to explain finals week in medical school is triage. Apparently, in the non-medical world it means prioritizing or sorting. To doctors it means find the part that's bleeding the worst and focus on it first. Finals week for me was an exercise in triage--finish taking care of the anatomy of the brain and move on to glycolysis. Then look at histology slides for a while before trying to make sense of potassium and action potentials. It was as much material as was on the MCAT, only we learned it in a little over three months. The good news is I survived.

And then I had the most amazing break ever. It was non-stop madness at my house as Grace and I both got kicked out of our rooms and into the attic. At first my mom suggested that we share the blow-up aerobed (a "queen" that's actually a double, at best) and she couldn't figure out why that was such a repulsive idea to us.

One day we decided to take three of my nieces and my one nephew up skiing. It was fun to see them start to learn how (none of them had really done it before), but it was the most exhausting thing I've ever done. My nephew could not figure it out and was more interested in making snow angels than skiing. One of the nieces (number 3) would get to the top of the hill and her whole body would go limp until she got to the bottom. It was like her muscles stopped working so I would practically have to carry her down the hill (skiing backwards, I might add) like a giant Gumbi on skis. I think I may add "teach to ski" to the list of things to let parents take care of along with "change diapers" and "put in time-out". After all, the best part about being an uncle and not a parent is you get to pick and choose.

Then school started up again with the new unit: Cells, Molecules, and Cancer. Today, after two weeks of hematology, I'm pretty sure I want to be a hematologist/oncologist. This stuff is so rad, and we're just scratching the surface. Is it more intense than the first semester? Yes. Have I done anything outside of school in the last two weeks? A couple of things (not much). Am I cool with it? Absolutely. Will I decide I want to be an infectious disease doctor sometime during our next unit, "Host and Defense"? Probably. It's nice to be working on stuff that I find so interesting.

And that's why I haven't had time to write on my blog.

On White Elephants

Most people love white elephant parties, but some people don't understand them. I think this is because the white elephant of the past and the white elephant of the present are different things. Everyone hears stories of the best gift ever that had the whole party laughing hysterically, so most people try to bring a gift that will produce the same effect. All too often these attempts are made by people who don't have a sense of humor. Or not a good sense of humor, at least.

I went to a party this year where someone brought a "Shave with me Barbie," which was a barbie doll in a package with hair glued to her legs and armpits and a pink razor. It was junk, but it was funny. This was an acceptable white elephant gift--because it was funny. And it got stolen twice.

Someone else brought a six pack of Henry Weinhard's root beer. Not a funny gift, but it was acceptable because it was desriable. And it got stolen twice.

Then another person brought a half used package of Pepto-Bismol. When it was opened, he and his wife were obliviously laughing in the corner while everyone else let out a collective "hmmmphsooooollllaaaammmmmeeeeemmmmmmhhhhmjhjasfd." This was not an acceptable gift because it WAS NOT FUNNY and WAS NOT DESIRABLE.

Last year I went to the ever-anticipated "Yankee Swap" party with my married friends. This is one of the few times each year that we all get together (because what married person wants to hang out with single guys?), and we bring awesome gifts. Because some of the guests have terrible gift track records, we don't even call it a white elephant anymore (even though it still kind of is). To the "Yankee Swap" you are supposed to bring the type of stuff that you want but never buy (like stuff on QVC, etc.) Some of the best gifts of years past have been: a Sega Genesis, some strands of our friend Jackson's chest hair*, and the deed to a square inch of land somewhere in Texas.

Even with "Yankee Swap" replacing the old "white elephant" title for at least two years now, some of the guests still fail to grasp the concept. Last year I brought a sweatshirt that said "That's what she said" on it and, Fearing that it would be not well received, I offered the recipient an alternate--they could take the sweatshirt or "mystery," which was movie tickets. Retail value of both gifts was around $20--which is toward the high end for this particular party. The person that ended up with the sweatshirt picked "mystery"--took the movie tickets and left me with a sweatshirt I could never bring myself to wear**.

When it was my turn, I decided to open a new gift (instead of stealing), and I got a cat book. An old, used cat book with pictures and descriptions of all the different varieties of domestic cats. Even if I liked cats, I still wouldn't have wanted it. It was received with a collective "ohhhhhhhdudethatsuckshmmmmmffffffffwhobroughtthatstupidgift?" from the crowd. After it was all over one of the marrieds came up to me and offered to trade me a lava lamp for the sweatshirt, which I did. Then, later that night at a different party, I gave the lava lamp and the cat book to a girl who I'd never met as a thanks for letting us come to her house. It was a total wash.

If you are still planning on going to a white elephant party this year, remember that if you don't have a sense of humor*** just bring something cool. I'd rather get one bottle of root beer that is worth $1 than a cat book or some half-used OTC's. It's not funny, it's just dumb and cheap. And not fair because you may end up leaving with Sonic the Hedgehog or owning land in the Lone Star State.

* Jackson's chest hair was in a small, clear box that could be hung from a Christmas tree. It worked because everyone admires Jackson for being the most manly human being alive. And I think it came with a gift certificate to a real restaurant or something like that.

**Not that I didn't like the sweatshirt--it was really funny, but I couldn't bring myself to wear it in public.

***Are you wondering if you have a sense of humor or not? I'll give you some tips for how you can tell. If you bring a "funny" gift to your white elephant party this year, pay attention to the reaction of the crowd when your gift is opened. Is anybody laughing? Do you hear things like "that is a great gift" or "classic"? Or is it kind of quiet and mumbley? Now, look at the face of the person who received the gift. Are they disappointed? Do they try (unsuccessfully) to pawn it off to someone else? If you get the mumbley, quiet, disappointed kind of reaction then you have no sense of humor. Give up and just bring cool stuff from now on or you may not be invited back in the future.

Super taster?

In physiology a few weeks ago we learned about "super tasters". The professor handed out a bag with a few jelly beans, some Mike and Ikes, and a strange little white paper. He told us that it was special paper that only "super tasters" would be able to taste and that it would be so strong (repulsive) to them that they wouldn't be able to keep it in their mouths. Apparently some people have special taste buds or more taste buds or something and these people tend to be wine-tasters or food critics. While I don't enjoy eating nasty stuff, I couldn't wait to find out that I was a super taster--how else do you explain my love of all things food/ice cream/candy?* Today I ate some of those little Reece's peanut butter cups--after eating a couple of them I decided that it took too long to unwrap each one individually, so this is what I did:

Then I ate them all in about ten seconds. I know. But I bet you've thought about doing it too--if not, you're definitely not a super taster.

Anyway, the time came and we all tried the paper. Needless to say, I was more than a little disappointed when all the people around me were freaking out about the bitter awful taste of the paper and I only thought it was mildly gross. I felt like Ping in "The Empty Pot". Maybe everyone was faking it and I would go up to my professor after class and say "but Dr. Michel**, I have loved food all my life, more than most of the people around me and I don't drink coffee or anything hot so I know I don't burn my tongue on a regular basis." Then he would smile and say "I have found the new emperor of the class. All the papers I gave you were just sticky notes cut up into pieces. Everyone was faking it. You were the only one who was honest." Then I would cancel finals week.

So, since that time I've had to come to grips with the fact that I'm just a regular taster who has some weird love of food, ice cream, and candy (and a complex with the word 'weird'--I always spell it 'wierd' first then have to correct myself).


* Those are my three main food groups. I know, one of my main food groups is 'food,' but ice cream and candy need to be separate from everything else.

** My professor goes by Mike Michel, even though his first name is not really Mike. It's actually William C. I don't get it either.