Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Monthly Archives: March 2010
Too tired to think
Not sure why. I’m not on call this week . . . should be sleeping like a baby.
The talk went well. I was hoping a “Here, let me share some wisdom-gained-from-experience with you” talk would be appreciated, and it was.
Here. This one’s for the writers/authors in my audience.
This intrigued me:
But what I really wanted to do was steal this from Noxcat.
D.
It ain’t rocket surgery
I’m giving a talk tomorrow on ENT Urgencies. Needless to say, I should have narrowed my topic somewhat. I have a bad feeling that my talk will sprawl hopelessly, lacking as it does nearly any sense of focus. Oy. And to make matters worse, I checked an email today wherein the doc running these Wednesday talks specified what he wanted me to cover. Um . . . different urgencies. Not a complete lack of overlap, but now I have to tack on a “loose ends” powerpoint presentation. Like I have time for this? Yes, it’s a two-hour talk (and yes, it amazes me that anyone can sit still for a two-hour talk), but I have a million different urgencies to cover.
I should have picked something narrower, like cockroaches in the ear canal, or fish bones in the throat.
Hey! This is cool:
Wish me luck.
D.
A Doug by any other name
Yes, I know Starbuck’s is evil, but we don’t have Peet’s coffee in Bako. The bags, yes, but not the coffee shops. So today while Jake was doing his community service thing (a requirement of his high school — kind of cool, really), I popped down to SB for some iced tea. You know how they like to write your name on the cup? “Doug,” I said, and was passingly dismayed to find in black marker on perspiring plastic, “Dud.”
I’ve been worse over the years. When my friend Stan took me to an auto auction to buy my first car, the guy whose job it was to fill out name tags for visitors wrote “Dug.” Which tickled Stan to no end, of course, and he still tells the story.
But the worst was long ago, waaay back in Hebrew school, which I’ll remind you was a torment I asked for. And you know, despite the various annoyances — my snooty classmates, all of whom acted like their dads made a lot more than mine, which they probably did but how did they KNOW that; the incredibly crappy textbooks, which taught vocabulary but no grammar whatsoever; the complete lack of theological instruction, which is what I’d hoped I’d be getting — the experience was worthwhile. Worthwhile, despite annoyance #4: Israeli teachers who could not for the life of them pronounce the schwa that links my “D” to my “G”. For all my years in Hebrew school, I was forever “Dog.”
Eventually they gave us Hebrew names. Mine was David. A D name is a D name, I suppose, and David suited me fine. For many years, I wanted to change my name to David. And then I had my Bar Mitzvah, no one ever called me Dog again, and I forgot about the whole thing.
I’m too old to change now. But wouldn’t it be cool if we could choose our own names, at our 21st birthday, for example?
D.
Your typical seder
Passover approaches. No one invited me to a seder, and I doubt I’d go if I were invited. I haven’t been to a seder since the 1970s, back when both my grandparents were still alive.
Is your name Eliahu? Funny, you LOOK like a Peter to me.
It’s traditional to set out a plate of food for Eliahu (who might be the same as Elijah, I can never remember), and my crazy uncle would invariably eat that food as well as his own. This would always lead to a screaming fight between my grandparents and my uncle. We never had a seder without screaming. I’m not sure what it would look like.
There were certain things I liked and looked forward to with every seder. I liked the taste of matzoh dipped in saltwater, and I liked matzoh with red beet horseradish. Celery dipped in saltwater, that was good, too. Did my grandmother make tzimmes for Passover? If she did, I don’t remember it. And I suppose she made lamb, too, since that’s traditional. But I don’t recall the lamb, either.
My grandfather always hid the afikomen (a bit of matzoh — if you found it, you got a dollar) under the same cushion every year. Once I had been debriefed by my siblings, I had no trouble finding it.
And then there was my grandfather’s continual state of exasperation. He was only trying to work his way through the ritual, trying to read through the Haggadah like you’re supposed to, yet he was subjected to one interruption after another from my grandmother or my uncle. I think the whole thing made him very sad, or perhaps disgusted.
My grandmother never sat down to eat. She spent 90% of the seder in the kitchen, reserving the remaining 10% for serving food and screaming at my uncle. Considering that most of the food can be prepared well in advance, I have no idea what she was doing in the kitchen. Watering down the RC Cola, I suspect.
All in all, not a happy holiday. But then, I’ve never liked Passover, ever since I came to understand the story itself. No one (and that includes at least one rabbi and one orthodox Jew) has been able to explain to me why it’s okay for God to kill all the firstborn. They can’t all deserve to die. There are children, infants in that group, no? And after the first few plagues, God doesn’t even give Pharoah a chance to relent. God “hardened his heart.” As if God had a desired outcome in mind, and damned if Pharoah was going to screw it up by developing a conscience.
Maybe I’ll make a kugel, just for old time’s sake. And I’ll make it using butter, just so I can get some juicy hate mail.
Hey, Sis, anything to add?
D.
Expressive me
Last two days I’ve participated in a workshop for training Unit Based Team co-leaders. I am now a trained co-leader. We will be using something called RIM, Rapid Improvement Model, to affect rapid improvements in our day-to-day processes in the office. RIM is big, I’m told. Tiger Woods used RIM to improve his golf game, and no doubt also to improve his ability to score floozy ass.
You must know that I have a low tolerance for WUABATs (Wanton Use of Acronyms By Administrator Types) so of course I had to grab my diversion where I could. And they’re not even administrators, these people who run these workshops. They’re . . . I don’t know what they are. Process Improvement Experts, I suppose. PIEs.
So when I had to answer the question, How will your team make decisions? I of course said, “Magic 8-Ball,” and when I had to answer the question, How will you provide feedback to your team members? I said, “With a flaming paper bag full of dog poop.”
That’ll get my message across!
We had to take a quiz to assess our “working style.” It’s a five question quiz. For example, in the following question, you’re supposed to assign a number 1 to 4, 1 being “most correct” and 4 being “least correct.”
1. When performing a job, it is most important to me to
a. do it correctly, regardless of the time involved
b. set deadlines and get it done
c. work as a team, cooperatively with others
d. demonstrate my talents and enthusiasm
You do this for five questions. After totaling your points for each of the a, b, c, and d responses, you look to see which has the lowest value (the ‘a’ answers, the ‘b’ answers, etc.) and that determines your working style.
Mine is expressive.
D — Expressive
*Spontaneous actions and decisions, risk-taker
*Likes involvement
*Generates new & innovative ideas
*Tends to dream and get others caught up on the dream
*Jumps from one activity to another
*Works quickly and excitingly with others
*Not good with follow-through
Then, like a horoscope, we have a little grid that shows how we’re going to get along with our co-leaders, depending upon their working style. My co-leader is a Driver.
Be patient and try to work with a flip chart to harness creative spirits. Emphasize time lines and due dates. Build in flexibility to allow the free reign of creativity.
Alternatively, I could have saved fifteen minutes of my life and consulted Astrology.com.
You feel better able to handle your people today — in fact, you may decide that the best thing for you to do is to let them wander off on their own while you take care of the stuff that’s better done alone.
Granted, I am indeed Expressive. When asked the question, How would you like to receive recognition? I responded, “From Salma Hayek.”
A fellow Expressive.
How’s that for a new and innovative idea? Or does Salma fall under “tends to dream”? Hmm.
D.
My favorite Night Gallery episode
With two of my favorite actors from the old days, Vincent Price and Bill Bixby. The scene starts about 45 seconds in.
Just a portion, unfortunately, and it lacks the ending (wherein Bixby asks the woman, “You don’t suppose there’s anything to that curse, do you?” and she laughs wickedly). But this vid gives you a taste of the camp.
(NO, the earwig episode is NOT my favorite. That one still gives me the creeps. Even if it does have otolarynologic relevance.)
D.
The frog tank
It ain’t all work and cooking and grocery shopping. And video gaming. Now that I don’t spend hours and hours writing, what do you expect me to do with my free time?
I’ve been working on the frog tank.
Here’s the left side:
and here’s the right side:
Discriminating readers will note a distinct lack of frogs in the frog tank. This is true. I’ve become so obsessed with letting the thing grow in that I’ve neglected buying new frogs. (Sadly, our last azureus died in Santa Rosa, thanks to the heat.) As much as I like Dendrobates azureus, I’m thinking of going back to Dendrobates leucomelas. What do you think? (Noisy buggers!)
I wish I could tell you the names of all the plants you’re looking at, but I’ve forgotten many of them. The orchid is Phalaenopsis stuartiana. There’s a Dischidia pectinoides in there, a couple of different begonias, and an artillery plant. That tall potted plant is one of Karen’s chestnut trees. I’ve been jump-starting them in the tank, then moving them outdoors when they get too big. The lush green moss came from my back yard, believe it or not; who would have thought I’d have to move from the Northwest to Bakersfield to find moss that would grow in my frog tank? Although in fairness, I suspect the moss is doing well because I finally popped for full spectrum lights.
Part of me wants to say forget about the frogs. Get something different for a change. I’d go back to chameleons, but they poop like ungulates, and they require a steady drip of fresh water. Real hassle, that. I dunno, maybe something other than a poison dart frog? I wonder how mantises would do in my tank.
Right now, there’s a delightfully broad range of possibilities. Once I make the decision, the wave equation collapses and I have to live with my choice . . . choose a frog, and it’ll be a frog tank once again.
D.
That’s just out there
My son’s latest assignment for Theology:
“Write about a dying-and-rising experience you had in the last year. In other words, a time when you had to go through struggles or suffering to grow as a person.”
I told him he should write, “Unlike Jesus, who only died and resurrected once, I die and resurrect on a regular basis. It’s called videogaming. Jesus saves early, saves often!” And sometimes autosaves (that, from Karen).
And if you find that at all amusing, there’s this, from Lyvvie. (Not for folks who, you know, have reverential feelings toward religion.)
Seriously, though, a dying-and-rising experience? How many kids have had a dying-and-rising experience?
“Tell her about the time you swigged a can of Drano, thinking it was Dr. Pepper, and then you had to get that stomach transplant.”
I’m no help at all.
D.
Then and now
September, 2006, I posted Boy mit Bagels:
Three and a half years later?
Jake had doubts that the head-to-head comparison would show much change. I guess he hasn’t noticed himself outgrowing all of his clothes.
My boy is growing up!
D.