Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Pix
The new do
My son won’t go for the Mohawk, but I’m an adventurous guy. #2 cut? No way.
Today, I went for the #1.
First beach day of the season
Yay! I’m done photo-futzing.
After a week of rain, we had sun today, and here at Chez Walnut it was deceptively warm. Jake and I noted the low tide and decided it would be a good beach day. We didn’t account for the wind-chill factor.
Photos below the cut. (Big, non-cropped versions here, at Flickr.)
Best tiramisu
I cut the pound cake into thinner slices, and that way I was able to have six layers instead of four. Since the slices were thinner, they soaked up more of the espresso mixture. Thus, there’s a higher volume of espresso per bite of tiramisu.
I can’t eat too much of this stuff, but it makes Karen happy.
***
A dead blue whale washed up on South Beach in Crescent City. Since I will forever be the kid who turns dead animals over with a stick, I had to go see. (Nope. Couldn’t find a big enough stick.) This poor bastard had to have been forty or fifty feet long. Biologists from Humboldt State University came out and carved specimens from around the flipper, or whatever you call the structure that’s homologous to an arm.
It was freshly dead, not decomposed in the least, and yet the smell was viciously strong, the kind of thing that took up residence in your sinuses and made itself known for hours after. I’m wondering how deeply into town that smell will penetrate, especially when decomposition sets in — and most especially when the warm weather returns. Will it wash away? I hope so. If it doesn’t, it could take years to disappear.
***
Today, I wrote nearly 3000 words and finished Chapter One. I think it flows pretty well. As I’ve said countless times, my number one writing rule is, “It has to entertain ME.” That way, I have an audience of one at the very least.
It’s a creepy feeling, knowing that my muse has something in mind and isn’t sharing with me, not in any conscious way. “Come on,” I want to say, “how can I start Chapter Two if I have no idea what’s going to happen after the first sentence?”
To which my muse responds, “Fuck you. You haven’t given me hardly any air for MONTHS. You expect a detailed outline?”
But I guess I’m not being entirely truthful. I know what has to happen (an alien abduction). The details, my muse keeps to herself.
***
Live Blogging tonight . . . I’ll shoot for 7 PM PST, but I still have to go to the store, shop, come home, make dinner. See you soon.
D.
Celebrity look-alikes
It’s human nature to see similarities where none truly exist. For example, not for one moment do I believe The Artist Formerly Known as Prince intentionally chose his symbol to resemble the Aneros prostate massager,
but there you have it.
Some similarities are undeniable. Take two people I like — celebrity blogger Wil Wheaton and Air America Radio host Rachel Maddow. Twins separated at birth? You be the judge.
Below the cut: a few more look-alikes for your perusal.
(more…)
I’m not fat, I’m big-boned!
We learned yesterday that Harmonica, our gigantic ferret, does not have a hormonal problem. We’ve been waiting a couple weeks for the result of a blood test. The verdict: he’s fat, and he needs to go on a diet.
Meanwhile, my comic edge is blunted by the fact I’ve seen 59 patients in the last two days. So I came home, snapped at my son, and then tried to put my dominant hand into the garbage disposal. (Try explaining that to my Worker’s Comp insurance rep.) Reminds me of the time post-call, during residency, when my right hand stabbed my left hand with a scalpel. I don’t think they’ve talked since.
Since I can’t be funny, I’ll let Lisa Altalida do it for me. Here’s more from Chapter One of The Pocket Idiot’s Guide to Getting Girls.
You are actually the type of guy that women want. See the power in that. You can meet women just as readily as stereotypical men. Real men have as good a chance to meet attractive, nice women as the next guy. The key is to understand what your strengths are and improve on your weaknesses.
. . . answer these questions to determine your positive traits:
1. Are you funny? Not at the moment.
2. Do you make others feel comfortable? The old folks feel pretty good after I get the wax out of their ears.
3. Do you have a nice smile? You be the judge.
4. Do people compliment your eyes? Only if “Didn’t get much sleep last night, eh?” ranks as a compliment.
5. Do you tell good stories? Yeah, sure. I told my patient this afternoon, a teenage girl, the story about my microbiology prof, Stan Falkow, who once showed a slide of a cholera bucket* with the caption, “Other people’s feces are my bread and butter.”
6. Are you a good friend? If I had any, I would ask them.
7. Do you have a nice physique? Yup. I call it “Russian Mud Wrestler.”
8. Can you point out any other positives? I only pick my nose when people aren’t watching. Except during live-blogging. But that’s not nose-picking, that’s nose-rubbing, so shut up already.
And I have this idea for another novel, but I’m always afraid I’ll irk the piss out of my readers if I bore them with story ideas, so I’m keeping it to myself. That’s a positive too, isn’t it?
D.
*Cholera bucket: a container marked volumetrically, placed below the cholera patient’s hindquarters to catch the drips. Here’s the idea: however much volume comes out, that’s how much volume needs to be replaced. This is a big help, since dehydration is one of the primary ways cholera kills.
Yes, I explained that to my patient. See? I’m an educator, too.
The End is in Sight, photo edition
I promised photos the other day, but I did not deliver. My email and high speed internet access were both thoroughly effed up and we only managed to fix things yesterday.
Here’s how much they love me. No other Chief has gotten a banner. I got two.
And this is the small banner. They put the big-assed banner over the cafeteria doors for everyone to see (on their way in to ask for the biscuits and gravy which are no longer served).
See me in action below the cut.
A fistful of ferrets
Hands over your heads where I can see ’em and don’t move a muscle.
These ferrets are loaded.
D.
Pals
It’s a rare thing, friendship, and so very difficult, finding like-minded people with whom we can hang out. In college, Karen and I knew a lot of people who were “our kind of people” (an elitist phrase, perhaps, but that’s how we think about it). Even by the time I got into med school, it had become harder to make friends. They were different, these medical students. Residency was worse, and private practice? Forget it. Most of the docs I know are Republicans.
That’s why it was such an unexpected pleasure to meet Kenney and his wife, Val, four or five years ago. We met them through our friends Stan and Elissa, who used to live in the condo below Kenney and Val. Stan and Elissa have moved on, but Kenney and Val have roots in the area.
I remember thinking, This is great. We make it down here [the Bay Area] at least once a year; now we’ll have some friends to visit. And, indeed, we did visit Val and Kenney the following year; but as y’all know, Karen broke her hip two years ago, and that threw a wrench into our usual travel habits. We haven’t seen them in ages.
Here we are (minus me. Until we figure out the timer, someone has to clicky clicky) in Kenney’s studio.
I had very particular ideas about the composition of this photo: I wanted to capture the assy assness of the painting behind Jake. It’s a lovely ass, don’t you think? Here’s a better view. I suggested to Kenney that he do more S&M-themed work. Maybe I should commission it?
Kenney has an interesting attitude toward modern art, which we discovered when we told him about our trip to MOMA today. I’d say more, but I don’t want to get him into trouble with his peers. Anyway, MOMA wasn’t terrible. We liked the Olafur Eliasson exhibit (the yellow room was our favorite) but the rest of that place was, well, meh. “How did they do that one?” Jake would ask. I’d say, “They smeared blue paint on a dog’s ass. Dogs don’t like paint on their asses, so he wiped it off on the canvas. Best I can tell, they did it to the poor dog three times.” “Okay,” Jake says, “then how did they do this one?” “They smeared gray paint on a cat’s ass. Cats don’t like paint on their asses, so . . .” and so forth.
Kenney tried to explain why there was a urinal prominently featured in the middle of the permanent exhibit, but all this art stuff goes over my head.
Here’s a cool photo from the ground floor of MOMA. After the ground floor, the docents wouldn’t let me take any pictures. How annoying!
What’s up for tomorrow: breakfast — dim sum if we can find it — then the Exploratorium, then Corn Dog’s place for dinner. More pals.
D.
Friday Flickr Babes: Dragon Ladies.
From my sister, we have a nasty dragon lady:
Not bad. The fist is a nice touch. I guess I wouldn’t turn her away if she raked her nails down my neck, saying, “You make me crazy, baby. How ’bout I show you the sweetness of pain,” but if we saw each other in a bar, I wouldn’t be buying her any drinks.
From Flickr, however, we have a truly GREAT dragon lady. Dean, who has a thing about women’s backs, is gonna love this gal.
Farsumauro (meat-stuffed meat. It’s meatylicious!)
The concept is so simple: use a thin sheet of meat to wrap a filling of one sort or another. Brown, braise, and serve.
I adapted this from a recipe I found in the last Italian cookbook you’ll ever need, Marcella Hazan’s Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking. Like all the recipes I’ve tried from this book, farsumauro rocks.
Don’t miss the contest (next post down). After you enter the contest, meet me below the fold for some meat-stuffed meat.