Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: such as it is
Can I resign now?
Sorry for the kvetching post tonight. I’m tired and grumpy — a typical Monday.
Eighteen months ago, when Dr. M asked me if I would like to be Vice Chief of Staff for 2006, I said yes without much hesitation. I had been contemplating writing a hospital-based murder cozy a la Murder on the Orient Express (hospital CEO dies following a routine operation, turns out EVERYONE has a hand in the killing), so I thought all these meetings might give me material.
Yeah, right. Funny how these things don’t pan out like you think.
No one ever told me Vice Chief of Staff was a fast track to Chief of Staff, and no one ever told me the Chief of Staff has three meetings a month (sometimes four), and no one ever told me that Vice Chief of Staff had a lot in common Student Body Vice President and nothing at all in common with Miami Vice.
Damn. I could have done Miami Vice.
None of that, though; and it keeps getting worse. Our hospital’s Strategic Planning Meeting is this weekend, and as Chief, I am obliged to attend. To give you some idea of the hell I can expect, at a recent meeting of the Board of Trustees, the Trustees actually voted that we should have less free time at the meeting, leaving more time for “work.”
Thank God I have Summer Devon’s books on my Blackberry.
We’re also expecting (forever expecting, much as the supermarket tabloids perennially predict the Second Coming) the Feds to arrive any day now for a surprise inspection. The source of tonight’s angst: my darling Medical Staff Coordinator, AKA Teh Haaawtest Pentagenarian I Know, sent me a three and a half page document listing questions the Feds asked another hospital medical leadership team along with the suggested answers.
I don’t understand the answers or the questions. Here’s the only question I understand:
Q: Does MEC [Medical Executive Committee] meet monthly or quarterly? A: Monthly.
But the rest is jargon. What does this mean:
Q: On an aggregate level, how does the hospital do in meeting community needs? A: Board members are community members selected for expertise in certain areas; broad knowledge of community also info of how well we meet needs, ambassador program, patient satisfaction dashboard.
It’s written in shorthand for someone who already knows the answers — little reminders. It does nothing for me. (This only reinforces my desire to teach my son how to write for any occasion.)
I wonder if it would help if I insisted on a rewrite in plain English. But no . . . the only thing that will really help is if I’m on vacation when the Feds arrive.
On the other hand, I take some sustenance from Alberto Gonzalez’s recent testimony before Congress. If he can answer every question with “I don’t know” or “I don’t remember,” why can’t I?
D.
Self-taught
Several times a day, complete strangers criticize me for something I can’t help. If I conformed to their idea of “normal” behavior, I would be in pain for most of my work day. Not right away, perhaps, but after an hour or two? You betcha.
Here’s a sampling of the remarks I hear all the time.
Did you injure yourself?
You look like a caveman.
If you had gone to my grade school, the nuns would have murdered you.
I bet you’d be a better surgeon if you [did it the right way].
and the most common question,
Who taught you how to do that?
To which I reply in my most obnoxious voice, challenging the questioner to give me even an ounce more of their shit: I’m self-taught.
Follow me below the cut to see WTF they’re griping about.
Aw, screw it.
Walnut’s Thirteen Generator is broken. (From Frankie Name’s Photostream.)
I began working on my Thursday Thirteen last night. Plenty of time, right? But I didn’t count on the self-disgust factor.
Let me explain.
While live-blogging a few weeks ago, I got to make all kinds of obnoxious groaning noises over All The Great Movies Shaina Hasn’t Seen. Someone, Shaina perhaps, suggested I turn this into a Thirteen. Terrific idea, right? I could gush about all my favorite movies.
But between initial conception and ultimate execution, the idea morphed into “Thirteen Essential Films.” I’ll bet you see the problem already: rather than write about the films I think are important, enjoyable, life-changing, you name it — I decided to assemble thirteen “essential” films, whatever the hell that is. Which would be fine if I were a film critic, a latter day Pauline Kael (kids: substitute “Roger Ebert,” okay?), but I’m not. See, I forgot rule number one of this blog: write about everything through the filter of me.
And now it’s past 9, I’m tired, my back is sore from working out yesterday, and I still have emails to answer. So screw it. I’ll do what I wanted to do from the moment I woke up this morning. I’ll tell you about my dream from last night.
I’m in my 20s, in med school again, and a few weeks ago I broke up with a tall and pretty blonde. She was kind, sweet, caring, and so not right for me. I recall feeling relieved when she told me she didn’t think things were working out. Such a nice girl, I didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
So I’m in a restaurant having dinner with a friend, an older man in his 60s who is short like me, paunchy, nearly bald — nice dude, but nothing much on the hunk scale. We’re talking about my erstwhile girlfriend and I tell him, “Oh, I really don’t think she loved me.”
“You’re wrong,” he says. “And I’ll prove it.”
Turns out she’s in the restaurant too, sitting at another table with her friends.
We go over to her table and she says, “Yes, I loved you. But I’m a vegetarian and you eat meat. It wasn’t meant to be.”
I’m flummoxed over the fact she had loved me. I had not been in love with her. The older guy whispers in my ear, “I can get her back for you.”
I don’t want her back, but now I’m curious. “Come on — she broke up with me.”
“Blow in her ear and she’ll follow you anywhere*.”
“Get out of here! You’re full of it.”
“I’m not. And I’ll prove it.”
He gets close to her, leans over, blows in her ear. At first she looks baffled, then a little disgusted — and then, turned on.
She gets up out of her chair and follows him out of the restaurant.
True story: I’m describing to my nonagenarian patient the scars the operation will leave on her face. Her younger friend says, “She’s not interested in winning any beauty contests.”
My patient’s eyes get big and round as she turns on her friend and says with mock fury, “I beg your pardon!”
Still yucking it up at 96. I love her.
D.
*No, idiot, blowing in her ear is meaningless. You have to use your penis power and hit the bottom.
Hat tip to O’Brien, you nut.
Some of the local family trees . . .
are bamboo.
From our paper, The Daily Triplicate (click link for the rest of the story):
11-year-old crashes vehicle
Published: April 24, 2007
By Nicholas Grube
Triplicate staff writer
An 11-year-old girl drove a car over a steep embankment Friday, ejecting her four passengers, one of them a 3-year-old boy.
California Highway Patrol is still investigating why the 11-year-old was driving the vehicle in the first place, when two adults – one of them her father – were in the vehicle at the time of the accident.
“The father gave the 11-year-old keys to drive the vehicle,” California Highway Patrol Officer Don Bloyd said. “She had her father’s permission to drive.”
However, Bloyd did not release information as to why the father allowed his daughter to drive the vehicle.
The girl was driving west on California State Hwy. 169 near Klamath around 6 p.m. Friday when she failed to negotiate a curve and lost control of the vehicle. She hit another car coming from the opposite direction and continued over the edge of a steep embankment, rolling the vehicle several times.
The girl, who was wearing her seat belt, stayed in the vehicle while her four passengers were ejected. Arlen Charles, 36, April Rodriguez, 24, and two boys, 9-years-old and 3-years-old, flew from the vehicle and down the embankment.
My OR staff tell me that Hwy. 169 is one of those curvy, two-lane highways with steep embankments — not exactly a big, vacant parking lot. (And even if it were a big, vacant parking lot, if you wanted to teach your 11-year-old to drive, would you load up the car with all the other kids?)
I want to know the story. What was dad thinking?
D.
The dazed post
First, to set the mood, some kind of mood, any kind of mood, today’s Random Flickr image:
(From diverken’s photostream. Amazing photographer — check him out.)
I’m in a mood. Dazed, stunned. I had to fast forward through most of Olbermann tonight because I have a hard time watching coverage of the Blacksburg shootings. What is it now — 32 dead, over 50 wounded? The only coherent thought I have is that Nancy Pelosi was right. This early after the shootings, silence is the only appropriate response. Nothing any of us say can lessen the grief of those families.
But others don’t share that sentiment, apparently — as documented in this Kos diary, asshats like Glenn Reynolds are already politicizing the tragedy. Also, now that we know the shooter was a Chinese National, how long will it take for racism to creep into the wingnut blogs? If I can’t even handle Keith Olbermann right now, you can bet I can’t stomach the wingnut blogs.
Listening to the news this morning, Karen overheard one of the talking heads asking an FBI profiler to comment on “this string of Asian gunmen,” or some such. String? Those kids at Columbine must have been hiding their Asian ancestry, and Charles Whitman must have been one of those blond Asians from Northern China.
The profiler, no doubt stunned by the question, said (paraphrasing), “I can’t comment on that right now.”
Neither can I. I can’t comment on any of it.
Maybe I would have been dazed even without the shooting. I worked nonstop from eight to four, saw thirty-four patients (Mondays are always hellish), then went to the gym and beat the crap out of myself for a while. Came home, made dinner, here I am.
And how was your day?
xxxxxo,
D.
Live blogging live blogging
7:02 PM. We had ham, buttermilk biscuits, and broccoli for dinner. The kitchen’s clean, so I’m rarin’ to live blog. Let’s see how long it takes for Shaina to show up.
7:07 PM. Yes, it would help if I kept my speaker on. Otherwise, how will I know when Shaina shows up? Oh, and Shaina’s Brother? Your little sister is safe with me. Seriously.
7:18 PM. Just spent the last 11 minutes finding out whatever happened to Vanessa Del Rio, the first Hispanic porn superstar. Hint: she’s alive and well — you go, Vanessa!
7:19 PM. and yup no one has shown up yet. It’s like y’all have lives or something.
7:29 PM. I’m looking at the Bitches’s Chink and Jewy cover again, cuz I’m preparing a 13 entitled, “Thirteen Intertubes that make me grin.” Bloody brilliant. My high school gf’s mom wasn’t a smoker, though (not to my knowledge). But I learned recently the woman liked me. She reeeally liked me. She just had to pretend she hated me.
7:38 PM. Ah, yeeeeessssss. My first victim visitor. PatJ.
8:31 PM. Pat had to leave. I’ll keep things on a while longer for the night owls. Meanwhile, I’m going to check out some Machinima.
8:33 PM. Live blogging live blogging . . . you know, the concept hinges on me actually being able to DO some live blogging . . . just thought I’d point that out 🙂
9:00 PM. Major faux pas. Blue Gal came on and I wasn’t here! BG, how do you want to punish me when you see me again? You choose!
9:15 PM. BG came back long enough to make me grovel. Thanks, BG! Now Suisan and I are dishing on Passover food.
9:33 PM. Poor Blue Gal was burned out from her Blogswarm. Suisan and Noxcat and I are talking about rodents. We all agree that MICE ARE CAT FOOD!
10:28 PM. And that’s it. We all faded out at about the same time. Nice long discussion about feeldoes and fuck-me furniture, cookies and seders and chili — oh, my!
Good night, everyone.
D.
Four down, three to go
Busy OR day today — seven cases. I’ll be here a while.
On a positive note, the Feds did not show this week. They’re in Novato. On an even more positive note, we’re keeping this week short; I’ll be off Friday through Monday so that my staff can have an Easter break.
Let’s do something a little different this evening. Pick your favorite category (left sidebar), tell me what it is in the comments, and tonight’s post will fit that category. If there’s no consensus, I’ll pick at category at random from among your comments.
Later!
D.
Well, this blows
Here’s what I heard: some dumbass developer near Sacramento ploughed up a fiberoptic cable, screwing up high speed internet for the entire West coast.
WordPress gives me all kinds of errors when I try to open my comments. I don’t know if this will even post!
Here goes nothing . . .
Yay! It worked! But I’m still disturbed by all these “WordPress database error” files. Next thing you know, I’ll crash my blog. I’ve done it before.
Here. Have a recipe.
From Pampered Chef . . .
Tempting Toffee Crisps
12 whole (5 x 2 1/2 inch) graham crackers
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
3/4 cup butter (do not use margarine)
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup semisweet chocolate morsels
1/2 cup chopped almonds1. Preheat oven to 350. Arrange graham crackers side by side in a single layer pan (with sides)
2. In saucepan, combine brown sugar, butter, and vanilla. Cook over medium heat until mixture comes to a full boil. Continue boiling 4 minutes, stirring constantly. Remove from saucepan and pour over crackers.
3. Bake 10-12 min or until bubbly and lightly browned. Remove pan from oven and place on a cooling rack. Sprinkle with chocolate morsels. Allow chocolate to soften, then spread over the crackers.
4. Sprinkle almonds over chocolate. Cool completely. Break into pieces.
I’ve made these using Saltines and they were AMAZING. I can’t even begin to imagine how much better they would be with graham crackers. And, hey, why not throw some marshmallows in there, too? Toffee smores!
D.
Lurker roll call
Lurkers, here’s your chance to say hello. I’d love to check out your stuff.
***
Anyone up for live blogging this evening?
***
And can anyone explain to me the vicissitudes of blog traffic? Total suckitude this week — isn’t anyone searching for cameltoe photos any more?
D.
Nostalgiarama
Sometimes I miss Rogue.
In grad school, Karen and I would hang out at my lab on Friday and Saturday nights, playing Rogue for hours. (Waddya mean, get a life? I was in the lab. Working. Heh.) See the @? That’s you, the rogue. The asterisk, that’s gold. Gold is good. The dashes and vertical lines are walls, the periods indicate you’re in a lit room. I tell you all this because there are people Shaina’s age in the room. Shaina, you move the @ with keyboard commands, and you fight the same way.
Yes, this was as good as it got, and it rawked over guess-the-parser games like Adventure or Zork. We could fight Ettins and Kobolds, Imps and Intellect Devourers (watch out, or you’ll get hormed by the Intellect Devourer’s ego whip!) Every letter of the alphabet was a monster, every punctuation mark a scroll, food item, piece of armor, potion . . . And, no, we never found the Amulet of Yendor. That bastard was hard.
For years, whenever I searched for Rogue online, I could only find a latter day version which didn’t quite capture the simple pleasures of the original. But today I found the real thing as well as some of the more “modern” knockoffs, like Angband. Classic Rogue kicks Angband’s ass, of course. After reveling in A Brief History of Rogue (Hawking, eat your heart out), I searched and found Zork and Adventure.
I had just killed the troll in Zork when I dragged Jake over. Look, look, you have to see this. We used to spend HOURS —
But it’s all old news to my son. Not only does he know about text adventure games, he has played the spoofs — and boy, are they funny:
Thy Dungeonman. (Keep trying to take the flask. Don’t take no for an answer.)
Thy Dungeonman II. (Too long for me to play right now, but damn, this one is just as funny.)
Thy Dungeonman III. (Thou art surrounded by . . . thy graphics!)
Now . . . why do I drop fifty bucks a shot for computer games, when there’s great stuff like this on the web?
I’m going back to Zork. Or maybe Dungeonman III — the graphics are truly stunning. You can’t discount the value of top notch graphics.
D.