My favorite essay on the sick ethos of Crash winning can be found here.
I burnt my chicken broth while reading the numerous Op-Eds on the story. BURNT my chicken broth, yes.
Today is day five off of work, but it is a sick day and my left eustachian tube is utterly compacted with viral swill, still pressing on my tympanic membrane and the little bones contained therein.
I went to Mammoth this weekend. It was a gong show (on my end). I had all this pent-up excitement to get out of LA and away from work, was told I *really deserved a vacation* and so believed it. Closer to the truth was that I *needed* a vacation.
It has been a few weeks at work where we all felt like King Theoden, looking over the remnants of battle at Helm's Deep: So much death.
So I finagled my way into a group of people heading up to the mountains and upon waking we found high winds, dumping powder and my a throat completely numbed by the toxins of some kind of infection. But did I try to ski nevertheless? Yes I did. The conditions were essentially complete whiteout with intermittent spots of simple high wind. Having not been able to find my contacts, I had to wear my glasses under goggles. These fogged immediately. Nothing could remedy the situation. I became immediately frustrated and Jordan Innes the 7th had to wait for my sorry ass at the bottom of every run, or halfway though. It was awful. We went back to the condo where I found myself febrile, shivering and the boys returned with ginger ale for me. Next day was sunny, I was still sick, but I wanted to have a Do-over of the previous day. And indeed it was a better day. I felt more comfortable on my skis and could wear my prescription sunglasses while enjoying clear visibility, but I still felt like my head was wholly detached from my body and wrapped in a layer of pink insulation foam.
By lunchtime, I was ready to join the rest of the group and not be a complete feeb and maybe even run some blacks.
Alas it was not to be. Mysteriously, no one showed up to the said meeting place for lunch. I felt jilted and dumped and skied the rest of the day alone, in the singles line for lifts. I was trying to tell myself that I shouldnt be mad and shouldnt feel dumped, but guys, I sure did. I tried to tell myself that skiing alone is really not so different from skiing with others. But, well, that's gullcrap. (not an eyelash was batted among them regarding me in such situation).
Nevertheless, I attempted some black runs, my first in many years. i did not snowplow. I did not make out with the mountain face first. I liked my parabolic skis. I was however in excrutiating thigh-pain, thought my quads and lats were going to break my femurs what with all the intensity of my uptight skiing posture in an effort not to fall.
The drive there and back...those bits were enjoyable. The rest of the time I have to say I felt like a chump.
However, there will be do-overs. I intend to sample the local runs this month, and to do so with GREAT LIGHTHEARTED ENJOYMENT. This will be achieved via clarity of sinuses, the company of others and good visibility.
Get on the love train. Join hands.
People of the world now, join me.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Tuesday night, post-shift.
I've never written a drunken post. So I am being Columbus!
Our evening's sponsors:
Big Wangs (on Hollywood at Selma) where sports bar Calgary meets Howood hipster.
Cabernet sauvignon, probably from a box under the bar
The Valet for the minimall parking lot (wherein Big Wangs is located)
Madonna, American Life (for the unruly drive home-singalong)
Hot and Sour soup, Trader Joe's
Chocolate Sugar Free Jello Pudding
and
The Best of Jiminy Glick
(to which I eat my soup and pudding)
A wide world shout-out to Moon Boots (the next feature on Slowly Comes).
Have a pleasant evening. May the universe bless you.
S
Our evening's sponsors:
Big Wangs (on Hollywood at Selma) where sports bar Calgary meets Howood hipster.
Cabernet sauvignon, probably from a box under the bar
The Valet for the minimall parking lot (wherein Big Wangs is located)
Madonna, American Life (for the unruly drive home-singalong)
Hot and Sour soup, Trader Joe's
Chocolate Sugar Free Jello Pudding
and
The Best of Jiminy Glick
(to which I eat my soup and pudding)
A wide world shout-out to Moon Boots (the next feature on Slowly Comes).
Have a pleasant evening. May the universe bless you.
S
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Not the Craic
On Craic:
From the Irish, pronunciation: (crack) n.:a good time, whatever is 'up' e.g. 'What's the craic?' or "how was the craic?" or, "that was good craic".
YES, IT MOST CERTAINLY IS THE CRAIC. GOOD CRAIC:
1) It's All Gone Pete Tong (from the director of FUBAR)
2) The Best of Youth (six hours long. all Italian, all the time)
3) Brianna's French Vinaigrette and Caesar dressings rendering my cruet useless
4) Large artichokes
5) For Real: Okkervil River
6) the Olympian "Joey Cheek"
7) The Blues are Still Blue: Belle and Sebastian
8) dates with parmesan and bacon at AOC
9) Punks in the Beerlight: the Silver Jews
10) The Russian ice skaterman in the pairs, who won, who dropped his partner on her head once, dressed as the Superhero of Air Fresheners.
NO, NO. NOT THE CRAIC AT ALL.
1) The initial and ensuing all-body horror that accompanies one's first medication error, leading to prayers to a God one doesnt believe in, in the staff washroom while sobbing.
Not the craic. Not, not , no no no.
From the Irish, pronunciation: (crack) n.:a good time, whatever is 'up' e.g. 'What's the craic?' or "how was the craic?" or, "that was good craic".
YES, IT MOST CERTAINLY IS THE CRAIC. GOOD CRAIC:
1) It's All Gone Pete Tong (from the director of FUBAR)
2) The Best of Youth (six hours long. all Italian, all the time)
3) Brianna's French Vinaigrette and Caesar dressings rendering my cruet useless
4) Large artichokes
5) For Real: Okkervil River
6) the Olympian "Joey Cheek"
7) The Blues are Still Blue: Belle and Sebastian
8) dates with parmesan and bacon at AOC
9) Punks in the Beerlight: the Silver Jews
10) The Russian ice skaterman in the pairs, who won, who dropped his partner on her head once, dressed as the Superhero of Air Fresheners.
NO, NO. NOT THE CRAIC AT ALL.
1) The initial and ensuing all-body horror that accompanies one's first medication error, leading to prayers to a God one doesnt believe in, in the staff washroom while sobbing.
Not the craic. Not, not , no no no.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Tiger like a Jelly
At my place of work, we have three main elevators that are named after animals: giraffe, peacock, and tiger. My main line is Tiger, and I barely ever use the 'Cock. Near all the elevator entrances are paintings/drawings by children of said animals. This is my favorite. [N.B. - It is entirely possible that I have put up this picture before and forgotten that I did so.]
This painting by a 3 year old perfectly captures how children at this developmental level are unable to pictorally reproduce perspective, yet try nevertheless. I tend towards perkiness when I see this one on my way to nuclear medicine/pharmacy/cafeteria/MRI. Maybe it belongs on cuteoverload. Also, it sort of looks like a rabbit in addition to being both jellyfish and a tiger.
This morning I went to do laundry up by the Gelson's, where the air is clear and I don't have to smell the rotting produce for sale next door at the Armenian grocers like I do at the yellow formica washpalace on Hillhurst.
I was listening to a Ricky Gervais-Stephen Merchant-Karl Pilkington podcast while folding, and there was a woman next to me who made me think she should try being a witch for Halloween because she just has a face made for that kind of thing. I was trying to stifle laughter so as not to make the witch think I was a nutter. If you havent heard it yet, you should try it. But it's a very mean show wherein Karl Pilkington serves as both font and receptacle for all humor therein, so you have been warned. You don't know who he is, and neither did I. Here is his bio.
In sadder news, my narcissus and the other bit of plant life whose name I cannot recall gave up and fell over yesterday. Together.
What is your best approximation of the texture of lobster? I had it for the first time last Friday. Disgusted, it felt like the fish looked in Return of the King, in the gross-out fish eating Gollum scene crossed with firm grapefruit.
This painting by a 3 year old perfectly captures how children at this developmental level are unable to pictorally reproduce perspective, yet try nevertheless. I tend towards perkiness when I see this one on my way to nuclear medicine/pharmacy/cafeteria/MRI. Maybe it belongs on cuteoverload. Also, it sort of looks like a rabbit in addition to being both jellyfish and a tiger.
This morning I went to do laundry up by the Gelson's, where the air is clear and I don't have to smell the rotting produce for sale next door at the Armenian grocers like I do at the yellow formica washpalace on Hillhurst.
I was listening to a Ricky Gervais-Stephen Merchant-Karl Pilkington podcast while folding, and there was a woman next to me who made me think she should try being a witch for Halloween because she just has a face made for that kind of thing. I was trying to stifle laughter so as not to make the witch think I was a nutter. If you havent heard it yet, you should try it. But it's a very mean show wherein Karl Pilkington serves as both font and receptacle for all humor therein, so you have been warned. You don't know who he is, and neither did I. Here is his bio.
In sadder news, my narcissus and the other bit of plant life whose name I cannot recall gave up and fell over yesterday. Together.
What is your best approximation of the texture of lobster? I had it for the first time last Friday. Disgusted, it felt like the fish looked in Return of the King, in the gross-out fish eating Gollum scene crossed with firm grapefruit.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
A verbis a verbera/acta non verba
My living room is really quite a blackhole: cluttered with half-opened art supplies, empty glasses lined with dried red wine and root beer, books in stacks, a dead christmas tree, a trying-to-grow pot of paperwhites and me. My taxes have been e-filed. My grad school applications have been sent. I am wearing the new fleece. I worked three days and then a night shift. I saw Casanova and had tom yung koong. I ate a macrobiotic dinner last night with Karen Ma. I wash dishes and have baths. I am more than midway through book two of the Patrick O'Brien books. I realize every day that I have some very high quality friends and other very good half-friends, meaning they are anywhere from one quarter- to one half-good at actually being my friend. This quality issue has nothing to do with frequency of contact but rather other factors. There are those and then there are people we might not talk to in ten years (Karen Ma) and then when we see them we are home again, easy peasy. I worry every day that my very good friends are floating away from me on the tide of our own mutual negligence when it comes to keeping tabs. I bought all these art supplies in an attempt to pull them back against that tide by sending them little thank you notes expressing how much I value them. When I have tried to sit and make something, I accomplish little.
This weekend someone asked me what my bedroom looked like and I said it's my bed and nothing else, and this is true (Eric said this was very Leonard Cohen-y). Some of you may have known me for my previous rooms and my tendency to actually adorn them with remnants and signifiers of my life, and I liked that. I can still do that but it seems that now I am grown, whatever that means. Now I am without the frequent lightning strike of inspiration and
I wonder how much of this is the fault of my work or other things. For example, the other day I spent two hours online researching the approximate cost of a windbeaten cottage on the northwest coast of Ireland where I might one day retreat during winters (for the storms) to write. And yet I could have spent those two hours writing right here, right now and then I wouldnt think so little of myself. Problem solved! Actions not words.
Oh but you say, come now, you sound perfectly depressed, nurse!
I don't really think I am. I think I am tired and that I need to work more diligently at my calligraphy (I bought a kit with the other stuff at the art store) and try to keep my house uncluttered so I can find an available work space when I feel a lightning strike coming on.
That, and more wine, less talk.
This weekend someone asked me what my bedroom looked like and I said it's my bed and nothing else, and this is true (Eric said this was very Leonard Cohen-y). Some of you may have known me for my previous rooms and my tendency to actually adorn them with remnants and signifiers of my life, and I liked that. I can still do that but it seems that now I am grown, whatever that means. Now I am without the frequent lightning strike of inspiration and
I wonder how much of this is the fault of my work or other things. For example, the other day I spent two hours online researching the approximate cost of a windbeaten cottage on the northwest coast of Ireland where I might one day retreat during winters (for the storms) to write. And yet I could have spent those two hours writing right here, right now and then I wouldnt think so little of myself. Problem solved! Actions not words.
Oh but you say, come now, you sound perfectly depressed, nurse!
I don't really think I am. I think I am tired and that I need to work more diligently at my calligraphy (I bought a kit with the other stuff at the art store) and try to keep my house uncluttered so I can find an available work space when I feel a lightning strike coming on.
That, and more wine, less talk.
Monday, January 16, 2006
When the wind blows
wish I had that fleece
(mossy mossy teeth)
the brown one, I think the color is Carob
(numb nasopharynx)
half dizzy, mostly cold
(Emergen-C, you're my only hope. Emergen-C, you're my only hope)
Cleaning rangetops with Clorox wipes
(banana tree moving compliantly, sounds like a man in the bushes)
About to make omelette, only to abandon the endeavor
(in the name of love, in the name of love)
Put on hard contacts and I can see my face
(consider the essay sent, consider new alarm clock purchase)
wonder about people and their rationales
(in the name of love, what more in the name of love)
today with two other nurses deconstructed the near dreadlock
of my patient who meanwhile grinned and mouthed words of contentedness
while we all fussed above her
(she is ten but just learning to use her vocal chords)
(there was lots of grape scented conditioner)
I watched as another patient's mother read her the Hungry Caterpillar
(my patient has no mother but has a doting biker daddy)
and couldnt look away.
Went up to see two previous patients on another floor
(one watched the Daily Show with me and showed me his knitting and played me the Star Wars theme on a recorder)
the other giggled in his crib while I pretended to eat his foot like corn on the cob
(he cycled his legs, kicked his mylar Elmo balloon for sport when he was in the ICU)
This could have been a novel
This could have been a short story
(mossy mossy teeth)
the brown one, I think the color is Carob
(numb nasopharynx)
half dizzy, mostly cold
(Emergen-C, you're my only hope. Emergen-C, you're my only hope)
Cleaning rangetops with Clorox wipes
(banana tree moving compliantly, sounds like a man in the bushes)
About to make omelette, only to abandon the endeavor
(in the name of love, in the name of love)
Put on hard contacts and I can see my face
(consider the essay sent, consider new alarm clock purchase)
wonder about people and their rationales
(in the name of love, what more in the name of love)
today with two other nurses deconstructed the near dreadlock
of my patient who meanwhile grinned and mouthed words of contentedness
while we all fussed above her
(she is ten but just learning to use her vocal chords)
(there was lots of grape scented conditioner)
I watched as another patient's mother read her the Hungry Caterpillar
(my patient has no mother but has a doting biker daddy)
and couldnt look away.
Went up to see two previous patients on another floor
(one watched the Daily Show with me and showed me his knitting and played me the Star Wars theme on a recorder)
the other giggled in his crib while I pretended to eat his foot like corn on the cob
(he cycled his legs, kicked his mylar Elmo balloon for sport when he was in the ICU)
This could have been a novel
This could have been a short story
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Ativan plus Supershuttle = Vancouver
I snowed myself with Ativan yesterday AM prior to departure. Folks, I actually slept on a plane for two and a half hours. I don't remember hearing the engines idle down on descent, nor the captain announcing Mt St Helen's on the right nor the beverage service or the snoring of the snowboarders in the row ahead of me. I believe I have found my ideal dose friends, and it is two point five mgs of lorazepam (my Rx is for 0.5).
Pops and Gaga picked me up in the newest Lebomobile - a 1990 blue-grey Jetta diesel complete with ipod jack!
Gaga (in Gorton's-fisherman-yellow rainwear) welcomed me and then commenced discussion of the H5N1 virus and it's presence in Southeast Asia as pertains to my sister's imminent departure to said region. Then we had hot and sour soup, dry fried green beans, braised tofu and later, over the Daily Show, a mild Chianti. Oh, and my sister didnt know I was coming so that was a good surprise.
For your convenience, I found a painting of hot and sour soup. It might actually be from the author of the famed Everybody (active verb) series (e.g. Everybody Poops, etc), not sure.
the way in which the artist has plumbed the tofu-rich depths of the broth is admirable.
Pops and Gaga picked me up in the newest Lebomobile - a 1990 blue-grey Jetta diesel complete with ipod jack!
Gaga (in Gorton's-fisherman-yellow rainwear) welcomed me and then commenced discussion of the H5N1 virus and it's presence in Southeast Asia as pertains to my sister's imminent departure to said region. Then we had hot and sour soup, dry fried green beans, braised tofu and later, over the Daily Show, a mild Chianti. Oh, and my sister didnt know I was coming so that was a good surprise.
For your convenience, I found a painting of hot and sour soup. It might actually be from the author of the famed Everybody (active verb) series (e.g. Everybody Poops, etc), not sure.
the way in which the artist has plumbed the tofu-rich depths of the broth is admirable.
Friday, January 06, 2006
A horse. Working like a.
I am in the middle of my first night shift right now. I have two sleeping children in the rooms to my right. Since before Christmas, I've been working a foolish schedule. I made it myself and have only me to blame. I worked 5 12-hrs straight through over Christmas, had one day off, had two on, two off, then three on. Then this morning I slept in until noon. I got a phone call in the middle of omelette-making asking if I could come in for a night shift as they were short. I said yes and promptly swallowed a benadryl and climbed back into bed. O whoa is me, sitting at the tail end of the unit. It's dark and kinda lonely.
How was your new year's? Mildly disappointing but expectedly so? I went to my cousins' house. Everyone but me was on pills. I got lots of massages but early in the night realized I would have to abandon my plan to make out with somebody on such day.
I made something out of artichokes last night. My salmon on Monday was white.
I watched Labyrinth and also Jiminy Glick in La La Wood.
Dance magic dance.
Slap that baby, make it pee!
How was your new year's? Mildly disappointing but expectedly so? I went to my cousins' house. Everyone but me was on pills. I got lots of massages but early in the night realized I would have to abandon my plan to make out with somebody on such day.
I made something out of artichokes last night. My salmon on Monday was white.
I watched Labyrinth and also Jiminy Glick in La La Wood.
Dance magic dance.
Slap that baby, make it pee!
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Written on a Post-it, signifying nothing
Year's List of Good and Great:
Rory O'Shea Was Here - finding my tattered old fleece in the closet - Thai omelette with scallions and Eric Lane - A History of Violence - the dreams I started remembering again after not remembering any for a year when I sleep in on days off - Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild - The 40-Year-Old Virgin - shrimp boil on restaurant porch in New Iberia, LA - the narcissus and paperwhites I bought at Target that grow right now, mitotically as I type - Batman Begins - learning how to calculate catecholamine and opiate intravenous drips - Walk the Line - hiking in Runyon Canyon and Griffith Park when it's fall and the light gets golden - Millions - wet burritos - discovery of great bras after many years of searching - U2 and dinner in April with Bonnie and Karen - Mysterious Skin - pulling up shrimp traps with Da off West Vancouver in November - Sinead O'Connor's reggae album - Junebug - kale with andouille in my kitchen - Ryan Adams x 2 - breakfast with Mom when it's grey outside - Breakfast on Pluto - Trader Joe's Hot and Sour Soup in glass jar - Everything is Illuminated - hearing a legally blind 70-year-old tell me how she helped steal a public bus to evacute her neighborhood in the Lower Ninth Ward - Brokeback Mountain - Sufjan Stevens' Illinois - Google maps - My Summer of Love - Russell Stover's sugar-free chocolate-covered toffee - The Constant Gardener - watching cooking shows ad nauseam with my sister - Grizzly Man - marcona almonds with rosemary and sea salt from Trader Joe's - Antony and the Johnsons I'm A Bird Now - retractable Sharpie markers - the Weatherman - the treadmill at steep incline for 20 minutes - No Direction Home - first time being a camp nurse - Thumbsucker - a striped scarf when the time is right - Beck's Que Onda Guero and Go It Alone - King Kong - the quad press at 130 lbs - exiting the Arclight, returning in the dark to your car parked on the roof, it's foggy and cold and to the north are at least 12 beams of light from Hollywood Blvd. roving back and forth across the fog - Cat Power and Handsome Boy Modeling School, I've Been Thinking - the Marcel Dzama drawings on the wall at 826LA and the sad ghost Dzama salt and pepper shakers I got at home - The Squid and the Whale - my Christmas tree and its ornaments - Smog, A River Ain't Too Much to Love - Halloween despite having to work the next day - Gustavo Santaolalla who did the music for North Country and Brokeback Mountain and the Motorcycle Diaries - walking to work when it's cold - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds: Lyre of Orpheus and Abbatoir Blues - camping with cousins and their cousins in Santa Barbara - Spoon, Gimme Fiction - Libby's Sense of Style - dinner club sundays - X & Y - Ron being pouty, Harry sitting out the dance, in Goblet of Fire - my neighborsm who carve pumpkins and have dinner with me, just whenever - my Nana, independent film lover, aged 90 - BJ Schwartz and Eric Lane when they are stand-upping it during Trivial Pursuit - the patient in the PICU who has been there for a year, making witches brew with dry ice on Halloween and having frozen grapes and pasta for the nurses and doctors to feel with their eyes closed - my sweet family in general, my sweet friends in general.
Bad and Awful:
Beta blockers - Elizabethtown - my car being dirty most of the time - hypertension - Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Southern storms- Lord of War - empty half-a-bed-syndrome - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - writing personal statements for graduate school applications - skin hunger - wearing gowns at work when your patient is in isolation for infectious disease or immunosuppresive protocol and you take the gown off (there is much static) on your way out of the room and are given really bad shocks by cribs, door handles, water from the faucet and you can see the electric arc - missing family but not being able to tolerate The Vancouver Grey efficiently, therefore leaving one unable to find a compromise between Here and There - the part at the end of Crash where Ludicris chuckles to himself after letting free the Asian slaves and it starts to snow; oh, what a world indeed -the morgue sign-in book - myocardial infarctions - My Humps.
Rory O'Shea Was Here - finding my tattered old fleece in the closet - Thai omelette with scallions and Eric Lane - A History of Violence - the dreams I started remembering again after not remembering any for a year when I sleep in on days off - Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild - The 40-Year-Old Virgin - shrimp boil on restaurant porch in New Iberia, LA - the narcissus and paperwhites I bought at Target that grow right now, mitotically as I type - Batman Begins - learning how to calculate catecholamine and opiate intravenous drips - Walk the Line - hiking in Runyon Canyon and Griffith Park when it's fall and the light gets golden - Millions - wet burritos - discovery of great bras after many years of searching - U2 and dinner in April with Bonnie and Karen - Mysterious Skin - pulling up shrimp traps with Da off West Vancouver in November - Sinead O'Connor's reggae album - Junebug - kale with andouille in my kitchen - Ryan Adams x 2 - breakfast with Mom when it's grey outside - Breakfast on Pluto - Trader Joe's Hot and Sour Soup in glass jar - Everything is Illuminated - hearing a legally blind 70-year-old tell me how she helped steal a public bus to evacute her neighborhood in the Lower Ninth Ward - Brokeback Mountain - Sufjan Stevens' Illinois - Google maps - My Summer of Love - Russell Stover's sugar-free chocolate-covered toffee - The Constant Gardener - watching cooking shows ad nauseam with my sister - Grizzly Man - marcona almonds with rosemary and sea salt from Trader Joe's - Antony and the Johnsons I'm A Bird Now - retractable Sharpie markers - the Weatherman - the treadmill at steep incline for 20 minutes - No Direction Home - first time being a camp nurse - Thumbsucker - a striped scarf when the time is right - Beck's Que Onda Guero and Go It Alone - King Kong - the quad press at 130 lbs - exiting the Arclight, returning in the dark to your car parked on the roof, it's foggy and cold and to the north are at least 12 beams of light from Hollywood Blvd. roving back and forth across the fog - Cat Power and Handsome Boy Modeling School, I've Been Thinking - the Marcel Dzama drawings on the wall at 826LA and the sad ghost Dzama salt and pepper shakers I got at home - The Squid and the Whale - my Christmas tree and its ornaments - Smog, A River Ain't Too Much to Love - Halloween despite having to work the next day - Gustavo Santaolalla who did the music for North Country and Brokeback Mountain and the Motorcycle Diaries - walking to work when it's cold - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds: Lyre of Orpheus and Abbatoir Blues - camping with cousins and their cousins in Santa Barbara - Spoon, Gimme Fiction - Libby's Sense of Style - dinner club sundays - X & Y - Ron being pouty, Harry sitting out the dance, in Goblet of Fire - my neighborsm who carve pumpkins and have dinner with me, just whenever - my Nana, independent film lover, aged 90 - BJ Schwartz and Eric Lane when they are stand-upping it during Trivial Pursuit - the patient in the PICU who has been there for a year, making witches brew with dry ice on Halloween and having frozen grapes and pasta for the nurses and doctors to feel with their eyes closed - my sweet family in general, my sweet friends in general.
Bad and Awful:
Beta blockers - Elizabethtown - my car being dirty most of the time - hypertension - Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Southern storms- Lord of War - empty half-a-bed-syndrome - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - writing personal statements for graduate school applications - skin hunger - wearing gowns at work when your patient is in isolation for infectious disease or immunosuppresive protocol and you take the gown off (there is much static) on your way out of the room and are given really bad shocks by cribs, door handles, water from the faucet and you can see the electric arc - missing family but not being able to tolerate The Vancouver Grey efficiently, therefore leaving one unable to find a compromise between Here and There - the part at the end of Crash where Ludicris chuckles to himself after letting free the Asian slaves and it starts to snow; oh, what a world indeed -the morgue sign-in book - myocardial infarctions - My Humps.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Got My Kong On, Jack Nasty
I wear a scarf and hat inside my bungalow while sitting here with you, dear reader(s).
What a lovely contrast to the many months of sitting in this very chair, sweating from the face without exerting any energy whatsoever, due to the combo of summer, inadequate air circulation and a general lack of fan(s).
This evening finds me sipping a chemical concoction - decaf, fat and sugar free instant Chai - with my first Personal Christmas (TM) tree ever in the background, a three foot noble fir sitting in sugar water, it's ankle draped with a paisleyed tablecloth, and the shittiest array of tree lighting this side of the Rio Grande. I neglected to purchase those delicate white mini lights, so I've substituted red and blue until such time as I aquire them.
Soundtrack for decorating:
Sam Roberts: Brother Down
Nick Cave: Carry Me
Some new Strokes song
Madonna: X-Static Process
T. Rex: Monolith
Johnny Cash: When the Man Comes Around
Spoon: all of Gimme Fiction
Ted Leo: Me and Mia
The Undertones: Teenage Kicks
(In truth I think the actual decorating only took the length of Van Morrison's Cleaning Windows)
My First Personal Christmas (TM) Glass Ornaments: a pomegranate, a pickle, a frog, a robin, a hen, an owl, a hedgehog, a fish of unknown genus and species, a salmon, a barracuda, a squirrel, a very wee bunny and three Chinese firelantern flowers. Apparently in Germany on Christmas morning families play "hide the pickle" which is akin to hide the matzoh only not Jewish and with a greater propensity to be misread as incestual impropriety. You find the pickle and "win" Christmas or something. Do you think IV catheters would make interesting ornaments? They come in different colors of plastic hub depending on size of needle. I could hang them like those glass icicle ornaments. I would take out the needle first of course. For two Christmases in a row, my mother has made a tree out of pussywillow twigs in a bottle like an empty Hornitos bottle. Five twigs or so, with some orange, white and blue lights adorning them. Classy. We're like that.
This is pretty silly. I'll be working both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but as it will be a coal-in-my-stocking, lonelyheart time of year, gimme pine needles.
Three people Who Made Me Emote to the Point of Tears This Week While Sitting in the Dark, by Sarah:
1) Ennis Del Mar/Heath Ledger. Waiting in lineup for a matinee of Brokeback Mountain yesterday, watched a parade of ancient gay couples flow out of the Grove theater, holding canes and hands and having red-rimmed eyes. Cardigan-sweater old. Goddamn to you, Loneliness - you make good art.
I now have three favorite man performances of the year: Cillian Murphy, Joaquin Phoenix and Heath. Heath is probably the best of those, ya?
2) Kong/Andy Serkis and Ann Darrow/ Naomi Watts. Now. Well. I went with Eric and Will-Jordan to see Kong at midnight last night in the Cineramadome. We were treated to the trailer for Miami Vice. Someone in our vicinity kept letting off air biscuits, barking spiders, what-have-you. Despite this, and the rising temperature of a sold out cineramadome, the spectacle of Kong was stellar. Yes, too long. Yes, OTT in all respects. Campy, corny a bit. However, um, beautiful? Yes. Yes Petey's a genius, but without Fran Walsh and Phillippa Boyens he would be maybe not so much.. In the OG Kong, Ann is passive, shrieking, and there are those rapey overtones, those Large Evil Black Man/Victimized Virginal White Woman issues. All of course alongside the nasty colonial/savage stuff. In this Kong, Ann is active and she is as much a victim of Carl Denham et al as she plausibly is of Kong (which she isnt anyway, but that's how the film crew sees it). It seems that the business of moviemaking is even worse. Look what happens White Man when you go where you should not. Heart of Darkness...the way Our Lovable Nerds comment on the racist platform of the first movie is brilliant but I'm not telling you how they do it. A lot of it felt like a silent movie, or rather, the most important parts did, aided immensely by the score (written in six weeks!)...but it's wierd to think there is an entirely different one sitting in Howard Shore's computer somewhere. And that face. That sweet sad face.
Jack Black is fucking great.
I cried, yes I did. I cried today even while hearing Ebert's review on podcast. Jordan made fun of me, but that is because he has a pingpong ball for a heart and mine is like a big wet sponge and it leaks sometimes, so what?
.
What a lovely contrast to the many months of sitting in this very chair, sweating from the face without exerting any energy whatsoever, due to the combo of summer, inadequate air circulation and a general lack of fan(s).
This evening finds me sipping a chemical concoction - decaf, fat and sugar free instant Chai - with my first Personal Christmas (TM) tree ever in the background, a three foot noble fir sitting in sugar water, it's ankle draped with a paisleyed tablecloth, and the shittiest array of tree lighting this side of the Rio Grande. I neglected to purchase those delicate white mini lights, so I've substituted red and blue until such time as I aquire them.
Soundtrack for decorating:
Sam Roberts: Brother Down
Nick Cave: Carry Me
Some new Strokes song
Madonna: X-Static Process
T. Rex: Monolith
Johnny Cash: When the Man Comes Around
Spoon: all of Gimme Fiction
Ted Leo: Me and Mia
The Undertones: Teenage Kicks
(In truth I think the actual decorating only took the length of Van Morrison's Cleaning Windows)
My First Personal Christmas (TM) Glass Ornaments: a pomegranate, a pickle, a frog, a robin, a hen, an owl, a hedgehog, a fish of unknown genus and species, a salmon, a barracuda, a squirrel, a very wee bunny and three Chinese firelantern flowers. Apparently in Germany on Christmas morning families play "hide the pickle" which is akin to hide the matzoh only not Jewish and with a greater propensity to be misread as incestual impropriety. You find the pickle and "win" Christmas or something. Do you think IV catheters would make interesting ornaments? They come in different colors of plastic hub depending on size of needle. I could hang them like those glass icicle ornaments. I would take out the needle first of course. For two Christmases in a row, my mother has made a tree out of pussywillow twigs in a bottle like an empty Hornitos bottle. Five twigs or so, with some orange, white and blue lights adorning them. Classy. We're like that.
This is pretty silly. I'll be working both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but as it will be a coal-in-my-stocking, lonelyheart time of year, gimme pine needles.
Three people Who Made Me Emote to the Point of Tears This Week While Sitting in the Dark, by Sarah:
1) Ennis Del Mar/Heath Ledger. Waiting in lineup for a matinee of Brokeback Mountain yesterday, watched a parade of ancient gay couples flow out of the Grove theater, holding canes and hands and having red-rimmed eyes. Cardigan-sweater old. Goddamn to you, Loneliness - you make good art.
I now have three favorite man performances of the year: Cillian Murphy, Joaquin Phoenix and Heath. Heath is probably the best of those, ya?
2) Kong/Andy Serkis and Ann Darrow/ Naomi Watts. Now. Well. I went with Eric and Will-Jordan to see Kong at midnight last night in the Cineramadome. We were treated to the trailer for Miami Vice. Someone in our vicinity kept letting off air biscuits, barking spiders, what-have-you. Despite this, and the rising temperature of a sold out cineramadome, the spectacle of Kong was stellar. Yes, too long. Yes, OTT in all respects. Campy, corny a bit. However, um, beautiful? Yes. Yes Petey's a genius, but without Fran Walsh and Phillippa Boyens he would be maybe not so much.. In the OG Kong, Ann is passive, shrieking, and there are those rapey overtones, those Large Evil Black Man/Victimized Virginal White Woman issues. All of course alongside the nasty colonial/savage stuff. In this Kong, Ann is active and she is as much a victim of Carl Denham et al as she plausibly is of Kong (which she isnt anyway, but that's how the film crew sees it). It seems that the business of moviemaking is even worse. Look what happens White Man when you go where you should not. Heart of Darkness...the way Our Lovable Nerds comment on the racist platform of the first movie is brilliant but I'm not telling you how they do it. A lot of it felt like a silent movie, or rather, the most important parts did, aided immensely by the score (written in six weeks!)...but it's wierd to think there is an entirely different one sitting in Howard Shore's computer somewhere. And that face. That sweet sad face.
Jack Black is fucking great.
I cried, yes I did. I cried today even while hearing Ebert's review on podcast. Jordan made fun of me, but that is because he has a pingpong ball for a heart and mine is like a big wet sponge and it leaks sometimes, so what?
.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Welcome to the Hole!
Part I: Meaningless drivel (movies)
A) Oh Harry Potter the Fourth, you have finally come to be a real movie. How many double entendres did you count? How many Frodo-faces? He made a couple, or rather, the camera did.
And to my dissapointment, the kids don't make face with each other. Sigh.
The people next to me at the Vista wanted to share their popcorn, and so I felt like an orphan taken in from the alleyways of London. The row of gay men in front of me did a synchronized "hand dance" along with the "Enjoy a refreshing cola!" ad before the trailers. People always clap when the ad is over, whoop and holler. It makes me laugh when they do that. People do funny things at the Vista.
B) Joaquin and his not-a-cleft-palate, got-it-in-a-fight-with-my-brother-that-I-refuse-to-talk-about scar. I liked the nuzzling, the scene at the lunch counter, the peanuts, Reese WItherspoon's freckles, and absolutely everything else. Jerry Lee Lewis had some nasty lyrics.
C) I finally got around to seeing Monster too this weekend (and I started Into Thin Air as well, having finished book one of the naval novels). Not a new revelation, but man is Christina Ricci sucky. Fortunately, things tend to work themselves out and henceforth even though I had a hypothesis that maybe Charlize was being overpraised, I was wrong. I would also recommend the HBO documentary.
I am now about to try to watch The Notebook, but I don't think I'll be able to make it through.
Part II: Small, potentially meaningful story from my daily life:
Today was my first day semi-quasi-hemi-solo in the PICU. I had two patients on my own, in the Hole. The Hole is one of our two quad rooms, e.g. there are 4 patients in a room. You might barely leave the Hole for all your 12 hours, except to go for breaks. Sometimes the Holes are vacant and quiet, half-full, and you go about your business. Sometimes you're alone in your hole with an unconscious/sedated patient, so every now and then a heard of medical residents, fellows and attending will meander into the Hole during rounds or someone outside the Hole will pop their head in and say "Come on out of the Hole for a sec". Today there were no vacancies. Four patients, three RNs and two nurse residents, plus assorted family members. Over in one corner was one of my patients, a 14 year old who had taken to yelling "Sarah can you please get my flema?" (phlegm in Spanish, quite endearing). He'd chase this ten minutes later with an expressive sentence en Espanol involving the word 'puta' or 'hija de puta', e.g., some take on "whore". He'd often include his dear mother in the insult. He can't help it. Yesterday he told me to - and I quote -"take it in the ass" when I asked if he wanted pain medicine. We use a universal pain scale with numbers and faces on it to help kids tell us how bad their pain is...I asked him to rate his pain and he said "What the FUCK is wrong with you goddamn people?". He says it with a slur to his speech of course.
I couldnt help but empathize in a way. If I was a teenager and I had a tube coming, say, straight out of the center of my brain and someone asked me to point at a face or a number to describe my pain - no matter how mindful the inquisitor was of not sounding patronizing - I might turn inside out like a sea cucumber after holding up my middle finger to delineate where I fit on the scale.
I was there when some good news about his prognosis came down the line, and there were tears and hugs, so it was a good day.
A) Oh Harry Potter the Fourth, you have finally come to be a real movie. How many double entendres did you count? How many Frodo-faces? He made a couple, or rather, the camera did.
And to my dissapointment, the kids don't make face with each other. Sigh.
The people next to me at the Vista wanted to share their popcorn, and so I felt like an orphan taken in from the alleyways of London. The row of gay men in front of me did a synchronized "hand dance" along with the "Enjoy a refreshing cola!" ad before the trailers. People always clap when the ad is over, whoop and holler. It makes me laugh when they do that. People do funny things at the Vista.
B) Joaquin and his not-a-cleft-palate, got-it-in-a-fight-with-my-brother-that-I-refuse-to-talk-about scar. I liked the nuzzling, the scene at the lunch counter, the peanuts, Reese WItherspoon's freckles, and absolutely everything else. Jerry Lee Lewis had some nasty lyrics.
C) I finally got around to seeing Monster too this weekend (and I started Into Thin Air as well, having finished book one of the naval novels). Not a new revelation, but man is Christina Ricci sucky. Fortunately, things tend to work themselves out and henceforth even though I had a hypothesis that maybe Charlize was being overpraised, I was wrong. I would also recommend the HBO documentary.
I am now about to try to watch The Notebook, but I don't think I'll be able to make it through.
Part II: Small, potentially meaningful story from my daily life:
Today was my first day semi-quasi-hemi-solo in the PICU. I had two patients on my own, in the Hole. The Hole is one of our two quad rooms, e.g. there are 4 patients in a room. You might barely leave the Hole for all your 12 hours, except to go for breaks. Sometimes the Holes are vacant and quiet, half-full, and you go about your business. Sometimes you're alone in your hole with an unconscious/sedated patient, so every now and then a heard of medical residents, fellows and attending will meander into the Hole during rounds or someone outside the Hole will pop their head in and say "Come on out of the Hole for a sec". Today there were no vacancies. Four patients, three RNs and two nurse residents, plus assorted family members. Over in one corner was one of my patients, a 14 year old who had taken to yelling "Sarah can you please get my flema?" (phlegm in Spanish, quite endearing). He'd chase this ten minutes later with an expressive sentence en Espanol involving the word 'puta' or 'hija de puta', e.g., some take on "whore". He'd often include his dear mother in the insult. He can't help it. Yesterday he told me to - and I quote -"take it in the ass" when I asked if he wanted pain medicine. We use a universal pain scale with numbers and faces on it to help kids tell us how bad their pain is...I asked him to rate his pain and he said "What the FUCK is wrong with you goddamn people?". He says it with a slur to his speech of course.
I couldnt help but empathize in a way. If I was a teenager and I had a tube coming, say, straight out of the center of my brain and someone asked me to point at a face or a number to describe my pain - no matter how mindful the inquisitor was of not sounding patronizing - I might turn inside out like a sea cucumber after holding up my middle finger to delineate where I fit on the scale.
I was there when some good news about his prognosis came down the line, and there were tears and hugs, so it was a good day.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Using a laser at your place of work: A Primer
Today was neurology review day for my critical care orientation.
I like neurology.
I've decided.
Here's what we reviewed:
1) neuromuscular blocking agents (paralytics)
2) intracranial pressure monitoring and assessment
and then we were regaled with a bunch of horrific but notable stories involving children and their heads by our beloved mentor Fran, and so we will never forget some very important things.
In the PICU, I am becoming adept at manipulating cockstops (not cockblocks, though maybe that too?).
Would you like me to explain the physics of the pleural cavity? No problem! Whenever you're ready.
We use lasers and levels at the bedside. The laser is used to make sure that the drains we use to drain fluid from the brain are aligned against the proper anatomical reference point. If the drain is lower than the patient's head, too much fluid will drain off, equalling *collapse*. If it's too high, no fluid will drain and the pressure in the brain will increase, equalling *squish*.
After brain class, I went to the laundrymat, folded my clothes, read a chapter of my naval novel, then ate a frozen yogurt with my neighbor.
Yesterday I was at Trader Joe's and next to me in line was the guy who played the character/rugby player "Roy" in "Alive". You'll remember him as the freckled, whinging, anxious, consistently annoying survivor.
I don't know if I told you - and forgive me if I didnt - but I saw Keanu in the parking lot of Home Depot last week. He had just purchased a hot dog from the hot dog cart outside near the garden center.
I lost 3 hours of my life to Netflix last night what with its convoluted yet decidedly wonderful site compiling a massive queue filled with PBS documentaries, Return to Oz and Murderball.
I like neurology.
I've decided.
Here's what we reviewed:
1) neuromuscular blocking agents (paralytics)
2) intracranial pressure monitoring and assessment
and then we were regaled with a bunch of horrific but notable stories involving children and their heads by our beloved mentor Fran, and so we will never forget some very important things.
In the PICU, I am becoming adept at manipulating cockstops (not cockblocks, though maybe that too?).
Would you like me to explain the physics of the pleural cavity? No problem! Whenever you're ready.
We use lasers and levels at the bedside. The laser is used to make sure that the drains we use to drain fluid from the brain are aligned against the proper anatomical reference point. If the drain is lower than the patient's head, too much fluid will drain off, equalling *collapse*. If it's too high, no fluid will drain and the pressure in the brain will increase, equalling *squish*.
After brain class, I went to the laundrymat, folded my clothes, read a chapter of my naval novel, then ate a frozen yogurt with my neighbor.
Yesterday I was at Trader Joe's and next to me in line was the guy who played the character/rugby player "Roy" in "Alive". You'll remember him as the freckled, whinging, anxious, consistently annoying survivor.
I don't know if I told you - and forgive me if I didnt - but I saw Keanu in the parking lot of Home Depot last week. He had just purchased a hot dog from the hot dog cart outside near the garden center.
I lost 3 hours of my life to Netflix last night what with its convoluted yet decidedly wonderful site compiling a massive queue filled with PBS documentaries, Return to Oz and Murderball.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Beat to Quarters!
Today my special nautical/historical/flauna-flora glossary arrived from Amazon. It is called "A Sea of Words" and it has been described [per back cover of said book] as "A godsend" by the Irish Times. This is because if you attempt to read what I have started reading without it, the harpies will descend to pluck at your eyelashes. Only a nautical savant could understand Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey-Maturin novels (aka Master and Commander) unaided. And only a savant of a totally different variety would even pick such a book up, in this case a filmic-nursing-marine-oriented savant.
In essence:
I don't have to worry anymore - because now I know what a "cunt-splice" is! No more harried nights!
It's a "type of splice formed when two ropes are overlapped and joined in such a way as to form an EYE" (emphasis belonging to the text)
My friend said to me today: I didnt know you were into boats..
Hey, now! That's because I aren't.
In other news, my Saturday matinee of Jarhead was interrupted by the guy to my left who kept readjusting his package every time...well, every time you saw desert in a frame. Today I learned from NPR that Walter Murch doesnt like attending sets of the films he cuts, so if he has to go on set, he looks at the floor until he sees the director's shoes and then looks up to talk to director and then back to floor and he leaves. he doesnt want to see anything that the audience wont be seeing. How does he know a director by his shoes?
I would recommend Jarhead but only in a dispassionate way. Jake G doesnt make that developmentally delayed voice in this movie, in fact he's pretty good aside from the lobotomized way you feel for his character and everyone around him.
That Bob Dylan PBS thing is amazing. I only just saw it. I like it when he says things like: "It was rightly cold."
More importantly, I would like to recommend Danny Boyle's follow-up to 28 Days Later, which would be Millions, available on DVD.
It is amazing!
I had babka tonight
Exclamation point
In essence:
I don't have to worry anymore - because now I know what a "cunt-splice" is! No more harried nights!
It's a "type of splice formed when two ropes are overlapped and joined in such a way as to form an EYE" (emphasis belonging to the text)
My friend said to me today: I didnt know you were into boats..
Hey, now! That's because I aren't.
In other news, my Saturday matinee of Jarhead was interrupted by the guy to my left who kept readjusting his package every time...well, every time you saw desert in a frame. Today I learned from NPR that Walter Murch doesnt like attending sets of the films he cuts, so if he has to go on set, he looks at the floor until he sees the director's shoes and then looks up to talk to director and then back to floor and he leaves. he doesnt want to see anything that the audience wont be seeing. How does he know a director by his shoes?
I would recommend Jarhead but only in a dispassionate way. Jake G doesnt make that developmentally delayed voice in this movie, in fact he's pretty good aside from the lobotomized way you feel for his character and everyone around him.
That Bob Dylan PBS thing is amazing. I only just saw it. I like it when he says things like: "It was rightly cold."
More importantly, I would like to recommend Danny Boyle's follow-up to 28 Days Later, which would be Millions, available on DVD.
It is amazing!
I had babka tonight
Exclamation point
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Mephisto
Danielle in her wisdom chose to carve Mephisto last night, which isn't really Mephisto of the shoe company or the German film, but the Bono version of Mephisto circa 1993 when he would dress up like so and phone frmr. President HW Bush from a concert and leave strange messages on the machine.
row o' gourd
Oh look at the little lighted items in our courtyard. It really lit up our little Gateway Ave kibbutz.
The Pumpkin People
The annual tendinitis-inducing gourd-scoop out came and went.
They make an electric saw for carving pumpkins and I got one.
My neighbors and I carved through the night and some drank egg nog with rum and others ate mediocre chinese food and we had a few little Darth Vaders, an Obi Wan, two red Power Rangers and baby skunk (trick or treating in a stroller) and a boy dressed as a girl. Way to push cultural boundaries (machismo), brother.
So here we have Mr. Burns, a labor of love carved by Shelly.
They make an electric saw for carving pumpkins and I got one.
My neighbors and I carved through the night and some drank egg nog with rum and others ate mediocre chinese food and we had a few little Darth Vaders, an Obi Wan, two red Power Rangers and baby skunk (trick or treating in a stroller) and a boy dressed as a girl. Way to push cultural boundaries (machismo), brother.
So here we have Mr. Burns, a labor of love carved by Shelly.
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