I'm rooted! This week we've been doing quite a lot of role-plays to practise our GP consulting skills. I've done one each day since people generally seem reluctant to get involved and I typically don't mind looking like an idiot since I'm accustomed to it.
The first day was really easy, I just had to run through a simple screening interview for smoking, nutrition, alcohol and exercise with a patient. Not much to it, although I had to kind of make it up as I went along since I had no idea what I was really supposed to be doing. Fortunately this blog is excellent practise for that kind of improvisation.
The second day was gruelling. My task was to inform a patient that her biopsy results had come back and that she had breast cancer. As an aside, the patients are all played by professional actors and they do an incredible job. This woman was aghast and started crying. By the end of the consult I had forgotten that I was doing it in front of the rest of the class, and I was on the verge of tears myself. When I was talking to the class afterwards about how I thought it had gone, my voice was all tense and wobbly.
It was incredibly emotionally draining. I probably could have done with some counselling myself, since I couldn't help personalizing the whole thing and thinking of friends and relatives who have had cancer. It seemed so real. I'm glad I volunteered for it though, since it's only a matter of time before I have to do it for real. I'm not sure that there is much of way that it could be done "well" but I'm quite certain that there are a whole lot of ways to do it awfully.
And today I got to run a consult with a woman who was the victim of domestic violence. That was not so personal for me but that also made it harder in a way because I had less of an intuitive sense of what would be the right thing to say. It was no less exhausting than the yesterday's session though, and produced a similar feeling that the rest of the world just faded away. The tutor cut us off a couple of minutes early because it was the last session of the day and I felt all outraged and wanted to say, "But what about this poor woman, she needs more help!"
The strangest thing about it was that it was the same actor playing the breast cancer sufferer and the domestic violence victim in both cases. I feel like I've gone through this intense emotional bonding with her and that we know each other so well, but it's not so of course since we were both just pretending. Neurologists tell us though that imagining a situation is almost as useful when practising as actually doing it in real life, and pretending to experience emotions is almost as powerful as actually experiencing them.
No wonder Hollywood is so messed up. Where's my limo???
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
Airplane cheese
So what's been happening? I've just finished a three-week block of gruelling study devoted to rehabilitation and aged care. Let me tell you, those guys have it pretty good. Oh, not the aged - that is suboptimal in many ways - I'm talking about the rehab physicians and geriatricians.
Those guys have made a lifestyle choice. For a start, there's no such thing as an rehab or aged care emergency. Sure, bad stuff must happen all the time, but if it does you just say, "Someone get me an acute care specialist!" and go back to sleep.
Rehab work seems great because basically you have no responsibility except to sit in a meeting once a week nodding your head for an hour while the physios and occupational therapists and speech therapists and nurses and all those other hardworking types update you on what's going on and you say, "Good work team! Keep it up! See you next week!" and take off.
Aged care work also seems great because old people are generally pretty nice. Most people are jerks when they are young but gradually grow out of it. By the time they are 60+ they've really mellowed out. Come back and read this blog in 30 years and you'll notice that I make a lot fewer smartarse remarks and am in all ways a more pleasant person. And I'll probably talk about bridge a lot too.
This week though I have launched into a week of intensive brainwork on GP-land. Not Grands Prix - General Practice. Lots of roleplaying in the arvos - today I got to be Dr Aardvark, a 5th level doctor with a +1 Stethoscope and a Manual Of Canny Diagnosis. I vanquished an ornery patient in single combat and am expecting to level up real soon.
I struggled a bit in the morning because it was all lectures, which I think I have developed some kind of immune reaction to. I especially dislike lecturers who engage in gratuitous audience participation. This morning the guy would spend five minutes asking us for our opinions on why fish tanks might be soothing to patients in doctors' waiting rooms* before saying, "Actually no-one really know why they are so soothing, nobody has really looked into it", and continuing on to the next tangential vox-pop. Aaaargh!
Anyway, it would be easy for me to sit here complaining, but in the end the day was great - there was free cheese for afternoon tea! It was those little slabs of cheddar like tiny cholesterol tombstones that you get given on airplanes. I ate four of them. It was just like being on holiday. To really seize the feeling, I smashed my kneecaps into the back of the chair in front of me and drank a lot of really awful luke-warm coffee then went and stood on one leg in the toilet and peed on the floor**.
Can't wait til tomorrow!
* gross misrepresentation of the truth for the purposes of sophistry.
** ditto.
Those guys have made a lifestyle choice. For a start, there's no such thing as an rehab or aged care emergency. Sure, bad stuff must happen all the time, but if it does you just say, "Someone get me an acute care specialist!" and go back to sleep.
Rehab work seems great because basically you have no responsibility except to sit in a meeting once a week nodding your head for an hour while the physios and occupational therapists and speech therapists and nurses and all those other hardworking types update you on what's going on and you say, "Good work team! Keep it up! See you next week!" and take off.
Aged care work also seems great because old people are generally pretty nice. Most people are jerks when they are young but gradually grow out of it. By the time they are 60+ they've really mellowed out. Come back and read this blog in 30 years and you'll notice that I make a lot fewer smartarse remarks and am in all ways a more pleasant person. And I'll probably talk about bridge a lot too.
This week though I have launched into a week of intensive brainwork on GP-land. Not Grands Prix - General Practice. Lots of roleplaying in the arvos - today I got to be Dr Aardvark, a 5th level doctor with a +1 Stethoscope and a Manual Of Canny Diagnosis. I vanquished an ornery patient in single combat and am expecting to level up real soon.
I struggled a bit in the morning because it was all lectures, which I think I have developed some kind of immune reaction to. I especially dislike lecturers who engage in gratuitous audience participation. This morning the guy would spend five minutes asking us for our opinions on why fish tanks might be soothing to patients in doctors' waiting rooms* before saying, "Actually no-one really know why they are so soothing, nobody has really looked into it", and continuing on to the next tangential vox-pop. Aaaargh!
Anyway, it would be easy for me to sit here complaining, but in the end the day was great - there was free cheese for afternoon tea! It was those little slabs of cheddar like tiny cholesterol tombstones that you get given on airplanes. I ate four of them. It was just like being on holiday. To really seize the feeling, I smashed my kneecaps into the back of the chair in front of me and drank a lot of really awful luke-warm coffee then went and stood on one leg in the toilet and peed on the floor**.
Can't wait til tomorrow!
* gross misrepresentation of the truth for the purposes of sophistry.
** ditto.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Who am I?
Born at the age of 54 in northern Poland in 306 A.D., I became immediately famous for my rainbow-coloured mane. I earned my doctorate from the university of Leipzig before becoming involved in the revision of the telephone numbering plan in Venezuela.
Although I am a colorless liquid, I became closed to navigation due to excessive growth of reeds in the 18th century. While a member of the Kansas School Board I established a seaside resort town at the foot of the Hottentots Mountains and was pronounced king of the Carthaginian Empire.
My most famous novel, concerning the exploits of a password detection spyware cartel, was published in Guyana and was on average more than 400 metres wide. Less well known are the curative powers of the waters that spring forth from me, for which I am revered as a god by some British rugby players.
Debuting on screen in the rom-com "The Many-Spotted Hummingbird", I finished my career languishing forgotten in the offices of an obscure Scottish architect before being fatally struck by a monster truck during the 1972 Le Mans 24-hour race. I will be remembered forever for my contributions to babysitting, cooking, and sewing.
Who am I?
Although I am a colorless liquid, I became closed to navigation due to excessive growth of reeds in the 18th century. While a member of the Kansas School Board I established a seaside resort town at the foot of the Hottentots Mountains and was pronounced king of the Carthaginian Empire.
My most famous novel, concerning the exploits of a password detection spyware cartel, was published in Guyana and was on average more than 400 metres wide. Less well known are the curative powers of the waters that spring forth from me, for which I am revered as a god by some British rugby players.
Debuting on screen in the rom-com "The Many-Spotted Hummingbird", I finished my career languishing forgotten in the offices of an obscure Scottish architect before being fatally struck by a monster truck during the 1972 Le Mans 24-hour race. I will be remembered forever for my contributions to babysitting, cooking, and sewing.
Who am I?
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Another recipe
After the outstanding success of my previous recipe post, I've decided to add fuel to the fire. Lo, and unto you I give...
Fish Fingers, Corn and Rice
3 fish fingers
1/2 cup frozen corn
Rice to taste
Cook the rice in a microwave or steamer until plump and moist, fresh with the heady promise of a new tomorrow. With a song in your heart, fry the fish fingers in a pan until crisp and delicate like the very eidelweiss itself. Zap that corn using centimetre-wavelength electromagnetic radiation until it's had enough. Make it beg!
Break the fish fingers into thirds using brisk, stabbing motions of a fork. Growl at the fish fingers and make biting motions to get warmed up. Combine fish fingers with corn and rice and stir. For a pan-European treat, add some mustard of any variety! Eat on an old couch while you read comics.
Serves 1.
My new cookbook, "Prone to Roux-verie", will be published by Harper-Collins in December. Pre-order as a satisfying stocking-stuffer!
Fish Fingers, Corn and Rice
3 fish fingers
1/2 cup frozen corn
Rice to taste
Cook the rice in a microwave or steamer until plump and moist, fresh with the heady promise of a new tomorrow. With a song in your heart, fry the fish fingers in a pan until crisp and delicate like the very eidelweiss itself. Zap that corn using centimetre-wavelength electromagnetic radiation until it's had enough. Make it beg!
Break the fish fingers into thirds using brisk, stabbing motions of a fork. Growl at the fish fingers and make biting motions to get warmed up. Combine fish fingers with corn and rice and stir. For a pan-European treat, add some mustard of any variety! Eat on an old couch while you read comics.
Serves 1.
My new cookbook, "Prone to Roux-verie", will be published by Harper-Collins in December. Pre-order as a satisfying stocking-stuffer!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Recipe suggestion
An old school friend of mine has recently started up a rather superb food blog. Why not click here: [crispy & citrus] and go check it out?
In honour of her blog, it is my pleasure to present a recipe that I cooked back in the old days...
Fried Spam
1 tin of Spam
Get a frying pan real hot. Open up the tin of Spam, get the Spam out, and cut the Spam into smallish bite-sized morsels.
Fry the shit out of that Spam. I'm not using figurative speech here - a whole truck-load of Spam-fat is going to come out of that Spam. Fry it! Fry it til it's brown!
Let the Spam cool a bit. Then grab 3 or 4 paper towels and use them to pick up the Spam. Squeeze it hard and let more of that Spam-fat soak into those towels. Repeat as often as necessary. If times are tough, you could probably eat those paper towels soaked in Spam-fat, but otherwise throw them away.
Serve the Fried Spam on top of steamed white rice in front of late-night TV motor-racing. Mmmmm...
In honour of her blog, it is my pleasure to present a recipe that I cooked back in the old days...
Fried Spam
1 tin of Spam
Get a frying pan real hot. Open up the tin of Spam, get the Spam out, and cut the Spam into smallish bite-sized morsels.
Fry the shit out of that Spam. I'm not using figurative speech here - a whole truck-load of Spam-fat is going to come out of that Spam. Fry it! Fry it til it's brown!
Let the Spam cool a bit. Then grab 3 or 4 paper towels and use them to pick up the Spam. Squeeze it hard and let more of that Spam-fat soak into those towels. Repeat as often as necessary. If times are tough, you could probably eat those paper towels soaked in Spam-fat, but otherwise throw them away.
Serve the Fried Spam on top of steamed white rice in front of late-night TV motor-racing. Mmmmm...
Monday, September 21, 2009
Hamplification
PTR
What's for dinner tonight?
Smaller Half
I'll make tuna pasta.
I'll make tuna pasta.
PTR
What about that bacon in the fridge? Maybe you should use that.
Smaller Half
You can't eat bacon again.
You can't eat bacon again.
PTR
When do I ever eat bacon?
Smaller Half
That bean stew that you made yesterday was mostly ham.
That bean stew that you made yesterday was mostly ham.
PTR
That's ham, not bacon. It's totally different.
Smaller Half
No it's not.
No it's not.
PTR
Well, I had ham stew for dinner last night, and breakfast and lunch today, so only the last three meals I've eaten were ham.
Smaller Half
And brunch yesterday, you made bacon and eggs.
And brunch yesterday, you made bacon and eggs.
PTR
Oh yeah, so the last four.
Smaller Half
And Saturday night we had the Chinese roast pork for dinner.
And Saturday night we had the Chinese roast pork for dinner.
PTR
That's not ham, that's pork. It's totally different.
Smaller Half
What did you have for breakfast on Saturday?
What did you have for breakfast on Saturday?
PTR
I had that Korean thing which had no pork in it. So it's only my last five consecutive meals which were ham. Oh wait, I had the pork buns afterwards, so that makes six. Maybe we should have tuna pasta tonight.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Bruxism
One of the biggest threats to our modern democratic society is the peril of Bruxism. Most of us have never even heard of Bruxism, and those that have often remain tragically ill-informed afterwards as to the true nature of their encounter. Bruxism is a real danger, but it would be alarmist to claim that the deluded followers of Brux are some kind of omnipotent shadowy organisation that cloaks the world in darkness. Those times have long passed away, but Bruxism is with us still.
The modern Bruxist is more likely to be a misled idealist rather than a fanatical killer, but this does not mean that we should be complacent. The Bruxist is likely to be isolated, disorganised, naive, and impulsive in thought and action. Yet he is hard to detect, intelligent, charming, and driven by his belief in Brux's tenets to foment great societal upheaval. Of course the exposed or accused Bruxist will deny his affiliation in order to protect himself. What is not widely known is that many people who would honestly espouse their revulsion of Bruxism nevertheless are unknowingly Bruxists of the most vibrant and sickening hue.
Simple ignorance of the true teachings of Brux is to blame. Perhaps if there were some elementary teaching of Bruxism in our schools we could educate people to the danger of some of those seemingly reasonable beliefs. There is, of course, the risk of exposing innocent youngsters to the meretricious and facile arguments in favour of Bruxism. Some would no doubt fall into temptation and would need to be removed and re-educated. But in the long run I believe our society would be stronger. Our citizens would be better equipped to resist the unctuous whisperings of the Bruxist, promising so much, yet revealing so little of the truth.
Parents - I call on you today to teach your children more of Bruxism, not to endanger them but to tear back the veil from their eyes and let them see clearly how the enemy will come at them. If you are brave and resolute, your children will be too, and we may yet have a chance of liberating the country, then the world, from the chains forged so quietly, so long ago, by Brux.
The modern Bruxist is more likely to be a misled idealist rather than a fanatical killer, but this does not mean that we should be complacent. The Bruxist is likely to be isolated, disorganised, naive, and impulsive in thought and action. Yet he is hard to detect, intelligent, charming, and driven by his belief in Brux's tenets to foment great societal upheaval. Of course the exposed or accused Bruxist will deny his affiliation in order to protect himself. What is not widely known is that many people who would honestly espouse their revulsion of Bruxism nevertheless are unknowingly Bruxists of the most vibrant and sickening hue.
Simple ignorance of the true teachings of Brux is to blame. Perhaps if there were some elementary teaching of Bruxism in our schools we could educate people to the danger of some of those seemingly reasonable beliefs. There is, of course, the risk of exposing innocent youngsters to the meretricious and facile arguments in favour of Bruxism. Some would no doubt fall into temptation and would need to be removed and re-educated. But in the long run I believe our society would be stronger. Our citizens would be better equipped to resist the unctuous whisperings of the Bruxist, promising so much, yet revealing so little of the truth.
Parents - I call on you today to teach your children more of Bruxism, not to endanger them but to tear back the veil from their eyes and let them see clearly how the enemy will come at them. If you are brave and resolute, your children will be too, and we may yet have a chance of liberating the country, then the world, from the chains forged so quietly, so long ago, by Brux.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Brand name fail
We were watching the idiot box a few nights ago when my Smaller Half alerted me to an ad for Panasonic's new flat screen TV:
Hopefully they won't be donating them to hospitals for use in the wards.
the Neoplasma!
What a terrible name! Maybe they rejected the names Cancera and Tumoura during focus group testing.Hopefully they won't be donating them to hospitals for use in the wards.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Investment
My future is assured because I have invested in it this week. I'm going to be one happy old dude in about 40 years.
I am an astonishingly astute and skillful investor. My strategy is to be contrarian - never follow the crowd. For example, during the great housing boom of the late 90's, I was renting. And during the great resources boom of the early 00's, I was buying shares in banks. I worked for quite a while, carefully accumulating funds in the stock-market before deciding to live off my savings for 4 years while I studied medicine, just in time for the global financial crisis to break my portfolio's back in a manner akin to a camel being run over by a truck carrying straw. Sadly the net effect of all this is that every day I need to carefully consider whether to invest in a cup of coffee or a pie. On the plus side, it's made me acutely sensitive to the "value", or "basement", segment of the investment opportunity world.
As such, this week I decided to invest in one of my Esteemed Colleagues. We played golf on Monday, and my shrewd eye told me he was a promising beginner. So I bought a second-hand 5-iron and gave it to him as an early birthday present, telling him to practise, practise, practise. It's already paying off - apparently with his first shot the ball went through his back door and into the kitchen. You can't buy that kind of talent. It has to be nurtured.
Anyway, why is this an investment? Because he has agreed to give me 10% of his future earnings should he become a professional golfer. That could be millions. And if he doesn't, he has to give me a kidney if I need it. How's that for a deal? I haven't actually discussed it with him, but I'm sure he'll see sense when the time comes.
I am an astonishingly astute and skillful investor. My strategy is to be contrarian - never follow the crowd. For example, during the great housing boom of the late 90's, I was renting. And during the great resources boom of the early 00's, I was buying shares in banks. I worked for quite a while, carefully accumulating funds in the stock-market before deciding to live off my savings for 4 years while I studied medicine, just in time for the global financial crisis to break my portfolio's back in a manner akin to a camel being run over by a truck carrying straw. Sadly the net effect of all this is that every day I need to carefully consider whether to invest in a cup of coffee or a pie. On the plus side, it's made me acutely sensitive to the "value", or "basement", segment of the investment opportunity world.
As such, this week I decided to invest in one of my Esteemed Colleagues. We played golf on Monday, and my shrewd eye told me he was a promising beginner. So I bought a second-hand 5-iron and gave it to him as an early birthday present, telling him to practise, practise, practise. It's already paying off - apparently with his first shot the ball went through his back door and into the kitchen. You can't buy that kind of talent. It has to be nurtured.
Anyway, why is this an investment? Because he has agreed to give me 10% of his future earnings should he become a professional golfer. That could be millions. And if he doesn't, he has to give me a kidney if I need it. How's that for a deal? I haven't actually discussed it with him, but I'm sure he'll see sense when the time comes.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Best in show
New objective: stop getting my medical education from documentaries about show-dogs. Wikipedia is much more reliable.
In a tute today the registrar who was tutoring us asked if we knew was syringomyelia was. I said I did, saying that it was caused by swelling of the brain. She shot me down, saying that what I was describing was actually syringobulbia. Bummer. Not much of a surprise though, since the source of my information was a BBC documentary I watched about a week ago about purebred show-dogs and the scarily high incidence of genetic disease in them because they are so inbred. Apparently Cavalier King Charles Spaniels have a very high incidence of syringomyelia which leaves the animals in crippling pain.
The program said that syringomyelia was due to the animals' brains being too big for their skulls so they were squashed. And they showed pictures of operations to relieve it, where they removed part of the back of the skull. It was really awful.
Anyway, when I came home today and looked up syringomyelia on wikipedia I saw that it mentions that there is a form caused by swelling of the cerebellum. Aha! That sounds like what the dog-show show was showing. Too bad I didn't look it up last week.
In a tute today the registrar who was tutoring us asked if we knew was syringomyelia was. I said I did, saying that it was caused by swelling of the brain. She shot me down, saying that what I was describing was actually syringobulbia. Bummer. Not much of a surprise though, since the source of my information was a BBC documentary I watched about a week ago about purebred show-dogs and the scarily high incidence of genetic disease in them because they are so inbred. Apparently Cavalier King Charles Spaniels have a very high incidence of syringomyelia which leaves the animals in crippling pain.
The program said that syringomyelia was due to the animals' brains being too big for their skulls so they were squashed. And they showed pictures of operations to relieve it, where they removed part of the back of the skull. It was really awful.
Anyway, when I came home today and looked up syringomyelia on wikipedia I saw that it mentions that there is a form caused by swelling of the cerebellum. Aha! That sounds like what the dog-show show was showing. Too bad I didn't look it up last week.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Might and right
Just a quick note on the two most recent polls that I've run here. When asked, "Who wins?", 8 people chose "Might" while 3 people chose "Right". I'm tempted to start an argument about the difference between pessimism and realism ... but not tonight, Josephine.
When asked, "Who would you like to see win?", 1 person chose "Might" and 5 people chose "Right". I'm wondering why the person who wants to see "Might" win answered that way. Seems odd to me...
When asked, "Who would you like to see win?", 1 person chose "Might" and 5 people chose "Right". I'm wondering why the person who wants to see "Might" win answered that way. Seems odd to me...
Monday, September 14, 2009
Eating, golf, eating, eating
What a day! What a day! What a wonderful day!
I discovered some interesting facts this morning in a lecture on malnutrition amongst the aged:
After a hasty trip to the shopping centre where I purchased Close Encounters Of The Third Kind for less than ten bucks, followed by a hasty purchase of A Few Good Men for the same price in order to complete my library of films with lengthy titles, I headed off to the golf course. Apparently there is an OSCE station at the end of the year where you have to chip out of the rough onto the green while avoiding the slice into a wicked bunker, and I intend to be ready for it. Also apparently it's important for doctors to have golf clubs in the back of the Porsche to increase the downforce on the drive wheels.
Anyway, five of us got together and played 9 holes of Ambrose. Ambrose is where you all tee off, then you choose who hit the best shot and you all play your next shot from where that ball is. We modified it slightly so that once we were near the green you had to hit your own ball. That format works well for me since only slightly more than 11% of my tee shots go where I want them to, whereas my chipping is surprisingly effective considering I have no idea what I'm doing. I told my Smaller Half tonight, "I got in some awesome chip shots today!" and she got all cranky with me since she thought I said, "I got in some awesome chip shops today!" and hence had formed the mistaken impression that I'd spent my day driving from chip shop to chip shop on some kind of fried potato smorgasbord extravaganza. No, but great idea though.
It was a beautiful day for golf, though I did start to get weary toward the end because I hadn't eaten any pies yet. In fact, I haven't eaten any pies since Friday since, as they say, "Friday's Pie-day!". (As distinct from Pi-day, which is March 14. Or you can approximate it on 22 July.) As far as I know, Pie-day was started by some younger blokes who worked for me a while back when I was a shiny-bummed public servant. They told me about it and said I was welcome to come along. So I did go along but it was kind of awkward, as it always is when your boss unexpectedly accepts your token invitations that you didn't really think he would accept, so I never went again.
Nevertheless, Pie-day stuck in my head and in my heart as a perfectly sound excuse to eat more pies more often. I've been telling people about it and finally I think there is a groundswell of support. Last Pie-day I was able to egg three people into eating pies with me. One misguided chap bought a pasty - the less said about that the better. (Except this - the pasty is the white-man's curry-puff. Which would you rather have?)
I think this Pie-day coming could be the biggest yet. It tees off at 1pm. Are you excited?
I discovered some interesting facts this morning in a lecture on malnutrition amongst the aged:
- Australia's population is ageing. You yourself are probably older now than you were at this time last year.
- By the year 2020, more than 357% of the population will be older than 65.
- The proportion of elderly people who are malnourished on admission to hospital is roughly 10-90%.
- Malnourishment can be reduced by eating more food.
After a hasty trip to the shopping centre where I purchased Close Encounters Of The Third Kind for less than ten bucks, followed by a hasty purchase of A Few Good Men for the same price in order to complete my library of films with lengthy titles, I headed off to the golf course. Apparently there is an OSCE station at the end of the year where you have to chip out of the rough onto the green while avoiding the slice into a wicked bunker, and I intend to be ready for it. Also apparently it's important for doctors to have golf clubs in the back of the Porsche to increase the downforce on the drive wheels.
Anyway, five of us got together and played 9 holes of Ambrose. Ambrose is where you all tee off, then you choose who hit the best shot and you all play your next shot from where that ball is. We modified it slightly so that once we were near the green you had to hit your own ball. That format works well for me since only slightly more than 11% of my tee shots go where I want them to, whereas my chipping is surprisingly effective considering I have no idea what I'm doing. I told my Smaller Half tonight, "I got in some awesome chip shots today!" and she got all cranky with me since she thought I said, "I got in some awesome chip shops today!" and hence had formed the mistaken impression that I'd spent my day driving from chip shop to chip shop on some kind of fried potato smorgasbord extravaganza. No, but great idea though.
It was a beautiful day for golf, though I did start to get weary toward the end because I hadn't eaten any pies yet. In fact, I haven't eaten any pies since Friday since, as they say, "Friday's Pie-day!". (As distinct from Pi-day, which is March 14. Or you can approximate it on 22 July.) As far as I know, Pie-day was started by some younger blokes who worked for me a while back when I was a shiny-bummed public servant. They told me about it and said I was welcome to come along. So I did go along but it was kind of awkward, as it always is when your boss unexpectedly accepts your token invitations that you didn't really think he would accept, so I never went again.
Nevertheless, Pie-day stuck in my head and in my heart as a perfectly sound excuse to eat more pies more often. I've been telling people about it and finally I think there is a groundswell of support. Last Pie-day I was able to egg three people into eating pies with me. One misguided chap bought a pasty - the less said about that the better. (Except this - the pasty is the white-man's curry-puff. Which would you rather have?)
I think this Pie-day coming could be the biggest yet. It tees off at 1pm. Are you excited?
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Love is also
Love is also when you are all psyched up to watch Aliens and you're ready with your classic Aliens quotes and at the last minute your Smaller Half rushes in all excited saying, "Anne of Green Gables is on TV!" and you end up watching it with her and quite enjoying it even though you fall one gender and at least 20 years out of the target demographic.
Game over, man, game over!
Game over, man, game over!
Love is
You know what love is? Love is when you're away from your Smaller Half for a week and you decide that you'd better leave your mobile phone on overnight in case she gets the creeps in the middle of night and needs to call you but you forget to tell her this and she knows that you normally turn it off overnight because for some strange reason you get more than your fair share of wrong numbers so she decides to send you a text msg at 1 a.m. when you're already asleep because she's been up late studying and she misses you and because your msg alert tone on your phone sounds like a barking dog you are awakened from a deep sleep by your phone barking right into your ear and you have no idea what the hell is going on for a while but then you read the message and it makes you miss her.
That's love.
That's love.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Doubt
Today was one of those days that made me wonder if I am really cut out to be a doctor. I actually quite enjoyed what I learned today, but I am suffering from Colleague-Induced Psychosis. Don't get me wrong - I love my Esteemed Colleagues deeply - but sometimes I think some of them are barking mad.
I was thinking of running a quiz, getting people to choose between, "PTR is a weirdo" and "PTR is surrounded by weirdos" to resolve the issue once and for all. But since I've already figured out that you, Gentle Readers, are largely a bunch of dog-loving, macadamia-munching poll fraudsters, I think I'll pass on seeking your opinion on myself.
So what freaked me out today?
Well, it was my first real day back after 10 days of holiday and another week of "research" and a few days of a slow start to this week. Suddenly I was plunged back into a situation where awful things were happening, such as being asked to remember stuff that I sat an exam in about two weeks back - and I couldn't remember. As for stuff that I should probably have learned back in first year (and presumably did, otherwise I wouldn't be here in second year) - no chance. Yet somehow I find myself in a room with various eidetic freaks who can rattle this stuff on as if they're on Are You Smarter Than A 5th-Grader. Fun fun fun.
It didn't help that later on we were shown some videos of people getting their tonsils out. Eurgh! Some people really like surgery. Michael Jackson, for instance. I don't. Some types of surgery don't bother me too much. Anything done with via remote control from across the room is sufficiently abstract that it doesn't bother me. But watching someone jam clamps and knives down some poor bastard's throat and yank their tonsils out just makes me feel ill. It looked grotesque. Like someone turning a mouse inside out. I can't believe that people really want to do that. You lunatics - you know who you are!
I am quite squeamish about anything above the shoulders. Necks, throats, ears, eyes, mouths, faces. It's all bad. Brains are okay, probably because we never really see them so they don't really seem to actually exist in real people (though I am assured that they do). It does make me wonder how I'm going to cope the first time someone staggers into my emergency room with a smashed-in face when I'm an intern. Maybe I'll volunteer to bandage his sprained ankle.
No, I'm sure I'll be fine. It's all a process of acclimatisation. Two years ago I probably would have freaked out if I'd walked into an room to find severed body parts on trays waiting for me, but now that seems quite reasonable. There's an ongoing renovation of my mind happening. I like the colour scheme, but it does seem quite echo-y. Needs more rugs, methinks.
I was thinking of running a quiz, getting people to choose between, "PTR is a weirdo" and "PTR is surrounded by weirdos" to resolve the issue once and for all. But since I've already figured out that you, Gentle Readers, are largely a bunch of dog-loving, macadamia-munching poll fraudsters, I think I'll pass on seeking your opinion on myself.
So what freaked me out today?
Well, it was my first real day back after 10 days of holiday and another week of "research" and a few days of a slow start to this week. Suddenly I was plunged back into a situation where awful things were happening, such as being asked to remember stuff that I sat an exam in about two weeks back - and I couldn't remember. As for stuff that I should probably have learned back in first year (and presumably did, otherwise I wouldn't be here in second year) - no chance. Yet somehow I find myself in a room with various eidetic freaks who can rattle this stuff on as if they're on Are You Smarter Than A 5th-Grader. Fun fun fun.
It didn't help that later on we were shown some videos of people getting their tonsils out. Eurgh! Some people really like surgery. Michael Jackson, for instance. I don't. Some types of surgery don't bother me too much. Anything done with via remote control from across the room is sufficiently abstract that it doesn't bother me. But watching someone jam clamps and knives down some poor bastard's throat and yank their tonsils out just makes me feel ill. It looked grotesque. Like someone turning a mouse inside out. I can't believe that people really want to do that. You lunatics - you know who you are!
I am quite squeamish about anything above the shoulders. Necks, throats, ears, eyes, mouths, faces. It's all bad. Brains are okay, probably because we never really see them so they don't really seem to actually exist in real people (though I am assured that they do). It does make me wonder how I'm going to cope the first time someone staggers into my emergency room with a smashed-in face when I'm an intern. Maybe I'll volunteer to bandage his sprained ankle.
No, I'm sure I'll be fine. It's all a process of acclimatisation. Two years ago I probably would have freaked out if I'd walked into an room to find severed body parts on trays waiting for me, but now that seems quite reasonable. There's an ongoing renovation of my mind happening. I like the colour scheme, but it does seem quite echo-y. Needs more rugs, methinks.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Happiness
The secret to happiness is to drive at the speed limit.
It's probably not the secret to happiness for the rich bastard behind me in the Maserati who would prefer to blow my doors in and leave me staring up his tailpipe, but it suits me just fine to cruise along at 100.
I have a funny relationship with speed limits. In town I don't speed at all. I'm actually quite paranoid about the idea of hitting a pedestrian, so if there are people or even footpaths anywhere nearby I'm very law-abiding. If the sign says 60, that's what I'll do. I'll even slow down to 50 or 40 if told to. I go 70 in the 70 zones and 80 in the 80 zones. But once the number in the big red circle says 100, I'm off! Peeeeow!
I'm not a rev-head. I don't drag people off at the lights or do that stupid thing where you weave through traffic just to get to the next red light 5 seconds earlier. But for some reason, 100 km/h on the open road seems a bit too slow. So normally I'll go ever so slightly faster. (For you non-law-enforcement-types, about 115 or so.)
Of course, that mean that you catch up to the slow-coaches and sometimes get cranky with them. I'm a cautious overtaker so I don't do anything rash, but it means that I get frustrated when I'm stuck behind a bus or a truck or a senior citizen or a learner or ... anything but a Maserati really. Because I have a tendency to leave at the last possible moment it usually means that I have to rush to get there a little bit late so typically I arrive at B feeling tense and on edge.
So yesterday I conducted a bold experiment. I left half an hour earlier than usual and stuck to the speed limit all the way. I got there with ten minutes to spare and tooled around for a while looking for a park, but of course there was nothing. Normally this would have me cursing and sulking but I felt great equanimity and was at peace with the cosmos. That made it much easier to get through three hours straight of a lecture from a guy who walks around with his hands down the back of his pants.
On the way home I stuck to the speed limit again, and I took it one step further. I turned off the radio and drove in silence. I felt like I was a tree - a true child of the universe, putting down deep roots in the forest and growing towards the light. A tree driving a car. On a journey from the past into the future. Awesome!
I arrived home feeling ... not ebullient ... but full. Full of a sense of knowing who I am and not being distracted by all the crap in the world. Since then I've had a greatly decreased desire to issue scathing critiques, snide remarks, and sarcastic rejoinders. So if it seems like I've had a personality transplant, maybe I have. I am now a mighty gum tree, spreading its branches wide, and gently swaying from side to side.
Peace.
It's probably not the secret to happiness for the rich bastard behind me in the Maserati who would prefer to blow my doors in and leave me staring up his tailpipe, but it suits me just fine to cruise along at 100.
I have a funny relationship with speed limits. In town I don't speed at all. I'm actually quite paranoid about the idea of hitting a pedestrian, so if there are people or even footpaths anywhere nearby I'm very law-abiding. If the sign says 60, that's what I'll do. I'll even slow down to 50 or 40 if told to. I go 70 in the 70 zones and 80 in the 80 zones. But once the number in the big red circle says 100, I'm off! Peeeeow!
I'm not a rev-head. I don't drag people off at the lights or do that stupid thing where you weave through traffic just to get to the next red light 5 seconds earlier. But for some reason, 100 km/h on the open road seems a bit too slow. So normally I'll go ever so slightly faster. (For you non-law-enforcement-types, about 115 or so.)
Of course, that mean that you catch up to the slow-coaches and sometimes get cranky with them. I'm a cautious overtaker so I don't do anything rash, but it means that I get frustrated when I'm stuck behind a bus or a truck or a senior citizen or a learner or ... anything but a Maserati really. Because I have a tendency to leave at the last possible moment it usually means that I have to rush to get there a little bit late so typically I arrive at B feeling tense and on edge.
So yesterday I conducted a bold experiment. I left half an hour earlier than usual and stuck to the speed limit all the way. I got there with ten minutes to spare and tooled around for a while looking for a park, but of course there was nothing. Normally this would have me cursing and sulking but I felt great equanimity and was at peace with the cosmos. That made it much easier to get through three hours straight of a lecture from a guy who walks around with his hands down the back of his pants.
On the way home I stuck to the speed limit again, and I took it one step further. I turned off the radio and drove in silence. I felt like I was a tree - a true child of the universe, putting down deep roots in the forest and growing towards the light. A tree driving a car. On a journey from the past into the future. Awesome!
I arrived home feeling ... not ebullient ... but full. Full of a sense of knowing who I am and not being distracted by all the crap in the world. Since then I've had a greatly decreased desire to issue scathing critiques, snide remarks, and sarcastic rejoinders. So if it seems like I've had a personality transplant, maybe I have. I am now a mighty gum tree, spreading its branches wide, and gently swaying from side to side.
Peace.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Truth
It's time to set the record straight. Some people are whipping up hysteria by spreading rumours of certain events that are reputed to have occurred during last week's trip to Renmark. These rumours are baseless, I tell you, baseless! More specifically:
- Nobody ate 9 quarter chickens on Monday night. The exact total is uncertain but I lost count after 8, so anyone claiming anything different is a scurrilous liar.
- Pelicans can not defeat humans in single combat. Especially not really fat pelicans. Unless there's a bacon and egg roll involved.
- I am actually a good pool player.
- My digestion is functional.
- I am fully committed to the research team and care deeply about the integrity of its results.
- Meat pies are a healthy part of breakfast, lunch AND dinner. It's the Australian way.
- It is possible that my airway was temporarily blocked by a piece of chicken. Or meat pie. Or pelican. But I don't have sleep apnoea.
- It was the vinyl mattress reflecting my body heat back at me that caused the problem rather than any kind of metabolic disorder.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Weekend fun
Aaaargh, stupid essay. I have to hand in a 1500-word essay tomorrow. I'm up to about 800 words. It was actually due on Friday but I got an extension because the university sent me out to the country to do a pointless research project and play a lot of pool. I guess I could have done it yesterday but we spent the day in the city then I spent the evening attaching pegs to my face, then we stayed up until 2am watching The Iron Giant on DVD.
Accordingly, we slept in really late today, then sat by the sea eating almond croissants and drinking coffee, before going off to the beach to watch whales and their calves loll around in the surf and lazily wave their flippers and tails at us then coming home to eat bacon and eggs for dinner. I was eating the bacon rinds off my Smaller Half's plate when she welcomed me to middle age by asking me to stop so I didn't die of a heart attack.
I ate no more bacon rinds because, despite the essay, this is the life...
Accordingly, we slept in really late today, then sat by the sea eating almond croissants and drinking coffee, before going off to the beach to watch whales and their calves loll around in the surf and lazily wave their flippers and tails at us then coming home to eat bacon and eggs for dinner. I was eating the bacon rinds off my Smaller Half's plate when she welcomed me to middle age by asking me to stop so I didn't die of a heart attack.
I ate no more bacon rinds because, despite the essay, this is the life...
Current events
We went to a charity quiz night tonight. I generally like quiz nights. They can be annoying when you're stuck on a table with someone who is thick but doesn't realize it (Dunning-Kruger effect) so they keep writing down wrong answers. Not that I'm obsessed with winning. Not at all.
Anyway, we completely destroyed the opposition tonight. We broke them into small pieces then ate them then pooped them out and watched them get rolled away by dung beetles to rot underground and be slowly devoured by their larvae. Ha ha! It was the most awesome trivia team I have ever been part of. On the team we had two medical students (me and my Smaller Half), three general practitioners, a professor of marketing, and a retired neurosurgeon.
Funny thing is though, we didn't come first. We came second because throughout the night there were special "features" whereby teams could steal points from one another, and all the other teams chose to steal from us. By the end of the night we'd lost our substantial lead and ended up losing by two points. Even then, it should still have been a tie, but for two things.
First, in the "Pain Game" I was only able to attach 18 clothes pegs to my face in 30 seconds, whereas the winner attached 19 pegs. I forgot my eyebrows, which was pretty dumb. On the plus side, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to get my picture in the paper with my face covered in clothes pegs. The Dean of the medical school likes it when we engage with the local community, so I think he'll be really proud of me.
And the second thing that robbed us of the win was that one of the questions was marked incorrectly. The question was, "True or false: electric current flows from the positive terminal to the negative terminal". Everyone else at my table insisted that the answer was false because they were clever enough to know that the electrons flow from the negative to the positive. But I explained to them that the question asked about current, and current is defined as the equivalent movement of positive charges. I convinced them all to answer "True" and then it was marked as wrong.
What a bunch of crap.
Believe me folks - current flow is in the opposite direction to the movement of electrons. I have a Masters degree in electrical engineering. I know what I'm talking about. Or you could read it in Wikipedia.
That prize rightly belongs to me. Please mail it to "Pegface c/o School of Medicine".
Anyway, we completely destroyed the opposition tonight. We broke them into small pieces then ate them then pooped them out and watched them get rolled away by dung beetles to rot underground and be slowly devoured by their larvae. Ha ha! It was the most awesome trivia team I have ever been part of. On the team we had two medical students (me and my Smaller Half), three general practitioners, a professor of marketing, and a retired neurosurgeon.
Funny thing is though, we didn't come first. We came second because throughout the night there were special "features" whereby teams could steal points from one another, and all the other teams chose to steal from us. By the end of the night we'd lost our substantial lead and ended up losing by two points. Even then, it should still have been a tie, but for two things.
First, in the "Pain Game" I was only able to attach 18 clothes pegs to my face in 30 seconds, whereas the winner attached 19 pegs. I forgot my eyebrows, which was pretty dumb. On the plus side, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to get my picture in the paper with my face covered in clothes pegs. The Dean of the medical school likes it when we engage with the local community, so I think he'll be really proud of me.
And the second thing that robbed us of the win was that one of the questions was marked incorrectly. The question was, "True or false: electric current flows from the positive terminal to the negative terminal". Everyone else at my table insisted that the answer was false because they were clever enough to know that the electrons flow from the negative to the positive. But I explained to them that the question asked about current, and current is defined as the equivalent movement of positive charges. I convinced them all to answer "True" and then it was marked as wrong.
What a bunch of crap.
Believe me folks - current flow is in the opposite direction to the movement of electrons. I have a Masters degree in electrical engineering. I know what I'm talking about. Or you could read it in Wikipedia.
That prize rightly belongs to me. Please mail it to "Pegface c/o School of Medicine".
Friday, September 4, 2009
I'm back!
Hello loyal fans, critics, readers and wanderers. I have returned from my week in the wilderness. Normal service resumes shortly. Until then, why not warm up a hatful of milk in the oven and pour it over some of your favourite books?
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