Eww. Gross.

I am so relieved to see that the Word of the Day changed. (Yes, it's called RSS.) There is this cowboy phase in the beginning of medical school where it is cool to pretend that nothing is yucky or freaks you out. I have once again become comfortable with my squeamishness. Yesterday the WotD made my stomach feel funny. Like thinking about s-q-u-i-d.

Uh-oh. Moblog.

I just learned that you can update your blog from your phone. You could do this two years ago, according to the date on the Palm blog archive, but I still had things like a land line back then. Also, I'm doing this in my kitchen, when I could be on the computer in the next room over. I'm just curious if this will do anything to my inconsistent blogging problem.

Spring cleaning

I'm not even going to make excuses this time. I am an inconsistent blogger. I should actually change the title of my blog.

I. am. so. close. to being done with classes. I look both ways when I cross the street. Twice. In the crosswalk. Only when the little green person is on. I eat my steaks well-done. I use lots of hand sanitizer.

June 11th - USMLE Step 1, the boards, The Big Test.

July 6th - First day of surgery rotation.

I've reached a new equilibrium. I am accepting the ups and downs. I lost my phone and someone stole the registration tags off of my car. I discovered that you can get ultra-fine point Sharpies in 24 different colors.

Last week I cried in the parking garage. I could feel the weight of the building, the physical plant of the medical school that had taken a part of me over the last three years. The next day I was euphorically munching on a new recipe for rosemary french fries around a table with friends. (Wait a minute guys, was that really rosemary?)

My back hurts. John is loaning me his Aeron chair. It is yummy.

Lately I find myself surrounded by people having babies and raising kids. They are doing pretty much the most amazing job on earth. Period.

I am not going to kill this basil plant on my desk.

Betcha thought the Yakuza got me ...

Sorry, I'm a little obsessed with that story. It's so ... William Gibson. Black market organ donation, Asian mafioso ... he was writing all about it back in 1984 in Neuromancer.

aaaaaand

I'm sorry I haven't written in four months (June, July, Aug, Sept - yup, four.) I went through a bit of a rough patch, got put back together in the brand, spankin' new Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center, had a week's vacation, and then -- poof! -- I'm a second year medical student up to my eyeballs in microbiology.

I started getting more migraines. And more. And more. Being in the dark, horizontal and quiet, was preferable to being on my bike, or eating ice cream or ... anything, really. I was really scared. I was really not fun to be around.

I started a blog called La Migraineuse to try make it all make sense. I discovered a whole online migraine community, but I don't really know where I fit in it, or where I want to fit in it. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with the blog.

Eventually, I ended up in what neurologists call "status migrainosus," which is basically one migraine, all the time. I got admitted to the hospital, and they gave me a three-day infusion of anti-seziure medication.

Everyone had a different name for the treatment -- brain flush, brain rinse, Jiffy Lube for the brain. And it worked. My neurons calmed right down and I spent my days chatting with my dad (who spent the visit on the comfy pull-out couch) and ordering food from "Catering Services."

So ... to catch up:

We moved. We love the Bicycle District. Coffee, ice cream at Scoops, the Bicycle Kitchen, vegan food at Pure Luck and the knowledgeable and attractive staff at Orange 2o Bikes. 1:15 to school if you cheat and take to bus, 1:30 if you go for a morning ride.

We went to Burning Man. No one died. Yay. Dusty pictures of us looking dusty to come.

I survived microbiology ... Return of GI, Endocrine, and Reproductive Medicine. Bwa ha ha.
Things that seem like a good idea after a day of rest after finals:

A Dark Century. 100 miles. At night. Two weeks to train? No problem (?)

Learning how to brew beer. Apparently it's the new knitting.

Yikes! Did the Yakuza take your liver?

While John is suiting up for a wedding in Palos Verdes, looking like a Japanese mobster, the LA Times breaks this: Four Japanese gang figures got liver transplants at UCLA.

While muckraking at King-Drew for years, the LAT now looks Westside for scandal, and gets the paté of stories. Let's say that anyone who gets their morning tater tots at Cafe Med has had an inkling about the tale for a while.

Things You Will Not See in Los Angeles Today

Saturday, May 17, 2008 1:19 pm -- 95º
19% humidity wind SW 7 mph

Woo Hoo!

I passed.

Neurology rocks.

Close-up with my sister's horse Bugsy. Got carrots?

Freedom

I woke up this morning several times in a panic, thinking I had to get up and study. And then, groggily, between the sheets, I realized that it was all over. Block 4 was over. There was no more studying to do. And I wait for my scores, Zen-like. Either I start neurology next Monday or start considering other career options. But I did what They wanted me to do. I took the first year of medical school, not once, but twice. I think this video really sums up what it feels like:

Want more? I sure do. Type "wing suit" into youtube.

Still Alive

Just in the middle of a really tough block. Musculoskeletal medicine. AKA All the Muscles and Bones in the Body. There are quite a few, but they're pretty cool. We spend a lot of time in the anatomy lab.

Listening: Damn It Feels Good to Be a Gangsta (props to Aviva)
Specializing: Psychiatry
Loving: the knee
Bitter: the trigeminal nerve
Eating: Annie's Mac & Cheese

33% Grade

I've been awfully wrapped up in school lately, but I can't forget to tell you about this delightful Saturday morning event I witnessed two weekends ago. One of Silver Lake's attractions is the Fargo Street Hill, which happens to be the steepest paved road in California (or some superlative like that.) Fargo Street actually passes by my apartment, and I can gaze out upon the Fargo Street Hill from my front porch and think, "Gee whiz, that is one steep hill."

Well, it just so happened that some dedicated and certifiably insane cyclists had the same thought, followed by, "We should have a race up it. And up nine more really steep hills." So on this glorious Saturday morning -- perfect for riding and perfect for standing on one's porch drinking coffee in one's pajamas -- we watched riders cut back and forth across the street like downhill skiers in reverse, and when they got to the top, then they came screaming down the next street over -- Baxter Street, which must be the second steepest paved road in California (or something.)

I shouted encouraging words like, "That's totally crazy!" and "That really looks like it hurts!" while John snapped photos. The cyclists came out looking like ants, but if you look at a big enough photo, you can tell that they're really on bicycles.

It struck me as a particularly fitting day for riding up a hill with a 33% grade, since just the night before, John and I had celebrated our one-year anniversary with a late-night dinner at Yang Chow. I can't really write anything that won't sound mushy and trite, but I felt pretty damn lucky to be slurping up Slippery Shrimp across the table from one world-class guy. I know that there were days -- weeks -- this past year that must have felt like riding up the Fargo Street Hill. Here's to a year ahead of rides on 4th Street Bicycle Boulevard. (I'll ride in front and keep a lookout for potholes.)

Oh, and flowers!

Early in the morning on Valentine's day, I leaped out of bed to discover that my alarm hadn't gone off and that I was supposed to in the car driving to an 8 am class at that very moment.

Some reflex arc allowed me to assemble underwear, socks, jeans, wooly top in the appropriate order on my body, and I was saying a quick goodbye to John when he suggested I look in the kitchen by the coffee maker.

I went out to the kitchen and thus commenced much squealing and cooing and other noises I don't usually make. A dozen of the most beautiful long-stemmed roses I have ever seen, and the only ones I have ever received.

As much as I eschew Valentine's Day as a Hallmark holiday, I was utterly floored and moved, and floated through the day hoping someone would ask me what I got for Valentine's Day.

Could John be the classiest human being alive? Very possibly.

(More photos by this classy fellow.)

To a Magnificent Meniscus

This is the view from a tiny camera inside my mom's knee. She tore her meniscus -- the padding between her femur (upper leg bone) and her tibia (lower leg bone) -- a while back, and you better believe it hurt like heck.

She's been pretty much immobilized since winter break, when I got to go bug the orthopedist with her. We looked at some MRIs, twisted her knee around a bit and said, yep, that's a torn meniscus.

So props to her for sticking it out through a six-week wait for surgery, and more props to my dad for running around the house getting things for her.

What you're looking at is a lovely, smoothed out meniscus, with all the nasty frayed parts clipped away. She should be up and climbing stairs in a few weeks!

So yay Mom, yay Dad, and yay technology for making teeny tiny cameras and teeny tiny scissors.

New Header

I used PhotoShop and an itty bit of HTML tonight. It felt good. That photo is looking up at the westbound flight path to LAX, as seen from a Lennox elementary school playground. I was there for a health fair about a year ago, and how many cases of asthma did I see? Not pictured: High-voltage power lines stretching up and down the street as far as I could see. I'm sure I'm on some watch list, given how many pictures of power lines and airplanes I snapped that day. But it was just so unbelievable -- huge jets passing overhead every few minutes and the incessant buzz of electricity running through thick cables.

The Surly Bonds of Fact-Checking

It's 4 a.m. and I'm listening the NPR, reminded by "The Writer's Almanac" that today (Monday, January 28) is the day in 1986 that the Challenger space shuttle crashed.

I remember exactly where I was sitting in my fourth grade class, when a runner from the main office came and whispered in the teacher's ear. Shortly after, a television was wheeled into the room so that we could watch the news. We watched as the coverage unfolded, as footage of the explosion played over and over. I was reminded of the experience as I sat, glued to my television, on September 11th, 2001.

But to the main point of this post. Garrision Keillor incorrectly credited Ronald Reagan with a quote from an aviator-poet of the Royal Canadian Air Force. As soon as he read the famous words, my fact checker mojo turned on. Not one to give Reagan a lot of credit, especially not for elegant prose, I looked up the original source.

Slipped the surly bonds of Earth ... and touched the Face of God belongs to John Gillespie Magee, Jr., not the Great Communicator.

Introducing: Lumpy the Car

Previously known as "Lucky." My car, uncrumpled. It's a custom job -- I paid someone called the Dent Experts $1000 to pound all those little bumps into the hood. Photo courtesy of my dad.

The bRidal Industrial Complex

Snagged straight off of BikeSnobNYC, but this needs all the play it can get: the Primal Wear bRide 2B Jersey.

The Primal Wear B-Ride 2B Jersey. Just right for the Bride-2-B! Chain rings and bike chains make up the "lace" on this bridal get-up. Classic corset design will let you show your "skin" without getting a sun burn (and not to mention a little extra exposure for the tribal tattoo partially visible near the "exposed" lower back).

This makes me want to barf on so many levels. Somehow, when I got back on my bike, I thought I was pedaling away from the insanity that include things like the modern cult of the bride. Also, if I'm about to get hitched, I'm gonna be riding around in a REAL corset, sunburn be damned.

And the tribal tattoo? I don't have words, only a face:

Thanks to a BSNYC poster for showing us how to do it right:


Courtesy of Sheldon Brown, of course.

Ironically, I'm in the market for a corset for an upcoming theme ride. Now I'm gonna shop extra-seriously for something extra-slutty. And it's not gonna be white.

But maybe I'll buy one for John? Now that would be hottt. Oops, never mind, they only come in CAUCASIAN!

Bleaaaah. Live in sin until we run out of oil.

MLK on Vietnam

Today I was reminded of one of MLK's most powerful but lesser-known speeches: his speech on April 4th, 1967 to the Clergy and Laymen Concerned about Vietnam at Riverside Church in New York City. He lays out an argument against the Vietnam War, and posits that working for civil rights is just one part of a greater struggle for social justice around the world. (I can't really write anything that isn't dwarfed by King's own words.)

Democracy Now! reports that "Time magazine called the speech 'demagogic slander that sounded like a script for Radio Hanoi,' and the Washington Post declared that King had 'diminished his usefulness to his cause, his country, his people.'"

We still have a choice today: nonviolent coexistence or violent co-annihilation. We must move past indecision to action. We must find new ways to speak for peace in Vietnam and justice throughout the developing world, a world that borders on our doors. If we do not act, we shall surely be dragged down the long, dark, and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.

What have we done in the past 41 years? Listen to or read the speech here.

Bravo!

I woke up before dawn yesterday (another bravo, but not the subject of this post) in order to take John to the start of his first brevet. "Brevet" is French for "diploma," and John definitely deserves one. Brevets are long bike rides that come in several flavors: 200 km, 300 km, 400 km, 600 km, and 1200 km. Riders are called "randonneurs," French for "rambler." This one was 200 km, or 126 miles, which works out to be about 120 more miles than I ride to get to school each day. They started in Malibu, headed up the coast to Carpinteria on PCH, and then came back again. At about 6:30 pm, John arrived back at the start point tired, hungry, 6 pounds lighter (eek! that's 2.72 L of lost fluids!) and happy. Well, happy to see pizza, at least. I'm really proud of him and I told him that lots in the brief time before he passed out last night. He's got me excited about riding more and covering more distance, and I'm unnaturally interested in this 1230 km ride that happens every four years called the Paris-Brest-Paris. Riders ride from -- well, duh -- Paris to Brest in the northwest of France and back again. My mostly-rejuvenated randonneur pulled no punches when he pointed out that we had to stop every few miles on our wine country ride. I'm sticking to my story that it was the incredibly yummy trail mix we were carrying that day. So a huge BRAVO to John and a promise that I'll be up to doing the next one with him. In the words of Yoda: “Do or do not... there is no try."

ISO: POTUS

I've had the plague for the past couple of days (on the mend now), so I've had some time with the NyQuil bottle to contemplate the Big Picture. I realized that while I could tell you how a candidate's sympathetic nervous system is responding on the podium (assuming they're all mammals), I don't really know that much about the 2008 presidential election. I was too embarrassed to admit to my parents that I watched the caucus results on the local evening news. Then my dad came up with some gossip about John Edwards and a $400 haircut. Further embarrassment when I had no knowledge of it and no retort.

Grassroots politics died for me the day Howard Dean made that weird noise, but I think -- after four years -- that I'm ready to see other candidates. Given my relative success with online dating in the past, I submit to you a list of what I'm looking for. In no particular order:

1. Speak. It's not right that I have to change radio stations when All Things Considered plays a clip of the leader of our country speaking. I really don't think I've made it through a full clip in seven or so years ... I just wait to read it in print and the pain is a little easier to bear.

2. Read. Books. With chapters. Bookstores are piled high with delicious texts -- history, economics, foreign policy, sociology -- these might come in handy when running the world. I'm jealous. Read the books that I can't because I just started the page-turner Lippincott's Biochemistry and Molecular Biology.

3. Iraq. Fix it. I don't know how, but do it. I'm sure there are a lot of smart people out there who have spent their whole careers thinking about the Middle East. Type "civil war" and "Iraq" into Google Scholar and see who pops up. Invite them over for coffee. They might even have written a book (see #2.)

3a. The War on Terror. Enough already. It's 2008 and we're debating whether or not "simulating the experience of drowning" constitutes torture. We're combing Central Asia for some guy in renal failure. I'm more tired of it than the folks making infographics over it CNN. My children are going to ask me about it, like I asked my parents about Viet Nam or McCarthy, and I'm not going to have a good explanation.

4. The Planet. Start fixing it, too. There is so much to do, I'll just give you the basics. Oil. Sucks. Stop killing people for it, stop running things with it, stop making things out of it. Got it? Ratify the Kyoto Protocol already, and I mean this one, not the second one they come up with in 2012. (Hey, another guy you may want to have coffee with. You may just hit it off, but don't ask him about the recount.)

5. Health Care. Um, fix it. I subscribe to the radical notion that all human beings deserve access to medicine. You should too.

6. Sex. Just a few items here, but generally none of your business. You hopefully consider most of this topic to be part of #5 and not #7. We can have it with whomever we want, we should have the opportunity to learn how to protect ourselves against diseases and unintended pregnancies, and we should fund all of the same overseas.

7. Religion. Generally none of your business, and evolution happened.

Extra Credit
A. War on Drugs - Pointless. Racist.
B. Race - Still matters.
C. Guns - You may own one (1) if, for some reason, you are dependent on game as your sole source of protein.
D. Bike - Ride one. Cool.

That's about it. Time to put down the green syrup, turn on the NPR and wade through a year's worth of sound bites. But maybe I'll watch "Obama Girl" one more time. (Obama vs. Giuliani is actually my favorite.)

P.S. - I really hope that I get put back on some watch list when I hit "Publish" because I've been missing that personal touch at airport security.

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, everyone!

What I've been up to ...

That's John and me at SantaCon, a gathering of hundreds of Santas who wander the malls and street of Los Angeles shouting "Buy more stuff!" and singing dirty Christmas carols and generally making trouble.

I was "hipster Santa," so I tried to be ironic by dressing in black, attaching a pom-pom to my Swobo riding beanie and wearing large sunglasses.

We got a police escort out of Pan Pacific Park, who explained that this convergence of Santas might be a distraction from some other, more sinister activity (starts with "t" and ends with "errorism") ?!? It ain't a party until the LAPD helicopters start circling overhead.

We got some media coverage thanks to Boing Boing tv, who ran not one, but two features about us. We were generally wary of television cameras in our face, but the Boing Boing pieces turned out pretty good. We know the "OH-kay" guy, along with most of Santas flipping off the camera or hitting on the reporter.

But I haven't spent all my time wandering the streets. I passed my Block 2 exam, and oh, boy did I pass. I even passed the anatomy section, which I've never done before. That's the test where they stick little pins with flags on body parts -- a human golf course -- and ask you to identify parts. I'm sure there are people who got 95% and are flagellating themselves over that missed 5%, but I am relishing my delicious 78%. Cut-and-paste of my butt-kicking score:

Final Exam

Title	Grade
Anatomy (100 pts.)	82.5 (82.5%) *
Final Exam - Part A (100 pts.)	80 (80%) *
Final Exam - Part B (100 pts.)	70 (70%) *
Final Exam - Part C (100 pts.)	72.22 (72.22%) *
Final Exam - Part D (100 pts.)	90 (90%) *

Category Average

78.94 (78.94%)

To summarize, WOO HOO!

Spent some time at home with my family. We agreed to do a "low key" Christmas and pretty much dispense with gift giving. I'd have to say it was one the most relaxing, enjoyable Christmases I've had. My family, on Christmas morning, eating cinnamon rolls and wearing paper crowns from the English crackers we just exploded:

What a nice family. Not one you'd see roaming the streets of Los Angeles. From left: Mike, my sister's sometimes boyfriend; Kat, my sister; me; my Dad; my Mom.

John wasn't able to make Christmas day -- he does have family of his own -- but he stopped by long enough to flip the hub on my bike and turn it into a fixed gear. For those who don't know what this is: this makes it so that your pedalling is directly linked to your rear wheel. No coasting, all pedalling. Why? You ask. Some say it makes for a smoother riding experience, and makes you a better rider. Some would say it's a silly fad, but I wanted to try it out.

Me, posing with my bike. I can ride it too, sort of.

Other tidbits: Welcome back, Kirsten, Chris, and Soren to the Lower 48. They are settling back into life in tropical Providence, RI after 6-ish months in Alaska. I hope she keeps her blog going, though, even though she doesn't have moose in her backyard anymore.

Got to go think of some resolutions ... #1: Write more often and with more substance, #2 ...