babysitters/sitter's club memories
Thanks for the memories. First, from Maria:
Man Michelle...and I thought I had a great memory for oddball things from years before but you take the cake. I felt suddenly 10 (or whatever age I was when i read the series) again when i read your description of the Babysitters Club. (BTW, i have no idea about whether it's babysitters club or babysitter's club).
Okay, here's one storyline i remember: Mallory and Jessi were not allowed to join the Club because of some fixed "test" the older members did. The test included required a drawing part: they had to draw the digestive system, cuz duh, being able to draw that would instantly solve all of the kids stomachaches! So for a while, they form their own club out of spite, which only gets clients from Mallory's family. But the older members ultimately relent and let them join, albeit in slave Junior member status.
Oh yeah, I remember that one. I guess we were all supposed to cheer for Mallory when she finally got to be a junior member of the BSC, but I didn't. Because I hated Mallory.
And, from Cecily:
Remember the time when Mary Anne and Logan went to their first dance, and she was so shy that she didn't dance with him for almost the entire night? So he was stuck dancing with every girl who wanted him (and there were a lot of girls.) When she finally did, she accidentally kicked off her shoe and was so mortified she went home immediately? Then she got a kitten, Tigger.
Oh yeah, good one. I also kind of hated Mary Anne. Why I kept reading books where I hated almost all the characters (or at least got intensely annoyed with them on a regular basis), I will never understand. And I just could not believe that Logan would go for Mary Anne. If he was really that cute, he would have totally gone for one of the other slutty girls that would put out. Except, of course, that he was gay, so perfect cover, go out with the girl only allows hand-holding. Tigger was cute, though.
Mallory had to baby-sit for these twin terrors who "spoke" to each other in gibberish, and she finally got them to behave when she taught them pig-latin. eshay ishay osay oolcay.
Yeah, and their names were Marilyn and Carolyn, right? Why do I still remember that? And then at the end, it turns out they were having an identity crisis, and they became perfect children once their parents allowed them to get makeovers and redecorate their rooms. Which just goes to show you, a trip to the mall can solve all problems in Stoneybrook, Connecticut. Except when Mary Anne got her fugly super-short haircut at the mall, then it actually created problems.
The supersize books, I can't remember what exactly they were called. One was on a cruise, one was on sleep-away camp, etc.? In the camp one Mary Anne got more respect from her fellow junior counselors when she snuck over to see Logan on the boys' side and got caught on the way over.
Oh yeah, "Super Specials," I think they were called. The best one was the first one, where they all got to go on the cruise to Disneyland. I can't believe Kristy's rich stepfather paid for them all to go. I mean, I literally cannot believe it. Who does that? I mean, he's just a millionaire, not a billionaire. Kristy is no Ally Hillfiger. And in the second Super Special, the one where all the BSC members were CITs ("Counselors in Training") at some sleepaway camp, Logan's camp buddies made fun of him because his girlfriend is a "feeb." As in "feeble." That was awesome. I always wanted to use that slang, but was afraid that people would misconstrue it into thinking I was saying something actually offensive.
The problem with the BSC books is kind of the problem that I had with going into Pediatrics. Not that this has borne out to be the case, now that I've met my fellow residents, but I was worried that I was entering a field where everyone was all, "I love kids! I've worked with kids forever! Even in utero, I was taking care of immature follicles in my mother's ovaries! I worked as a nanny and a schoolteacher and a camp counselor and in my free time, I would volunteer for 'Reach Out and Read!' Kids! Love 'em!" Basically I was afraid that by going into Pediatrics, I would be joining The Babysitters Club. Thank God I was wrong.
Any more Babysitters Club Memories, send them my way. They will be shared as they are recieved. Thanks, Maria and Cecily!
Wednesday, November 26, 2003
toothache
As nice as it is to be on vacation, it's equally nice to be home. In Coleen's words, "It's nice to be where everything is comfortable and to have all your stuff around you." Word, sister.
So today I went to the dentist to get my chipped tooth fixed and my excavated filling replaced. Turns out the dentist felt the best course of action would be to clear out the filling entirely and place a porcelain cap over the tooth. Fine, you're the boss, as long as I don't have some gold tooth like a rap star. (Unless it was one of the front teeth, and had a diamond in it. Then I would be awesome.) The bad thing about this whole dental plan was that it involved drilling out the rest of my old filling, which came quite dangerously close to the nerve root. Even as the lidocaine was wearing off, I was having some discomfort. By the time I got home, I was in agony. The pain was like that of a thousand rusty nails jammed into my lower jaw. I was literally tearing from the pain. I was convinced that he had nicked the nerve root, and that I would need a root canal. And the worst of it all was that I had no discomfort at all upon going into the dentist's office. I walk in normal, and walk out with a jaw full of nails! What is this medieval torture that you call a dental practice, man? I called the dentist and he gave me another appointment for the end of the day, telling me quite rationally to come in if Motrin and Tylenol weren't doing the trick. I tearfully and a little bit frantically told them that they were not.
But I guess he was right. Three hours later, the pain had abated almost back to normal. A dull ache, but nothing like it was before, and certainly nothing that I couldn't handle. I guess the man knows of what he speaks. Maybe my nerve had still vibrating from fear from the drill bit driving dangerously close to the tooth pulp. And now its calmed down. Man, whatever the reason, I don't care, just as long as it never does that again. Tooth pain like that is something I've never experienced before and would gladly never experience again. I guess its some kind of evolutionary adaptation , so we don't die toothless and hungry in the woods or something, but man, having people mess with my teeth freaks me out.
As nice as it is to be on vacation, it's equally nice to be home. In Coleen's words, "It's nice to be where everything is comfortable and to have all your stuff around you." Word, sister.
So today I went to the dentist to get my chipped tooth fixed and my excavated filling replaced. Turns out the dentist felt the best course of action would be to clear out the filling entirely and place a porcelain cap over the tooth. Fine, you're the boss, as long as I don't have some gold tooth like a rap star. (Unless it was one of the front teeth, and had a diamond in it. Then I would be awesome.) The bad thing about this whole dental plan was that it involved drilling out the rest of my old filling, which came quite dangerously close to the nerve root. Even as the lidocaine was wearing off, I was having some discomfort. By the time I got home, I was in agony. The pain was like that of a thousand rusty nails jammed into my lower jaw. I was literally tearing from the pain. I was convinced that he had nicked the nerve root, and that I would need a root canal. And the worst of it all was that I had no discomfort at all upon going into the dentist's office. I walk in normal, and walk out with a jaw full of nails! What is this medieval torture that you call a dental practice, man? I called the dentist and he gave me another appointment for the end of the day, telling me quite rationally to come in if Motrin and Tylenol weren't doing the trick. I tearfully and a little bit frantically told them that they were not.
But I guess he was right. Three hours later, the pain had abated almost back to normal. A dull ache, but nothing like it was before, and certainly nothing that I couldn't handle. I guess the man knows of what he speaks. Maybe my nerve had still vibrating from fear from the drill bit driving dangerously close to the tooth pulp. And now its calmed down. Man, whatever the reason, I don't care, just as long as it never does that again. Tooth pain like that is something I've never experienced before and would gladly never experience again. I guess its some kind of evolutionary adaptation , so we don't die toothless and hungry in the woods or something, but man, having people mess with my teeth freaks me out.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
cheese steak, anyone?
I'm writing this from the airport in Philly, where I have an hour and a half layover before my flight back into Laguardia. The trip was perfect--beautiful hotel, perfect weather, good times with Coleen. And the best of all is that all the airport experiences have been so painless. Seamless connections, short lines, airport shuttles showing up on time to the second. Not even all this "orange alert" nonsense has slowed me down. What's going on here? I'm worried this means I'm due for some bad travel karma soon. Well, I did spill my Diet Coke on my seat, where it pooled under my crotch and made it look like I made pee-pees on myself. See? Karma.
The airport in Philly is gorgeous. Shiny, modern, and functional, it could kick the ass of any of the three airports in the New York area. What are we doing in such a big metropolis with three sub-par airports? The airport in Rochester was nicer than Laguardia. Have we no shame? Why can't we have a pretty airport like this one? It's like a mall here! They have a Gap and a Bath and Body Works in the airport! Damn, I should come here to do my Christmas shopping.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some airport newsstand magazines I need to read.
I'm writing this from the airport in Philly, where I have an hour and a half layover before my flight back into Laguardia. The trip was perfect--beautiful hotel, perfect weather, good times with Coleen. And the best of all is that all the airport experiences have been so painless. Seamless connections, short lines, airport shuttles showing up on time to the second. Not even all this "orange alert" nonsense has slowed me down. What's going on here? I'm worried this means I'm due for some bad travel karma soon. Well, I did spill my Diet Coke on my seat, where it pooled under my crotch and made it look like I made pee-pees on myself. See? Karma.
The airport in Philly is gorgeous. Shiny, modern, and functional, it could kick the ass of any of the three airports in the New York area. What are we doing in such a big metropolis with three sub-par airports? The airport in Rochester was nicer than Laguardia. Have we no shame? Why can't we have a pretty airport like this one? It's like a mall here! They have a Gap and a Bath and Body Works in the airport! Damn, I should come here to do my Christmas shopping.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some airport newsstand magazines I need to read.
Friday, November 21, 2003
the babysitters club
Let us talk for a moment, shall we, about "The Babysitters Club".
"The Babysitters Club" and "Sweet Valley High" went hand in hand. She who read one series read the other. It was inevitable, like "The Real World" and "Road Rules." You might prefer one over the other, but you always kept tabs on both.
The series was about five thirteen year-old girls and the two eleven year-old dorkettes who hung out with them. These girls were all BFF, and they had a babysitting call-in service wherein they would meet three days a week and field calls from the seemingly limitless pool of clients in their suburban Connecticut neighborhood. The cast of characters was as follows:
KRISTY was the president of the club. She was, as was kindly pointed out at the beginning of each and every book, "a tomboy." She didn't care about makeup! Or hair! She wore the same turtleneck and sweater every day! And she was good at sports! And so very bossy! In retrospect, it is completely obvious to me that Kristy was a budding young lesbian. Yeah, she had that flirtation with Bart, who coached the rival softball league, but come on now. So gay. Kristy had four brothers, and her mom married a rich guy, so they all had to move into his mansion and hang out with his two annoying kids from a previous marriage. They kept making such a big deal of the fact that Watson (that was the name of the rich guy) was a "millionaire," but really, isn't everyone in Connecticut?
CLAUDIA was the vice-president of the club, but I don't think she really had to do anything except let everyone have the meetings in her room. She was Japanese, but seemed to have absolutely no sense of Asian culture whatsoever, nor did anyone in her family, with the exception of her grandmother "Mimi," who spoke in pidgen English and would totter around making tea all the time. Claudia was funky fly fresh. Like, she would wear leggings under skirts! And big t-shirts with pictures of fruit on them! Sassy! And she loved junk food! How'd she stay so skinny then? Mystery of the Orient, baby. Also, Claudia was, like, dyslexic or something. She was never formerly diagnosed in the series (or if she was, it was after I stopped reading), but have you seen those journal entries she writes? Man! She needs to get tested so she can petition for some extra time on her SATs.
STACY was even more funky fly fresh than Claudia, because she was from New. York. CITY! Oh my god, what could be more sophisticated than that? Nothing but...being in THE BABYSITTERS CLUB! Stacy was the club treasurer, because she was good at math. Yeah, making change, that's a huge mental task there. (Don't ask Claudia to do it, though. Remember, she's dumb.) Stacy's "thing" (like how Claudia's thing was her bad studentship and Kristy's thing was her gayness) was that she had THE DIABETES. That's right, her PANCREAS didn't make INSULIN and she had to PRICK HER FINGER every day and take SHOTS. (This was also patiently outlined at the beginning of every single book. In case you forgot from the previous 52 books in the series, you know.) One time she even had to go into the hospital! She was in DKA! That was very educational for me. Oh, also, Stacy was too cool for school because her mom let her get perms. Nothing says urban sophistication like a PERM.
MARY ANNE was a total pansy. She was the club secretary, because that's what total pansies do, take minutes in their perfect, Palmer-script handwriting. Her mom died, like, a million years ago, so her dad was totally strict with her. He made her wear her hair in braids and wear a pleated skirt every single day! Loosen up, DAD! And then he did, because she babysat for a kid who had a high fever, and Mary Anne called an ambulance and everything. And at the hospital, they bathed the kid in alcohol, and her fever came down. Um, DON'T DO THAT. It's called Tylenol, folks. But anyway, her dad was all, like, "I guess you're mature now," and let her unbraid her hair. Then, later, she got some really horrifyingly ugly mushroom haircut and ruined everything. Oh, also, Mary Anne had a boyfriend. His name was Logan, and he was from the South. I think she was his beard, though, because Logan was also totally gay. He was a thirteen year-old MALE BABY SITTER. And he did makeovers on the side. He should make over Kristy.
DAWN was a late addition to the BSC (meaning she didn't make her appearance until Book #8 or something) because she just moved to Stonybrook from California. Dawn was the alternate officer (meaning she filled in for other members when they were absent, which they never, ever were because they had no lives) and her "thing" was that her parents were divorced. Also, that she was from California, so she liked to eat freaky health food and had really long blonde hair, like a young Darryl Hannah. Dawn's mom eventually falls in love with Mary Anne's dad (the one who's wife conveniently DIED) and eventually get married in an East-West Marriage Fest, making Dawn and Mary Anne SISTERS! Alllll right!
MALLORY and JESSI (not Jessie or Jessy, mind you, but JESSI) were two eleven year-old girls that were junior members of the BSC. OK, so let's first talk about how implausible it is that 1.) eight graders would even deign to hang out with sixth graders, like, EVER, and 2.) any parent would trust their child to an ELEVEN year old. Have you SEEN eleven year-old children? They still have pieces of amniotic sac hanging off them! But anyway, let us suspend disbelief for a moment and just accept the fact that yes, there were Junior Officers. Mallory was the oldest of eight children, because her parents didn't use birth control. And she was a total nerd. She wore glasses and makes out with books. And yes, that sounds like me as a teenager, but at least my defining characteristic wasn't my self-professed love for BOOKS ABOUT HORSES. (That's very sexual, by the way.) Jessi also loves books about horses (that's how they got so tight) but her other big thing was that she was BLACK. That's right, there are BLACK people in Stonybrook, CT! OK, so there's just that one family, but still. She and Mallory are best friends, like Ebony and Ivory. Jessi was also supposed to be some big ballet star, as we were constantly reminded by her attending club meetings in her leotard or sitting on the floor in splits. Um, ew.
And with this brief intro, I would like to open the table to your "Babysitters Club" memories. And if you could tell me if its "Babysitters' Club" (possessive) or "Babysitters Club" (simple plural), that would really help me out. It's been bothering me all day. As mentioned before, I'm leaving for Cancun early tomorrow morning, to return late Tuesday night, but any memories e-mailed to me will be posted when I return.
Let us talk for a moment, shall we, about "The Babysitters Club".
"The Babysitters Club" and "Sweet Valley High" went hand in hand. She who read one series read the other. It was inevitable, like "The Real World" and "Road Rules." You might prefer one over the other, but you always kept tabs on both.
The series was about five thirteen year-old girls and the two eleven year-old dorkettes who hung out with them. These girls were all BFF, and they had a babysitting call-in service wherein they would meet three days a week and field calls from the seemingly limitless pool of clients in their suburban Connecticut neighborhood. The cast of characters was as follows:
KRISTY was the president of the club. She was, as was kindly pointed out at the beginning of each and every book, "a tomboy." She didn't care about makeup! Or hair! She wore the same turtleneck and sweater every day! And she was good at sports! And so very bossy! In retrospect, it is completely obvious to me that Kristy was a budding young lesbian. Yeah, she had that flirtation with Bart, who coached the rival softball league, but come on now. So gay. Kristy had four brothers, and her mom married a rich guy, so they all had to move into his mansion and hang out with his two annoying kids from a previous marriage. They kept making such a big deal of the fact that Watson (that was the name of the rich guy) was a "millionaire," but really, isn't everyone in Connecticut?
CLAUDIA was the vice-president of the club, but I don't think she really had to do anything except let everyone have the meetings in her room. She was Japanese, but seemed to have absolutely no sense of Asian culture whatsoever, nor did anyone in her family, with the exception of her grandmother "Mimi," who spoke in pidgen English and would totter around making tea all the time. Claudia was funky fly fresh. Like, she would wear leggings under skirts! And big t-shirts with pictures of fruit on them! Sassy! And she loved junk food! How'd she stay so skinny then? Mystery of the Orient, baby. Also, Claudia was, like, dyslexic or something. She was never formerly diagnosed in the series (or if she was, it was after I stopped reading), but have you seen those journal entries she writes? Man! She needs to get tested so she can petition for some extra time on her SATs.
STACY was even more funky fly fresh than Claudia, because she was from New. York. CITY! Oh my god, what could be more sophisticated than that? Nothing but...being in THE BABYSITTERS CLUB! Stacy was the club treasurer, because she was good at math. Yeah, making change, that's a huge mental task there. (Don't ask Claudia to do it, though. Remember, she's dumb.) Stacy's "thing" (like how Claudia's thing was her bad studentship and Kristy's thing was her gayness) was that she had THE DIABETES. That's right, her PANCREAS didn't make INSULIN and she had to PRICK HER FINGER every day and take SHOTS. (This was also patiently outlined at the beginning of every single book. In case you forgot from the previous 52 books in the series, you know.) One time she even had to go into the hospital! She was in DKA! That was very educational for me. Oh, also, Stacy was too cool for school because her mom let her get perms. Nothing says urban sophistication like a PERM.
MARY ANNE was a total pansy. She was the club secretary, because that's what total pansies do, take minutes in their perfect, Palmer-script handwriting. Her mom died, like, a million years ago, so her dad was totally strict with her. He made her wear her hair in braids and wear a pleated skirt every single day! Loosen up, DAD! And then he did, because she babysat for a kid who had a high fever, and Mary Anne called an ambulance and everything. And at the hospital, they bathed the kid in alcohol, and her fever came down. Um, DON'T DO THAT. It's called Tylenol, folks. But anyway, her dad was all, like, "I guess you're mature now," and let her unbraid her hair. Then, later, she got some really horrifyingly ugly mushroom haircut and ruined everything. Oh, also, Mary Anne had a boyfriend. His name was Logan, and he was from the South. I think she was his beard, though, because Logan was also totally gay. He was a thirteen year-old MALE BABY SITTER. And he did makeovers on the side. He should make over Kristy.
DAWN was a late addition to the BSC (meaning she didn't make her appearance until Book #8 or something) because she just moved to Stonybrook from California. Dawn was the alternate officer (meaning she filled in for other members when they were absent, which they never, ever were because they had no lives) and her "thing" was that her parents were divorced. Also, that she was from California, so she liked to eat freaky health food and had really long blonde hair, like a young Darryl Hannah. Dawn's mom eventually falls in love with Mary Anne's dad (the one who's wife conveniently DIED) and eventually get married in an East-West Marriage Fest, making Dawn and Mary Anne SISTERS! Alllll right!
MALLORY and JESSI (not Jessie or Jessy, mind you, but JESSI) were two eleven year-old girls that were junior members of the BSC. OK, so let's first talk about how implausible it is that 1.) eight graders would even deign to hang out with sixth graders, like, EVER, and 2.) any parent would trust their child to an ELEVEN year old. Have you SEEN eleven year-old children? They still have pieces of amniotic sac hanging off them! But anyway, let us suspend disbelief for a moment and just accept the fact that yes, there were Junior Officers. Mallory was the oldest of eight children, because her parents didn't use birth control. And she was a total nerd. She wore glasses and makes out with books. And yes, that sounds like me as a teenager, but at least my defining characteristic wasn't my self-professed love for BOOKS ABOUT HORSES. (That's very sexual, by the way.) Jessi also loves books about horses (that's how they got so tight) but her other big thing was that she was BLACK. That's right, there are BLACK people in Stonybrook, CT! OK, so there's just that one family, but still. She and Mallory are best friends, like Ebony and Ivory. Jessi was also supposed to be some big ballet star, as we were constantly reminded by her attending club meetings in her leotard or sitting on the floor in splits. Um, ew.
And with this brief intro, I would like to open the table to your "Babysitters Club" memories. And if you could tell me if its "Babysitters' Club" (possessive) or "Babysitters Club" (simple plural), that would really help me out. It's been bothering me all day. As mentioned before, I'm leaving for Cancun early tomorrow morning, to return late Tuesday night, but any memories e-mailed to me will be posted when I return.
I return, only to go away again
Hey, sorry there were no updates for a few days. It's been busy around here. Well, kind of, but not really.
The day before yesterday, it was rainy for, like, the hundred billionth day in a row, and the dog was getting so restless that I thought she was going out of her mind, taking me with her. So I took her for half-day doggy day-care at the dog spa. Shut up. It's a legitimate thing. Basically, she got to run around a huge room with other dogs for an six hours. It's the equivalent of dropping your kids off in the ball room at IKEA.
While she rolled around at the dog spa, comingling fur and drool, I decided to do something to "pamper" myself. Everyone's been telling me to do this. "Go pamper yourself, you're on vacation." So I decided to go an get a facial. My face was all tired and dry-looking, but also oily--apparently I have "combination skin," according to the aesthetician, a very nice Korean lady who didn't speak any English outside of facial-speak. So I got the facial, and I kind of liked it, but not as much as the first one I got. The reason I didn't like it as much is because they did this "deep cleaning European treatment" which kind of hurt. And don't be fooled by the fancy words, because when people giving you facials want to do deep cleaning, what it really means is that they want to squeeze your zits. They squeezed out all my subterranean zits, people. Some of them I didn't even know were there. And that would have been fine with me, I can live with invisible zits. So now I have all these little red dots on my face from the squeezing. Call me crazy, but doesn't that look worse than before the cleansing? Now I understand why I was advised not to get a facial right before my wedding.
Yesterday, Joe's sister came to visit from out of town with her four year-old daughter. My mom asked me the other day, "when is your niece coming into town?" and I was all confused, like, girlfriend, I don't got no niece. But I guess I do now. Joe's niece is my niece. Anyway, we had a good time, and did all manner of kid-entertainment sightseeing,which is a nice change from adult-oriented sightseeing. No boring Empire State Building or Circle Line Tours. Yes to FAO Schwarz and dinosaur exhibit at the Museum of Natural History! Also fun is the fact that kids have to eat constantly. Even though we had a 1pm lunch at Ruby Foo's, we still had to stop by McDonalds for some grub before they hopped on their bus back to Baltimore. The McDonalds we went to in Times Square (my second most hated of squares, behind Herald Square) was all glitzy and neon-signed, not unlike Vegas. The four-year old was suitably impressed. (Until she slipped off the barstool and hit her chin. Then she was mad.)
We also went to this place on Fifth Avenue that I didn't know existed, called American Girl Place. This is a store that sells scary baby dolls that you can custom make to look like you. Also, you can buy scary clothes for your scary baby doll, and buy matching clothes to wear yourself, so that you and your doll are twins. And don't forget to buy the accessories and baby basket and tea set and matching bedroom set for your baby doll! Or else maybe your doll won't like you anymore and will run away. You're a bad parent for not getting the Bitty Twins their winter fun collection! Seriously, these dolls live better than I do. And they're frigging creepy! They look like dolls that might, secretly, be plotting to kill you while you sleep. But Karli (the kid) loved them. I mean manically, insanely loved them. I got her the tea set for Christmas while she wasn't looking.
One sort of interesting feature they had in the store was the cafe, where you could bring your doll (and your rich parents) to have lunch. They have little high chairs and tiny china setting for the doll and everything. And fancy pants lunch with doll-sized portions. It's a cute idea for kids (they even have "loaner" dolls for kids who forgot to bring their own, as Karli did) but I am still embittered towards them because we only ordered coffee and were still charged a $9.00 "sitting fee" per person to sit in their precious cafe. For the money, we might as well has ordered the lunch! (You will notice that the lunch is prix fixe only, no ordering a la carte at all. That's how they get you.) They should have warned us, is all I'm saying. No one else in the place seemed to mind, however. Almost without exception, the parents and kids in the store were straight out of MTV's "Rich Girls." Tiny little Upper East Side girls, immaculately dressed, with shiny Prada-clad mothers. I saw two kids, aged four and six, getting on the escalator in matching Burburry pants. Believe the hype of "Rich Girls," people. It is 100% true. Which is why that show is awesome.
Gotta get some errands done now, as I'm leaving for Cancun early tomorrow morning. But check back later this afternoon for (by reader request) discussion on our favorite other tween series, "The Babysitters Club." Or, as I like to call it, "The BSC." I'm down with BSC, yeah you know me.
Hey, sorry there were no updates for a few days. It's been busy around here. Well, kind of, but not really.
The day before yesterday, it was rainy for, like, the hundred billionth day in a row, and the dog was getting so restless that I thought she was going out of her mind, taking me with her. So I took her for half-day doggy day-care at the dog spa. Shut up. It's a legitimate thing. Basically, she got to run around a huge room with other dogs for an six hours. It's the equivalent of dropping your kids off in the ball room at IKEA.
While she rolled around at the dog spa, comingling fur and drool, I decided to do something to "pamper" myself. Everyone's been telling me to do this. "Go pamper yourself, you're on vacation." So I decided to go an get a facial. My face was all tired and dry-looking, but also oily--apparently I have "combination skin," according to the aesthetician, a very nice Korean lady who didn't speak any English outside of facial-speak. So I got the facial, and I kind of liked it, but not as much as the first one I got. The reason I didn't like it as much is because they did this "deep cleaning European treatment" which kind of hurt. And don't be fooled by the fancy words, because when people giving you facials want to do deep cleaning, what it really means is that they want to squeeze your zits. They squeezed out all my subterranean zits, people. Some of them I didn't even know were there. And that would have been fine with me, I can live with invisible zits. So now I have all these little red dots on my face from the squeezing. Call me crazy, but doesn't that look worse than before the cleansing? Now I understand why I was advised not to get a facial right before my wedding.
Yesterday, Joe's sister came to visit from out of town with her four year-old daughter. My mom asked me the other day, "when is your niece coming into town?" and I was all confused, like, girlfriend, I don't got no niece. But I guess I do now. Joe's niece is my niece. Anyway, we had a good time, and did all manner of kid-entertainment sightseeing,which is a nice change from adult-oriented sightseeing. No boring Empire State Building or Circle Line Tours. Yes to FAO Schwarz and dinosaur exhibit at the Museum of Natural History! Also fun is the fact that kids have to eat constantly. Even though we had a 1pm lunch at Ruby Foo's, we still had to stop by McDonalds for some grub before they hopped on their bus back to Baltimore. The McDonalds we went to in Times Square (my second most hated of squares, behind Herald Square) was all glitzy and neon-signed, not unlike Vegas. The four-year old was suitably impressed. (Until she slipped off the barstool and hit her chin. Then she was mad.)
We also went to this place on Fifth Avenue that I didn't know existed, called American Girl Place. This is a store that sells scary baby dolls that you can custom make to look like you. Also, you can buy scary clothes for your scary baby doll, and buy matching clothes to wear yourself, so that you and your doll are twins. And don't forget to buy the accessories and baby basket and tea set and matching bedroom set for your baby doll! Or else maybe your doll won't like you anymore and will run away. You're a bad parent for not getting the Bitty Twins their winter fun collection! Seriously, these dolls live better than I do. And they're frigging creepy! They look like dolls that might, secretly, be plotting to kill you while you sleep. But Karli (the kid) loved them. I mean manically, insanely loved them. I got her the tea set for Christmas while she wasn't looking.
One sort of interesting feature they had in the store was the cafe, where you could bring your doll (and your rich parents) to have lunch. They have little high chairs and tiny china setting for the doll and everything. And fancy pants lunch with doll-sized portions. It's a cute idea for kids (they even have "loaner" dolls for kids who forgot to bring their own, as Karli did) but I am still embittered towards them because we only ordered coffee and were still charged a $9.00 "sitting fee" per person to sit in their precious cafe. For the money, we might as well has ordered the lunch! (You will notice that the lunch is prix fixe only, no ordering a la carte at all. That's how they get you.) They should have warned us, is all I'm saying. No one else in the place seemed to mind, however. Almost without exception, the parents and kids in the store were straight out of MTV's "Rich Girls." Tiny little Upper East Side girls, immaculately dressed, with shiny Prada-clad mothers. I saw two kids, aged four and six, getting on the escalator in matching Burburry pants. Believe the hype of "Rich Girls," people. It is 100% true. Which is why that show is awesome.
Gotta get some errands done now, as I'm leaving for Cancun early tomorrow morning. But check back later this afternoon for (by reader request) discussion on our favorite other tween series, "The Babysitters Club." Or, as I like to call it, "The BSC." I'm down with BSC, yeah you know me.
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
thank god for sweet valley high
See, this is why I have to go to Cancun this vacation. What did I do all day? Basically sit around and file wedding photos. And walk the dog. And go to the supermarket. I'm a hausfrau! Help me! I even tried to go to the dentist today to fix my fallen-out-filling, but I think he's in his Long Island office today.
At least the Sweet Valley Memories keep on coming. They were my sole source of entertainment today. This, from Jerri (thanks, Jerri!):
Do you remember the time Elizabeth was kidnapped by that psycho guy who wanted to steal her away to some secluded house in the woods and marry her, but before that she was just tied up on his couch for a few weeks, and he wouldn't even leave her alone when she had to pee?
Oh yeah, good one! Elizabeth was working as a candy striper at the hospital. So first of all, how TYPICAL that Elizabeth would be a candy striper? Also, what is a candy striper? We don't have them at our hospital. But anyway, she's this volunteer, and this orderly, "Frank" or something, is crazy. That is to say, crazy in LOVE with Elizabeth. So he puts choloroform on a rag and abducts Elizabeth in the parking lot as she's getting into her car! And takes her to his crazy-man Unabomber shack in the woods! She's all tied up and everything! And no one knows where Elizabeth is, until Jessica comes to the hospital and Frank sees her, and is all like, "Jigga-wha? Didn't I leave you tied up in my shack?" Because he didn't KNOW Elizabeth had an identical twin! Oh snap! And then Jessica tells the police and Elizabeth, she is saved! Indeed, that book was awesome. Jerri continues:
And to use pee as a delightful segue into a Sweet Valley Twins book...do you remember the one when the twins had a sleepover, but Lila didn't want to come, and it was because she wets the bed whenever she's not sleeping at home?
And then there was that one when the twins went to a carnival and wished that they were big, and the next morning they woke up and were 25 years old, and all Jessica could say was "look, I have boobs!"
I have to admit, I missed those since I didn't read quite as many "Sweet Valley Twins" as "Sweet Valley High" (because I was so mature), but those sound good. Wasn't there another one where Lila's dad might lose his fortune (they were nouveau riche), and Lila totally lies and says that the reason they don't have a chauffer anymore is because the chauffer got beri beri? (That's cardiomyopathy and Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome caused by thiamine deficiency, Lila, just so you know.)
And another, from my sister:
let's not forget the one where olivia has to choose between being an artist and "practical" (because they are mutually exclusive you know), and by a powerful sense of fate, even though she's cut all of her hair off, she decides to be an artist. (because elizabeth as so sad to see her painting fruit instead of blobs.)
What my sister fails to mention, however, is how Olivia has such a "funky" fashion sense. Like the time she put her hair up into a ponytail and stuck it through the hole of an old Elvis LP! Oh, and artist and a wild dresser, she is indeed the Claudia Kishi of Sweet Valley High.
See, this is why I have to go to Cancun this vacation. What did I do all day? Basically sit around and file wedding photos. And walk the dog. And go to the supermarket. I'm a hausfrau! Help me! I even tried to go to the dentist today to fix my fallen-out-filling, but I think he's in his Long Island office today.
At least the Sweet Valley Memories keep on coming. They were my sole source of entertainment today. This, from Jerri (thanks, Jerri!):
Do you remember the time Elizabeth was kidnapped by that psycho guy who wanted to steal her away to some secluded house in the woods and marry her, but before that she was just tied up on his couch for a few weeks, and he wouldn't even leave her alone when she had to pee?
Oh yeah, good one! Elizabeth was working as a candy striper at the hospital. So first of all, how TYPICAL that Elizabeth would be a candy striper? Also, what is a candy striper? We don't have them at our hospital. But anyway, she's this volunteer, and this orderly, "Frank" or something, is crazy. That is to say, crazy in LOVE with Elizabeth. So he puts choloroform on a rag and abducts Elizabeth in the parking lot as she's getting into her car! And takes her to his crazy-man Unabomber shack in the woods! She's all tied up and everything! And no one knows where Elizabeth is, until Jessica comes to the hospital and Frank sees her, and is all like, "Jigga-wha? Didn't I leave you tied up in my shack?" Because he didn't KNOW Elizabeth had an identical twin! Oh snap! And then Jessica tells the police and Elizabeth, she is saved! Indeed, that book was awesome. Jerri continues:
And to use pee as a delightful segue into a Sweet Valley Twins book...do you remember the one when the twins had a sleepover, but Lila didn't want to come, and it was because she wets the bed whenever she's not sleeping at home?
And then there was that one when the twins went to a carnival and wished that they were big, and the next morning they woke up and were 25 years old, and all Jessica could say was "look, I have boobs!"
I have to admit, I missed those since I didn't read quite as many "Sweet Valley Twins" as "Sweet Valley High" (because I was so mature), but those sound good. Wasn't there another one where Lila's dad might lose his fortune (they were nouveau riche), and Lila totally lies and says that the reason they don't have a chauffer anymore is because the chauffer got beri beri? (That's cardiomyopathy and Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome caused by thiamine deficiency, Lila, just so you know.)
And another, from my sister:
let's not forget the one where olivia has to choose between being an artist and "practical" (because they are mutually exclusive you know), and by a powerful sense of fate, even though she's cut all of her hair off, she decides to be an artist. (because elizabeth as so sad to see her painting fruit instead of blobs.)
What my sister fails to mention, however, is how Olivia has such a "funky" fashion sense. Like the time she put her hair up into a ponytail and stuck it through the hole of an old Elvis LP! Oh, and artist and a wild dresser, she is indeed the Claudia Kishi of Sweet Valley High.
Monday, November 17, 2003
cortney read "sweet valley high," but don't tell her mom
This memory is courtesy of Cortney, another Wellesley alum. Thanks, Cortney!
I was addicted to those books all through middle school (I thought my life at Clackamas High school in sub-rural Oregon would be equally as glamorous, ha). I remember reading the one where Jessica joined a cult, and of course the Elizabeth-in-a-coma saga. I also remember the historical spin-off series, where one of the Wakefield twins in the twenties ran off to join the circus, and her twin came to save her, and somehow the good twin wound up getting bucked off a circus horse and dying.
My mom hated those books with a passion. Almost as much as she hated the Danielle Steele books I was reading around the same time.
Wait, how did I miss the one about Jessica joining a cult? I did read the historical "saga" mega-issue (they were bigger than the regular books, not unlike Archie comic "Double Digests"), and it was, of course, awesome. The history saga detailed the generations of the Wakefield family all the way back to, like, the 1800s or something, back to when the great ancestor of Alice Wakefield was on, like, a boat from Sweden and meets the ancestor of Ned Wakefield. And they fall in love! Scurvy love! Only their passions are torn asunder because of some Fievel-like circumstances, like they get separated in immigration or something. Maybe olden-days Ned was quarantined for having consumption. And then Alice gets whisked away by her Swedish relatives to the Midwest. But probably better that they didn't get married at that point, or else the Wakefield twins as we know them would be the products of incest. Actually, if that were the case, it could explain a lot.
Do you, too, have "Sweet Valley High" memories? E-mail me then, why don't you?
In other news, I was chewing something hard and I think one of my fillings fell out. Possibly, my tooth also chipped around where the filling was. It doesn't hurt or anything, it just feels jagged and nasty. The hole feels huge, but when I look in the mirror, I can barely see it. I need to try and make a dental appointment tomorrow. Wow, waiting for the Super, going to the dentist, walking the dog. So far, this vacation is not rocking my world.
This memory is courtesy of Cortney, another Wellesley alum. Thanks, Cortney!
I was addicted to those books all through middle school (I thought my life at Clackamas High school in sub-rural Oregon would be equally as glamorous, ha). I remember reading the one where Jessica joined a cult, and of course the Elizabeth-in-a-coma saga. I also remember the historical spin-off series, where one of the Wakefield twins in the twenties ran off to join the circus, and her twin came to save her, and somehow the good twin wound up getting bucked off a circus horse and dying.
My mom hated those books with a passion. Almost as much as she hated the Danielle Steele books I was reading around the same time.
Wait, how did I miss the one about Jessica joining a cult? I did read the historical "saga" mega-issue (they were bigger than the regular books, not unlike Archie comic "Double Digests"), and it was, of course, awesome. The history saga detailed the generations of the Wakefield family all the way back to, like, the 1800s or something, back to when the great ancestor of Alice Wakefield was on, like, a boat from Sweden and meets the ancestor of Ned Wakefield. And they fall in love! Scurvy love! Only their passions are torn asunder because of some Fievel-like circumstances, like they get separated in immigration or something. Maybe olden-days Ned was quarantined for having consumption. And then Alice gets whisked away by her Swedish relatives to the Midwest. But probably better that they didn't get married at that point, or else the Wakefield twins as we know them would be the products of incest. Actually, if that were the case, it could explain a lot.
Do you, too, have "Sweet Valley High" memories? E-mail me then, why don't you?
In other news, I was chewing something hard and I think one of my fillings fell out. Possibly, my tooth also chipped around where the filling was. It doesn't hurt or anything, it just feels jagged and nasty. The hole feels huge, but when I look in the mirror, I can barely see it. I need to try and make a dental appointment tomorrow. Wow, waiting for the Super, going to the dentist, walking the dog. So far, this vacation is not rocking my world.
sweet valley memories, continued
And this memory, via e-mail from my sister:
you forgot the best one of all.
suzanne devlin, visiting from nyc, and therefore that much more worldly and saavy. and...EVIL. she makes everyone think that mr. collins (who looks just like a young robert redford) attacked her! and she steals elizabeth's lavaliere! the identical lavaliere that jessica wears around her neck! ahhh! that was also the cover where she's looking into that giant mirror and i thought it was a lollipop.
Yes, that one was truly excellent. Note the subtle use of the last name "Devlin." Because she's EVIL like the DEVIL, get it? GET IT? (Off-topic, kinda: doesn't it seem like the words "evil" and "devil" should rhyme, since they're practically spelled the same? Same with "cough" and "dough.") But the real question that still plagues me to this day is...what the hell is a lavaliere?
Sweet Valley High is very People From Other Places Teach Us Lessons. Like that one story from "Sweet Valley Twins" (I know, "Sweet Valley TWINS," the series for the tween set, about when Elizabeth and Jessica were twelve) where Ginny Lu Culpepper (the real name of the character, no joke) comes to visit from the Ozarks or something, and of course Jessica and her friends (including the up-til-now-greviously-unmentioned Lila Fowler) make fun of her because she's a hick and has all hayseeds and such sticking out of her hair. Her TWIN RED BRAIDS, as depicted on the cover, like, how perfect. Also, I believe she is partial to gingham dresses. But then she teaches everyone to make corncob dolls or something homespun, and everyone is like, "new girl, you alllll-RIGHT!" Because no one is going to think you're a HICK if you make and play with dolls out of CORN COBS. Jeez.
And this memory, via e-mail from my sister:
you forgot the best one of all.
suzanne devlin, visiting from nyc, and therefore that much more worldly and saavy. and...EVIL. she makes everyone think that mr. collins (who looks just like a young robert redford) attacked her! and she steals elizabeth's lavaliere! the identical lavaliere that jessica wears around her neck! ahhh! that was also the cover where she's looking into that giant mirror and i thought it was a lollipop.
Yes, that one was truly excellent. Note the subtle use of the last name "Devlin." Because she's EVIL like the DEVIL, get it? GET IT? (Off-topic, kinda: doesn't it seem like the words "evil" and "devil" should rhyme, since they're practically spelled the same? Same with "cough" and "dough.") But the real question that still plagues me to this day is...what the hell is a lavaliere?
Sweet Valley High is very People From Other Places Teach Us Lessons. Like that one story from "Sweet Valley Twins" (I know, "Sweet Valley TWINS," the series for the tween set, about when Elizabeth and Jessica were twelve) where Ginny Lu Culpepper (the real name of the character, no joke) comes to visit from the Ozarks or something, and of course Jessica and her friends (including the up-til-now-greviously-unmentioned Lila Fowler) make fun of her because she's a hick and has all hayseeds and such sticking out of her hair. Her TWIN RED BRAIDS, as depicted on the cover, like, how perfect. Also, I believe she is partial to gingham dresses. But then she teaches everyone to make corncob dolls or something homespun, and everyone is like, "new girl, you alllll-RIGHT!" Because no one is going to think you're a HICK if you make and play with dolls out of CORN COBS. Jeez.
aliza also read "sweet valley high"
Finally, the Super came by. Now that I'm no longer under house arrest, I think I'll take the dog to the park and maybe do some Christmas shopping afterwards. It might be a little early, but I don't think I'm going to have any time after vacation.
And here, with her Sweet Valley Memories, is Aliza. Thanks for the e-mail, Aliza!
Do you remember the one where Jessica was all worried that Elizabeth was going to be elected Prom Queen (or Snowflake Queen or some such), so she spiked Elizabeth's drink? Then of course Elizabeth took off with Jessica's boyfriend (Sam?), and because she was driving drunk, she got in a car accident. Anyway, she ended up facing manslaughter charges but she got off (and don't worry, Jessica fessed up, and they made up in the end).
Also, there was the one where Jessica was going to enter Miss Sweet Valley Teen or something like that, and Elizabeth was all feminist and told her to stop demeaning women, but Jessica entered anyway. She won too (although Elizabeth had to dress up as Jessica--i.e., kinda slutty--for the swimsuit competition), but then she found out the prizes were crappy.
Ah, memories.
Occurs to me that Jessica did some pretty shitty things to Elizabeth. Like in the aforementioned book where Elizabeth gets into an accident on Todd's motorcycle and becomes a slut after she falls in a coma? The reason she got on the bike in the first place (she did not approve of motorcycles, you see) was because Jessica stood her up so that Elizabeth had no ride home in the ever-present red Fiat spider. And though I can't think of further concrete examples, I'm sure there were futher lies and manipulations on Jessica's part to her doormat twin. Still, I like Jessica better. Elizabeth is such a goober. Put that in "The Eyes and Ears," why don't you?
The thing I hated most about Elizabeth is how she was supposed to be this amazing WRITER, and how she was this CRACK JOURNALIST and how Mr. Collins (the English teacher who looked just like Robert Redford) just LOVED his STAR STUDENT. Um, excuse me, but vomit. Remember that one book where Ken, the SVH quarterback, was going to fail English because he didn't have time to do his homework, but then he totally stole one of Elizabeth's compositions and everyone started thinking that he was the greatest writer on the history of the planet? BECAUSE HE SUBMITTED ELIZABETH'S STORY! And then this snooty girl that Ken was making a play for was all impressed and dragged him to all these poetry readings and such? But Elizabeth found out that Ken copied! But instead of getting super-pissed, she just talks him into confessing, and then Ken writes this jock-story to replace his totally PLAGARIZED composition (I believe the essay was entitled "Offsides") and it was also awesome, though they made sure to note that he had a lot of typos in it. (Unlike Elizabeth, who is so perfect that she undoubtably had Correct Tape for her typewriter.) And then at the end of the story, Ken dumps the snooty girl on her ass, because she was trying too hard to CHANGE him into SOMEONE HE WASN'T. Yeah! A valuable lesson was learned here.
Further Sweet Valley Memories will be posted here as they are recieved.
Finally, the Super came by. Now that I'm no longer under house arrest, I think I'll take the dog to the park and maybe do some Christmas shopping afterwards. It might be a little early, but I don't think I'm going to have any time after vacation.
And here, with her Sweet Valley Memories, is Aliza. Thanks for the e-mail, Aliza!
Do you remember the one where Jessica was all worried that Elizabeth was going to be elected Prom Queen (or Snowflake Queen or some such), so she spiked Elizabeth's drink? Then of course Elizabeth took off with Jessica's boyfriend (Sam?), and because she was driving drunk, she got in a car accident. Anyway, she ended up facing manslaughter charges but she got off (and don't worry, Jessica fessed up, and they made up in the end).
Also, there was the one where Jessica was going to enter Miss Sweet Valley Teen or something like that, and Elizabeth was all feminist and told her to stop demeaning women, but Jessica entered anyway. She won too (although Elizabeth had to dress up as Jessica--i.e., kinda slutty--for the swimsuit competition), but then she found out the prizes were crappy.
Ah, memories.
Occurs to me that Jessica did some pretty shitty things to Elizabeth. Like in the aforementioned book where Elizabeth gets into an accident on Todd's motorcycle and becomes a slut after she falls in a coma? The reason she got on the bike in the first place (she did not approve of motorcycles, you see) was because Jessica stood her up so that Elizabeth had no ride home in the ever-present red Fiat spider. And though I can't think of further concrete examples, I'm sure there were futher lies and manipulations on Jessica's part to her doormat twin. Still, I like Jessica better. Elizabeth is such a goober. Put that in "The Eyes and Ears," why don't you?
The thing I hated most about Elizabeth is how she was supposed to be this amazing WRITER, and how she was this CRACK JOURNALIST and how Mr. Collins (the English teacher who looked just like Robert Redford) just LOVED his STAR STUDENT. Um, excuse me, but vomit. Remember that one book where Ken, the SVH quarterback, was going to fail English because he didn't have time to do his homework, but then he totally stole one of Elizabeth's compositions and everyone started thinking that he was the greatest writer on the history of the planet? BECAUSE HE SUBMITTED ELIZABETH'S STORY! And then this snooty girl that Ken was making a play for was all impressed and dragged him to all these poetry readings and such? But Elizabeth found out that Ken copied! But instead of getting super-pissed, she just talks him into confessing, and then Ken writes this jock-story to replace his totally PLAGARIZED composition (I believe the essay was entitled "Offsides") and it was also awesome, though they made sure to note that he had a lot of typos in it. (Unlike Elizabeth, who is so perfect that she undoubtably had Correct Tape for her typewriter.) And then at the end of the story, Ken dumps the snooty girl on her ass, because she was trying too hard to CHANGE him into SOMEONE HE WASN'T. Yeah! A valuable lesson was learned here.
Further Sweet Valley Memories will be posted here as they are recieved.
maria's musings on "sweet valley high"
Oh, I forgot to include this excerpt from Maria's e-mail as a part of the "Sweet Valley High Memories" archive that I'm compiling. Hi, Maria!
I thought Robin was the only "ugly" girl of Sweet Valley High. Oh wait, Robin was "fat but with a pretty face" until she lost the weight to become the rival cheerleader to Jessica and thus becomes popular. Around the time I stopped reading, the Wakefield family was starting to become the dysfunctional family...the perfect dad started cheating on his perfect wife cuz she was doing great career-wise and he was doing shitty and hence, the jealousy. Shame shame. I remember always hating that they had a short summary describing the twins in the first chapter of EVERY FREAKING BOOK. Geez...you'd think they'd figure that if you're reading Book #53, you'd know the characters already and not have to read the "sun-kissed hair" and "they share the red fiat" descriptions one more time.
I thought the one where Elizabeth undergoes personality change and back with conks of the head funny, too. Moral of the story: motorcycle riding is bad. You will become a slut and let some rich boy touch your booby.
Here's another story to add to your collection: Elizabeth wants to go to Switzerland and become the best writer in the world. But boohoo, Jessica doesn't want her to go and thus, dresses up like her (dowdy and serious...and gasp, she ties her hair back like Liz does!) and tries to scare off the interviewers that come. Liz decides that wow, since Jessica put so much effort into ruining her chances of going away, she can't tear herself away from her twin and thus stays. The end.
Thanks, Maria. That reminds me of the Sweet Valley High where Jessica dresses up as two different personalities (one of them has a blue streak in her hair, I think the other one wears a beret for some inexplicable reason) in order to land two different dates. There may have been a personals ad involved or something. But of course, madcap antics strike as she has to go on two dates at the same time! Luckily, she has (duh) an identical twin, and they spend the entire night switching off dates in this Chinese restaurant, and meeting up with each other to change costumes and identities in the bathroom. Not unlike "Mrs. Doubtfire." Oh, but they have complicated lives.
Keep your "Sweet Valley High" memories coming!
Oh, I forgot to include this excerpt from Maria's e-mail as a part of the "Sweet Valley High Memories" archive that I'm compiling. Hi, Maria!
I thought Robin was the only "ugly" girl of Sweet Valley High. Oh wait, Robin was "fat but with a pretty face" until she lost the weight to become the rival cheerleader to Jessica and thus becomes popular. Around the time I stopped reading, the Wakefield family was starting to become the dysfunctional family...the perfect dad started cheating on his perfect wife cuz she was doing great career-wise and he was doing shitty and hence, the jealousy. Shame shame. I remember always hating that they had a short summary describing the twins in the first chapter of EVERY FREAKING BOOK. Geez...you'd think they'd figure that if you're reading Book #53, you'd know the characters already and not have to read the "sun-kissed hair" and "they share the red fiat" descriptions one more time.
I thought the one where Elizabeth undergoes personality change and back with conks of the head funny, too. Moral of the story: motorcycle riding is bad. You will become a slut and let some rich boy touch your booby.
Here's another story to add to your collection: Elizabeth wants to go to Switzerland and become the best writer in the world. But boohoo, Jessica doesn't want her to go and thus, dresses up like her (dowdy and serious...and gasp, she ties her hair back like Liz does!) and tries to scare off the interviewers that come. Liz decides that wow, since Jessica put so much effort into ruining her chances of going away, she can't tear herself away from her twin and thus stays. The end.
Thanks, Maria. That reminds me of the Sweet Valley High where Jessica dresses up as two different personalities (one of them has a blue streak in her hair, I think the other one wears a beret for some inexplicable reason) in order to land two different dates. There may have been a personals ad involved or something. But of course, madcap antics strike as she has to go on two dates at the same time! Luckily, she has (duh) an identical twin, and they spend the entire night switching off dates in this Chinese restaurant, and meeting up with each other to change costumes and identities in the bathroom. Not unlike "Mrs. Doubtfire." Oh, but they have complicated lives.
Keep your "Sweet Valley High" memories coming!
coleen
In a thrilling last minute turn of events, my old college roommate Coleen has decided to come meet me in Cancun! This makes everyone feel better. Me for having a travel partner, and for not feeling quite so decadent (and lame) taking a trip by myself. My parents because now I can be a drug mule in jail with a friend. Joe because I would probably just be e-mailing him all day if I didn't have someone else to talk to. Coleen because now we finally get to have the bachelorette party we never threw before the wedding. Cheers!
But Jeers to the ultra-crabby Super in my building, who insists that I wait around in the apartment for him to come up and check the drain on our balcony, but refuses to give a time-frame in which he's set to arrive. Well, at least since I'm trapped in the apartment, I can start putting some of these wedding photos in albums.
In a thrilling last minute turn of events, my old college roommate Coleen has decided to come meet me in Cancun! This makes everyone feel better. Me for having a travel partner, and for not feeling quite so decadent (and lame) taking a trip by myself. My parents because now I can be a drug mule in jail with a friend. Joe because I would probably just be e-mailing him all day if I didn't have someone else to talk to. Coleen because now we finally get to have the bachelorette party we never threw before the wedding. Cheers!
But Jeers to the ultra-crabby Super in my building, who insists that I wait around in the apartment for him to come up and check the drain on our balcony, but refuses to give a time-frame in which he's set to arrive. Well, at least since I'm trapped in the apartment, I can start putting some of these wedding photos in albums.
Saturday, November 15, 2003
anxiety
I'm vacillating between pre-trip excitement and anxiety.
My parents are being fairly good about my travel plans, I think, worried that I'm going to Mexico by myself but assured that "it's not real Mexico," in that it's Cancun (America Mexico, I guess, as opposed to, like, Mexico City). I think that one of them really just wants to come around to chaperone me and make sure I don't get turned into a drug mule, but both are working three out of the four days that I'll be gone, and can't cancel their patients at the last minute.
It's going to be fun, right? I just have to get my stack of books ready. And my travel DVD player. And my journal. It'll be cool. And relaxing. And...
Augh, I'm going to be all alone in a foreign country and I'll be all lonely and bored by myself and paying a lot of money to be that way! What the hell have I DONE?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
I'm vacillating between pre-trip excitement and anxiety.
My parents are being fairly good about my travel plans, I think, worried that I'm going to Mexico by myself but assured that "it's not real Mexico," in that it's Cancun (America Mexico, I guess, as opposed to, like, Mexico City). I think that one of them really just wants to come around to chaperone me and make sure I don't get turned into a drug mule, but both are working three out of the four days that I'll be gone, and can't cancel their patients at the last minute.
It's going to be fun, right? I just have to get my stack of books ready. And my travel DVD player. And my journal. It'll be cool. And relaxing. And...
Augh, I'm going to be all alone in a foreign country and I'll be all lonely and bored by myself and paying a lot of money to be that way! What the hell have I DONE?
Breathe in. Breathe out.
cancun
I'm on vacation.
(To be said with all the intensity of mid-life crisis Billy Crystal in "City Slickers" during his showdown with Curly, pre-calf birthing.)
Well, technically, I'm not on vacation until Monday, even though my adolescent Medicine block ended yesterday. Technically, I'm still on sick call up through Monday, so I can't be more than two hours from the hospital until then. So I'm just going to hope that the other interns stay as healthy as they have been so far this month at least up through this weekend.
The thing that's hard about vacation as an intern is that there's no one to hang out with. It's all well and good if your husband (significant other, life partner, what have you) has a normal job and can take off from work to coordinate with your break. But when your husband is also an intern, you're shit out of luck. I've been trying to convince all manner of other people (family, friends, random people I see on the street) to take a trip with me, any one of myriad last minute trips to Mexico or the Carribean advertised on Orbitz, Travelocity et al., but for one reason or another, no one can come with me.
So I'm going to do something I've never done before. I'm going to go on vacation by myself.
Would I rather go with someone else? Hells yeah! But would I rather go to Cancun by myself for four days or stick around the city my entire break, only to start a miserable strech of night shifts in the ER, Oncology over christmas, followed by a month on the wards in January? Seems like this could be my last chance to see sunlight in any form (temperate zone or equatorial) for months. And if you think I'm kidding, you've clearly never had a job where you had to arrive at work before sunrise and leave well after sundown. If I don't take a vacation, and I mean a real vacation, involving climate and scenery change, I might flip out.
Four days, three nights. A five-star resort and spa on the beach in Cancun. Stack of good books, frosty drinks, some postcards to write to the folks at home. Mayan ruins and massages by day, some Pay-per-View movies and non-take-out dinners by night. And home in time for Thanksgiving! Sounds good to me.
I wish Joe and Coop could come of course (well, maybe not Coop), but still, I'm pretty excited.
I'm on vacation.
(To be said with all the intensity of mid-life crisis Billy Crystal in "City Slickers" during his showdown with Curly, pre-calf birthing.)
Well, technically, I'm not on vacation until Monday, even though my adolescent Medicine block ended yesterday. Technically, I'm still on sick call up through Monday, so I can't be more than two hours from the hospital until then. So I'm just going to hope that the other interns stay as healthy as they have been so far this month at least up through this weekend.
The thing that's hard about vacation as an intern is that there's no one to hang out with. It's all well and good if your husband (significant other, life partner, what have you) has a normal job and can take off from work to coordinate with your break. But when your husband is also an intern, you're shit out of luck. I've been trying to convince all manner of other people (family, friends, random people I see on the street) to take a trip with me, any one of myriad last minute trips to Mexico or the Carribean advertised on Orbitz, Travelocity et al., but for one reason or another, no one can come with me.
So I'm going to do something I've never done before. I'm going to go on vacation by myself.
Would I rather go with someone else? Hells yeah! But would I rather go to Cancun by myself for four days or stick around the city my entire break, only to start a miserable strech of night shifts in the ER, Oncology over christmas, followed by a month on the wards in January? Seems like this could be my last chance to see sunlight in any form (temperate zone or equatorial) for months. And if you think I'm kidding, you've clearly never had a job where you had to arrive at work before sunrise and leave well after sundown. If I don't take a vacation, and I mean a real vacation, involving climate and scenery change, I might flip out.
Four days, three nights. A five-star resort and spa on the beach in Cancun. Stack of good books, frosty drinks, some postcards to write to the folks at home. Mayan ruins and massages by day, some Pay-per-View movies and non-take-out dinners by night. And home in time for Thanksgiving! Sounds good to me.
I wish Joe and Coop could come of course (well, maybe not Coop), but still, I'm pretty excited.
Thursday, November 13, 2003
m23
The crosstown bus I take to work, the m23, has been voted the slowest bus in the city, moving at a blistering average speed of 3.4 mph. The funniest part of the New York Times article was when they interviewed the 71 year-old woman with the gimp leg who was like, "yeah, I usually walk faster than the bus." Tell it like it is, lady!
The crosstown bus I take to work, the m23, has been voted the slowest bus in the city, moving at a blistering average speed of 3.4 mph. The funniest part of the New York Times article was when they interviewed the 71 year-old woman with the gimp leg who was like, "yeah, I usually walk faster than the bus." Tell it like it is, lady!
Sunday, November 09, 2003
the matrix 33 and 1/3rd
We just got back from seeing "The Matrix: Parte Trois." It was all right, though I admit the battle scenes held my interest more than all that philosphical talking mumbo-jumbo. Also, I got the sense, don't ask me how, that I was being subversively lectured to about Jesus. Maybe it's the fact that Neo had a great big honking CROSS shining out of his chest at the end of the movie. Subtle, guys.
Right before the movie started, some guys a couple rows in front of us stood up, shushed us all, introduced himself and in a loud voice, requested that we all turn off our cell phones before the movie started. "I cannot hear any cell phone rings while watching this movie," he said, all intense. Nothing like cultivating the ill-will of your fellow movie goers. After some sarcastic clapping, people started setting off their cell phones, so that the whole theater was filled with the sound of electronic ringing all through the previews. Did I mention that, on top of that speech, he also told us all that he was visiting from Florida? There's a guy that really wants to get beat up on the curb outside the theater after the movie is over.
So these days, I'm sick. Not sick enough to stay home from work, but sick enough to feel bad. I just took my cold medicine triple cocktail (Sudafed, Benadryl, Motrin) and am now getting extremely drowsy. There's no sleep like the sleep of Benadryl. Better get in bed so that I can enjoy it.
We just got back from seeing "The Matrix: Parte Trois." It was all right, though I admit the battle scenes held my interest more than all that philosphical talking mumbo-jumbo. Also, I got the sense, don't ask me how, that I was being subversively lectured to about Jesus. Maybe it's the fact that Neo had a great big honking CROSS shining out of his chest at the end of the movie. Subtle, guys.
Right before the movie started, some guys a couple rows in front of us stood up, shushed us all, introduced himself and in a loud voice, requested that we all turn off our cell phones before the movie started. "I cannot hear any cell phone rings while watching this movie," he said, all intense. Nothing like cultivating the ill-will of your fellow movie goers. After some sarcastic clapping, people started setting off their cell phones, so that the whole theater was filled with the sound of electronic ringing all through the previews. Did I mention that, on top of that speech, he also told us all that he was visiting from Florida? There's a guy that really wants to get beat up on the curb outside the theater after the movie is over.
So these days, I'm sick. Not sick enough to stay home from work, but sick enough to feel bad. I just took my cold medicine triple cocktail (Sudafed, Benadryl, Motrin) and am now getting extremely drowsy. There's no sleep like the sleep of Benadryl. Better get in bed so that I can enjoy it.
gala
Last night we went to the Gala Ball for the opening of the new hospital. It was pretty fun. First of all, it was like going to a really huge, expensive wedding at the Grand Hyatt hotel, with the free food, drinks, and sequined-but-tasteful (for the most part) evening wear. There were self-congratulatory speeches and free gifts at every table (a bar-of-soap-sized clock, with the date of the new hospital opening date inscribed at the base), and a quite good ten-piece band to incite everyone to jump around, jump around, jump up jump up and get down. There was the mandatory playing of "Celebrate" after an elaborate AV slide and video show about the hospital staff. Residents were given very cursory mention in the love-fest (I think its because we can't really strike or quit, so who cares?) but we cheered like audience members on the "Ricki Lake Show" when that one person did think to thank us for our work. (I think "the residents" were sandwiched between "Housekeeping" and "Security" in the long, I'd like to thank just a few people Oscar speech-type list.)
Food: surprisingly good! We showed up pretty late and therefore missed most of the cocktail hour, figuring the schoozy part of the evening was not really for us anyway, rather for the rich donors and hospital bigwigs. But very tasty appetizer of grilled shrimp, and a shockingly well-cooked peppercorn-rubbed steak, not too well done. And lots of yummy petit fours and assorted tarts for dessert. Not bad for a free meal. Thanks, [Chair of the Department] for paying for our tickets! Our morale has been somewhat restored!
Best part of the night was seeing the nurses dressed up. I could barely recognize them out of scrubs. See, we sometimes wear scrubs, sometimes wear normal clothes. Nurses always have to wear scrubs. So to see them with their pretty dresses and their hair and makeup all done with their spouses and partners was great, for me. Yay, pretty and handsome nurses!
The ribbon cutting ceremony for the new hospital is this Wednesday. I want to go and see what celebrities show up to get their face in the papers. My guess is Derek Jeter, as we're kind of his token philantropy cause. And who knows, maybe I can score a free T-shirt or something.
Last night we went to the Gala Ball for the opening of the new hospital. It was pretty fun. First of all, it was like going to a really huge, expensive wedding at the Grand Hyatt hotel, with the free food, drinks, and sequined-but-tasteful (for the most part) evening wear. There were self-congratulatory speeches and free gifts at every table (a bar-of-soap-sized clock, with the date of the new hospital opening date inscribed at the base), and a quite good ten-piece band to incite everyone to jump around, jump around, jump up jump up and get down. There was the mandatory playing of "Celebrate" after an elaborate AV slide and video show about the hospital staff. Residents were given very cursory mention in the love-fest (I think its because we can't really strike or quit, so who cares?) but we cheered like audience members on the "Ricki Lake Show" when that one person did think to thank us for our work. (I think "the residents" were sandwiched between "Housekeeping" and "Security" in the long, I'd like to thank just a few people Oscar speech-type list.)
Food: surprisingly good! We showed up pretty late and therefore missed most of the cocktail hour, figuring the schoozy part of the evening was not really for us anyway, rather for the rich donors and hospital bigwigs. But very tasty appetizer of grilled shrimp, and a shockingly well-cooked peppercorn-rubbed steak, not too well done. And lots of yummy petit fours and assorted tarts for dessert. Not bad for a free meal. Thanks, [Chair of the Department] for paying for our tickets! Our morale has been somewhat restored!
Best part of the night was seeing the nurses dressed up. I could barely recognize them out of scrubs. See, we sometimes wear scrubs, sometimes wear normal clothes. Nurses always have to wear scrubs. So to see them with their pretty dresses and their hair and makeup all done with their spouses and partners was great, for me. Yay, pretty and handsome nurses!
The ribbon cutting ceremony for the new hospital is this Wednesday. I want to go and see what celebrities show up to get their face in the papers. My guess is Derek Jeter, as we're kind of his token philantropy cause. And who knows, maybe I can score a free T-shirt or something.
Saturday, November 08, 2003
acting out
Is it possible for dogs to get mad at you?
We've been pretty careful with Coop after her injury. Especially since it needed to be restitched recently. That's the $500 laceration, right there, between the vet fees and...well, just the vet fees, I guess. We've been trying to keep her pretty quiet and not bringing her to the dog park (the scene of the accident) for fear that she's going to be too rowdy and tear herself open again. Basically, she hasn't gotten to play with any other dogs for about two weeks.
Cooper was apparently not pleased with this.
On top of the Great Pillow Destruction of 2003, yesterday she got into our bedroom when I wasn't looking and peed on our bed. Peed. On our BED. And it's not like she really had to go, I just took her out two hours prior. And even if so, why of all the spots in our apartment would she decide to climb up onto our bed and pee there? And near the top, where our heads would go. No, this was deliberate. This was an act of rebellion. Our dog was acting out.
On top of the general destruction and peeing-on-things, she's just been generally hyper lately, jumping up on people, digging up things, wanting to play constantly. She was too wound up and not getting enough action. She needed to go to the dog park. So, after some deliberation and decision to keep her T-shirt on at all times, I took her this morning. There are usually fewer rowdy dogs there early in the mornings on weekends, so I figured it would be a good time.
And it was. She nearly got into it with this little pit bull (he put a little hole in her T-shirt--that is to say, my T-shirt) but otherwise her stiches held up well. And now she's finally pooped. A sleepy dog is not a destroying-our-apartment-dog. And that's how we'd like to keep things.
Is it possible for dogs to get mad at you?
We've been pretty careful with Coop after her injury. Especially since it needed to be restitched recently. That's the $500 laceration, right there, between the vet fees and...well, just the vet fees, I guess. We've been trying to keep her pretty quiet and not bringing her to the dog park (the scene of the accident) for fear that she's going to be too rowdy and tear herself open again. Basically, she hasn't gotten to play with any other dogs for about two weeks.
Cooper was apparently not pleased with this.
On top of the Great Pillow Destruction of 2003, yesterday she got into our bedroom when I wasn't looking and peed on our bed. Peed. On our BED. And it's not like she really had to go, I just took her out two hours prior. And even if so, why of all the spots in our apartment would she decide to climb up onto our bed and pee there? And near the top, where our heads would go. No, this was deliberate. This was an act of rebellion. Our dog was acting out.
On top of the general destruction and peeing-on-things, she's just been generally hyper lately, jumping up on people, digging up things, wanting to play constantly. She was too wound up and not getting enough action. She needed to go to the dog park. So, after some deliberation and decision to keep her T-shirt on at all times, I took her this morning. There are usually fewer rowdy dogs there early in the mornings on weekends, so I figured it would be a good time.
And it was. She nearly got into it with this little pit bull (he put a little hole in her T-shirt--that is to say, my T-shirt) but otherwise her stiches held up well. And now she's finally pooped. A sleepy dog is not a destroying-our-apartment-dog. And that's how we'd like to keep things.
Friday, November 07, 2003
sweet valley high
Let us talk, just for a moment, about Sweet Valley High.
I am not ashamed to tell you that I loved these books when I was a young teen. Loved. I read all of them up through, I think, the 70s or 80s or something, but I can't really remember, they all start to run together, and anyway, I can't really remember specific numbers after #40 (Special Anniversary Edition), the one about Jade Wu. She was Chinese! And she wanted to be a dancer! But her dad was all strict, like, "No way, most dutiful daughter," because he was CHINESE and OLD and he though dancing was SHAMEFUL but Jade was all, we're in America, dad, and dates some white guy (!) and wins some dance scholarship anyway! Only they want her to change her name, because Wu was too ethnic! And she turns down the scholarship because she's proud of her culture! And her dad cries! And the funniest part is that her name is JADE! Because she's Chinese, see? Take that, racial intolerance! That was almost as funny as the Sweet Valley High where the girl trying to get into the sorority is trying to hide the fact that she's Latina because of DISCRIMINATION but then finally reveals her culture after some Spanish-speaking kid falls down a ditch or something, and she has to speak Spanish to him to get her out.
Sweet Valley High was awesome.
Oh, and remember the one where Elizabeth gets in a motorcycle accident and gets all brain-damaged and when she wakes up from the coma, she's Jessica? Meaning she's a total slut? And then she flirts with everyone's boyfriends and they're all mad, and she even hooks it up with Bruce Patman, after he gives her wine and he TOUCHES HER BOOB but then she hits her head and goes back to normal? And her boyfriend Todd cries? Because he's the one the caused the motorcycle accident? Awesome.
Oh, and the one where Regina Morrow, who's the rich deaf girl, gets dumped by Bruce? Because he just wanted her to go to a special school for deaf people? But he knew she wouldn't go if they were still dating? But then she goes all nuts and goes to a party where this guy named "Buzz" brings cocaine. And then she SNORTS it. Twice! And then she DIES! Because she had an undiagnosed heart condition but also because she did DRUGS. And then everyone cries. And Elizabeth reads some crappy poem, fucking pansy.
Remember how Todd Wilkinson (Elizabeth's boyfriend, stay with me, people) moved away, because of his dad's job? But then Elizabeth starts dating Jeffry French, like, heh, FRENCH, and it's all good, except also totally gross, because they look exactly alike. And they're all perfect together, but oh, Todd moves back! So now what? And then Elizabeth is dating Todd again, and poor Jeffrey is dating nobody, only along comes Enid, Elizabeth's nerdy (I mean "sensible") best friend, and then the two of them start dating! Yay! Happy ending!
Remember when Jessica was going to run away? Because she was dating this troubled man who had a moustache, Nicky someone? And she felt all unappreciated because Elizabeth was so perfect and she was such a fuck-up? And she tried to make people like her by making some seafood dinner, only then the whole family got food poisoning and puked, so she's all, "everyone would be better off without me" and runs away. With Nicky! Only she comes back eventually, I can't remember why. Probably because Elizabeth said something sappy and then they're like, BFF! Woo! Twin power! I hate Elizabeth.
Oh, and what about the story about Lynn Henry? She was UGLY! But she had a good voice! Probably because her dad was a singer. But he DIED. And she's all, "get off my case, Mom, I'm too ugly," but her mom was, like, a makeover artist. And then The Droids (this high school band) were having a song contest. And Lynn entered her tape. Only it was anonymous, because she was afraid of being mocked. But her song won! And they didn't know it was her! And Guy, the head of The Droids, fell in LOVE with her VOICE. Because it was all gorgeous, and he was like, "I must find her," and he gets all choked up and everything. And Lynn loves Guy too! But she's UGLY. Luckily, she gets a makeover from her mom and they bond over makeup, and Lynn becomes hot. And she and Guy get together (with Elizabeth's help, of course) and everyone's so glad to meet the mystery songwriter, and Lynn performs the song live in front of the whole school, so now she's POPULAR, and then she and Guy DO IT! Well, I just added that last part. No one does it in Sweet Valley High.
Do you have any Sweet Valley Memories? I'm going to start compiling them. E-mail them to me and we'll amass a mighty archive!
Let us talk, just for a moment, about Sweet Valley High.
I am not ashamed to tell you that I loved these books when I was a young teen. Loved. I read all of them up through, I think, the 70s or 80s or something, but I can't really remember, they all start to run together, and anyway, I can't really remember specific numbers after #40 (Special Anniversary Edition), the one about Jade Wu. She was Chinese! And she wanted to be a dancer! But her dad was all strict, like, "No way, most dutiful daughter," because he was CHINESE and OLD and he though dancing was SHAMEFUL but Jade was all, we're in America, dad, and dates some white guy (!) and wins some dance scholarship anyway! Only they want her to change her name, because Wu was too ethnic! And she turns down the scholarship because she's proud of her culture! And her dad cries! And the funniest part is that her name is JADE! Because she's Chinese, see? Take that, racial intolerance! That was almost as funny as the Sweet Valley High where the girl trying to get into the sorority is trying to hide the fact that she's Latina because of DISCRIMINATION but then finally reveals her culture after some Spanish-speaking kid falls down a ditch or something, and she has to speak Spanish to him to get her out.
Sweet Valley High was awesome.
Oh, and remember the one where Elizabeth gets in a motorcycle accident and gets all brain-damaged and when she wakes up from the coma, she's Jessica? Meaning she's a total slut? And then she flirts with everyone's boyfriends and they're all mad, and she even hooks it up with Bruce Patman, after he gives her wine and he TOUCHES HER BOOB but then she hits her head and goes back to normal? And her boyfriend Todd cries? Because he's the one the caused the motorcycle accident? Awesome.
Oh, and the one where Regina Morrow, who's the rich deaf girl, gets dumped by Bruce? Because he just wanted her to go to a special school for deaf people? But he knew she wouldn't go if they were still dating? But then she goes all nuts and goes to a party where this guy named "Buzz" brings cocaine. And then she SNORTS it. Twice! And then she DIES! Because she had an undiagnosed heart condition but also because she did DRUGS. And then everyone cries. And Elizabeth reads some crappy poem, fucking pansy.
Remember how Todd Wilkinson (Elizabeth's boyfriend, stay with me, people) moved away, because of his dad's job? But then Elizabeth starts dating Jeffry French, like, heh, FRENCH, and it's all good, except also totally gross, because they look exactly alike. And they're all perfect together, but oh, Todd moves back! So now what? And then Elizabeth is dating Todd again, and poor Jeffrey is dating nobody, only along comes Enid, Elizabeth's nerdy (I mean "sensible") best friend, and then the two of them start dating! Yay! Happy ending!
Remember when Jessica was going to run away? Because she was dating this troubled man who had a moustache, Nicky someone? And she felt all unappreciated because Elizabeth was so perfect and she was such a fuck-up? And she tried to make people like her by making some seafood dinner, only then the whole family got food poisoning and puked, so she's all, "everyone would be better off without me" and runs away. With Nicky! Only she comes back eventually, I can't remember why. Probably because Elizabeth said something sappy and then they're like, BFF! Woo! Twin power! I hate Elizabeth.
Oh, and what about the story about Lynn Henry? She was UGLY! But she had a good voice! Probably because her dad was a singer. But he DIED. And she's all, "get off my case, Mom, I'm too ugly," but her mom was, like, a makeover artist. And then The Droids (this high school band) were having a song contest. And Lynn entered her tape. Only it was anonymous, because she was afraid of being mocked. But her song won! And they didn't know it was her! And Guy, the head of The Droids, fell in LOVE with her VOICE. Because it was all gorgeous, and he was like, "I must find her," and he gets all choked up and everything. And Lynn loves Guy too! But she's UGLY. Luckily, she gets a makeover from her mom and they bond over makeup, and Lynn becomes hot. And she and Guy get together (with Elizabeth's help, of course) and everyone's so glad to meet the mystery songwriter, and Lynn performs the song live in front of the whole school, so now she's POPULAR, and then she and Guy DO IT! Well, I just added that last part. No one does it in Sweet Valley High.
Do you have any Sweet Valley Memories? I'm going to start compiling them. E-mail them to me and we'll amass a mighty archive!
goodbye, leopard-spotted pillows
Saw some bunch of babies at clinic today. I think the oldest kid I saw was four. Ahh, a nice break from adolescents. Even if it turns out you get peed on occasionally.
So this morning (going back in time a little), I was working on some stuff, and the house was nice and quiet. A little too quiet, as I found out fifteen minutes later, when I peeked my head out to see where the hell the dog was. Turns out she broke into the guest room and disemboweled these leopard-spotted fuzzy pillows we had in there. That's her favorite thing, by the way, pulling the guts out of stuffed animals. That's why cleaning this apartment is just a battle against entropy, it's just constant sweeping, sweeping, sweeping up of destroyed stuffed animals and dog hair. Dammit, dog, I paid good money for those pillows! (I got them my senior year in college, during my lounge lizard phase, which has thankfully passed. Though this too-lazy-to-have-decor phase isn't much better, I supposed.) I don't think this bodes well for the rest of the furniture. You're next, couch upholstery.
Photos of the carnage, and the aftermath.
Saw some bunch of babies at clinic today. I think the oldest kid I saw was four. Ahh, a nice break from adolescents. Even if it turns out you get peed on occasionally.
So this morning (going back in time a little), I was working on some stuff, and the house was nice and quiet. A little too quiet, as I found out fifteen minutes later, when I peeked my head out to see where the hell the dog was. Turns out she broke into the guest room and disemboweled these leopard-spotted fuzzy pillows we had in there. That's her favorite thing, by the way, pulling the guts out of stuffed animals. That's why cleaning this apartment is just a battle against entropy, it's just constant sweeping, sweeping, sweeping up of destroyed stuffed animals and dog hair. Dammit, dog, I paid good money for those pillows! (I got them my senior year in college, during my lounge lizard phase, which has thankfully passed. Though this too-lazy-to-have-decor phase isn't much better, I supposed.) I don't think this bodes well for the rest of the furniture. You're next, couch upholstery.
Photos of the carnage, and the aftermath.
bits and pieces
Remember how, way back in the day, I used to have "bikini briefs," which were little snippets outside of the main body of the journal update about assorted minutiae? Well, this entry is going to be a handful of bikini briefs. Actually, I guess you could say that since my move to Blogger, my entire journal is now bikini briefs. But to dive into it...
Is "Scrubs" never going to be on again? Are "Friends" and "Will and Grace" engulfing that time slot? What gives? How come every time I try to watch "Scrubs," it's something else? Wait, did it change time slots and no one told me? Not Thursdays at 8:30 anymore? Quick, someone give me the answer! I don't watch NBC except for "Scrubs" (or attempting to watch "Scrubs," these days) so if they've been running ads about a schedule change, I'm in the dark.
OK then. Enough about the stupid TV show.
Despite being called in for sick call here and there, I have to say that this block that I'm on (Adolescent Medicine, in case I don't harp on it enough) is ridiculously easy. Today, my schedule is as follows. "Reading" in the morning (they gave us a stack of articles at the start of the block, about drugs and STDs and depression and all those teen things) and then Continuity Clinic this afternoon from 1-5pm. This is my clinic where I see my regular patients, who are, by and large, babies and younger kids. Kind of a relief after four straight days of teenagers. However, many of the parents of these babies are teenagers, so we run into some of the same problems. For example, last week I had a 17 day-old baby who presented with "white dots" in his groin after being born to a mom with herpes. I freaked out and was all ready to send the kid to the ER, but it turned out the white dots were pustules, not vesicles. Pustulosis. Who knew? But anyway, my point being that it is ridiculous and unheard of to not have to leave the house until noon for work your intern year, unless you're doing something like a 1-10pm ER shift. I should be enjoying in, and I am, but there's that tiny little voice in the back of my head screaming at me for being a slacker. What is with all this work guilt?
And next up, two weeks of vacation!
Joe left for work this morning at around 5am and I could barely even wake up to say goodbye. This double-intern schedule is killing us. I just got done talking about how light my block is, he's on the wards doing GI/Liver/Geriatrics. Next up, he's on the wards at [Queens affiliate hospital], I'm on vacation for two weeks and then spend two weeks working nights in the ER. So I'll be awake when everyone else on Earth is asleep, and sleeping when everyone else is awake. That's good for sanity. After that, I'm on Oncology, one of the most grueling blocks of intern year, and he's on vacation for two weeks, then elective. You could not have planned our schedules to be more opposite. Or maybe someone did...I'm starting to become a conspiracy theorist.
We should be able to go out this weekend, though. My institution is opening up our huge new Children's Hospital, and there is some Gala Ball for the Pediatrics Department to celebrate. You know, one of those celebrations that you have to pay $60 a head to attend. Luckily, our department chair, understanding that they don't really pay us all that much, footed the bill for the Peds residents. Free food and drinks! And fun gossip about the various attendings and nurses we see milling about! Woo, good times. The residents are so going to be the bad kids at the party, spiking the punch bowl and hiding in the bathroom to smoke. Um, not that any of us smoke, because smoking is very bad for your lungs, kids. Ahem.
I guess I should figure out something to wear to this thing.
Remember how, way back in the day, I used to have "bikini briefs," which were little snippets outside of the main body of the journal update about assorted minutiae? Well, this entry is going to be a handful of bikini briefs. Actually, I guess you could say that since my move to Blogger, my entire journal is now bikini briefs. But to dive into it...
Is "Scrubs" never going to be on again? Are "Friends" and "Will and Grace" engulfing that time slot? What gives? How come every time I try to watch "Scrubs," it's something else? Wait, did it change time slots and no one told me? Not Thursdays at 8:30 anymore? Quick, someone give me the answer! I don't watch NBC except for "Scrubs" (or attempting to watch "Scrubs," these days) so if they've been running ads about a schedule change, I'm in the dark.
OK then. Enough about the stupid TV show.
Despite being called in for sick call here and there, I have to say that this block that I'm on (Adolescent Medicine, in case I don't harp on it enough) is ridiculously easy. Today, my schedule is as follows. "Reading" in the morning (they gave us a stack of articles at the start of the block, about drugs and STDs and depression and all those teen things) and then Continuity Clinic this afternoon from 1-5pm. This is my clinic where I see my regular patients, who are, by and large, babies and younger kids. Kind of a relief after four straight days of teenagers. However, many of the parents of these babies are teenagers, so we run into some of the same problems. For example, last week I had a 17 day-old baby who presented with "white dots" in his groin after being born to a mom with herpes. I freaked out and was all ready to send the kid to the ER, but it turned out the white dots were pustules, not vesicles. Pustulosis. Who knew? But anyway, my point being that it is ridiculous and unheard of to not have to leave the house until noon for work your intern year, unless you're doing something like a 1-10pm ER shift. I should be enjoying in, and I am, but there's that tiny little voice in the back of my head screaming at me for being a slacker. What is with all this work guilt?
And next up, two weeks of vacation!
Joe left for work this morning at around 5am and I could barely even wake up to say goodbye. This double-intern schedule is killing us. I just got done talking about how light my block is, he's on the wards doing GI/Liver/Geriatrics. Next up, he's on the wards at [Queens affiliate hospital], I'm on vacation for two weeks and then spend two weeks working nights in the ER. So I'll be awake when everyone else on Earth is asleep, and sleeping when everyone else is awake. That's good for sanity. After that, I'm on Oncology, one of the most grueling blocks of intern year, and he's on vacation for two weeks, then elective. You could not have planned our schedules to be more opposite. Or maybe someone did...I'm starting to become a conspiracy theorist.
We should be able to go out this weekend, though. My institution is opening up our huge new Children's Hospital, and there is some Gala Ball for the Pediatrics Department to celebrate. You know, one of those celebrations that you have to pay $60 a head to attend. Luckily, our department chair, understanding that they don't really pay us all that much, footed the bill for the Peds residents. Free food and drinks! And fun gossip about the various attendings and nurses we see milling about! Woo, good times. The residents are so going to be the bad kids at the party, spiking the punch bowl and hiding in the bathroom to smoke. Um, not that any of us smoke, because smoking is very bad for your lungs, kids. Ahem.
I guess I should figure out something to wear to this thing.
Thursday, November 06, 2003
sick call, again
I had a leisurely morning planned, with a Psychiatry lecture over coffee planned for 11am and adolescent clinic for four hours in the afternoon, but instead, I got a call at 7:50am from the chief resident. Chiefs calling you at home is never anything good. And it wasn't. I was informed that I had to be at the hospital by 9am to cover the day for Cardiology. My apartment is an hour from the hospital by public transportation. (Do the math, then insert fast-forward footage of me getting ready for work here, wacky piano music playing.)
Though my day ended up being slightly longer, I actually didn't mind being called in to cardiology. I like being on the floor. I like the bizzaro diseases, the sick patients. And as un-PC as it may sound, I'm getting a little impatient with the clueless, haphazard teenagers and the stuff we have to do for them. Pelvic exams, contraceptive counseling, HIV testing. Ho hum. The other day I had to burn off some kid's genital warts with acid. Good times.
I'm tired now. I'm going to go watch "Scrubs," unless it got preempted by something crappy. But here's a photo from the inside of the cab that I took to work. I kind of had to rush, so I shelled out the cash. I'm not sure if they'll call me in tomorrow, but I don't think they can, because I have my continuity clinic.
I had a leisurely morning planned, with a Psychiatry lecture over coffee planned for 11am and adolescent clinic for four hours in the afternoon, but instead, I got a call at 7:50am from the chief resident. Chiefs calling you at home is never anything good. And it wasn't. I was informed that I had to be at the hospital by 9am to cover the day for Cardiology. My apartment is an hour from the hospital by public transportation. (Do the math, then insert fast-forward footage of me getting ready for work here, wacky piano music playing.)
Though my day ended up being slightly longer, I actually didn't mind being called in to cardiology. I like being on the floor. I like the bizzaro diseases, the sick patients. And as un-PC as it may sound, I'm getting a little impatient with the clueless, haphazard teenagers and the stuff we have to do for them. Pelvic exams, contraceptive counseling, HIV testing. Ho hum. The other day I had to burn off some kid's genital warts with acid. Good times.
I'm tired now. I'm going to go watch "Scrubs," unless it got preempted by something crappy. But here's a photo from the inside of the cab that I took to work. I kind of had to rush, so I shelled out the cash. I'm not sure if they'll call me in tomorrow, but I don't think they can, because I have my continuity clinic.
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
interview
Did you know that my sister interviewed for medical school today at my institution? Well, now you do, because I just told you.
I think I was freaking out more than her. First, I wrote a letter to the Dean of Admissions, basically telling him that we were related. Well, no, it said more than that, but it was like, "blah blah blah, had a great four years here, blah blah blah, sticking around another three years for residency because I can't get enough of this wild ride, blah bling blah, glad my sister has a chance to interview, bling bling blah, hope you get a chance to meet her." I mean, I don't know if its going to make a huge difference that I wrote that letter (I was neither an especially well-known or illustrious student during my tenure) but I figured it couldn't hurt.
Then, I met her at the admissions office before her tour and took a bunch of goofy pictures of her in the hallway, and of the sign in front of the admissions suite that they always post up, telling everyone what colleges are represented for the interview day. (Note the zoom in on Williams, my sister's soon-to-be alma mater.) I didn't want to embarass her in front of the other interviewees so I didn't take a picture of her in the interview sweet, but oh, I was tempted. Around noonish, they all went on their little tour/lunch meet-and-greet with the first year students (so young, they are), and I met her back afterwards so that I could walk her to her interviewer's office down the block. Yes, it was but 100 feet down the block, but I didn't want her to get lost. While waiting for her interview to finish, I went to the bookstore and bought her a university sweatshirt as a souvenir. (Only $20! It saves to buy children's sizes, so you know. The adult sweatshirts were, like, $50.)
While waiting for her interview to finish up, I camped out at this cafe across the street from the ER to meet her afterwards so that we could take the subway downtown together. This cafe, I noticed, has just aquired a new computer in the back. Does that now make it an internet cafe? Internet capabilities aside, this is one of the more upscale eateries in the neighborhood (which isn't saying much--"Dallas BBQ" is where you might go for a fancy night out), and it's actually become so successful that its slowly and insidiously expanding to take over the entire block. Already, the new Children's Hospital has asked the cafe to open up a storefront in the lobby. Free frittatas and brie for all the residents?
Also at the bookstore, I bought a new book, "The Secret Lives of Bees." Everyone's talking about it (or they were, a few months ago--can't quite seem to catch onto bestsellers until they're past their peak popularity) so I figured it could be worth a go. Better be more interesting than "The Life of Pi." I don't care how many prizes it won, that shit was boring.
(For the pictures accompanying this entry, see today's photolog.)
Did you know that my sister interviewed for medical school today at my institution? Well, now you do, because I just told you.
I think I was freaking out more than her. First, I wrote a letter to the Dean of Admissions, basically telling him that we were related. Well, no, it said more than that, but it was like, "blah blah blah, had a great four years here, blah blah blah, sticking around another three years for residency because I can't get enough of this wild ride, blah bling blah, glad my sister has a chance to interview, bling bling blah, hope you get a chance to meet her." I mean, I don't know if its going to make a huge difference that I wrote that letter (I was neither an especially well-known or illustrious student during my tenure) but I figured it couldn't hurt.
Then, I met her at the admissions office before her tour and took a bunch of goofy pictures of her in the hallway, and of the sign in front of the admissions suite that they always post up, telling everyone what colleges are represented for the interview day. (Note the zoom in on Williams, my sister's soon-to-be alma mater.) I didn't want to embarass her in front of the other interviewees so I didn't take a picture of her in the interview sweet, but oh, I was tempted. Around noonish, they all went on their little tour/lunch meet-and-greet with the first year students (so young, they are), and I met her back afterwards so that I could walk her to her interviewer's office down the block. Yes, it was but 100 feet down the block, but I didn't want her to get lost. While waiting for her interview to finish, I went to the bookstore and bought her a university sweatshirt as a souvenir. (Only $20! It saves to buy children's sizes, so you know. The adult sweatshirts were, like, $50.)
While waiting for her interview to finish up, I camped out at this cafe across the street from the ER to meet her afterwards so that we could take the subway downtown together. This cafe, I noticed, has just aquired a new computer in the back. Does that now make it an internet cafe? Internet capabilities aside, this is one of the more upscale eateries in the neighborhood (which isn't saying much--"Dallas BBQ" is where you might go for a fancy night out), and it's actually become so successful that its slowly and insidiously expanding to take over the entire block. Already, the new Children's Hospital has asked the cafe to open up a storefront in the lobby. Free frittatas and brie for all the residents?
Also at the bookstore, I bought a new book, "The Secret Lives of Bees." Everyone's talking about it (or they were, a few months ago--can't quite seem to catch onto bestsellers until they're past their peak popularity) so I figured it could be worth a go. Better be more interesting than "The Life of Pi." I don't care how many prizes it won, that shit was boring.
(For the pictures accompanying this entry, see today's photolog.)
media update
Have you seen the movie "28 Days Later" yet? If you like scary movies, you absolutely should. It was scariest because it was plausible, you know? I mean, not so much the naked-lurching-zombie aspect of it, but the epidemic. And very interesting how, at the end, it really didn't matter who was infected and who wasn't, because humans are (per the movie's premise) intrinsically violent and self-destructive anyway. They only had the VHS of the movie at Blockbuster, having run out of the DVDs, so we didn't get to see the alternate endings. That would have been interesting, I think. Though I was too creeped out to be able to tolerate anything but the hopeful ending depicted in the original release, I thought it was a little implausible. More likely that the U.S. Would just drop a bomb on the whole area and be done with it. (It's what we like to do.)
Also, "Joe Millionaire." I know no one has been watching this show but me (as is reflected in the ratings: one out of eight million households tuning in!) but humor me for a second and pretend you know what I'm talking about. First of all, I can't believe the whole Linda thing. Asking to go home because the other women were jealous? Girlfriend, please. Get a spine! And is it possible that she's never had to deal with cattiness before? She's a model, for chrissake. Don't understand. I know David (the "Joe" of Joe Millionaire) is an idiot, but he's kind of growing on me, what with his Southern courtliness and "yes ma'am" and "no sir." Plus he cried when he voted Linda and Alessia off! Little chicken-fried cowboy tears! How cute is that? (I don't think he cried about voting Lina off, though. What a bitch.) Alessia I originally thought was freaky and annoying, but she really grew on me. I think that to laugh and have fun with everything is the only sane way to cope with being on a show like "Joe Millionaire". Sharpening your claws and threatening to kill the competition to win the affections of a guy you met two seconds ago...not so sane.
Have you seen the movie "28 Days Later" yet? If you like scary movies, you absolutely should. It was scariest because it was plausible, you know? I mean, not so much the naked-lurching-zombie aspect of it, but the epidemic. And very interesting how, at the end, it really didn't matter who was infected and who wasn't, because humans are (per the movie's premise) intrinsically violent and self-destructive anyway. They only had the VHS of the movie at Blockbuster, having run out of the DVDs, so we didn't get to see the alternate endings. That would have been interesting, I think. Though I was too creeped out to be able to tolerate anything but the hopeful ending depicted in the original release, I thought it was a little implausible. More likely that the U.S. Would just drop a bomb on the whole area and be done with it. (It's what we like to do.)
Also, "Joe Millionaire." I know no one has been watching this show but me (as is reflected in the ratings: one out of eight million households tuning in!) but humor me for a second and pretend you know what I'm talking about. First of all, I can't believe the whole Linda thing. Asking to go home because the other women were jealous? Girlfriend, please. Get a spine! And is it possible that she's never had to deal with cattiness before? She's a model, for chrissake. Don't understand. I know David (the "Joe" of Joe Millionaire) is an idiot, but he's kind of growing on me, what with his Southern courtliness and "yes ma'am" and "no sir." Plus he cried when he voted Linda and Alessia off! Little chicken-fried cowboy tears! How cute is that? (I don't think he cried about voting Lina off, though. What a bitch.) Alessia I originally thought was freaky and annoying, but she really grew on me. I think that to laugh and have fun with everything is the only sane way to cope with being on a show like "Joe Millionaire". Sharpening your claws and threatening to kill the competition to win the affections of a guy you met two seconds ago...not so sane.
Tuesday, November 04, 2003
cooper, reloaded
While I was at work today, Joe brought the Coop back to the vet to get re-stitched. A week and a half out, she was still gapping too much for his taste, and he could reportedly see a little patch of muscle through the wound. So she got closed up again. Luckily, she only needed some local this time, so she was as perky as ever after the procedure, not all stoned like before. The T-shirt will probably stay on for another week at least, and she'll be taking another course of antibiotics just to be safe.
The antibiotic, by the way, is called "Clavamox," which the vet told us is the canine equivalent of Augmentin.
Dogmentin.
While I was at work today, Joe brought the Coop back to the vet to get re-stitched. A week and a half out, she was still gapping too much for his taste, and he could reportedly see a little patch of muscle through the wound. So she got closed up again. Luckily, she only needed some local this time, so she was as perky as ever after the procedure, not all stoned like before. The T-shirt will probably stay on for another week at least, and she'll be taking another course of antibiotics just to be safe.
The antibiotic, by the way, is called "Clavamox," which the vet told us is the canine equivalent of Augmentin.
Dogmentin.
pimping
Working on my next lecture, a nice little drone session on genetic diseases. While preparing my little Power Point slides about sickle cell, I couldn't help but remembering my most ridiculous med school pimp session at the hand of a somewhat obnoxious attending.
ATTENDING
So what's the genetic mutation of hemoglobin in sickle cell?
MICHELLE
Isn't it a mutation from glu to val?
ATTENDING
(Somewhat upset that the correct answer was given)
Yes, but...can you tell me the codon change?
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE
You fucking...you have to be kidding me.
MICHELLE
(In a very polite voice, to ATTENDING)
No. (Pause) Do you know?
ATTENDING
(Beat)
No.
Ha! I love that story.
Working on my next lecture, a nice little drone session on genetic diseases. While preparing my little Power Point slides about sickle cell, I couldn't help but remembering my most ridiculous med school pimp session at the hand of a somewhat obnoxious attending.
ATTENDING
So what's the genetic mutation of hemoglobin in sickle cell?
MICHELLE
Isn't it a mutation from glu to val?
ATTENDING
(Somewhat upset that the correct answer was given)
Yes, but...can you tell me the codon change?
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE
You fucking...you have to be kidding me.
MICHELLE
(In a very polite voice, to ATTENDING)
No. (Pause) Do you know?
ATTENDING
(Beat)
No.
Ha! I love that story.
tales from the underground
I'm riding the uptown 1 train as I write this, having missed the preceding train by just a few seconds. Is there any more bitter commuting experience than fumbling for you Metrocard as you watch the train doors ding-dong closed? (Well, except for being trapped underground in a stalled train for an hour because threre was a deranged man on the tracks, which happened to me a month ago.) The only feeling that makes up for just missing a train is catching one just as it's about to leave the station. The doors close just behind you, just narrowly clearing the back of your backpack, and you have to resist the temptation to throw your arms over your head, gymnast style. Yes! She nailed it!
I've been commuting by subway since I was twelve years old. My elementary school was within walking distance from our home, but when I started high school, I had to deal with public transportation just like everyone else. There were schoolbusses of a sort (we called them "the vans" because that's what they were, really) but those were more for toting back and forth the younger students who lived deep in the outer buroughs, like Richmond Hill in Queens, or (gasp) Staten Island. People were kind of embarassed to take the vans, and would pretty much stop as soon as their parent allowed them to take public transportation. No one wanted to ride "the short bus."
My parents made me take the bus uptown in 7th grade, but allowed me to switch to the subway the following year. I guess they thought the bus was safer or something. It probably is. You don't hear about too many people getting pushed under a bus. And I have yet to read a news story about young hooligans setting a homeless man on fire in a bus stop--though, if you're already willing to set someone on fire, why let geography stop you?
By 8th grade, I guess I was deemed mature enough to handle subterranean transport on my own, so I was able to take the uptown 6 to school every day. My parents only stipulations were that I always stand with my back against the wall as I waited for the train (again the everpresent fear of being pushed into the tracks--imagine their horror if they saw me standing at the edge of the platform, peering down into the tunnel, along with all the other commuters), and that I never, ever, under any circumstances, leave the borough. Yes, those outer boroughs are strange and scary places to Manhattan parents. Queens? Brooklyn? THE BRONX? Why not just pump me full of bullets now and get it over with?
(*Note* Views of aforementioned parents are not necessarily the views of The Underwear Drawer or its subsidiaries.)
I have an undisguised love for the subway. Probably since I can't drive and have no better way to get around anywhere quickly, but I think there's more to it than that. I love subway culture. I love knowing the schedules, the lines, the best places to transfer. I love that I remember the Metrocard when it was blue, and when people used to be suspicous that it was a government plot to track our travel patterns. I love that you can sleep on the subway, read on the subway, occasionally hear mariachi music on the subway. I love that everyone knows the same few panhandlers on each line. I love the incomprehensible PA system announcements, except, of course, when I actually want to hear what it is that they're saying. "What? What did she say? We're skipping which stops? Going express after when? God dammit." I love the 40 minutes it gives me every morning and every evening to sit down, chill out, and read my book. I love how the subway in movies looks nothing like the real subway.
Most of all, I love how the subway gives me the best excuse of all for never, ever learning how to drive.
Stand clear of the closing doors.
I'm riding the uptown 1 train as I write this, having missed the preceding train by just a few seconds. Is there any more bitter commuting experience than fumbling for you Metrocard as you watch the train doors ding-dong closed? (Well, except for being trapped underground in a stalled train for an hour because threre was a deranged man on the tracks, which happened to me a month ago.) The only feeling that makes up for just missing a train is catching one just as it's about to leave the station. The doors close just behind you, just narrowly clearing the back of your backpack, and you have to resist the temptation to throw your arms over your head, gymnast style. Yes! She nailed it!
I've been commuting by subway since I was twelve years old. My elementary school was within walking distance from our home, but when I started high school, I had to deal with public transportation just like everyone else. There were schoolbusses of a sort (we called them "the vans" because that's what they were, really) but those were more for toting back and forth the younger students who lived deep in the outer buroughs, like Richmond Hill in Queens, or (gasp) Staten Island. People were kind of embarassed to take the vans, and would pretty much stop as soon as their parent allowed them to take public transportation. No one wanted to ride "the short bus."
My parents made me take the bus uptown in 7th grade, but allowed me to switch to the subway the following year. I guess they thought the bus was safer or something. It probably is. You don't hear about too many people getting pushed under a bus. And I have yet to read a news story about young hooligans setting a homeless man on fire in a bus stop--though, if you're already willing to set someone on fire, why let geography stop you?
By 8th grade, I guess I was deemed mature enough to handle subterranean transport on my own, so I was able to take the uptown 6 to school every day. My parents only stipulations were that I always stand with my back against the wall as I waited for the train (again the everpresent fear of being pushed into the tracks--imagine their horror if they saw me standing at the edge of the platform, peering down into the tunnel, along with all the other commuters), and that I never, ever, under any circumstances, leave the borough. Yes, those outer boroughs are strange and scary places to Manhattan parents. Queens? Brooklyn? THE BRONX? Why not just pump me full of bullets now and get it over with?
(*Note* Views of aforementioned parents are not necessarily the views of The Underwear Drawer or its subsidiaries.)
I have an undisguised love for the subway. Probably since I can't drive and have no better way to get around anywhere quickly, but I think there's more to it than that. I love subway culture. I love knowing the schedules, the lines, the best places to transfer. I love that I remember the Metrocard when it was blue, and when people used to be suspicous that it was a government plot to track our travel patterns. I love that you can sleep on the subway, read on the subway, occasionally hear mariachi music on the subway. I love that everyone knows the same few panhandlers on each line. I love the incomprehensible PA system announcements, except, of course, when I actually want to hear what it is that they're saying. "What? What did she say? We're skipping which stops? Going express after when? God dammit." I love the 40 minutes it gives me every morning and every evening to sit down, chill out, and read my book. I love how the subway in movies looks nothing like the real subway.
Most of all, I love how the subway gives me the best excuse of all for never, ever learning how to drive.
Stand clear of the closing doors.
Monday, November 03, 2003
it's getting hot in herre
So take off all your clothes. I am getting so hot, I'm gonna take my clothes off.
Honestly, can anyone say "it's getting hot in here" anymore without humming that Nelly song? I just don't understand the "herre" part. Misspelling that word doesn't even make sense. It's not a pun or anything, it's just...dumb.
Anyhoo, unseasonably warm in New York these days, as I'm sure you've heard. I actually had to turn off some lights, it was getting so hot in here. ("...so take off all your clothes..." Argh, Nelly, get out of my head!) I'm sweating. It's November 3rd. What gives?
I had some hope that I might get tomorrow off, since I was supposed to be at the school clinic and tomorrow is a school holiday (well, Election Day), but they just switched me back to the hospital clinic so I have to work a full day anyway. I'm going to try and get out early, though. I need time to work on Underappreciated Presentation II: Genetic Diseases. The snooze-fest continues.
Meanwhile, enjoy the photos of the day. I couldn't take pictures at the school, so there isn't much commentary to go with the shots. Basically, me making kissy face, me practicing the Power Point setup before my lesson, the dog, the dog, the dog. You may notice that we had to change her T-shirt. It now says, "Back to the Future." One point twenty-one gigawatts! We tried to disrobe the dog, because it was just getting too embarassing walking a dog with a T-shirt on, but then she proceeded to basically start eating the wound again, opening it up superficially. So that T-shirt's back on until she's all healed up. This could be a true test. How many baby tees do I have in my closet? And is one only more comical than the next?
So take off all your clothes. I am getting so hot, I'm gonna take my clothes off.
Honestly, can anyone say "it's getting hot in here" anymore without humming that Nelly song? I just don't understand the "herre" part. Misspelling that word doesn't even make sense. It's not a pun or anything, it's just...dumb.
Anyhoo, unseasonably warm in New York these days, as I'm sure you've heard. I actually had to turn off some lights, it was getting so hot in here. ("...so take off all your clothes..." Argh, Nelly, get out of my head!) I'm sweating. It's November 3rd. What gives?
I had some hope that I might get tomorrow off, since I was supposed to be at the school clinic and tomorrow is a school holiday (well, Election Day), but they just switched me back to the hospital clinic so I have to work a full day anyway. I'm going to try and get out early, though. I need time to work on Underappreciated Presentation II: Genetic Diseases. The snooze-fest continues.
Meanwhile, enjoy the photos of the day. I couldn't take pictures at the school, so there isn't much commentary to go with the shots. Basically, me making kissy face, me practicing the Power Point setup before my lesson, the dog, the dog, the dog. You may notice that we had to change her T-shirt. It now says, "Back to the Future." One point twenty-one gigawatts! We tried to disrobe the dog, because it was just getting too embarassing walking a dog with a T-shirt on, but then she proceeded to basically start eating the wound again, opening it up superficially. So that T-shirt's back on until she's all healed up. This could be a true test. How many baby tees do I have in my closet? And is one only more comical than the next?
it's no degrassi jr. high
My immunology lecture (both session, to three separate science classes) today went off OK. At least, I think it did. At least the kid in the do-rag wasn't snoring too loudly.
The school was, no doubt, a tough inner city school. Metal detectors and bag x-ray machines by the door. Ten minutes after we got there, two girls got dragged out, handcuffed, kicking and screaming by the police. (I think they had gotten into a fight or something.) I saw one student walking down the hall just spit on the ground. Spitting! Indoors! Oh, my little Upper East Side High School sensibilities are in turmoil! I mean, not that Hunter schooled the most well-bred group of kids in Manhattan or anything, but at least we never had police roaming the hallways.
The two classes I taught were not really disruptive per se (except for the three boys in the back that kept insisting, loudly, that we turn on the air conditioning, all the while passing little notes back and forth--what the hell are you, a bunch of girls?), just generally disinterested. It was a skewed sample of the students in the school already, though: ninth and tenth grade remedial Biology students who had already failed the Biology Regent exam once. Everything was very PC, though. Don't call it "Remedial Bio," we were warned, call it "The Living Environment." Don't say it's "for kids who failed the Regents," say it's "Term 3," as in they already finished Terms 1 and 2, but need an additional semester.
So after all that, the Power Point slides, the stressing about the laptop and the working condition of the LCD projector I borrowed from the department, worrying about striking the right tone with the students, it probably works out that no one was really listening anyway. The first class I taught had maybe nine students in it, and at least four of them were sleeping. Not falling asleep, like I do in lectures sometimes, with the bob and weave--but actually full out head on the table, coat over their heads, drooling on the table asleep. Two of the others were slowly and pondorously applying lipgloss the entire 40 minutes. One kid actually seemed fairly interested, but...that's one kid.
Not that I haven't taught to tough classrooms before. I spent a summer teaching Health Ed to a group of high school drop-out pregnant teenagers living in a residential facility, who would literally only come to class if a nurse woke them up and physically dragged them downstairs. And then they would sleep the whole time. On the floor. There was no breakthrough, no Michelle-Pfeiffer-in-Dangerous-Minds moment of connecting, just a bunch of kids who really, really didn't want to be there. And that's fine, whatever. They have other things to worry about. All I'm saying is that it made it really difficult to feel like I was teaching them anything.
I could be Pollyanna-ish about this whole thing and say, "Yeah, but there's that one kid. And if I can move just that one kid..." Cue string orchestra, sweeping inspirational music. Well, instead, I say, good luck, you not-comotose boy in the second row. And for the rest of them, I say, it was a good lecture, sorry you missed it.
My immunology lecture (both session, to three separate science classes) today went off OK. At least, I think it did. At least the kid in the do-rag wasn't snoring too loudly.
The school was, no doubt, a tough inner city school. Metal detectors and bag x-ray machines by the door. Ten minutes after we got there, two girls got dragged out, handcuffed, kicking and screaming by the police. (I think they had gotten into a fight or something.) I saw one student walking down the hall just spit on the ground. Spitting! Indoors! Oh, my little Upper East Side High School sensibilities are in turmoil! I mean, not that Hunter schooled the most well-bred group of kids in Manhattan or anything, but at least we never had police roaming the hallways.
The two classes I taught were not really disruptive per se (except for the three boys in the back that kept insisting, loudly, that we turn on the air conditioning, all the while passing little notes back and forth--what the hell are you, a bunch of girls?), just generally disinterested. It was a skewed sample of the students in the school already, though: ninth and tenth grade remedial Biology students who had already failed the Biology Regent exam once. Everything was very PC, though. Don't call it "Remedial Bio," we were warned, call it "The Living Environment." Don't say it's "for kids who failed the Regents," say it's "Term 3," as in they already finished Terms 1 and 2, but need an additional semester.
So after all that, the Power Point slides, the stressing about the laptop and the working condition of the LCD projector I borrowed from the department, worrying about striking the right tone with the students, it probably works out that no one was really listening anyway. The first class I taught had maybe nine students in it, and at least four of them were sleeping. Not falling asleep, like I do in lectures sometimes, with the bob and weave--but actually full out head on the table, coat over their heads, drooling on the table asleep. Two of the others were slowly and pondorously applying lipgloss the entire 40 minutes. One kid actually seemed fairly interested, but...that's one kid.
Not that I haven't taught to tough classrooms before. I spent a summer teaching Health Ed to a group of high school drop-out pregnant teenagers living in a residential facility, who would literally only come to class if a nurse woke them up and physically dragged them downstairs. And then they would sleep the whole time. On the floor. There was no breakthrough, no Michelle-Pfeiffer-in-Dangerous-Minds moment of connecting, just a bunch of kids who really, really didn't want to be there. And that's fine, whatever. They have other things to worry about. All I'm saying is that it made it really difficult to feel like I was teaching them anything.
I could be Pollyanna-ish about this whole thing and say, "Yeah, but there's that one kid. And if I can move just that one kid..." Cue string orchestra, sweeping inspirational music. Well, instead, I say, good luck, you not-comotose boy in the second row. And for the rest of them, I say, it was a good lecture, sorry you missed it.
Sunday, November 02, 2003
downtown to chinatown
What a beautiful day today. The weather was unseasonably warm, in the 70's yesterday, high 60's today. Tomorrow's predicted high is 77 degrees. Wish I could play hookie.
Today I met my family downtown for lunch. My sister was getting her hair cut in Chinatown. I think Chinatown haircuts could go one of two ways: really good, because they understand Asian hair, or really awful, because they give you these super-thinned, layer-y, jagged-edge pixie-bang cuts that you see in all the Japanese fashion magazines, and you just have to wear a bag over your head for a month while it grows out. But I think that my sister ended up with the former. At least, everyone else likes it. She's still pouting because they made her bangs too short, but suck it up, woman. There was also a woman in the salon sitting next to her getting the Japanese Hair Straightening Treatment (tm), and I was absolutely captivated. I wish my hair was all slippery and straight, like that stereotypical Asian hair. Mine is more of the wavy frizzy variety. But it's occasionally fairly straight, so wouldn't that make it a total rip to pay hundreds of dollars for Japanese Hair Straightening (tm)? And wouldn't it totally wreck the structure of your hair in the long run? All these things are true, but oh, how I long for the stick-straight hair sometimes.
We met up with my parents at their office and went for Malaysian food. I never had Malay food before. (Have I?) It's very pungent and spicy, but very tasty too. They have these very hot and sour noodle soups that you have to kind of get used to, but if you're adventurous palate-wise, I'd give it a go. Top-notch curry too, even though I don't usually like so much coconut milk. I brought some take-out home for dinner.
After our late lunch, as any day out in Chinatown concludes, we stopped by the knock-off bag palace, where we almost got trampled my the five million Jersey grandmothers loudly demanding Louis Vuitton. For photos to accompany the above commentary, click here. Thank you, little phone cam!
What a beautiful day today. The weather was unseasonably warm, in the 70's yesterday, high 60's today. Tomorrow's predicted high is 77 degrees. Wish I could play hookie.
Today I met my family downtown for lunch. My sister was getting her hair cut in Chinatown. I think Chinatown haircuts could go one of two ways: really good, because they understand Asian hair, or really awful, because they give you these super-thinned, layer-y, jagged-edge pixie-bang cuts that you see in all the Japanese fashion magazines, and you just have to wear a bag over your head for a month while it grows out. But I think that my sister ended up with the former. At least, everyone else likes it. She's still pouting because they made her bangs too short, but suck it up, woman. There was also a woman in the salon sitting next to her getting the Japanese Hair Straightening Treatment (tm), and I was absolutely captivated. I wish my hair was all slippery and straight, like that stereotypical Asian hair. Mine is more of the wavy frizzy variety. But it's occasionally fairly straight, so wouldn't that make it a total rip to pay hundreds of dollars for Japanese Hair Straightening (tm)? And wouldn't it totally wreck the structure of your hair in the long run? All these things are true, but oh, how I long for the stick-straight hair sometimes.
We met up with my parents at their office and went for Malaysian food. I never had Malay food before. (Have I?) It's very pungent and spicy, but very tasty too. They have these very hot and sour noodle soups that you have to kind of get used to, but if you're adventurous palate-wise, I'd give it a go. Top-notch curry too, even though I don't usually like so much coconut milk. I brought some take-out home for dinner.
After our late lunch, as any day out in Chinatown concludes, we stopped by the knock-off bag palace, where we almost got trampled my the five million Jersey grandmothers loudly demanding Louis Vuitton. For photos to accompany the above commentary, click here. Thank you, little phone cam!
amma
amma
We went out to dinner with my family last night, because my sister is home for the weekend through Thursday of next week for med school interviews. The restaurant we went to was Amma, a very decent Indian restaurant in midtown. We all got the tasting menu, which had one, two, three (trying to remember now) EIGHT courses, including dessert. It was fantastic (best on the menu were the tandoori prawns and lamb chops), but just so much food, and so spread out over the night for maximal stuffing. I was mad, because so much of the good stuff (lamb in particular) came at the end, and by then I was just too full to have more than just a bite. I wish I had wrapped it up for home, but I'm not sure it was that kind of a restaurant. Anyway, day old lamb...eh.
We were going to go out for brunch this morning, but are both still too stuffed from last night.
We went out to dinner with my family last night, because my sister is home for the weekend through Thursday of next week for med school interviews. The restaurant we went to was Amma, a very decent Indian restaurant in midtown. We all got the tasting menu, which had one, two, three (trying to remember now) EIGHT courses, including dessert. It was fantastic (best on the menu were the tandoori prawns and lamb chops), but just so much food, and so spread out over the night for maximal stuffing. I was mad, because so much of the good stuff (lamb in particular) came at the end, and by then I was just too full to have more than just a bite. I wish I had wrapped it up for home, but I'm not sure it was that kind of a restaurant. Anyway, day old lamb...eh.
We were going to go out for brunch this morning, but are both still too stuffed from last night.
Saturday, November 01, 2003
concord grapes
I finally understand now why grape-flavored candy tastes not at all like grapes from the supermarket. Because they taste like Concord grapes. We went to a farmer's market today and they were selling these strange looking mini-black grapes, $2.50 a container. The aforementioned Concord grapes, you see. They smelled really good, so we bought some. And now the mystery is solved. Sweet as jam with a tart core, those little things are genuinely tasty, a much more flavorful than the over-engineered seedless monstrosities sold in the supermarkets. It tastes like Dimatap and Grape Blow Pops and Purplesaurus Rex Kool Aid all in one. With seeds. Yummy Concord grapes!
I finally understand now why grape-flavored candy tastes not at all like grapes from the supermarket. Because they taste like Concord grapes. We went to a farmer's market today and they were selling these strange looking mini-black grapes, $2.50 a container. The aforementioned Concord grapes, you see. They smelled really good, so we bought some. And now the mystery is solved. Sweet as jam with a tart core, those little things are genuinely tasty, a much more flavorful than the over-engineered seedless monstrosities sold in the supermarkets. It tastes like Dimatap and Grape Blow Pops and Purplesaurus Rex Kool Aid all in one. With seeds. Yummy Concord grapes!
november already?
So the logical question this morning is, "so what did you do for Halloween?"
Fair enough. I went to work during the day. However, being a Pediatrician, I have license to have some fun with the holiday without getting laughed at, so I went to work in subtle costume, the requisite black and orange. The only orange article of clothing I have, though, are these orange paratrooper-type cargo pants that can zip off into shorts, so they were a tad casual for clinic. But hey, I was hanging with teens all day anyway, what's the damage? Also, I strapped on these little white horns that Joe got for me a few months ago at Ye Olde Renaissance Faire. (Not that he's the type to habitually go to Renaissance Fairs, eating giant turkey drumsticks and quaffing mead while robed in olden timey clothes. He just went with his sister and her kids while in Baltimore.) Joe wore his horns at work too, but he said that he had to take them off by the end of the morning, because they were itching him. He may have felt a little self-conscious, though, because on adult medicine, people were acting like Halloween didn't exist at all. (Oh, Richard, in case I don't get around to answering your e-mail, because I just never do, Joe's going into ophthalmology, but he's doing a preliminary year in Medicine as an intern.) And Coop, of course, was already dressed up. Here are some pictures. In the third picture, Joe is the one on the right. The bald guy is one of his co-interns. And yes, my face is just that round. I'm like a Cabbage Patch Kid. But also, I think that the camera on my Sidekick give you a wall-eyed view.
So can I interject here for just a moment and tell you how much I am in love with my new cell-phone-internet-email-geek-device? I am. In love. I think its great for medical residents, especially those who never see their families, because you can be in constant communication without having to be by a phone or at a desk with a computer. Waiting for your bus? Send an e-mail! Need to ask a quick question? Instant message! Want to read the Times? Read it online! And of course, its a regular cell phone too. The only bad thing is that (and I don't know if any of you with new cell phones will agree with this), there are no normal cell phone rings anymore. They're either songs, like, "Theme from Titanic," or really annoying chirps and bleeps, like there's some robot in your pocket trying to get out. I picked the least offensive and strident ring for my phone, but that's not saying much, because the ring is called "Hip Cat" or something ridiculous, and it sounds like bow-chicka-wow-wow, 70's porn background music. Luckily, since the number is fairly new and I just gave it out, it hasn't gone off in the hospital yet. But I fear the day that I don't have it on vibrate and it goes off during Grand Rounds or something.
Anyway, by the time we got home, it was pretty late. We had made tentative plans to go out with Kal and Andy to Brooklyn, but turns out that Kal was on "short call" (some ridiculous bullshit they have at [Upper East Side Hospital] related to night-float) and didn't get out until 9pm. Which might be fine for normal people, but for medical interns, which all of us are (well, except for Andy, I guess, but he's doing doctor-things too) that's just one hour from bedtime. So Joe and I left out some treats for the trick or treaters (always a dangerous proposition--all it takes is one pack of surly teens to empty out your bowl, so we left a chastising sign for people considering doing just that) and went out for Thai. Good Thai restaurant in our neighborhood, but bad service. And they don't give you chopsticks unless you ask. What kind of freaky Thai restaurant is that, without chopsticks at the table? (And don't say, "A Thai restaurant for white people," because the place is packed with Thais. Thailanders? People of Thai descent? Whatever.)
Then we figured, fuck it, we're domestic, let's go to Blockbuster and rent a movie. Thank you again, unlimited movie pass. We returned the Woody Allen I rented before and got "28 Days Later," which is not to be confused with "28 Days" (starring Sandra Bullock) or "40 Days and 40 Nights" (starring the incomprehensibly famous Josh Hartnett) in that "28 Days Later" is actually supposed to be good. And scary. Fitting for Halloween, no? Except what happened was that we got home, took a phone call, lay down in bed, and both fell asleep. For the rest of the night.
Oh, and our candy bowl was empty by the time we got home. I thought it would have been funny if it were steaming and rocking back and forth, like in the cartoons. Happy Halloween, people! Hope our lame intern-lives made you feel less so!
So the logical question this morning is, "so what did you do for Halloween?"
Fair enough. I went to work during the day. However, being a Pediatrician, I have license to have some fun with the holiday without getting laughed at, so I went to work in subtle costume, the requisite black and orange. The only orange article of clothing I have, though, are these orange paratrooper-type cargo pants that can zip off into shorts, so they were a tad casual for clinic. But hey, I was hanging with teens all day anyway, what's the damage? Also, I strapped on these little white horns that Joe got for me a few months ago at Ye Olde Renaissance Faire. (Not that he's the type to habitually go to Renaissance Fairs, eating giant turkey drumsticks and quaffing mead while robed in olden timey clothes. He just went with his sister and her kids while in Baltimore.) Joe wore his horns at work too, but he said that he had to take them off by the end of the morning, because they were itching him. He may have felt a little self-conscious, though, because on adult medicine, people were acting like Halloween didn't exist at all. (Oh, Richard, in case I don't get around to answering your e-mail, because I just never do, Joe's going into ophthalmology, but he's doing a preliminary year in Medicine as an intern.) And Coop, of course, was already dressed up. Here are some pictures. In the third picture, Joe is the one on the right. The bald guy is one of his co-interns. And yes, my face is just that round. I'm like a Cabbage Patch Kid. But also, I think that the camera on my Sidekick give you a wall-eyed view.
So can I interject here for just a moment and tell you how much I am in love with my new cell-phone-internet-email-geek-device? I am. In love. I think its great for medical residents, especially those who never see their families, because you can be in constant communication without having to be by a phone or at a desk with a computer. Waiting for your bus? Send an e-mail! Need to ask a quick question? Instant message! Want to read the Times? Read it online! And of course, its a regular cell phone too. The only bad thing is that (and I don't know if any of you with new cell phones will agree with this), there are no normal cell phone rings anymore. They're either songs, like, "Theme from Titanic," or really annoying chirps and bleeps, like there's some robot in your pocket trying to get out. I picked the least offensive and strident ring for my phone, but that's not saying much, because the ring is called "Hip Cat" or something ridiculous, and it sounds like bow-chicka-wow-wow, 70's porn background music. Luckily, since the number is fairly new and I just gave it out, it hasn't gone off in the hospital yet. But I fear the day that I don't have it on vibrate and it goes off during Grand Rounds or something.
Anyway, by the time we got home, it was pretty late. We had made tentative plans to go out with Kal and Andy to Brooklyn, but turns out that Kal was on "short call" (some ridiculous bullshit they have at [Upper East Side Hospital] related to night-float) and didn't get out until 9pm. Which might be fine for normal people, but for medical interns, which all of us are (well, except for Andy, I guess, but he's doing doctor-things too) that's just one hour from bedtime. So Joe and I left out some treats for the trick or treaters (always a dangerous proposition--all it takes is one pack of surly teens to empty out your bowl, so we left a chastising sign for people considering doing just that) and went out for Thai. Good Thai restaurant in our neighborhood, but bad service. And they don't give you chopsticks unless you ask. What kind of freaky Thai restaurant is that, without chopsticks at the table? (And don't say, "A Thai restaurant for white people," because the place is packed with Thais. Thailanders? People of Thai descent? Whatever.)
Then we figured, fuck it, we're domestic, let's go to Blockbuster and rent a movie. Thank you again, unlimited movie pass. We returned the Woody Allen I rented before and got "28 Days Later," which is not to be confused with "28 Days" (starring Sandra Bullock) or "40 Days and 40 Nights" (starring the incomprehensibly famous Josh Hartnett) in that "28 Days Later" is actually supposed to be good. And scary. Fitting for Halloween, no? Except what happened was that we got home, took a phone call, lay down in bed, and both fell asleep. For the rest of the night.
Oh, and our candy bowl was empty by the time we got home. I thought it would have been funny if it were steaming and rocking back and forth, like in the cartoons. Happy Halloween, people! Hope our lame intern-lives made you feel less so!
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