A Christmas Gift of Errant Boxes

Merry Christmas! You'll get your presents when you get 'em.

The merry holiday has now come and past, and although the majority of it was spent sitting in a chair in the cardiac care unit (CCU) it was quite nice. Not because I had a great time with my nieces and nephews -- I haven't seen them in some time and am not sure they even still exist -- but because for once, for whatever reason, I felt a little grateful. Now I have always known I am blessed beyond merit, but infrequently have I felt it. I am not sure what to attribute it to but my suspicions are Wilford Hall's ghetto rooftop Christmas tree or BAMC's military issue eggnog. In either case I did not terribly mind working or being alone for the navidad. Plus how can you complain when your friends give you Lyme Disease?

Season sentiments aside, let's get to the point of Christmas and to the point of this post: presents. Man were they a disaster. Although Amazon and its various retailers did their jobs well, I, in my job as distribution center ring leader, did not. I barely got everything wrapped and boxed by the evening of the 20th, but did not make it to Fedex in time for the evening shipment thanks in part to the incredible complexity of stuffing a Mini Cooper with enormous boxes and partly because I may or may not have run someone over on my blind side. I'm pretty sure it was a roll of carpet. The boxes were shipped out successfully the next morning of course, but successfully to the wrong addresses. Adam and Ashlee got a Christmas surprise of other people's presents and my sister's family in Hawaii will be delighted to find out the box they receive sometime in February in fact needs to be immediately repackaged and reshipped. I am sure in every case, however, that their real present was hearing my voice over the phone on Christmas day. Mine, of course, was giving Lucca 11 lbs of candy legos. And possibly diabetes.

To The DR With You

This past year I have tried in vein to leave the country. First I was to go research in Thailand but Thailand exploded. Then I was to go research somewhere else, but our program leader exploded. Scheduling conflicts boxed me out of the USAF humanitarian relief mission to Haiti and the scourge of residency scheduling somehow excluded me from the ICU rotation in Landstuhl, Germany. I was going nowhere and nowhere fast. Which, as far as residency goes, isn't that bad. I'd rather spend my days in San Antonio quickly than the other way around.

But a bright new day has dawned! A late breaking opportunity for a second USAF humanitarian mission in the spring arose recently and I said, "Hey, USAF medical mission, take me fool!" To which the USAF medical mission graciously obliged. I will now be going to the Dominican Republic in April to do... well I am not entirely sure what. Relieve things. Humanitarian things. Medical things. You know, heady stuff. The details are scarce in that I know no details, but it will undoubtedly be an experience. Opportunities like this are a major reason why I joined the military and I look forward to my first trip. Hopefully this time no one brings the cholera.*

*Bonus DR pesos to whoever guesses the current events reference!

The Greatest Song Ever Forever

I like music. Not like some people who like music. Not in the sense that I feel I need to collect random and obscure band names and titles as if they were Pokemon or froth at the mouth in defense of why my arbitrarily best music genre is better than your arbitarily best music genre. Aside from a firm belief in the universal distaste for jazz, music is relative and we all like what we like. I like music because of the way it can move and speak to you in ways that regular speech cannot carry, and many songs can do this in different settings, under different conditions, for different people. I guess that's part of why it is so transcendent. There is one exception, though, and that is the greatest song ever forever.

O Holy Night by Jewel. I do not say this because it's Christmas time and I just happen to be listening to Christmas music -- I admittedly listen to this song in the 100 degree sunshine of spring, summer, and fall just as often -- and I do not say this because I think Jewel is one hot mamma jamma -- though she is -- but because the lines are so stirringly written, the words are so beautifully sung, and the story so elegantly told. It is a song that, no matter what I am doing or where I am doing it, I cannot help but pause and take in. It is a song that has the unique ability to transcend us and our situation. Not a whole lot that can do that. And that's why I give it this year's first and only award for Greatest Song Ever Forever. First runner up? Ninja Rap by Vanilla Ice. Go buy your copies now!

Risky Business

Last month I vacationed to California for family fun time or, as it is also known in my family, Joust. Although we do not actually dawn armor and brandish shields in attempts to impale each other with poles, there is a lot of yelling and noise and inevitably someone will get trampled by a horse. It is just a matter of time before we break out the pikes.

Aside from periodic outbreaks of third grade name calling, no visit home would be complete without... well sleeping on the ground? Mostly it's just periodic outbreaks of third grade name calling. Fruity Pebbles, there was lots of that too. And clothes disappearing into a still as of yet unlocalized black hole. And... Fox News?

Typical family vacations aside, the time was spent in a variety of activities, most important of which being collectively kicking Bowser's backside in Nintendo Wii. That and denying Lucca access to the game. Of course there was also:

• Time at the beach in the gravel and surf
• Three flies up (man Hawaiian girls got weak arms)
• Chocolate covered soggy bananas
• Fireworks
• HORSE (man Hawaiian girls got weak arms)
• Gabby teaching my friend Ro and I to surf
• Eighteen man Nertz
• In-N-Out just once (so sad)
• A never ending game of paddle ball against every last one of my nieces
• Time with Grandma Ruby and Grandma Ruby's nurse
• Time walking home from the park after getting our truck locked in the parking lot
• Time with Matthew and Michael and Michael's cougar
• A corrupted game of Risk complicated by Adam's treacherous general surrender of his empire to his enemy and coincidental wife Ashlee
• An Angels game
• And our surprisingly violent improvised obstacle course (Lily your catastrophic fall was still the greatest)

We even managed to have a beach fire and s'mores for once where Sarah patented the 4x4. At least I think it was Sarah and I think they called it the 4x4. Whatever it was, it was one gigantic wad of marshmallow and chocolate.

The highlight, though, for me at least, was Disneyland. Disneyland! I hadn't been there in like... a really really long time. And apparently they've shrunk the place. It was definitely about half the size I remembered it being. I don't know how they did it; that Disney guy is a genius. Star Tours and Matterhorn may were my favorite rides -- now that the People Mover has been removed -- but Jungle Tour and the Rockets were close seconds save Beeders crushing my hip with his gangly, non-rocket conforming body. There was a slight drizzle, but it made it refreshing, and there were surprisingly long lines at times, but these were vanquished by our Quick Pass running-man Adam. My only regret was that more people could not have been there to see Moriah and Maya run like the dickens away from the animatronic jaguar in the Jungle Book tree house. Seriously, the dickens people. The dickens.

All in all, mostly good times were had mostly. Which is a success in our family so three cheers for that. Next time perhaps we can all sing Christmas carols in matching wool sweaters. I'll bring the tranquilizers.

Photos of the trip (i.e. us standing in various Disney lines!)

Sometimes You Just Gotta Move

I have officially been a doctor about... oh... one and twelve thirteenths years now. Around the one and seven thirteenth mark I came to a realization about my job that although not particularly revolutionary is still remarkable. That is: there is no escaping the crazy and the boring. No matter what path I decide to take in medicine I will always have patients that are loony toony or just dull, tedious, and boring. For a while I had had reservations about pursuing a career in infectious disease due to the tendency for infectious disease docs to be the antibiotic monkeys of the orthopedic surgeons -- resulting often in clinic visits with nothing more than a demented patient, a handful of illegible nursing notes, and a PICC line -- but now I know we all got our burdens to bear.

This realization came during my neurology rotation. Although I already knew neurology to be full of the dull, tedious, and boring I was caught off guard by the amount of crazy. Where as rheumatologists have fibromyalgia, endocrinologists have "hypoglycemia", cardiologists have "chest pain", and allergists have their entire careers, neurologists have pseudoseizures. Pseudoseizures, for those not in the know, are seizures that aren't really there. Hence the prefix pseudo-. The more politically correct term currently is "psychogenic non-epileptic seizure" but I imagine this will be the case only as long as it takes people to realize "psychogenic" means "full of crap." In every case people twist and turn, writhe and shake, hop and bounce all convinced they're having a seizure when, in reality, they've just got a case of ants in the pants.

The reason pseudoseizures are such a pain is both because of the high incidence of personality disorders associated with them and the requirement of a 72 hour sleep deprivation study to diagnose them. Regular seizures are hard to provoke but it turns out not letting someone sleep for a long time is a pretty good way to do it. It is also unfortunately a pretty good way to make a healthy but ornery person into a healthy but fairly irrational and agitated person as well. The purpose of the study is to capture on video and electroencephalogram (EEG) a purported seizure. Comparing their movements and brain waves gives a nearly infallible assessment of whether the seizure is genuine or not. Although some people can fake seizures with the best of 'em, it turns out it is hard to fake an EEG.

Thankfully, amongst all the painful explaining that all the Depakote in the world won't stop you from having the seizures you aren't having, there are the lighter moments. Specifically, when the patients are *not* good at faking seizures. During my month on the neurology service there was all kinds of wackiness but the best "seizures" of the month were memorable. Runner up went to lady who back flipped off the hospital bed while first prize went to young dude who did some sort of fully upright hokey pokey. In the words of a colleague, "that's not a seizure. That's a dance move." I am sure people with pseudoseizures have great struggles both with their condition and in life, but, man, if you're was going to fake a disease at least take some disease faking classes first. Or go with psychotic parasitosis. Prove to me I don't have parasites!

The Fifth Column

Over the past few weeks an insidious new menace has slowly advanced upon us. It has crossed our borders, invaded our homes, and watched us as we slept at night. It is ever increasing in number, ever resolute in purpose, ever purposeless in its existence. It is: tiny, little damn flies.

Stowaways on my houseplants, the first tiny flies immigrated into my home unknowningly and inconspicuously. Establishing themselves in the terracotta pots they were tolerated even welcomed at first, often working the jobs I myself did not want to work. Within days, however, their numbers increased and they were often to be founding loatering around the windowsills or flying about drunkenly with no apparent goal or purpose in mind. Simple police measures were initiated and a few flies were made examples of in the hopes that the rest would leave, but this would only be the beginning.

Emboldened by their numbers and little, tiny fly brains they grew more aggressive. Flying about at all hours of day and often seemingly intentionally flying directly into my face and eyes whenever it pleased them, the crackdown continued and negotiations were attempted. Deadlocked after the first few promising rounds, the dialogue ended over the flies refusal to concede measured autonomy and the right to fly up my nose whenever it pleased them. It was then that the decision was made for a more forceful response.

Over the next few days fly squashing picked up dramatically both in absolute numbers and in intensity. Now flies were no longer smashed only when behaving egregiously, but whenever found and in all instances. Periodic fly swatting campaigns were undertaken in the hoping of reducing their numbers. As their populations only increased, however, reproducing like some sort of crazy reproducing thing, little bowls of water and sugar were laid out at their favorite spots as traps which would eventually take the lives of dozens if not hundreds of the annoying little buggers. The conflict, now arguably a smoldering low level war, only continued.

It is now the present day. With fly corpses all over the friggin' place, and hundreds more in my vacuum cleaner, the campaign continues still. In an escalation of hostilities I have since purchased an insecticide spray with which I have doused the tiny flies' homes and hopefully their tiny fly playgrounds and schools. My skill in slapping the bejeezus out of them mid air has improved remarkably though there is, as of yet, no sign that their numbers are declining. If current military actions fail I may have to resort to napalm or a box of tiny frogs. There can unfortunately be no compromise. The tiny flies follow an ultraconservative, fundamentalist ideology. To them flying into my ear at night fully knowing their impending disintegration amongst my fingertips is an act of holy sacrifice where in heaven they will be accordingly rewarded, presumably with the chance to fly into other peoples' ears at night. There can be no peace until there are no flies. There is no other way; there can be no other way. Please by war bonds to aid us in this effort.

The current fly alert levels is burgundy. Be suspicious of things!

A Brief Visit

This last weekend my brother and sister-in-law visited with their dog and dog-like thing. Being in the Cardiac Care Unit (CCU) still I was semi-lucid throughout most their visit which is about 25% more lucid than I typically am in the intensive care unit. Despite the wacky hours and Sushi's repeated attempts at thwarting good times by her unrequested pooping and stick leg punch assaults we managed to have a reasonably good time complete with Robin Hood, Sea World, and the requisite Nerts play.

The best part, though? Toxic Waste candy. Between visiting Sea World's timeless Cannery Row Caper and the slightly less entertaining spray-water-in-your-face 4D Pirate movie experience we visited the candy shop which, in addition to the standard candy fare, advertised Toxic Waste: Hazardously Sour Candy. It was sour, no doubt, but I would have hesitated to call it hazardously so. As such, in the interest of ascertaining the truth, we then insisted Adam eat six of them at once. He survived with little more than some superficial sloughing of the oral mucosa and with little in the way of face puckering. Still not terribly hazardous. Then we saw that they were made in Pakistan. He now has cancer.

Anyways, here, finally, are photos from Canada.

The Loose Moose

Canada, it seems, is the land of wacky restaurant names. C'est What?, Kit Kat Italian Bar and Grill, Fred's Not Here, Burrito Boyz, The Jerk Spot, Joe Mamas, The Red Tomato, Hey Lucy, Forget About It, and, of course, The Loose Moose. Much more creative at least, than San Antonio's perennial favorite, Taqueria Jalisco Arandas #4 which about every third restaurant is named. And they were tasty too!

There was of course more to Toronto than good food; though, skinny people! I had forgotten what it was like to be in a city of attractive individuals. We undoubtebly brought down the standard in our highwater, navel hugging dress blues, but being a polite people the Canadians didn't seem to mind.

The conference from a conference perspective was a success, I guess. There was much conferencing at least. And I was right, it basically was both a series of boring lectures by distinguished guests and internal medicine dance party. If by internal medicine dance party you mean more boring lectures by distinguished guests. Thankfully they were interesting boring lectures, and by and large fairly educational. There was also a moose sculpture painted in a rather dapper tuxedo at the special events center that I am still sorry I did not get my picture taken with.

When we weren't conferencing we were poster presenting, and that was unfortunately not quite as successful. Although I displayed my poster with the best of 'em, it won me no prizes. Which, we all know, is the sole purpose of presenting research posters. I am hopeful the judges are regretful of their decision and lying awake at night troubled by the knowledge my genius went unacknowledged. If so they may send any and all reconciliatory awards and medals to me directly at an address to be given upon request.

And when we weren't poster presenting we were... drinking recklessly? An overstatement perhaps, but my co-residents it seems like to party and no party is complete, Canadian or otherwise, without significant sums of alcohol. Everyone was safe and classy, no doubt, but safe and classy and somewhat inebriated. Thankfully Toronto is a travel friendly town and whether through taxi, or metro, or bus, or foot, or bike, or rollerblade everyone made it home safely. Likely because no one took to rollerblading.

Then there was a trip to Toronto Island where we road slightly effeminate bicycles. Visits to an amazing museum or two. An aborted trip to Niagara Falls thanks to a complete absence of rental cars. Some Tim Horton donuts (which it turns out are just "alright" if my Canadian brethren may forgive me.) And a whole lot of aimless city wandering.

I cannot say I completely experienced Toronto or even got a true, adequate taste of Canada, but I can say it was a pretty good time. Will definitely have to go back some day. No doubt aboot it.

Oh, Canada...

Canadian photos pending future computer cooperation. They're just that awesome. And my computer is just that not cooperative.

Who Got the Funk?

We got the funk.

All of it. Right here. At University Hospital.

I have worked at many hospitals in my long and storied life, but none quite as funky as University. Specifically, funky smelling. Brooke smells like molded plastic and Wilford smells sometimes a little moldy, but University smells like sweat, pee, sweaty pee, and a hundred other things. I am not sure if this is a county hospital thing or just a San Antonio thing, but I have smelt some pretty unspeakable smells. With the construction taking place immediately adjacent to our team room the scents have been accented recently by what I can only guess are the odors of latex paint and rubber cement which transitions to maple syrup if you huff enough of it. If trends continue I may turn to adorning all my patients with pine scented car fresheners, spraying them down with Lysol spray prior to interviews, spraying myself down with Lysol spray prior to interviews, or just sticking coal briquettes up my nose. Regardless of the solution, this funk cannot go on forever or I will not go on forever. It's just too funky.

Thankfully, the Vistana currently smells like San Clemente. I am grateful for flowering Jasmine.

The Borinquen Tsunami and the Coming Apocalypse

Shortly, Canada.

But first, Puerto Rico. Fear it!

I was informed by an anonymous someone that nefarious plans were afoot. Specifically, nefarious plans to force statehood on our southern neighbor, Puerto Rico! It is south of here right?

The source for this? None other but the infallible, relentlessly patriotic, ceaselessly honest, steadfastly freedom loving, good Mr. Glenn Beck. His esteemed words.

Or, if you don't like clicking because clicking is hard:

I want to talk to you about the fundamental transformation of America. It could happen tomorrow.

But first, you have to understand progressives. What is it that progressives believe?

• Big government, power and control: It's not about Democrats or Republicans, people. It's power and control. You can't choose for yourself. You're too dumb, so progressives will choose and regulate everything for you

• Democratic elections: This is important to progressives. You'll hear it "democratically elected" to refer to leaders like Hitler, Chavez and Castro — all democratically elected

• Social justice: Collective redemption through the government: Call it socialism, Marxism, whatever — it's all about the redistribution of wealth

Now, I want to talk to you about Puerto Rico. Understand: This is not about Hispanics. It's not about freedom. It's about power and control.

Puerto Rico is a self-governing commonwealth, but is subject to U.S. jurisdiction and sovereignty. It's been a U.S. territory since after the Spanish-American War of 1898. They're not an independent country. It's similar to Guam, the Virgin Islands and American Samoa. Some people like it, others don't; they get to enjoy many of the benefits of America — like protection — and they don't have to pay any taxes. That's a pretty sweet deal.

So it's no wonder "the people" have consistently voted against becoming America's 51st state; three times since 1967 — the latest in 1998. It's always been the same question: Do you want to be a state?

Now, let's take you to Washington, where there's important vote happening: HR 2499 — it's called "The Puerto Rico Democracy Act." Gosh darn it, who could be against that? The bill is a non-binding resolution, supposedly to support Puerto Rico's "self-determination" on if they want to be a state or not.

That's so cute. Wait, I thought they already had a right to vote? They do. So I'm left with the question: Why do they need a non-binding resolution to support their self-determination? Is there something going on that I'm not aware of that is so important that we need to take attention away from the economy or immigration?

We've asked some of the Republicans in Congress who are supporting this bill and here are some of the answers:

"This is a vote about freedom."

"This vote does not grant Puerto Rico statehood, it simply gives Puerto Ricans the right to determine if statehood is something they want for themselves."

See, I thought they already had that. Three times they voted on that. It's almost like something else is going on. But remember, they keep telling me it's "non-binding."

If I just trusted progressives. With progressives, democratic elections always comes with a trick. For instance, Hitler was democratically elected. But as the chancellor, not the fuhrer. Whether it be through parliamentary tricks or corruption, it's important to progressives to have the appearance of "the republic." Remember: They went through the democratic process for health care.

So what's the trick?

HR 2499 — if it passes — would force a yes or no vote in Puerto Rico on whether Puerto Rico should maintain the "current status" of the island. Wait, that's not a vote on statehood. That's a vote on do you want to "maintain the status quo."

Let me ask you this: Do you want to maintain the status quo of America? ACORN's Bertha Lewis would agree with me and say no, I don't want our current direction. But we would disagree on the reasons why.

See the trick?

In the past, statehood fails because some people like the status quo, some want to be a state and some want to be independent. There are too many choices, too many options. They need to unite people. Do you want to maintain the status quo unites them, not on the answer but on the question.

See, the folks that like the status quo are more likely to vote for statehood than independence.

In 1998, there were five options on the ballot: Limited self-government; free association; statehood; sovereignty and none of the above. Which one won? None of the above.

But now, the vote is going to happen in two stages. The first stage: Do you want to maintain the status quo? Then a chair is removed. The second vote leaves you with three choices: statehood; full independence or modified commonwealth.

Remember, full independence and modified commonwealth historically get less than 3 percent of the vote. So those options will be the only thing standing in the way of Puerto Rico becoming a state.

But Glenn, it's non-binding. Big deal!

True, but here's where if you don't know history, you are destined to repeat it. Let me introduce something to you called the Tennessee Plan. (This is probably going to sound like a conspiracy theory, but I have one thing the conspiracy theories never have.)

OK — so the Tennessee Plan, you've probably never heard of it unless you are from Tennessee or Alaska. Apparently, some of those who took an oath to protect and defend the Constitution haven't heard of it either. When Tennessee first came to the Union, it had a different name; it was first called "Territory of the United States South of the River Ohio." It was a U.S. territory, just like Puerto Rico is now.

But instead of waiting for Congress to decide if they wanted to make the territory a state, they took a different, bold route: They forced the issue themselves:

• They elected delegates for Congress

• They voted on statehood

• They drafted a state constitution

• And applied for statehood

• Then, when Congress dragged their feet, they went to the Capitol and demanded to be seated

Congress was unsure of how to proceed; this was the first territory going for statehood. They relented and Tennessee became America's 16th state. Alaska did many of the same things.

Again, the Tennessee plan in a nutshell:

• Unsuccessfully petitioning Congress for admission

• Drafting a state constitution without prior congressional intervention

• Holding state elections for state officers, U.S. senators and representatives

• In some cases, sending the entire congressional delegation to Washington to demand statehood and claim their seats

• Finally, Congress has little choice but to admit a new state through the passage of a simple act of admission

Congressmen, voting for HR 2499 are like sheep being led to slaughter. They'll say the people of Puerto Rico have a right to vote for themselves. They'll vote yes. The progressives will then present a false choice to the people. Instead of saying "do you want to be a state?"it's "Do you want the status quo?" If voters vote no, the next vote removes the status quo from the ballot, leaving statehood against two far less popular options. They'll vote yes for statehood. Then they'll elect their congressman and senators, they'll demand to be seated and a 51st star will be attached to the flag.

How could this happen? Look at the immigration debate. What are Arizona and Texas being called? Racists. Anyone opposing Puerto Rico as state 51 would be called a hatemonger. Why do you hate Puerto Ricans so much? Why do you hate freedom?

This is not about Hispanics or freedom or sovereignty. It's about power and control. If progressives convince Hispanics that everyone besides progressives are racist, you'll have their vote for 60 years. But it's more than that.

Why are Democrats and Republicans for this? Because it's not about Republicans and Democrats. The progressives in our country know that this is the moment they've been waiting for; every Marxist daydream they've ever had, now is their time to get it done. They are not going to let it pass.

That's what's happening: The fundamental transformation of America. And this is only the beginning.

I told that this sounds like a conspiracy theory. But who is orchestrating this effort in Puerto Rico? Lo and behold, the New Progressive Party; from their own party platform:

"The New Progressive Party adopts the Tennessee Plan as an additional strategy for the decolonization and the claim for the admission of Puerto Rico as the 51st State of the United States of America."

And: "This shall be done through legislation which will establish a process for the adoption and ratification of the Constitution of the State of Puerto Rico, and the election of two senators and six federal congresspersons to appear before Congress in Washington D.C. to claim their seats and the admission of Puerto Rico as the 51st State of the United States of America."

They're going to paint this as a vote for freedom, but Puerto Rico has already voted and they've already spoken. When they send the delegates to Washington, if you stand against this you'll be labeled a racist.

What a friggin' racist.

Ha ha ha, ohhh... seriously. What a paranoid schizophrenic. Ignoring the obvious irrational fear evident in the above detailed inevitable cascade of events -- first Congress and the Senate pass the bill for the plebiscite, second Puerto Ricans vote that they do not want to "continue the status quo" due to an unexplainable impulse in the majority of Puerto Ricans to resist it, third they all vote for statehood because they have been duped into accepting what they have previously consistently rejected, fourth they continue this pursuit of what they don't want by drafting a state constitution, fifth they elect representatives and senators because that's what one state did over 200 hundred years ago, and sixth, presto-changeo, Puerto Rico inexplicably becomes a state in the progressive's plan for a Greater Marxist Amerika -- ignoring all that, and his facts are not even correct. Despite Beck's use of the phrase "continue the status quo" this is no where listed in the bill or the plebescite the bill intends to create as can be seen here. Rather they would choose between:

(1) Puerto Rico should continue to have its present form of political status. If you agree, mark here XX.

(2) Puerto Rico should have a different political status. If you agree, mark here XX.

Moreover, assuming they were to give in to the siren call of Puerto Rico having a "different political status" the second vote would not be between three options, two of which Puerto Ricans allegedly hate and none of which leaves things unchanged, but rather four options with the following choices:

(1) Independence: Puerto Rico should become fully independent from the United States. If you agree, mark here XX.CommentsClose CommentsPermalink

(2) Sovereignty in Association with the United States: Puerto Rico and the United States should form a political association between sovereign nations that will not be subject to the Territorial Clause of the United States Constitution. If you agree, mark here XX.

(3) Statehood: Puerto Rico should be admitted as a State of the Union. If you agree, mark here XX.CommentsClose CommentsPermalink

(4) Commonwealth: Puerto Rico should continue to have its present form of political status. If you agree, mark here XXX.

So supposing they did vote in round one like suckers, they could essentially easily recant this vote by simply selecting option (4).

But let's get back to that obvious irrational fear. Not only are Adolf Hitler, Hugo Chavez, and Fidel Castro all mentioned in a roughly four page article that has no clear connection to any of them, Hitler is actually mentioned twice. In addition to ACORN, caricatured portrayals of progressives, and socialism that is. Then there's the suggestion that all of this is being done in the back doors and dark chambers of our democratically elected Congress -- even though the bill was first submitted and publicly known about almost one year ago -- and the simultaneous suggestion that the bill is part of a gamble to "take attention away from the economy or immigration" despite it apparently being done in secret. And, lastly, a reference to the New Progressive Party of Puerto Rico which, despite its names, and Beck's attempts to suggest otherwise, is in many ways not particularly progressive and certainly not new.

So why now? I, like I would gamble Glenn Beck, cannot say. I cannot explain a lot of things. Perhaps it's because Pedro Pierluisi, a known a vocal advocate of statehood for the territory, was elected to Congress for Puerto Rico in late 2008 a few months prior to his sponsoring of the bill likely has something to do with it. Perhaps it is because a very similar version of the bill was submitted in 2007 but never voted on. Or perhaps it is because this is all part of a still greater plan to reverse annex the US to Mexico. I would ask my Puerto Rican comrades in the Army medical corps, but all they want to talk about is the redistribution of wealth and class warfare.

If you haven't heard enough about Puerto Rico's grand putsch may I suggest:

The details of HR 2499 at the nonprofit for government transparency OpenCongress.org. This site is awesome.

The details of of why Beck is crazy at the moderately conservative web publication The New Ledger. Moderately less awesome.

Dog - 2, Human - 0

I have been bested. By a dog with a tendency to tear up things.

Last week I had two jobs: watch my friend's dog, protect the bag of feathers. The second job wasn't so much explicitly communicated as generally understood seeing as how the first time I was tasked with watching the dog ended with a torn up bag of feathers. It seems, though, I am good at neither because on the third day of dog watching, my first day back at work, I returned home to find a few feathers scattered on the staircase and one million plus feathers strewn about the living room with a very proud Siberian Husky standing in the middle. Exasperate and clearly defeated I didn't know what to do. So I sat down on the couch and played some Call of Duty. The cats, meanwhile, threw up.

And then we all went out for ice cream.

The World Will Never be the Same

Avatar was an amazing movie experience. It was a pretty lame movie.

Similarly Alice in Wonderland is all sorts of crazy. Take away one key aspect of it, however, and it's just plain crazy.

The Internet, cell phones, computers, twirl-a-squirrel, jet packs, 3D movies; they've all changed the world from childhood, but only 3D cinema has been revolutionary. (And only 3D cinema has given me vertigo while also making me slightly queasy in the first few minutes -- but that is neither here nor there.) Science has brought about much progress, but in just about every way it has been gradual and so imperceptible. Not so with 3D. One day two, the next day three. Without a 2.5D intermediate step there is no gradation, no adaptation, and no ambivalence. Movies are brought to life, unoriginal plot lines and unremarkable dialogue are overlooked, and flat things become not so flat things all with the simple donning of glasses. Even painfully stereotyped characters and blue people are forgivable in 3D. There is no sin too great when committed in a technicolor background that pops out at you. If 3D were a person, I'd merry it. Maybe even have a little 3D family.

Anyways, I love 3D and regular D movies now disgust me. I gather if Obama had presented health care reform in 3D it'd be passed by now.

Death By T-Bar

There are two types of fear a man can face in life: the fear of what he is about to do and the fear of what may happen. The former a man must work himself to enter into, the latter a man must work himself to escape from. But sometimes, in some situations, there is no predicting the future and there is no escape.

And so I found myself being dragged uphill by a small piece of plastic tucked behind my legs, tethered to a cable by a thin piece of bungee, not knowing if I would live or die. It turns out Rachel and I would survive, but only after one crash which thankfully spared the pair being dragged precariously uphill behind us. The "t-bar," as this ridiculous means of transportation is known, is supposed to bring you from the bottom of the slope to the top via a simple hook and pull mechanism whereby you hook a bar of plastic behind your legs and let it pull you forward praying in its stability. Most of the time it works, some of the time it does not, and all of the time you are given no warning as to whether or when the bar will gave way and you will be dispatched out onto the snow and into the path of other slowly dragging t-barers. The particularly unlucky are then honored with becoming human speed bumps which then result in the additional demise of those immediately behind them and so on and so forth until the dog pile of skiers and snowboarders manages to clear itself from the path or the whole pile reaches critical mass triggering an avalanche of snow and tangled bodies. Of course the best fails are the epic fails where a new skier first attempts the t-bar by sitting on the plastic wedge, something it is entirely not designed for, and so splays himself out onto the snow only 10 feet from the bottom station and lines of onlookers. I hate the t-bar, it is crap.

T-bar related anxieties aside, our most recent trip to Breckenridge, Colorado, was nice, and, as all trips with the Gravels are now required to be, full of Yorkies. We met up with some friends Adam and Kate, threw their kids down some hills on some sleds, had some crepes, and called it a week. I finally graduated to the bowls, and the one day we went was of course the one day with no visibility. The sky was white, the ground was white, the snow was white. I didn't know where I was or where I was going. We nevertheless jumped in and after a series of falls and a series of prolonged slides it turned out I was at the bottom. The trick, I found, is believing in yourself. And going very, very slowly.

There were also no casualties this time. No butt lacerations or face planting snow shoe misadventures. I did, however, lose my wallet on the very first day to my old nemesis, Frosty's Freeway. One spill and it was gone. I then got to spend the rest of the trip living on food stamps and Paul and Rachel's generosity. I will have my revenge, though, oh yes, I will have my revenge. I just need to figure out how.

Anyways, here's what snow looks like.

Oh Canada

Canada!

We have been estranged too long.

I am coming for you!

After twenty-seven long years of living in ignorance of my northern neighbor, the sum of my knowledge stemming from a few Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons, a Five Iron Frenzy song, and some pictures of what was likely Antarctica, it is time for change. Real change. Powerful change. Barack Obama-style change -- though with less ambiguity and non-productivity. It's settled! I am going to Canada, and in the national spirit I will hug a Canadian. Which I can only assume is an eskimo.

In anticipation of this warming in relations, I have heavily studied the recent 2010 Vancouver Olympics. Although it took me two weeks of additional TiVo watching to get through it all, or most all of it save yet another women's biathalon with fatigued Norwegians drooling all over their rifles, I have learned that some Canadians are good at sports and NBC news personalities seem to enjoy mounting and riding moose. Or mooses. Or meese. I think this is sufficient information to bridge the cultural divide.

I have the USAF to thanks for my pending travels. After further consideration, and a second round of acceptance from the ACP, they have agreed to pay my way to Toronto for the the National ACP Medical Conference where I will present my research and, I guess, do some serious conferencing. Having never been to one of these events before I am not sure what to expect. Boring lectures? Boring lectures by distinguished guests? Internal medicine physician dance party?

This brings me to my last question, though, what to do in Toronto? I hear they have a tower. And.... the Blue Jays? Perhaps I will get myself some milk in a bag. Or stir up the Quebecois.

When Allergens Attack

Over the past two weeks I have learned how to be an allergist. This is about one and half weeks over the national average. If you too would like to be an allergist, just follow this simple algorithm:

Does patient have allergies?

• If yes, then prescribe Flonase, Zyrtec, and offer immunotherapy.
• If maybe, then prescribe Flonase, Zyrtec, and offer allergy testing.
• If no, refer back to primary care physician.

The differential diagnosis seems to primarily be: allergies?

The seeming simplicity of allergyology aside, there has been no shortage of rigorous academic debate. We have had no less than two extended, multi-party conversations about whether glaucoma eye drops are relative contraindications for allergy testing or not. Why are we not discussing this in internal medicine morning report? Are we afraid to confront the issues?!

Which raises the important follow up question: allergists get paid more than us why?

What is interesting in all of this is not the cytokines and chemokines and mini blinds that make up the facade of legitimate medical practice that is allergy, but how many allergists themselves have allergies. Considering that most all psychologists have some sort of personality disorder, most anesthesiologists have one or more substance abuse disorders, and most OB-GYN docs are, well, ladies, do all physicians chose specialties based on personal disease experience? Is there increased cancer incidence in hematology-oncology doctors? Does going into infectious disease require that I first acquire an infectious disease? I don't know for sure, but to be on the safe side I am going to go ahead and get myself some Cat Scratch Fever before it's too late. After all, I don't want to be left with Rat Bite Fever or Chikungunya, whatever the hell that is.

Be on guard folks: mountain cedar and elm are up today. That means goggles, people!

A Confession

I am sorry but I have been dieing to get this off my chest.

Chester Cheetah is the creepiest, sexual predator of a commercial cartoon character that has come into existence. I now feel dirty buying Cheetos.

And Jar Jar Binks? Why didn't anyone ever kill you?

The Prettiest Squirrel

That is one pretty squirrel. I went to the San Antonio Zoo recently and happened upon this guy. The Asian Tri-Colored Squirrel. Also known as Prevost's Squirrel, I didn't know these things existed. There're flying squirrels, yes, and regular squirrels, true, there're even collared squirrels that I am familiar with, but tri-colored squirrels? What was the purpose of my elementary education if not to accurately name and identify small furry animals? Oregon Trail you have let me down. I saw a lot of things at the zoo -- they even got new jaguar cubs or kittens or baby jaguar things -- but my favorite was the fancy pants squirrel.

And speaking of pretty, I've got too much bling! On my right arm at least. Whereas previously my shiny gold Aggie ring glared brilliantly in everyone's eye, now I have my shiny gold Aggie ring and a shiny new silver watch. It too is beautiful; perhaps too beautiful. Especially in relation to my completely naked left arm. I briefly tried moving my watch to my left wrist in an effort to be all right-handed like, but it felt wrong. I feel I must either alternate jewelry daily or embrace decorative excess and get myself a grill. With sapphires. There can be no room for compromise.

Lastly of note, I just got my medical license. This colored squirrel is now officially licensed to practice medicine in the great commonwealth of Virginia! Next stop, selling my credentials and credibility to late night infomercials.

Christmas In Brief

Christmas came and Christmas went. Like most holidays it was enjoyable but unremarkable. Visited with family, completed a puzzle, saw some lights on some boats in a marina. I got a lovely watch and Lucca got Horny. I tried to surf by gulping sea water. We all had some pie.

The trip ended, as all family trips are required to end, with me forgetting an article of clothing behind. In this case it was my Aggie ring; which my mom sent back to me wrapped in a sock. Wrapped in another sock. Wrapped in a package. Packed in a box. Which was then stuffed in a chicken, stuffed in a duck, stuffed in a turkey.

Anyways, here's the pictures. Not much to look at. Move along people.

Prosecutors Will Be Violated

Sometimes we need to be protected, and sometimes we need to be protected from ourselves. Thankfully that is where the Vistana apartment management comes in: to ruthlessly wield the iron club of justice on all who would perpetrate wrong doing. Wrong doing in this case defined by a monthly one page handout.

Each month like so many apartment complexes the Vistana provides us with a newsletter of sorts consisting of a few entirely uninteresting articles on entirely random subjects, a couple quotes about nonsense, a recipe for those who get their recipes from newsletters, and an empty calendar for those who need to know when Christmas and Boxing Day are since these are typically the only kind of events that makes it onto the list. Enclosed with our newsletters, however, is frequently another slip of paper. Sometimes white, sometimes pink, suggestive of something fun, fun it is not. No, it is the monthly reminder of things not to do pending criminal prosecution and summary execution. Don't throw boxes down the trash chute! Don't have too many guests over! Don't let others through the parking gate without paying the parking bridge troll! Don't smile unnecessarily or yield the right of way! Don't let your pets! The list goes on and on.

A few days ago, perhaps fearing people were just throwing their silly newsletters away without at least perusing through its pages, they decided to be more direct. I came home to find a note stuck in the corner of my door. With Christmas tree clip art affixed to the bottom corner of it I thought perhaps they were having some sort of holiday social, but no, they were putting us on notice:

Christmas celebrators beware! Security cameras and informants have reported the disposal of Christmas trees in the loading dock trash containers! This is a grievous offense. Anyone caught disposing of trees anywhere in the building will be put to death.

This is of course a rough paraphrase. The actual penalty was specified as "a removal fee" but it turns out this means be put to death.

Don't get me wrong. I have mostly enjoyed my stay at the Vistana so far, by and large, and knowing the general good nature of the office staff I am inclined to believe their threats are mostly bellicose posturing. Nevertheless I fear the clap of storm trooper boots in the hall and often lie awake at night for fear of a knock at the door. I may not live for long, but the struggle to use the pool after 10:00 pm will go on forever!