One Million Tiny Fireworks

Developmentally it's been said we doctors are a little slow. Life's milestones are delayed. We marry later, start families later, buy houses later, and start wearing our pants above our belly buttons all a little bit later. The continuous cycling of school and training, long work hours, and general social isolation all serve to make us a little retarded maturationally* speaking. Thus whereas most thirty year olds are living upstanding lives as industrious citizens by generally shirking all responsibility we are avoiding responsibility altogether by garnering ever greater levels of debt and inflated senses of self-worth. I have just gotten through my teenage years myself, thank you very much, and am confident that hanging out late all night in college is totally going to rule.**

Physically, however, the opposite is true. We old. Nothing brings about an early bed time better than incessant call. Our backs are stooped, we have no idea what day it is, and sometimes I find myself gumming my food even though I know I still have a full complement of teeth. This is never more evident than on New Year's Eve every December. Last year we spent a subdued evening watching the ball drop in New York at 11:00 followed by bed, and this year we spent a subdued evening watching the ball drop in New York at 11:00 followed by bed. We even had a mashed desert (banana custard and Nilla wafers) and a lively game of Bananagrams. Paul fell asleep on the couch at like 09:30 and the Yorkies refused to wear their party hats. Sometimes I don't know what to make of all this medicine business. Thankfully in a few years all I will remember is how young Ryan Seacrest used to look. Unfortunately I'll probably also forget my complete domination of Bananagrams.


Rapidly advancing senility aside, the real reason I want to write? Fireworks. Given the opportunity to return to my apartment at 11:30 I was once again able to witness the cities fireworks from the comfort of my dorm room. Although the video is unfortunately not entirely clear -- or steady, damn you Parkinson's -- there was exploding color and fire from horizon to horizon. Near 180 degrees of my own personal fireworks sampler.

Happy New Years to all my family and friends at the VFW!

*Yes, this is a word. No, don't look it up.

**Totally.

There's A Zoo in Austin? With Real Animals?

This week I went to the Austin Zoo with Winks the one-eyed cat and Rohini the one-eyed pediatric neurologist. I am not sure Winks's story, but I hear Ro lost her eye in an ugly bar fight in Long Beach.

The zoo, for those of you who have never been or even heard of the Austin Zoo, is a little out in the middle of nowhere and I am not sure it still qualifies as being in Austin, but it is nevertheless a pleasant place to visit. Between the one-eyed cats, three hundred free ranging peacocks, and a variety of legitimate zoo-type animals it was a relatively respectable establishment. I do use the term "zoo" loosely, however, as it was composed almost entirely of animals hillbillies and rednecks throughout the South and Midwest had acquired for themselves until they got "too big to manage" which I can only imagine to mean they "got eaten" or had their arm or arms torn off by "play bites." As a result it was mostly big cats, monkeys, and traditional farm animals. This unfortunately meant no meerkats, but it did mean there was a good number of very friendly-looking foxes and one slightly less friendly-looking and constantly pacing, brooding fox. With the intent of his stare I'd stay away from the opposite side of the zoo for a while. He's got plans.

So go to the Austin Zoo, see some cats, feed some goats, wade through peacocks, and prize goes to the first to find which animal's only got three legs!