"How do you live in your brain?" --- Question Put to a Classmate By Her College Friend

"Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence." ---Robert Frost

"For 6/8/10" layers, we have the convenient mathematical fact that 6/8/10 forms a pythagorean triple, meaning that making the top two layers one flavor and the bottom layer a second flavor gives exactly the same amount of both flavors."

I <3 my geek. Convenient mathematical fact indeed.

Doc: "Your asthma was taken care of by the dermatologist?

Patient: [nods]

Doc: "That's awesome."

"You're awesome. Crazy, but awesome."

::: beam :::

A funny smell coming in through my window A/C draws me out onto the balcony. I see an ambulance-shaped vehicle emblazoned with "S.C.I.D. Forensics Unit" parked in front of my neighbors to the south, lights flashing silently. Two cars, one marked "N.O.P.D Crime Lab," are double-parked and block my driveway. Another government-issue cruiser is double-parked to the north.

A middle-aged man and an older woman in civilian clothing stand in the walkway leading up to the house to the north. A woman, accompanied by her dog, hovers on the steps. An officer sits in a green plastic porch chair, filling out a report. They all face the empty stretcher that dominates the scene. The white sheets that usually cover such stretchers are conspicously missing.

They are all waiting, though for what, I do not know.

As greenlily put it, puffy_wuffy posted a link to the only HP7 summary you'll ever need. I like how the author pokes fun at some of the plot devices that J.K. either didn't explain fully or seemed very heavy-handed with. That's not to say that I didn't find HP7 extremely satisfying---I most certainly did---but there was one thing that I really wished they had addressed: ( Cut for potential spoilerishness. )

Hmm. I promised a real update and here I am not providing one. I've been far too busy cleaning my apartment, stocking up on supplies, and getting in all the socializing that I can before I am banished to Baton Rouge. There's orientation for my psych rotation on Monday, and then I start my actual work on Tuesday. I'm pretty excited about starting the clinical part of my education, but we'll see how long it lasts in the face of long hours and relentless pimping. Not that that will happen on this particular rotation, but I know that it will come.

I am done with Step 1 (as of 4:00pm yesterday) and HP 7 (as of 4:30pm today). The former took 8 hours to complete, and the latter took 10.

A real update should be up later this week.

Me: I am pathetic. I yawned and pulled something in my neck. Ow.

Jer: Pulled "something"? Come on, be precise, med student! =P

C and I often study in what he calls "the Bat Cave." It's a small, unoccupied office on the first floor of the med school building. People who need to find me know to check there first.

I have of course told sawicki about the Bat Cave. He recently came across this while doing some travel research, and thought I might find it amusing:

Bat Cave: Located on the north side of English Harbor, Bat Cave is home to hundreds of bats hanging upside down from the ceiling. Local legend says that the cavern actually goes under the sea as far as Guadeloupe. You will need permission from the Medical School to visit Bat Cave.

In our case, you will most likely need permission from some very grumpy T2s. T1s need not apply---not until after Boards anyway. =P

Instead of being good and studying for the Human Behavior test this Friday, bluekitsune and I spent Saturday afternoon getting me plastered. Work on the custom dressform has finally begun.

Jean A and Jean B, originally uploaded by SarahScott.

It was fun being at SSB's. Her house has a very crafty and creative vibe, and the girl herself was giggling maniacally on occasion. (I mean, how ridiculous is it to be wearing nothing but a bra, panties, and dry-cleaning bag? And then add plaster-bandages on top of that?) Even Oliver joined in, lapping up the plaster-bandage water while SSB worked. That's right, kitty. Drink in the craziness.

And speaking of crazy, I shall have a sawicki here in less than 24 hours. And he's going to stay until Monday. Yay!

As I was explaining to a classmate this morning, I have something of a coat fetish. My girlfriends are no help---they usually point out "Jeaner coats" and then I buy them. I haven't bought a coat in a long time though. Moving South may have had something to do with it, but the lack of income probably has more to do with it. Hmm. I guess that could be considered a confounder.

I was watching a free podcast of What Not to Wear when a beautiful red coat with a cute collar caught my eye. Stacy and Clinton pointed out that such a coat would be far too long on a petite woman (defined by them as being under 5'4"), but after some digging on the Searle website, I found a better and shorter version of the same coat. Drool. I may live in the South, but that doesn't mean it's warm inside the med school. And did I mention my coat fetish?

In other crafty news, bluekitsune and I still haven't made our custom dressforms---we're working on it though. I'm also looking forward to documenting the entire process with my camera. It should be fun. And when we're done, I can turn a few yards of beautiful Chinese silk into a "going out" top. I know I ought to be studying for Boards, but really, it shouldn't take that long to make . . . I hope.

F: Hematology exam. No time to nap. Went back to apartment for Uvulae rehearsal, where rug prompts spirited debate. Much chatting online, followed by dinner with R and eameschair at cute Italian restaurant. Girliness ensues. Went home, got dressed for party, then failed to find parking. Very frustrated by incompetence and unfulfilled desire to socialize. Called Mom. News not good. Picked up sawicki from airport. Ended day on slightly positive, though exhausted note.

S: Breakfast with Jer, followed by another Uvulae rehearsal. Puzzling over my rug continues. Gig at Tulane goes well, but event is Not As Advertised. Tasty dinner with Jer at Sara's Cafe, followed by gaming party in Metarie. Highly allergic to resident furballs. Very stuffy.

U: Rounds with trauma surgery residents, see lots of GSWs (patients with gun shot wounds). Came home to find Jer still in bed. Went to lunch, the aquarium and the mall while the entire city stares at their TVs. Saints lose. Things are eerily quiet, but awesome. Dinner at Morton's. Posh and tasty, very happy. Spent quiet evening on couch with Jer, looking at pet rocks online. Oooh, sparkly.

An amateur operatic society in the UK wants to use some of my Yeomen publicity for their production. I'm not asking to be paid (and they're certainly not offering), but I want the chance to pull out if I don't like their final layout, "programme" credit, and free copies of anything that features my work.

We're still hammering out the details, but really, how cool is that?!?

My life consists of studying, phone calls, and sleep. Once in awhile, I find time for making music (i.e. Uvulae) and taking care of Real Life (e.g. cancer, bills, laundry, groceries). I just wish the outside world would leave me alone.

I don't go out much for various reasons, but I'm not scared of doing so. When I got back to New Orleans in August, I was told by a prof (who is also a policeman) that the city was much safer post-Katrina. If I wasn't a drug dealer or in an abusive relationship, there was very little chance I'd be hurt. However, that no longer seems to be true. People are starting to talk, and it's breaking through my bubble. I went out last night and heard that since New Year's, more people have been killed in New Orleans than American soldiers in Iraq. This morning, one classmate asked me, "So what are you doing to keep New Orleans safe?" (I shrugged and said as a small, Asian female, there wasn't much I could do.) And now bluekitsune wants to buy a shotgun---and she only lives three blocks away.

I live in a decent part of Uptown, on a busy, major road that pre-Katrina, had street cars (full of tourists) going by on the median. (My friend bluekitsune, on the other hand, lives on a smaller street that parallels it). While I occasionally marvel at how much it costs to live here (and alone), I should remember the security-related benefits of this particular apartment:

• Busy, major road. Yes, it makes getting out in the morning a little difficult, but it is generally safer.
• Off-street parking. Parking on the street has never been a problem, but I like having my car just steps from my front door.
• Second-floor apartment. No flooding, no bars on the windows.
• Windows that don't open anyway. Try as I might, only one window actually works in this apartment. The others are either stuck or occupied by window units.
• Neighbors. There are three girls in the downstairs apartment, and one in the apartment next to mine. The upstairs apartments share an entrance.

I know that if I wanted, dr_laurson would teach me how to acquire, use, and maintain a gun. (He also happens to be a big fan of shotguns, the home-protection gun of choice, from what I gather). However, I don't think a gun is necessary in my case. It would only serve to make me feel like a bad-ass, and not necessarily safer, since I already feel (perhaps unjustifiably) safe.

Temporarily feeling like a bad-ass would be cool, since Asian females rarely (if ever) experience that emotion, but I would much rather go all crazy-fan-girl (which Asian females do well) over the iPhone. It is Portable Sexy---and I'm generally fonder of Sexy than I am of Bad-ass.

(EDIT: Just so we're all clear here, I do not believe people should acquire guns for the purpose of feeling like a bad-ass. All that does is get people killed. I only mention the potential for feeling like a bad-ass in order to make the point that in my case, owning a gun would not make me feel better in any productive way.)

From what I understand, Dr. DeBakey, our most famous graduate, donated $100,000 through his foundation to keep Tulane Med running. He essentially started the Texas Medical Center in Houston and made Baylor College of Medicine famous. I had heard that he was in the hospital for some reason or another, but I never really knew the full story until now.

From the NYTimes: The Man on the Table Was 97, but He Devised the Surgery.

I found out that Cancer took mixedborder last night. While I did not know him as well as many others here did, I knew him well enough to know that his smile, enthusiasm, and gentle way of just being, would be missed. I was sad all afternoon. And then I got a phonecall.

There is so much going on in my head that I need to get out, but I don't have the time (or ability) to find the right words. There is a noteset to write, a liver to conquer, and a boyfriend who will be here in an hour. Despite that considerable pressure to get things done, I doubt I will manage to deal with anything beyond driving to the airport and back. It has been an emotionally draining day, and I only have the capacity to cry.

I hate you, Cancer. Why can't you just go away and leave us alone? Metastasizing to the liver and lining an abdomen after 12 rounds of chemo, just to coincide with the beginning of my liver/GI block is Not Funny. You hear me? Not. Fucking. Funny.

While I apparently know how to cram, I've come to the realization (again) that it isn't very pleasant. I passed today's cardiovascular exam by a respectable margin, but I know that there is a lot that I still haven't learned, and that bothers me. (Don't even get me started on Boards). The next block is all renal and GI, and I never learned those things properly last year for a variety of reasons, so I had better review them soon.

That said---one down, one to go, and then freedom! I'm looking forward to being in beautiful Southern California, making my mom laugh, and driving the convertible with the top down. I also plan on running and studying.

I was giving my neurons a break when I stumbled across this article: "When Young Doctors Strut Too Much of Their Stuff." Young med students do it too, I'm afraid. Dressing inappropriately now is so much worse than doing it later---we don't have a degree to hide behind. Perhaps this sort of thing could be turned into a meaningful ethics discussion. Heaven knows that our last one was a disaster. Performance enhancing drugs, anyone?

I had just thrown some chinese sausage and jasmine rice into my rice cooker this evening when it occurred to me that there must be a cookbook out there for people like me who want to throw stuff into a rice cooker and call it a meal. (Think of it as the Asian equivalent of a crockpot). After a little Googling, I found this book. I don't know if I will get it, but it is comforting to know that it is out there. It even has a "recipe" for what I'm making right now. The book looks well done, and it has lots of tasty-sounding stuff inside.

Reading through the section on types of rice cookers, however, I now know that there are some very sophisticated rice cookers out there. They call them neuro fuzzy logic rice cookers. With a name like that, how can I resist? It speaks to the geek in me *and* it's cute. Curse those Japanese!

But resist, I shall. Dinner shall be ready soon, and then back to the studying I go. T-minus one week to DOOM!

This guy is a riot. I should have started listening to him earlier. The audio also has the added benefit of making the Rapid Review book come to life.

"Why would C-sections produce respiratory distress syndrome? Stress [pause] is missing. There's something---there's a benefit to being delivered vaginally. It's a good lesson for the newborn coming out too, actually. Life is stressful. There's nothing better than getting your head and body squeeeezed into an oblivion before you come out. [maniacal laughter] That's why many babies who go through this thing and they come out, try to go back in. [audience laughs] Okay, because they know, 'God, if it's gonna be worse out here, I'd rather go back where I was---I had a good hot tub, I was able to swim, kick my legs around---why not go back? And not only that, my head feels like a cone.' . . . So, when you deliver by C-section, and you pull the kid out---the kid has a round head---the kid has not been stressed, therefore ACTH and cortisol are not increased, therefore they're not making surfactant---as opposed to the kid that's getting annihilated by squeezing, okay?"

"I say pigeon, and you say Cryptococcus."