Hawaiian vacation, day 6

Today we decided to just hang out at the condo. This is because, after you've spent a fortune to travel to Hawaii, your kids want to play video games and swim in a pool. You know, things they could never do at home (yes, that's sarcasm).

People always talk about what's important to take on a trip. Clothes, medications, Pop-Tarts, whatever. Napoleon once said "an army travels on its stomach." American Express says "don't leave home without it." But today, only one thing matters. One thing that's critical on a trip. One thing that the modern family absolutely can't go anywhere without:

"MOM! I'm down to 11% power and Craig won't give me the charger!"

Yup. That's it. Try going anywhere without them. I dare you.

After a while the kids went stir crazy, so in desperation. I decided to take them snorkeling at Black Rock. Please note this is generally a REALLY BAD IDEA. Nothing against the Black Rock area - it's spectacular. The problem is that EVERYONE in the Kaanapali area wants to go there... and there are, literally, a total of 8 public parking spaces available. All the other spaces belong to the Sheraton, require a permit, and are closely watched.

I remember one BK (Before Kid) era trip where we pulled in to see if there were any spaces (there weren't). But, as we looked around, a car that was waiting to pick someone up was sitting there. These 2 large Polynesian guys, wearing nothing but Speedos, got out of it. Their stereo was blasting some sort of bizarre Hawaiian - rap fusion, and they started doing a synchronized island break-dance routine on the asphalt.

Anyway.

So we grabbed our gear and I told the kids to put it in the trunk. As I was getting into the car, however, they began screaming like they were being attacked by a crazed luau performer with a flaming machete.

I ran around to see what was up, to find...

Yes, that's it. Granted, I'm not a fan of centipedes, but I figured we'd just get in the car and drive away. The kids, however, didn't want to get anywhere near the car now, in case it had some sort of myriapodic flying or death ray superpowers. Before I could do anything else it scuttled under the van.

This was, apparently, the end of the Black Rock idea. Because now the kids were convinced it was going to crawl up under the car, chew through the metal floor, and kill them if we went anywhere. In fact, they were pretty much halfway back to the condo at this point.

In the room I told them to go to the pool again. I sat down and absently flipped through a coupon book of stuff to do. I noticed this one. I guess it's supposed to be a flower, I think... But to a medical person...

I think I saw this in a textbook once.

Around noon Frank and I wandered over to the grocery store to get some supplies. Like many stores, they have a display up front selling bargain-bin video games, DVD's, etc. He was looking through it for anything interesting, when an elderly clerk wandered over and asked if he needed help (probably thought he was shoplifting).

Frank: "Do you have Call of Duty?"

Clerk: "Certainly. On your left, down the short hallway, next to the drinking fountain. You don't need a key."


Hawaiian grocery stores can be interesting. The place is a cultural crossroads with influences of the native Polynesians, immigrants from China, Japan, and the Philippines, and its history as an American territory and state. So you see the usual generic grocery store stuff, but also some more interesting items. One aisle had jars full of tentacles, cans of cephalopod eyeballs, bags of dried cuttlefish... It made the kids appreciate the Wingnut School cafeteria.

Mrs. Grumpy spent a few years in the Philippines when younger, and became addicted to a local snack called Cracker Nuts. I, personally, can't stand them. Basically, they're peanuts that are coated in flour, then deep fried. To me they taste like really stale nuts.

My wife, however LOVES them. On rare occasions she'll order them online. But in Hawaii, she combs any grocery store we go into for them, with mixed results. I count myself lucky in that at least she doesn't like their banana ketchup (yes, really. It's ketchup made from bananas instead of tomatoes).


There are other unusual foods, too:

I bet it's artisanal, too.

When we got back to the hotel, Frank and I joined the others at the beach and pool for a while, then I went upstairs to do some reading. As I settled on the balcony I heard noise down by the pool, then music. In what was one of the most randomly bizarre events of the trip, an Elvis impersonator had set up a speaker there and was belting out a few numbers.

We did Chinese take-out for dinner.

But does it tell you who has your cookie? Hell, no.

Hawaiian vacation, day 5

Tonight we went to a luau. They're hokey, and I, personally, am not a big fan. But since it was my kids' first trip here we felt they should have the experience.

I tried to get some idea of which luau to attend by checking online reviews. Big mistake (based on my office review experience, you'd think I'd know better). Most were negative, with entirely unrealistic criticisms. Complaints included "there were bugs flying around" (you're outside, FFS), "the poi was terrible" (yes, but that's the point), and (my favorite) "they had an open bar and my husband got drunk. The hotel should know better."

Pricing for a luau is a racket. Generally they start at expensive. Then, once you've decided to go, they try to sell you on different levels of seating, because apparently the "expensive" seats are shitty. So if you want to, say, actually SEE the luau (as opposed to being seated behind a banyan tree) your options are ridiculously expensive, ludicrously expensive, and fucking insanely expensive tables. The last puts you close enough that you get an extinguisher on your table "just in case" during the fire-dancer routine.

There are 3 traditional foods at a luau.

The first is roast pork, also called Kalua Pork. For the record, it has nothing to do with Kahlua. Kalua means "cooked underground" in Hawaiian.

Luaus generally begin with what’s called the imu ceremony

"He said imu, not emu."

If you read the brochures, this is portrayed as some sort of mystical, quasi-religious, experience. Actually, what really happens is that 2 buff guys in grass skirts (no wonder Mrs. Grumpy wanted to see it) dig up a dead pig that’s been cooking underground all day, then hack it to pieces. If you're planning on actually eating said pig, you probably don't want to watch this. It's not pretty (unless you're looking at the beefcake).

The pig is trussed up, put on top of hot coals, covered with banana leaves, and then buried in a pit for several hours. This traditional cooking method results in an outside layer of pork that's basically charcoal, an inside layer that's raw, and, somewhere in between them, 1mm of perfectly cooked meat for tourists to fight over.

The 2nd traditional luau food is poi. This is the root of the taro plant, beaten to a purplish sludge.

"Still not willing to talk, eh? You leave me no other choice."

In Hawaii it's a traditional comfort food, and, if you were raised on it, I'm sure you like it. I, on the other hand, can't stand it. It may be the blandest thing on the face of the Earth.

The luau staff, however, are well aware that the haole expect it, and even want to try it, as part of the "luau experience." So they put out a small dish on the buffet, well aware that nobody will take too much or come back for seconds. Traditionally, you're also supposed to eat it with your fingers, and the thickness is graded by how many fingers are needed to do so (one finger poi, 2 finger poi, 5 finger-and-3-toe-poi, etc.). At least they use a spoon to serve it.

The 3rd traditional luau food is an open bar with unlimited drinks. This is to help you forget the fact that you just took out a 5th mortgage so you could have carbonized pork and taste poi.

The modern luau is really a lot more Vegas than Hawaii. An MC (think Max Quordlepleen) comes out, welcomes you, belts out a few numbers, and works the crowd a bit. He makes typical jokes about newlyweds, asks who's celebrating anniversaries and birthdays, etc. My favorite part was when he was asking different groups what state they were from, and one family yelled "Oakland!"

Then they begin the dances. Usually he tells the story behind it ("this next dance is the traditional one a village did when their kids medaled in the math olympics, or at least caught a decent sized fish") followed by the music and dance. They also do a few numbers where they try to get intoxicated audience members up on stage to do something they'll be sorry got on Face Book and have no recollection of having humiliated themselves like that.

The closing act is always the fire dancer. Technically, this is Samoan, not Hawaiian. It features a loud drum piece playing while a guy twirls a flaming baton around for 2-3 minutes. Occasionally he drops it, but the stage doesn't suddenly go up in smoke. He also does a few stunts like briefly setting his lips on fire (a coating of poi protects them from damage) or touches it to the soles of his feet.

For the record, this is NOT real Samoan fire dancing. In Hawaii they use a baton, usually metal, wrapped with kerosene-soaked rags at each end. In Samoa it's much more exciting because it actually involves a machete, with flaming rags at both ends. I am not making this up. The midsection, where you hold it, is sharpened so that if you grab it on the wrong side you might lose a thumb and/or a few pints of blood.

This is still done in Samoa, probably because they have fewer worker's comp lawyers there. It's an ideal thing to attend if you're the kind of doctor who loves to jump up and yell "I'm a doctor!" when you see a horribly gruesome flaming knife injury occur in front of you.

Walking out, you generally pass several tables of local artisans (likely one of the few times in this blog the term isn't being used sarcastically) selling statuary, jewelry, carved driftwood & seashells, etc. In my mind these things, while often cool to look at, require dusting and should therefore NEVER be brought home. A few years ago a patient gave me a small elephant carved from banyan wood. It only gets dusted on the day prior to his appointments, and that's at Mary's insistence.

"It'll fit in the plane's overhead bin, no problem."

And that's the way it is.

Holiday reruns

I'm checking out at the store.


Mr. Lumbarpain: "Oh, hi Dr. G! How ya doin'?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Oh, uh, fine, um, I didn't recognize you when I got in line."

Mr. Lumbarpain: "Yeah, I'm workin' at Local Grocery now. Ya got a Shopper's Card?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Here, thanks."

Mr. Lumbarpain: "Lemme ring this up. Looks like you're havin' burgers. Paper or plastic?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Yeah, I guess. Paper."

Mr. Lumbarpain: "Ya know, my back is still killin' me, and it goes down my right leg."

Dr. Grumpy: "Oh, why don't you call Mary and..."

Mr. Lumbarpain: "Some days it goes around into my groin, too. Got any coupons?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No..."

(Lady in line behind me grabs her basket and runs for her life)

Mr. Lumbarpain: "Sometimes it burns, ya know, like I have a rash going down my butt and the leg. That'll be $18.73. Credit or debit?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Credit."

Mr. Lumbarpain: "Can you sign here? And then when I look, there's no rash, it just feels that way."

Dr. Grumpy: "You should call Mary tomorrow and..."

Mr. Lumberpain: "Nice seein' ya, doc. Hi, lady. Ya got a Shopper's card?"

Hawaiian memories

In 1989 my family was renting a condo in Kaanapali.

The one above us had a group of 4 college-aged women on vacation. We often heard them talking out on the balcony. They didn't bother us, we just noticed who the upstairs neighbors were.

Anyway, one day my Dad and I were sitting outside, and we heard 2 of them upstairs, talking about some postcards they were sending back home. Suddenly, there was a huge gust of wind. The newspaper Dad was reading blew over the edge, and we saw some papers from the girls above get scattered into the air. We both went inside.

A few minutes later I went out (I'd left my Diet Coke on the table) and discovered a postcard had blown onto our balcony. It featured a picture of a large, muscular, young Polynesian guy, wearing nothing but a strategically placed banana leaf. The reverse side had an address on it, but nothing else. Someone (we assume one of the girls) had obviously started writing the card when it blew away.

I went inside, and absently tossed it on the table. I figured I'd run it up to the girls later (hell, maybe I'd get to meet them). Dad picked it up, looked it over, and then told me to go down to the gift shop and buy a postcard stamp.

When I got back he'd already filled it out. He took it to the front desk, asked them to make a photocopy, then put the stamp on and tossed it in the outgoing mailbox.

Here it is.

For those of you who can't read Dad's handwriting, it says

Hi, everyone,

We are having a wonderful time and are glad you're not here. Yesterday we all went swimming at the beach. We had to leave early, though, because "you know who" was killed by a shark. But we won't let a little thing like that ruin our vacation.

This guy on the card came up to us waving his dong. But this is considered hospitality by the locals. After about 2 hours of it we told him to leave, though.

See you soon,

All of us

So, if in 1989 your last name was Gillin, Scott, Alperstein, or Glantz, and you lived at that address, OR if you were their friends who returned home and were shocked that someone had actually filled out and mailed your postcard...

Now you know. It was my Dad.

And I still think that was brilliant.

Hawaiian vacation, day 4

Before we start today's adventures, I have an announcement. 

Dr. Fizzy is having a medical humor writing contest. Since this will require judges, she wanted someone witty, intelligent, clever, objective, and talented to assist her. Anyway, that person wasn't available, so she settled for me.

More information is available here. As a judge, I pledge that I will not be swayed by monetary bribery (a case of Diet Coke, however, can't hurt your cause).

And now, back to the vacation.

Today we drove up Haleakala.

For those of you who don't know, this is the center volcanic crater on Maui, dormant for a few hundred years. It involves a stunning drive taking you from sea level to > 10,000 feet over a few hours.

I should mention a thought about height here. Mount Everest, at 29,000 feet, gets all the press as the world's tallest mountain... when measuring height above sea level. BUT if you use the definition of distance from a mountain's base to it's summit... Everest is pissy at 17,100 feet. By that standard the tallest mountains on Earth are in Hawaii. Mauna Kea, for example, dwarfs the Himalayan molehill at 33,500 feet (nearly twice it's size), as do Mauna Loa and Haleakala. For that matter, so does Mount McKinley, in Alaska, and Chimborazo, in Ecuador. The last is actually farther from the Earth's center than any other mountain on Earth due to the planet's equatorial bulge. And, if you want to get real picky, Mount Rheasilvia is the tallest mountain known, at 80,000 feet high. But it's on the asteroid Vesta, 156 million miles away, so don't start packing your climbing gear.

Keep your #2 pencils handy, we'll have a quiz on that later.

Anyway, this is a remarkable place. I've been to Maui many times, but always make the drive to the Haleakala summit. There are plants and animals here seen nowhere else on Earth, and limited to just a few acres at the top. A wingless species of moth. The Rock Pelea plant, known only from a few isolated patches on the slopes. And, my favorite, the Silversword.

This endangered plant is a distant cousin of the daisy and lives only on this mountain. It's silver, which is pretty cool for a plant. It only flowers once every 40-50 years, then dies. But the neat thing is that's why it's silver. At this altitude, it's too cold for its flowers to bloom, so the plant's curved leaves actually act as a parabolic mirror to focus light on the developing buds, to keep them warm. This is not your ordinary daisy.

They used to have bike rides from the top. Tourists would be taken up to the top in the wee hours, watch the sunrise from an incredible viewpoint, then ride downhill back to sea level on mountain bikes. This resulted in the narrow roads being congested with packs of people in rain ponchos and helmets, being followed by a slow-moving equipment truck rolling down steep switchbacks with it's hazard lights blinking and brakes smoking.

Obviously, this wasn't a good combination, but it took until 2010 that enough serious accidents had occurred for the park to realize this should stop. So now they can only start riding down from considerably lower on the mountain, before it gets too narrow. I personally disagree with this. I think anyone who wants to ride a bike from the summit to sea level should be allowed to... provided they were also able to ride the same bike from sea level to the summit on the same day (no, Mr. Armstrong, steroids aren't allowed). Granted, this would likely overwhelm Maui's meager medical facilities.

During the drive up you encounter this sign. It's been there as long as I can remember traveling to Hawaii, and, in my opinion, may be the best road sign in America. Possibly the world.

You see, at this point the road curves around to the right. Just to the left side of the road is a clearly-seen sheer drop of several thousand feet, and no guard rail. This generally dissuades people from, say, driving over it intentionally.

But, to be safe, they put up a "No Left Turns" sign to make the point. Perhaps, at the bottom of the cliff, they have a traffic cop writing tickets for those who just disobeyed and went over.

"Didn't you see the sign up there, sir? Sir?"

When you finally get to the top, the view is truly amazing. On a clear day you can actually see mountains on the other islands. On a cloudy day you can see... well... clouds. Because you're above them, looking down. But they move quickly, so between them you'll still get a pretty spectacular view of the unearthly landscape.

It can be very windy up here. Craig (like any good Boy Scout), was prepared with a brush, comb, and gel.

Pro tip: stop to use the bathroom at the first ranger station you come to, NOT the one at the summit. Why? Because there isn't one. Due to difficulty getting water to the summit, there isn't a public one at the top. And peeing on a silversword is frowned up.

At one ranger station they have a truly remarkable, rare, endangered finding. A species that was once plentiful, but now vanishing rapidly. It will likely be completely extinct in my lifetime, so I took a picture to show my grandkids someday:

"Dad says they used quarters to make it work. He's so FOS."

For all I know, this is the last one left on Earth. Which means that, if you're Clark Kent, you have to get from Metropolis to Haleakala just to change clothes.

Then you get to drive back down, and hope you don't ruin your rental car's brakes or mow down a terrified guy from Milwaukee on an out-of-control bicycle who never wanted to do this but his wife made him.

"I ran him over on Haleakala. It's a local tradition to keep the head."

You'll be hungry, so I recommend the Costco for lunch in nearby Kahului. Then you can stock up on more beer and Diet Coke, since, like me, you need one or (more likely) both to deal with 3 teenagers.

Hawaiian vacation, day 3

Due to requests that I re-start my vacation series, I now present my summary of our trip to the islands. For those who haven't read my past vacation archives, they can be found here.
 

We had a pretty spectacular view of the ocean, overlooking the island of Lanai in the distance:

Nice, huh? I sat out there a lot, drinking beer & mai-tais and reading CME. Doing work-related stuff isn't so bad when ETOH and a great view are in the mix.

Watching birds all over the balcony (they're on the lookout for PBJ crumbs) gives you pause to realize that these are the last of the therapods - the biological line that once included the mighty Tyrannosaurus Rex. Sue must be spinning in her display case to see her descendents trying to steal french fries.

The view is interesting. The town of Lahaina is known primarily for its history as a major whaling center, but forgotten in there is more modern stuff.

The view above, toward the island of Lanai, is over a body of water called Lahaina Roads. This is actually one of the world's best sheltered deep water anchorages, surrounded by 4 islands (Maui, Molokai, Lanai, and Kahoolawe). In the years prior to, and during, World War II, the U.S. navy used it as a back-up base to Pearl Harbor. Ships that needed repairs or supplies went to Pearl, while those that were ready and just awaiting orders anchored in Lahaina Roads.

This was such a common practice that, during the Pearl Harbor attack, Japanese planes and a submarine scouted Lahaina Roads to see if there were any major American ships there, so they could redirect a squadron to attack them, too. There weren't any that morning (purely by chance) which was lucky for the Americans. Lahaina Roads is a few hundred feet deep, and ships sunk there would have been beyond recovery, while at Pearl Harbor most were raised and repaired.

Here's some pics of the same view, 70-80 years ago.

Cruisers, destroyers, and the carriers Wasp, Saratoga, and Lexington

U.S.S. Lexington

Lexington, 3 battleships, and some freighters

Lexington & Saratoga at center, 5 battleships at right, scattered cruisers & destroyers

I look out over it, and imagine the same view in early 1944, when carriers were stopped there on the way from the west coast to the front, and imagine this peaceful sea completely filled with warships being prepared for battle.


Hard to believe.

Hawaiian vacation, day 2

Due to requests that I re-start my vacation series, I now present my summary of our trip to the islands. For those who haven't read my past vacation archives, they can be found here.


So we got to our condo. It was tastefully decorated, with this lovely piece of art being the first thing you see on walking in:

Nothing really says "welcome to Hawaii" like a papier-mâché parrot in a faux-bamboo cage hanging from the ceiling (parrots aren't even native here. But, then again, neither are pineapples*). The kids immediately adopted it as their pet, since Mello and Snowball were back home. Craig, for reasons known only to him, named it Cassandra, and all 3 of them spoke to it frequently for the next 2 weeks. Cassandra, for her part, spent the entire time pining for the fjords.

Our bedroom had a similarly psittacine theme, with the night table lamps being equally tasteful:

"Say goodnight, Polly"

I can only assume the person who decorated our condo is a bird lover (or Jimmy Buffett fan), and not the owner of a pick-up truck we walked past.

Chicken choking, on the other hand, IS a crime. At least in some states.

Driving around the area we passed a nearby ABC store. For those who have never been to Hawaii, this is the universal corner store here, selling typical convenience store stuff, $5 T-shirts, and assorted tourist tchotchke. This one also had a couple gas pumps outside... But what really caught my eye was the large banner in front that said "Prime Rib Special, $11.99 Sunday and Thursday." While convenience stores are ubiquitous across North America, this is the first time I'd ever seen one advertising that.

Later in the afternoon we went to get snorkel gear for the trip, and I texted my Mom to see if she wanted to come with. She wasn't able to, as she was apparently fascinated by all the modern technological marvels found in her condo.

And that's the way it is.


*Really. They aren't. They're originally from the Brazil-Paraguay border region in South America.

Hawaiian vacation, day 1

Due to requests that I re-start my vacation series, I now present my summary of our trip to the islands. For those who haven't read my past vacation archives, they can be found here.


Our trip got off to a wild start with Craig.

Craig HATES flying. In the days leading up to the trip he became increasingly worked-up about going, and convinced himself that we were going to have a horrible time (no, he's never been to Hawaii before).

This reached a comical highlight the night before we left. Mrs. Grumpy sent me to get some extra socks for the kids, and so I went to his room. He was on the phone with a teen-crisis hotline, hysterical about going on the family vacation.

One can only imagine the thoughts going through the mind of the crisis volunteer on the other end. I imagine all the issues she'd heard that day:

"My stepfather is sexually abusing me."

"Mom won't stop drinking, and my Dad left us."

"My parents are taking me to Hawaii."

By nature of this job I'm pretty good at keeping a straight face. But I likely would have had to mute the line if I were the one dealing with Craig's call.

Of course, once we got to the airport he was fine, worried only about his hair.

Mrs. Grumpy and my mom took the kids to the overpriced McD's for breakfast, and I sat down at the gate to get some work done. I try to ignore others at airports and on planes. Don't talk to me, I won't talk to you, and we'll be fine.

Unfortunately, many disagree with this view. No sooner had I sat down and started work on some CME than a lady plopped down next to me, tapped me on the shoulder, and screamed "Can you believe this is all the hummus they give you for $8?"

I looked at the styrofoam container she was waving around, and tried to discourage her by saying "mmmph" and turning back to my reading.  That only led her to believe I was deaf, mute, or both. So she stuck the thing under my nose and said "SERIOUSLY!!! THIS WAS $8! ISN'T THAT AN OUTRAGE?"

Failing to get my attention, she moved to a guy in a business suit, who pretended to be on a phone call. Then she went over to bug some family, who told her to go complain at the food place. She then left the gate area, making me wonder if the whole thing was a TSA test of some sort.

A few minutes elapsed. Then a guy in a business suit sat down on my other side, whipped out a phone, and immediately began talking loudly into it with phrases like "Did you talk to the senator?", "I have meetings with senators all week. This is a MAJOR national issue," and "You need to realize how much money is involved at this level. It's very serious." He kept this up until he realized no one around was staring at him, so he left the gate, too. Hopefully someone catches him and re-starts his medication.

Mercifully, Mrs. Grumpy and the kids returned, scaring off other attention-seekers with some I'm more familiar with.

Our flight was delayed because an overhead bin had a faulty lock, and wouldn't stay closed. We watched as 2-3 different techs got on the plane, tried to fix it, got out a greasy maintenance book, argued about which screw was the problem, and then finally left to find a different type of screwdriver. While they were off the plane some guy in a "Binford Tools" t-shirt got out of his seat, slammed it closed, and punched the lock with his bare hand. When the tech guys came back it was working fine, and we got to take off.

At one point during the flight Craig got up to go brush his hair in the bathroom, so I went to to get something out of my carry-on. I noticed this suitcase in the bin. I'm not sure if the suitcase is inoperable, or the medical equipment, or both. And if the medical equipment is inoperable, why is it being flown around? Or even left on the plane, for that matter?

While I didn't bother with the in-flight entertainment, I did look up at one point to see an excerpt from a television show with 3 guys pairing beers with different varieties of Rocky Mountain Oysters. I guess it beats combining them into 1 beverage.


The best part about the Maui airport is that even the restroom signs are on vacation:

Because, if there's anything more relaxing than a laid-back bathroom stick-figure, I don't know what it is.

Kahului airport here is conveniently located next to a Costco. This, I suspect, is probably the busiest Costco in the world, as it's constantly packed with people who just got off planes and are there to stock up on Diet Coke, bagels, beer, and other essential vitamins & minerals. And, of course, to have lunch after your flight. Because the lady bitching about hummus at the airport has nothing on the people who just shelled out $9.50 for a bag of nuts during the flight.

Thursday afternoon

"I have headaches all the time. Even when I don't have a headache, I know I'm secretly having one."

Skool Nerse time

This is Mrs. Grumpy.

School is starting soon, and, as your school nurse, I'd like to offer some tips to help make this a better year for all of us.

1. I'm happy to handle your child's medications. That's part of what I do. Please be sure to bring them in with useful instructions. DO NOT drop them off outside my office door after I've left, or hang them in a grocery bag on the school's front gate overnight. Have you people seen the kind of neighborhood Douglas C. Kenney Elementary school is in? Billy's bottle of Adderall is worth a lot of money here, and likely made some junkie very happy. Can't imagine how you explained that to your pediatrician.

2. Where it says "Allergies" on the form, writing "yes," "sometimes," or "depends" doesn't give me much useful information. Please be sure to include details, like what Sara is allergic to (unless she really is allergic to Depends).

3. Writing movies you don't want your kids seeing is not what the forms are for. Talk to the teacher. I understand, as I'm sick of the music from "Frozen," too, but I'm not the person who deals with this.

4. Some of your kids know my kids. Fine. As a result, they know my kid's cell phone numbers. That's fine, too. BUT my kids are NOT a reliable way to pass messages to me in my capacity as the school nurse. Hell, they aren't a reliable way to pass messages AT ALL. Having your kid text my kid something like "Lacey has a fever of 104 and rash, can she still come to school?" or "Please have Phil in your office at 8:15 so I can take him to the dentist" should not be relayed through my kids. Stop it. I have a direct line and emails. They're on the school's website.

5. Calling the above number is not going to get you an appointment with my husband. Depending on how badly you piss me off when trying, the opposite might occur.

6. Although I said this before, I need to emphasize it. DO NOT claim to be part of Jenny McCarthy's Army just because you're too damn lazy to get me your kids vaccination records. If as many of you were anti-vaccine as claim to be, you wouldn't be alive.

7. On the form where it asks who's allowed to pick up your kids "anyone I send" is not an acceptable answer.

8. Writing "Do not allow wasps or bees to sting Evan" will not prevent them from doing so. Please address such requests to the Apocritae. I will only show it around the office, and we will laugh at you.

9. I keep "emergency" clothes up here for accidents. This is not the charity shopping mall. Do not send your kids in to "see if there's anything good."

10. No matter what you put on the form, there is absolutely no medical reason for a 7 year old to be carrying a cigarette lighter to school. Don't argue with me.


Thank you! Everyone have a great year!

Sigh

Dr. Grumpy: "So, how are you doing with the new medication?"

Mr. Noventa: "It's awful! It isn't helping my symptoms, and hurts my stomach. It also makes me sleepy all the time, I can't concentrate, and I think it's thinning my hair."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, then why don't you stop it, and we'll try switching you to..."

Mr. Noventa: "I'd rather continue it, because I just bought a 90 day supply."

Smokin'

Mary: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Mary."

Mr. Cheech: "Hi, I need to make an appointment with Dr. Grumpy."

Mary: "Okay, we can see you on..."

Mr. Cheech: "I don't have insurance. Does he accept other forms of payment?"

Mary: "Well, we take MasterCard, Visa, AMEX..."

Mr. Cheech: "No, I mean, like, in trade? I grow pot in my shed, and can give you some buds."

Mary: "No, we don't accept payment of that sort."

Mr. Cheech: "It's really high quality, organic. I don't use pesticides or any of that shit."

Gratitude

Dear Mrs. Patient,

I'm glad you're feeling better. It was nice of you to send me a thank you card. I actually treasure notes like yours, and keep them in (as my friend Amanda Brown calls it) the "I don't suck box." On really bad days I read stuff from it for solace, and to reassure myself that I really am doing my best, and some people appreciate that.

BUT I must admit, none of the notes I've previously received, in 15 years of doing this, came on a card with a picture quite like yours:

Run, Run, Away

All right, gang. With only a few weeks left before the kids head back to school, it's time for the annual Grumpy family Summer vacation. So we're loading up the minivan and adding pontoons for a 5000 mile drive.

I may post infrequently over the next 2 weeks, as time allows, but will return to my regular schedule in 2 weeks.

Major

Dr. Grumpy: "Any other major health issues?"

Mr. Durante: "I sneeze once a day, sometimes twice."

Memories...

It was the early 1970's. I don't remember the man's name. Maybe I never knew it.

My Dad didn't know it either, but he helped him.

Dad was downtown, driving home from his law practice one afternoon. I don't remember the time of year.

He was stopped at a red light while people crossed in front of his car. One was an elderly man with a cane. One of his legs was shorter than the other, and so he had a shoe with a platform bottom on that side to support him.

As he hobbled across the street, he tripped and fell, landing on his chest. The cane went flying, and he was unable to get back up. While he struggled to get to his feet the typical rush hour traffic began honking and yelling at him.

Dad got out, and helped the man up. The cane was gone, smashed by a car trying to beat the yellow light. He got the man to his feet, but without the cane he couldn't walk. So Dad put an arm around the elderly stranger, and got him to his car. He put him in the passenger seat, figuring then he'd find out where he lived and drive him home.

The man was scared, and badly shaken up. A stranger had just run out in front of traffic and yelling people to help him. And now my Dad learned he didn't speak a word of English - just Italian.

Nowadays maybe people would have left the man lying there, called police on their call phone, and driven around him. Or helped him to the edge of the curb and left him there for someone else to find. Or just not given a shit at all and continued honking at him.

But Dad brought him back to our house.

There was no cell phone. The first hint we had that anything was up was when Dad came in the carport door, supporting an elderly man I'd never seen before. He called my Mom, and as he explained what happened they got him to a chair at the kitchen table. Mom got him some water and a few band-aids for his bumps and scrapes.

Dad went to the phone. A friend of his was a doctor, whose father was an Italian immigrant. He reached him at his office as he was finishing up for the day, and the good doctor immediately called his father (who was fluent in both English and Italian) and they came to our house.

While the doctor checked him over, his father spoke to the man, and they quickly got his information. He didn't know the phone number of the building he lived at, but knew the address. It was a few miles from where he'd fallen, and he'd been on his way to the bus stop to go home when the accident happened.

The doctor's father drove the man home a short while later, though they stopped at the drugstore for a new cane.

I never saw the man again, but the memory is still there. A frail looking elderly man in a black suit, white shirt, and dark Homburg hat. The one shoe with the platform bottom. Sitting at the formica table in our yellow 70's kitchen.

I don't recall my Dad mentioning the events of that day again. I don't think I even remember him talking to me directly about it while it was going on. But I learned a lot that day that I hope I never forget.

Annie's desk

Annie: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Annie."

Mr. Blood: "Hi, I have a question about the labs Dr. Grumpy ordered."

Annie: "Sure, what's up?"

Mr. Blood: "It says here the labs are fasting."

Annie: "Yeah, that's standard for what he wants done."

Mr. Blood: "Okay, but am I the one who has to be fasting? Or is it the tech who draws them?"

Glad they cleared that up

Last night I was at a meeting about an upcoming drug study, and this was one of the slides:

I wanted to ask what they consider REALLY serious.

Words

On call yesterday I was in ER, examining a lady who'd just had a seizure. From the other side of the curtain I hear this:


Her: "Did you cover it? I don't want to catch diseases."

Him: "Yes. Now I'm going to put it in."

Her: "Please be gentle. I'm very sensitive there."

Him: "Of course."

Her: "Is it in yet?"

Him: "Just a little bit, I need to put it in further."

Her: "Ow! Don't push so hard!"

Him: "Sorry... It's in now."

Her: "I can feel it."

Him: "And... I'm done. I pulled it out. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Her: "Only when you first put it in, but it went fast."


And it was... A male nurse checking a tympanic temperature on an elderly lady.

Sigh

Mrs. Seven: "I also take Spazon-XR."

Dr. Grumpy (looking at her list): "You take that just once a week?"

Mrs. Seven: "No, it's every Saturday."

Looking for clues

Mr. Construction: "My hands have been getting numb over the last few years."

Dr. Grumpy: "Any change in your activities in that time?"

Mr. Construction: "Nope. Same old boring job."

Dr. Grumpy: "Is there..."

Mr. Construction: "I hope you can figure this out, doc. It makes it hard to hold a jackhammer all day."

On the road again

(Guy walks in, stands at counter)

Mary: "Hi, can I help you?"

Mr. Distance: "I was referred to see Dr. Grumpy." (pulls out piece of paper, hands it to her)

Mary: "Okay, I can make an appointment for you. How about..."

Mr. Distance: "You mean you can't see me NOW?"

Mary: "No, today is full, but on Tuesday we have..."

Mr. Distance: "But I just drove over 200 miles to get here! You can see from the referral that I live in Waywest!"

Mary: "I'm sorry, but..."

Mr. Distance: "I saw Dr. Referral this morning, and she said that I should see Dr. Grumpy. So I decided to just come on over."

Mary: "Why didn't you call for an appointment?"

Mr. Distance: "I thought that would complicate things. Hey, can I use your bathroom?"

Clarification

I'm not sure what these guys want. Can anyone out there help me? They're pretty vague.

Thank you, Nos!

Hey, it's all your insurance will cover

Great medical ads:




Thank you, Jillian!

Thursday afternoon

Dr. Grumpy: "Are you allergic to anything?"

Mr. Anaerobe: "Chlorophyll, and all other oxygen producing substances."

Kissing up

About a month ago I had a pre-med student spend an afternoon with me. Actually, it wasn't even that. After 2 hours she looked liked she was bored out of her mind (I'd warned her about that, but she still wanted to come in) and left at 3:00, saying she was meeting a friend for lunch.

Anyway, I didn't hear from her again until yesterday, when this neatly typed note showed up in the mail:

Dear Dr. Grumpy,

Thank you for taking the time and allowing me to shadow you last month. I understand that having me there required a tremendous amount of time and effort, and I genuinely appreciate your support. My time with you was an unparallelled pleasure.

You are a great leader, humanitarian, and physician. I will always cherish the knowledge that you shared with me.

Yours truly,

Katie Brownnose



Dear Katie,

Thank you for your kind note. I'm sorry I wasn't able to keep you awake during your brief time here, but I warned you that office neurology, to an outsider, is less than exciting.

I'm glad you wrote, because I've been meaning to get in touch with you. Based on our brief time together I'm concerned you may have narcolepsy, and suggest you see a sleep specialist. If it would be easier, try to spend time with one (like you did with me) and they'll likely notice.

Thank you for your kind words. I've always considered myself a great leader here in my practice, but given that I'm solo this is easy. The real truth, though, is that Mary and Annie are in charge, and I just do what they tell me. If you become a doctor, you'll figure that out at some point.

I'm assuming that someday you'll hit me up for a letter of recommendation. Based on my interaction with you, I can certainly reassure them that you're neatly dressed, speak English when wide awake, and have 4 limbs, 1 head, and 2 eyes.

Yours truly,

Ibee Grumpy, M.D.


Actually, folks, I understand her note. I wrote my share of similar stuff back in the day, and now I realize even more so how awful it sounded.

My staff is awesome

Mary: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Mary."

Mrs. Memory: "Hi, I need to come back and see Dr. Grumpy."

Mary: "Um... Actually, you have an appointment today, at 1:45."

Mrs. Memory: "No I don't."

Mary: "You do, ma'am."

Mrs. Memory: "I most certainly do not. Otherwise I wouldn't be calling you. Now, as I was saying, I need to see Dr. Grumpy again."

Mary: "Okay, well, if you'd like to come in today we have an opening at 1:45?"

Mrs. Memory: "Oh, that works perfectly. I'll be there."

Mary: "Great! See you then."

Mrs. Memory: "Thank you for getting me in so quickly."

Dear Azilect,

Recently, one of my patients applied to your Azilect assistance program, to help those unable to afford a prescription for it.

She filled out the papers, got them together with her Azilect prescription and financial info, and I signed the forms and put them in the mail.

So, I was somewhat puzzled when she brought in this letter last week:

What's up with this? I mean, if the Azilect Patient Assistance Program DOESN'T provide Azilect, what do they provide? Oven mitts?

For future clarification you should consider renaming the program "Non-Assistance" or "No-Azilect Program."

Or, simply have it supply Azilect in the first place.

Yours truly,

Ibee Grumpy, M.D.

From the slushpile

Okay, it's time to hit the mailbag for more examples of artisan/artisanal junk you guys have sent in.

Again, this is not to make fun of tradesman who are genuinely working on handmade artisanal products. This is to highlight, as I have before, the many bullshit uses of the word being slapped on pretty much anything that's mass-produced, or grown (if it grows on a tree, you didn't make it), or other abuses of the word.

First, we have this:

I mean, it's SEAWEED for crap's sake. It grows in the ocean and washes up on the beach, making a rotten, smelly, mess. How is that artisanal?



What else is artisanal these days? Maybe something made in small quantities... Like hot dogs and their fluffy buns:

I'm pretty sure ANYTHING advertised on a roadside billboard isn't artisanal.

What about the security guard who drives around your neighborhood looking for suspicious characters, and calls your house when you set off the alarm while putting out the dog? Is he an artisan? Apparently so.

"So, Mr. Zimmerman. You say you're an artisan?"

Hopefully, having a good artisanal security system will bring you some peace of mind. But, if it doesn't I suppose you can always go buy it:

"Handcrafted tranquility is in aisle 4. Do you have a note from your doctor for that?"

Speaking of peace, have you been trying to find a nice place for Grandma? How about...

"What does artisanal mean? What does artisanal mean? What does..."

And, lastly, while the overuse of "artisan" certainly brings an uncertainty principle of what it means, I still have to respect it when it's tied to a good joke.

"Hey, what's this blue candy inside my baguette?"

Nigel? Is that you?

Back when my kids were younger, they loved the Toy Story stuff. Including the Evil Emperor Zurg:

So, it's no surprise that Frank had to have the Zurg Blaster gun, which fired green ping-pong balls.

Anyway, they're beyond that now, so recently we were getting together some old toys to donate to charity. On the side of the Zurg Blaster, I noticed this:

How awesome is that?

If you don't get it... I feel sorry for you.

Nitrogen, CO2, you name it.

Dr. Grumpy: "Let me get an MRI form... Are you claustrophobic?"

Mr. Lung: "No, but I need to breathe during the test. There's air and oxygen and all for me in there, right?"

Modern crime

More valuable than gold. Rarer than platinum. More coveted than oil. Yes, the most prized substance on Earth is clearly...

Shortbread.

Yeah, you read that correctly.

I didn't think so either, but I'm not much of a shortbread fan. Honestly, I had no idea it was so valuable, until this morning.

This past weekend a daring group of Scottish thieves, in what would have easily been a crime to rival anything in Agatha Christie's works, attempted to steal £15,000 (that's $26,000, folks) worth of shortbread.

That better be some damn good baking. I mean, why the fuck would you steal shortbread? I'm pretty sure these 4 guys weren't planning on eating it (they'd have to be pretty hungry). Is there a huge black market for shortbread in Scotland? While I've encountered my share of seedy characters around my downtown office here in the states, I don't recall anyone in an alley saying "Pssst! You want to buy some shortbread?" and showing the inside of a jacket with cookies hanging off it.

Granted, I suppose it could have gold or diamonds in it, or be a baking operation as a front for Walter White, but... probably not.

Anyway. So, a bunch of guys stole a truck full of shortbread. Thankfully for civilization, however, their dastardly plot was foiled.* Not by Hercule Poirot or James Bond or Scotland Yard, either.

Their attempt to drive the stolen goods away failed because, instead of filling the fuel tank with the recommended diesel (they should have read the owner's manual) they used cleaning fluid.

Really.

How you get Windex mixed up with petroleum derivatives is beyond me, but they did. And thank heavens for it, or the economies of western Europe might have collapsed due to the shortbread shortage. Not only that, it probably saved these guys from dying while having cookies and diesel fuel that they mistook for milk.

Thank you, Webhill!

*The original article used the word "scuppered." That's a great word. Why can't American news outlets use cool words like that?

Memories...

Dr. Balboa was a cardiologist at my medical school. He was good at what he did.

Unfortunately, he also had a confrontational personality, short temper, and complete inability to back down from conflict. These are not good traits to have when you're just over 5 feet tall, slender, and have absolutely no training in Karate/Kung Fu/Krav Maga/whatever.

So, on a relatively frequent basis, the hospital ER docs were used to sewing him up for injuries sustained in bar fights, traffic altercations, or any number of minor arguments that he escalated to stupid levels.

One night, during my 4th year cardiology rotation, I was also covering an ER shift for a friend who needed to trade. And, of course, Dr. Balboa came in. He'd been at a sports bar and the waitress accidentally knocked over his drink. Rather than accepting a replacement, he decided to hash it out with the bouncer. Which is never a good idea.

Since the inner-city ER was swamped, he was stuck with having me sew him up (or wait a few hours for a real doctor, or go to another ER). Hey, it wasn't something I wanted to do either, but I was stuck.

So, while I'm trying my best to professionally put in stitches, he began telling me what I was doing wrong, grilling me about the patients on our cardiology service, pimping me on side effects and half-lives of various drugs, and arguing with no one in particular about how today's medical students weren't as tough as they used to be. None of which helped keep me focused on the job at hand.

After he was discharged, I went back to the staff lounge to get some coffee. The window there looked over the parking lot. As I watched, Dr. Balboa went out to his BMW and began arguing with a guy who'd set a Gatorade bottle on its roof.

Five minutes later he was back in triage with a broken wrist.

Verbiage

Back in the early, sexist, 80's, I had a teacher who'd say "writing should be like a girl's skirt: long enough to cover the subject, short enough to keep it interesting."

Now, times and expressions may have changed, but his point is still well-taken. This was driven home to me recently while reading an article about the effects of concussions on college football players.

I'd have to say the gentleman on the right nailed it:

Sunday night call check out

Dr. Grumpy: "Next one, in room 734 is Mr. Spin, admitted for severe vertigo. I think it's peripheral, but ordered an MRI and..."

Dr. Nerve: "What kind of vertigo?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Positional vertigo. It happens when he turns his head left."

Dr. Nerve: "Which of the semicircular vestibular canals is involved?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Are you serious?"

Dr. Nerve: "Yes. Which canal is involved? Superior, Horizontal, or Posterior? They taught you that in residency, didn't they?'

Dr. Grumpy: "I have no fucking clue. I had 29 consults this weekend, and breaking that down isn't going to change my management."

Dr. Nerve: "I think these things are important."

Dr. Grumpy: "I don't when I'm swamped. On call my main question is whether it's central or peripheral. You want more than that, call an ENT."

Dr. Nerve: "Personally, I examine them closely until I've localized the canal."

Dr. Grumpy: "You do that. He's in 734. The MRI is pending. The next patient is..."

Erev Independence Day

Mary: "Dr. Grumpy's office, this is Mary."

Ms. Triptan: "Hi, I need to get in to see him tomorrow. My headaches have gotten worse."

Mary: "We're closed tomorrow. It's a holiday."

Ms. Triptan: "But this is important. I'm really miserable, and need something done! Couldn't he meet me there? Just for a short while?"

Mary: "No, but we had a cancellation for today, at 4:15. He can see you this afternoon."

Ms. Triptan: "I can't do that, I'm going to the casino. It's Bonus Slots Thursday."

Help wanted

You need to have brain surgery. Wouldn't you want a surgeon who had experience in the field (as opposed to, say, removing ingrown toenails)?

Me, too.

So, this is an interesting job ad. A hospital is looking for an anesthesiologist. That's the person in charge of making sure you're deeply out when they cut you open, watches your vital signs to make sure you're not dying on the table, and then (hopefully) wakes you up after the surgeon has put you back together.

So shouldn't they want someone who'd previously done that a few times?

Apparently not:

Yes folks, you read that correctly. They want an anesthesiologist, but experience using anesthetic drugs and procedures is "preferred" though not, say, "necessary" or "required" or "a really good idea."

Let's look at it this way:


Astronaut wanted to fly large rocket full of highly explosive fuel at 17,000 miles per hour to International Space Station. Experience at operating rockets preferred.

Scientist needed to calculate origins of matter and to evaluate data relating to Higgs Boson. Experience with physics preferred.

Person needed to maintain nuclear warheads. Experience with handling lethally radioactive materials with potential to wipe out a city preferred.


Now, realistically, I'm aware it would be hard to become a board certified/eligible anesthesiologist without actually doing the procedures and giving drugs... but you never know. I trained with a guy who got through a 3 month surgical rotation without ever setting foot in the OR. And he passed.


Thank you, Jess!

Full service neurology

I'm between patients when Mary tells me a doctor is on hold.


Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy."

Dr. Veoli: "Hi, this is Al Veoli, the pulmonologist across the street. We have a mutual patient, Don Epazil, who you're seeing for memory problems?"

Dr. Grumpy: "What's up?"

Dr. Veoli: "I'm not sure what to do here. I guess he was going to haul his clothes to the cleaners, but got the addresses mixed up. He took the bus here, and now he's out in the waiting room, trying to give bags of dirty duds to my staff."

Dr. Grumpy: "I'm sorry. His son lives with him, but is out of town this week. Tell him to come over here. I'll call his sister, who's handling this stuff."

Dr. Veoli: "He's showing stains to people in my lobby asking how to get them out. One nice lady is trying to give him pointers. I don't think she realizes what she's dealing with."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay. Direct him here, and I'll give his family a ring."

Dr. Veoli: "Thanks. Sorry to bother you."

10 minutes later

Mary: "Hey, doc, Mr. Epazil is up front with 3 bags of dirty clothes. He says he was supposed to bring them here to have them done? Laundry WAS NOT in my job description."

Perspective

My daughter left her hairbrush on the kitchen counter last night.

That's not a big deal, but when I first walked into the kitchen, this is what I saw:

Sunday night, 11:23 p.m.

The following message was left on my office voice mail last night:

"Hello, I'm a patient of Dr. Grumpy's. It's Sunday night, about twenty minutes after 11:00, and I'd like someone to call me back. Thank you."

That's all. Never called back with anything more helpful, like a name or phone number.

Random weekend pictures

All right, time to hit the e-mail bag of stuff you guys have sent in.


First, this was taken at an art museum in Budapest (it's actually the name of the artist being featured).

"On your right is the Sheriff Jim Clark display, and in the next hall are Ernst Zündel's works"

Next, we have this. Apparently telling someone to "go pick up paper towels" at the store is no longer enough. I had no idea the world needed this many varieties. I mean, IT'S A FUCKING PAPER TOWEL!!!

7 varieties of paper towels. For this we evolved from microbes.

Then there's this massage company, who probably should have thought out their logo a bit more carefully:

"The pun sucks, too."

Speaking of interesting signs, I have no idea what this means:

"The counter lady yelled at me. Maybe they mean bitches."

The box makes it sound like they sing, dance, and perform theater:

"I'm trying to eat, and my fork keeps doing the Macarena."

Next is an ad for a group that does bio-identical hormones. The name sounds like they're all clones.

"Did you want to see Dr. Grumpy, Dr. Grumpy, or Dr. Grumpy?"

And last, I have no idea why this company couldn't come up with a better way to say "non-allergic pet food"

"Which end of Fluffy do we put it in?"

Great Public Service Announcements

Whirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy, returning a page."

Mrs. Sikorski: "You saw my daughter yesterday? I was at the appointment if you recall, and you started her on Migrazap?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Yes, I remember. Is there a problem with the medication?"

Mrs. Sikorski: "No. I'm calling because she drove back to college today, and I don't think she's getting enough sleep."

Dr. Grumpy: "Well, the medication won't affect sleep, so it..."

Mrs. Sikorski: "That's not the issue. I need you to call her and discuss how important sleep is, because it's going to affect her grades. She also needs to study more."

Dr. Grumpy: "Well, that's not really my place. I mean, she's 21 years old, and away at college, and..."

Mrs. Sikorski: "Could you at least bring it up at her appointment next month? Also, can you say a few words about her current boyfriend? I don't think he's good for her."