Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 6

This morning, with plenty of Diet Coke on hand, I didn’t want coffee for breakfast. This pissed off the hotel’s breakfast lady to no end, as she kept coming over to offer me some, and made it sound like she’d gone out at 2:00 a.m. just to buy it for me. She even recruited the kids in trying to convince me to have a cup of joe (perhaps it was poisoned). After we checked out and drove off, I kept absently looking in the rear view mirror for her following us.

Today we met my parents and my sister’s family, and headed for the harbor. This year my Dad decided to take me and my sister’s tribes to Alaska on a family trip aboard the S.S. Smorgasbord. So between 3 cabins we have (literally) a boatload of people.

In the terminal my father had paid extra to have “priority check-in” on the cruise, and was told there was a special waiting area for this. I think he was under the impression this was a separate area of plush chairs, quiet fountains, a classical music quartet, and stunning, nubile serving girls catering to your every whim.

He was clearly disappointed to find it was simply a section of standard airport-style row seats, in the center of all the other waiting people, surrounded by a bunch of those rope barriers they use in movie theater lines. The provided entertainment was yesterday’s newspaper (with the sports section missing). The closest thing to a serving girl was an overweight guy named Harvey who kept yelling at people not to lean on the ropes. It’s my parents’ first cruise, and it clearly wasn’t starting the way he wanted it to.

My initial Alaskan cruise was several years ago, with a company I’ll call Non-Consumable food Lines. Mrs. Grumpy and I went without the kids. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, that trip would become a noteworthy experience for me and my blog followers.

There was a talent show on the last full day of that cruise, and Mrs. Grumpy asked me to enter it, doing comedy based on my practice. Since it also fell on her birthday, I couldn’t refuse.

So I got some of the material I’d been saving together, and did a 3 minute stand-up routine. For better or worse I was beaten by an 88 year-old clog-dancer. But that experience eventually contributed to the creation of this blog (and who’s gonna read a blog called grumpy88yearoldclogdancer.com anyway?). I think she got the sympathy vote, just in case she didn't make it through the cruise.

Back to 2010.

When we found our cabin it was hot as hell, in spite of the AC being on cold. So I called to complain. The lady who answered the phone assured me that an “air-conditioner fixer specialty person” would come soon, and so he did. The guy walked into our cabin, pulled the plastic cover off the AC control, blew dust out of it, whacked it with the side of his hand, and left. It worked fine after that.

While Mrs. Grumpy unpacked, she told me to either get the kids out of her hair, or kill them. So I dragged them upstairs. They made me stop for ice cream, apparently out of fear that they would go into a hypoglycemic coma so soon after lunch. After getting there Marie decided she also desperately needed a grilled cheese sandwich, as it had been nearly 30 minutes since lunch. So she made friends with Ajay, master of the S.S. Smorgasbord’s grill.

Then we went off to golf. Marie, picking up right where she’d left off on our last cruise, started by knocking over a lady’s daiquiri and shattering the glass (I guess it’s hard to play when you’re trying to hold a club and ice cream cone in one hand and a grilled cheese in the other). When someone came over to clean it up, she began wailing that it was Craig’s fault for talking to her while she was teeing off.

To prepare for this cruise, I read a great book called Cruise Confidential, by Brian Bruns. He wrote the book while working as a waiter for Carnival, and it gives a remarkable view into the lives of the ship’s service crew.

Basically they work hard and party hard. In fact, from reading the book you get the impression that when they’re not working the crew are either sleeping, drinking, or screwing (they also have to guard their silverware from other waiters). It notes that Mr. Bruns is the only American (as of the time of the writing) to have survived a Carnival tour-of-duty. I’m surprised that the book hasn’t recruited more American college-aged guys to the field, as it sounds like the lifestyle of mindless labor, alcohol, and frequent sex would be quite attractive at some point. Carnival even provides condoms to the employees.

After reading the book it’s impossible to walk around the ship looking at crew members and not wonder who’s banging who.

I also became aware that, like everyone else out there, the crew has to put up with some remarkably stupid questions. An example from the book is “What do you do with the ice sculptures after they melt?”

And that's it from the S.S. Smorgasboard.

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 5

Today we are in Seattle.

I was woken this morning by the 3 kids doing a horrific rendition of the 1980’s pop song “Don’t You Want Me?”. Considering they stayed up watching "Underdog" later than Mrs. Grumpy or I, they sure had a lot of energy when they woke up. I had no idea 80's pop was in the movie's soundtrack. Or maybe they changed the channel after we passed out.

After getting them dressed (which required me threatening to volunteer the boys for some electrical conductance experiments) we went down to breakfast. We'd run out of Diet Cokes, so I wanted coffee to wake up.

Unfortunately, the hotel had somehow managed to run out of coffee by the time we made it downstairs. Fortunately, there was a Costco nearby. So we reloaded on critical (and not-so-critical) supplies (20 lbs. box of laundry soap, 48 cans of Diet Coke, 1 box of pancake mix [NO! I HAVE NO FREAKIN' IDEA WHY WE NEEDED TO BUY PANCAKE MIX!], tomatoes [just in case, I guess], and tape) and I bought a soda cup at the snack bar and kept refilling it. Of course, by this time the kids were afraid they'd die of starvation (they hadn't eaten in what, an hour?), so they all wanted hot dogs, too.

On a side note, is there anyone else out there who remembers the married days before you had kids and a cheap date was a trip to Costco and 2 hot dogs for $3, and you thought that was awesome?

Then we dragged the kids down to Pike Place market and the aquarium. As we drove, the kids were stunned to see the Space Needle really exists. They'd assumed it was just a prop on iCarly.

Aquariums are cropping up on every corner in North America these days, but there are very few that I really like. Seattle is one of them (the others are Vancouver and Boston, though I haven't been to either in years). Actually, I haven't been to that many aquariums when I think about it. I know there are many others, but none of them in North America have octopi I want to vote for.

As we walked into the first exhibit hall, a guy came up to Marie and said "Hey, little lady, would you like to touch my sea cucumber?"

I was about to call security until I realized he worked there, and, indeed, was carrying around a live sea cucumber in a big plastic bowl. I looked around and saw quite a few people carrying sea creatures to show kids, and was reassured that a pedophile hadn't snuck into the aquarium. Or, if he had, at least he wasn't hiding in the bathroom.

It's really embarrassing when your kids start hitting each other in a fight over which of the starfish in the "hands-on" tide pool is Patrick. Or ask the nice lady working there why he isn't wearing pants, like on the show.

While walking between the buildings I noticed this interesting architectural feature overhead.





As you can see, it's a door to nowhere hanging off the 2nd floor. I secretly hoped that on the inside of the door was a sign that said “smoking patio”.

After the aquarium we wandered around Pike Place Market. I like this place, and could spend all day browsing. I have a fond memory from the 1990's when I was in Seattle interviewing for neurology residency. Due to flight schedules I had a whole day to kill, and spent it wandering around the waterfront and Pike Place area. I dodged flying fish, bought books, had someone take my picture next to a cardboard cutout of a T-101 Terminator (I figured in a few months patients would see me that way), and ate anything that looked good (which was a lot.). By the end of the day I was poorer, fatter, and barely fit into my suit for the interview the next day.

But now, with 3 wild kids, the best you can do is window shop and keep them out of stores where they might break something.

One item here that caught my attention was this poster for a lighthearted musical. I was somewhat sorry to see the show’s run was over by the time we visited.





Seattle has some things that other cities just can't match. My kids, in particular, loved the famous Wall of Gum (picture below). This is exactly what it sounds like. Since 1993 people have been sticking their gum on a wall at the market, and it's now several inches thick. It’s been named the 2nd germiest attraction in the world after the Blarney stone.

Of course, all 3 of them wanted to add gum to it. We didn't have any (shit! why didn't we think of that at Costco?). So to prevent widespread unrest I bought an overpriced pack of gum, and they all chewed a piece and then stuck it up.




(yes, that’s Frank. Due to him turning a kid in for eating clay, he’s now in the Wingnut Elementary School witness protection program).

Immediately after this picture was taken, Frank, for reasons known only to him, rubbed his hands all over everyone else's gum! So I was assigned the job of slathering him with Purell (don't leave home without it).

We stopped at Ivar's for dinner and were assaulted by fed the world's fattest seagulls again. On the way back to the hotel, Craig and Marie capped off the day by eating the damn tomatoes, sending seeds flying through the minivan.

And that's the way it is.

Weenie barbecue

I'd like to thank my Science Marches on Department for sending me this. Although I'm on vacation, the nature of such important research demands that it be published immediately.

Determination of Human Penile Electrical Resistance

J Sex Med. 2010 May 26. [Epub ahead of print]

Tsai VF, Chang HC, Liu SP, Kuo YC, Chen JH, Jaw FS, Hsieh JT.

Institute of Biomedical Engineering, National Taiwan University, Taipei, Taiwan.

ABSTRACT

Introduction. Electrosurgery has been a surgical application since the late 19th century. Although many urologists take this daily application for granted, the effects of electrical treatment on penile nerves and vessels have not been well documented.

Methods. Measurement of the electrical characteristics of three human penises in order to create models to analyze the effect of electricity on penile nerves and vessels.

Results. Electrical resistivity (rho) of the penile shaft is 127.14 Omega . cm at 500 kHz. Electrical current density (J) of the penis shaft is 71.06 mA/cm(2), nerve (60.23 mA/cm(2)), vessel (67.93 mA/cm(2)), and return electrode (2.11 mA/cm(2)). Electrical field strength (E) of the whole penis shaft is 9.03 volt/cm. The proportion of generated heat on the penis is four times as much as on other body parts of the circuit.

Conclusions. Potential and subclinical injury to erectile tissue caused by electrosurgery on the penis cannot be underestimated.

Waking up in Seattle

And checking the internet.

This was on Wikipedia this morning, under the "From Wikipedia's newest articles" section.

Maybe I'm just tired, but it gave me the giggles.

(click to enlarge)

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 4

Today we drove to Seattle.

As you may remember, last night we had trouble finding a hotel room. The town was small, but we were tired, and couldn't handle the thought of driving for another few hours.

Unfortunately, the place is hosting some sort of regional fishing meeting, so finding a room was hard. We finally got one in a nondescript place on the outskirts. It looked fine, and served breakfast to boot (for people traveling with kids, the trend of hotels that offer even a basic continental breakfast is just awesome). There were several other families there, and the pool was full of kids. So we went in, and I asked for a room. That seemed to surprise the friendly clerk, and he said "How many rooms?" I replied "Oh, just one." I figured he was just hard of hearing.

Silly me. At breakfast this morning we discovered that the place covertly specializes in polygamous families. So our little familial unit of 5 was dwarfed by throngs of kids in different colored clothes, mothers rushing everywhere, and alpha males eating waffles. One guy had a T-shirt that said "I may not be smart, but I can lift heavy things". I was glad when none of them asked me about Marie's availability.

A few miles outside Missoula we passed a large bra in the middle of the road. This was followed by a sock, then a pair of shorts, and, after a surprisingly large wardrobe of clothes, we caught up to a car with suitcases on the roof, one of which was unlocked and opening as they hit bumps, allowing things to escape. We tried to tell the driver, but she flipped us off.

We saw this warehouse as we traveled. For my other medical readers, I had to get a shot of it. So now I know where the land of Junkie Joy is located.





Western Montana is remarkably scenic. Our enjoyment of it was only slightly marred by Frank asking "How do they do such nice landscaping?”

Later, while driving through the middle of nowhere we passed a cement plant. In typical tourist fashion, there were several cars pulled over with people taking pictures of it. I don't understand people.

It occurred to me today that the GPS system has ruined one of the truly great moments of childhood trips: watching your parents fighting over directions. Today's children will grow up with no idea that parents would once fight over directions, would fight over whether or not to pull over and ask for directions, would fight over who got to hold the map. The most they ever hear is the pleasant GPS voice saying "RECALCULATING" which translates into "You dipshit, why can't you listen?"

In late afternoon we passed a religious billboard, which read “Jesus said ‘This is the work of the Lord’ ”. Due to poor (or perhaps intentional) placement, the sign was located immediately next to the town landfill.

After arriving in Seattle we took the kids down to the waterfront for dinner, and ate outside. There we were assaulted by that most aggressive bird of prey, the seagull. It's like these things evolved solely for the purpose of attacking people who eat outside. Some of them were so fat it was amazing to see them fly.

The kids are watching Underdog, the movie. I'm going to bed, the queen size.

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 3

Today we drove through Yellowstone National Park.




Our drive here was somewhat delayed, as the GPS gadget had decided to take us to a shopping mall in another town that had “Yellowstone” in the name. Because, of course, we assume it knows what it’s doing, it took us 30 minutes before we finally got suspicious and investigated.

When I was kid, we made several family trips to Yellowstone. It and the Teton mountains are remarkable. Literally some of the most spectacular scenery on Earth.

I vividly remember a trip here in the late 1970's, in our faithful blue Datsun 610 stationwagon (for those too young to know, Datsun became Nissan in the early 80's). My father spotted a large buffalo near the road, and pulled over to get pictures with his humungous multi-lens Nikon camera (my father is an untalented photographer, but tries hard. He has over 300 slides he took of the Golden Gate Bridge in the early 70's, shot from every possible ground angle).

So as we sat there, Mr. Buffalo decided he wasn't too fond of the blue Datsun (or worse, thought it was attractive) and decided to investigate it. So as it came over, we all piled into the car. Dad decided to drive away slowly, trying to get shots of the buffalo through the rear window, neatly framed by my sister and I screaming at him to go faster. But he kept driving slowly away, letting the buffalo catch-up, reassuring us that he could step on the accelerator anytime he wanted to.

It was at this point that the Datsun's transmission began making a horrible noise.

We were now much slower that the buffalo, and my father kept stepping on the gas pedal trying to get away. As the buff closed to about 20 feet the car suddenly lurched forward, veered off the road, swung back on it, and left the frustrated buffalo behind.

So it was somewhat comical that today, when I drove into Yellowstone with my family, the guy at the entrance handed us a map and a large yellow paper that said "Buffalo are dangerous! They weigh 2000 pounds and can run 30 MPH. Do not allow them too close to your car". I hoped they were giving it to everyone, and not saying "Hey! that's the guy who's dad tormented a buff 34 years ago! Give him the flyer!"

Old Faithful, the geyser basins, paint pots, Mammoth Hot Springs- all phenomenal, unearthly areas. Of course, all of this was lost on my kids, who were whining about (Heaven forbid!) having to walk around to see things. So we told them to shut up and keep walking.

We ended up following a ranger around, as he led a tour group. The experience gave me some further appreciation of the park, and dramatically increased my already high esteem for rangers. Because this poor lady was being bombarded by stupid questions to rival those in my practice:

"Do you run the geyser's at night? Or only when the park is open?"

"What time do you bring the bears in for the night?"

"How did they know where to dig holes so geysers would form?"

As we walked around, I heard a teenage girl (covered in piercings and tatoos) complaining about the pathways and informational signs, saying that "it ruins it all, they should just leave things the way nature made it". Is that irony, or what?

Before setting off we decided to feed the whiny kids. This plan ended when we were trapped in line behind another tourist, who wasn't a native English speaker. In fact, as best I could tell his only English words were "Pizza" and "Coke". They didn't have pizza, and the teenage guy trying to patiently explain this to Mr. Pizza was fighting a losing battle. So we left. The whiny kids deserved granola bars, anyway.

As we drove through the park I saw signs that said "Warning: Frost Heaves!" We didn't know what frost heaves were (I've since looked it up, so you don't need to tell me). I was amazed at the number of signs for them. Apparently frost heaves are on a par with Astroturf and Al Queda as a threat to civilization. I was glad to finally have a chance to look up info on them, as I’d guessed they meant barfing from overeating ice cream.

We actually saw bears on this trip, at close range, albeit from the car. I haven’t seen them here before, although I’ve encountered pretty much everything else. It was cool.

After our day at Yellowstone, we began heading for Seattle, but were tired and didn’t get far. We stopped in a small town, which had a restaurant advertising “$7 footlong hot dogs- $5”. We had some trouble finding a room, but finally did, and set up Camp Grumpy.

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 2

Hell is a hotel that doesn’t have Nick on TV to distract my kids. So, while we were waiting to go over to my in-laws, my kids killed time by watching Playhouse Disney, which they’re WAY beyond.

So we’re watching “Special Agent Oso”. Today’s episode featured Oso (a bear) trying to feed a pet bunny, and he couldn’t figure out if the food should be inside or outside it’s cage (REALLY!). When he finally got it right, the supporting characters sang “Oso! He's O-SO Special"

Yes, indeed he is.

After an improvised martial arts match at the hotel’s waffle station, we went over to my FIL’s house. I genuinely like my FIL. He's a good guy. He teaches at a university. He has the interesting background of being able to fix ANYTHING, drive a racing jetboat, and he put himself through college and grad school by being a semi-pro boxer.

I have no idea why, but he's always called me "Big I.” He is, to date, the ONLY person I have ever allowed to call me that. And I HATE being called Big I. But from him it sounds okay.

This morning, while Mrs. Grumpy visited with family, and kids went over to a cousin's house, I sat down to read a Bill Bryson book (one of my favorite authors) that I found on a shelf. At some point my FIL came in with a bag of beef jerky.

"Hey, Big I. Here’s some leftover jerky from a trip with the grad students last week. Why don’t you finish it, I’ve had enough.” He plopped down an almost-full bag of jerky next to me, and left the room.

I’m normally not a jerky person, but tried a piece. It was HORRIBLE. Awful beyond words. I spit it out in a Kleenex and flushed it.

And apparently he wanted me to eat it all.

When he went out back to work on his boat, I quickly tossed the bag in the trash and buried it under some newspapar.

A while later he came in and asked me how the jerky was. Trying to be polite I said it was great, and that I’d finished it.

He said, “Oh, I’m glad someone liked it. Me and the grad students all thought it was terrible stuff."

Thanks, FIL.

This afternoon I was assigned the job of going to get an in-law a gift certificate to a local pizza place (it’s his birthday). FIL volunteered to drive me.

Riding with FIL is always an adventure, because he LOVES to teach. So while driving along he’ll randomly point out a window and say something like “See that Mountain Big I? That’s where, in 1873, Lt. Hardon of the 26th Cavalry clashed with the Buffalo Indians. The battle began as his men ascended the east face of Mount Bigpileofrock, and then...”

And while he’s intently looking out the back window pointing at landmarks, you’re holding on for dear life because he’s crossed into on-coming traffic, and doesn’t notice them frantically honking as they swerve off the road. Fortunately, this is a relatively small town, and most locals recognize the red 1987 Chevy Astro as it weaves in and out of traffic, and give it a wide berth.

As we dodged oncoming cars and I learned about the geological history of Bigass Mountain, we passed a sign that said: “Litter and it will hurt!!”

The pizza place was nothing special. A guy in overalls and a Big State University T-shirt sold me a $50 giftcard, then recognized my FIL and began arguing with him about his crappy grade from last semester.

When we got back I noticed this unusual receipt.

Grumpy Summer Vacation, Day 1

Yesterday I flew in and met up with the tribe, who are visiting Mrs. Grumpy’s Dad and his wife’s kids, and their kids.

When we checked into our hotel last night they'd screwed up our reservation, and had us down as needing a handicapped room. This didn't seem to be that big a deal, and since it was the only room they had left, we took it. We were exhausted. I set up a wake-up call, went out to forage for food, and after dinner we all fell dead asleep.

Morning came, and with it our wake-up call. When we went to bed it had, somewhat naively, never occurred to me that a wake-up call in a handicapped room would involve more than a phone ringing. But it did.

At 8:00 the phone SHRIEKED at a volume that would normally be mistaken for a racing fire truck, or perhaps a nuclear bomb. It went beyond waking us up. We all leaped out of bed, with the kids screaming that it was a fire alarm. As if the noise wasn't enough to wake the deaf, the room lights suddenly began flashing on and off, plunging our dark-adjusted eyes from glare to dark to glare again at a seizure-inducing frequency. I grabbed the phone, still asleep, and screamed "What the hell is going on?". The desk clerk, in polite tones amplified by the phone's megavolume, just said "This is your wake-up call sir". I screamed "Thank you!" and hung up.

The lights stopped, plunging the room back into pitch darkness. There were 10 seconds of silence, interrupted by Craig announcing that he needed to change his underwear.

After breakfast we went over to my FIL's house. As soon as I walked in I was unceremoniously told that I'd been picked to lead everybody's kids on a forest adventure hike (I’d apparently been voted to do this while I was flying here yesterday). They all told me that Mrs. Grumpy was supposed to have told me last night. When I looked at her, she pretended to still be deaf from the wake-up call.

So I was given 9 kids, some granola bars & water, and loaded up the van.

On the way to the trailhead Mrs. Grumpy called to tell me to stop for mosquito repellent. After making several wrong turns (and being run off the road by a tractor) I finally found a store. I bought a bottle, and moved on.

The hike was an adventure of whiny children, trees, and LOTS of mosquitoes. Bug repellent doesn’t work. Anyone who spends any time in the great outdoors knows that “repellent” is a misnomer. In fact, it’s more like firing a flare to announce your presence, daring the bugs to come get you.

And they do.

You walk quickly, and they follow you. You stop to swat them, and more land on you. And the kids thought we were having a portable eclipse because of the way the black bug cloud followed us everywhere.

After we gave up and turned back, I discovered the bottle of repellent had leaked in my shoulder pack. It had partially melted one of my plastic credit cards. Nice to think it was on our skin.

We headed back to the house, and to clean the bug spray off I sent all the kids to the showers. Of course, as soon as they got out they wanted to go swimming. All the other adults had magically disappeared, too (gee, I wonder why).

So I'm trying to direct 10 kids (somehow another had joined us, I have no idea where) in and out of showers, and clothes, and towels. All the while I'm having horrible visions of being seen by a nosy neighbor and spending the rest of my life in pedophile prison.

After a bunch of Happy Meals I dragged the kids, and cousins, and some friends who’d somehow attached themselves to my safari train (we were up to 12 now, WTF?), to the city pool. Where, of course, I’m suddenly the bad guy because (although I just bought them lunch) I won’t pay for them to buy stuff from the vending machines. Even though I think some of the snacks in there had gone out of production during my childhood.

The city pool was a popular spot, although when we got there one of the pools was temporarily closed for a rescue drill. As I watched, 2 lifeguards "rescued" a 3rd guard, who was pretending to be a drowning victim. The drowning victim, however, wasn't particularly realistic, as he kept talking, and they were all giggling over something. When they got closer I realized the victim had developed a woody during the drill, and was trying to cover it with his hat.

The kids ran into the pool. I found a chair, opened my book, popped a Diet Coke, and relaxed. The afternoon went on, with increasingly cloudy skies. Then thunder crackled, and suddenly it began pouring rain.

At home this would have sent everyone scurrying out of the pool to shelter (I still don't understand why people get out of the pool when it's raining- you're already wet for crying out loud!) but here everyone kept merrily swimming. Even as it became a downpour. Even as strong winds began blowing. And then the temperature suddenly began dropping. Into the low 50's.

To the kids in the pool, none of this was a big deal. To a guy (like me) in shorts, a t-shirt, and flip-flops, it wasn't pleasant. My kids had NO interest in leaving the pool, and I was stuck watching them. And I was cold.

Then the wind began blowing water from the water slide onto me. And when I reached for a towel to cover up, my paperback blew into the pool.

At this point I was waiting for a grizzly bear to come maul me. I figured that would make the day complete.

Fortunately, as the lightning got closer, they closed the pool, giving me an excuse to haul the wild bunch back to base. Where the other adults had returned from a nice day of restaurant hopping. They also wanted to know who some of the 14 kids were that I'd brought home, as 3 of them had never been seen before.

I can only assume they were tossed out of passing UFO's by angry alien parents. "It's 4 light years back to Centauri, and you guys can walk if you don't behave!"

I certainly sympathize.

While the kids get ready for breakfast

I'd like to thank my reader Greg for sending this.

And so it begins...

While I'm flying to join the rest of the Grumpy Gang (they drove ahead of me a few days ago to visit family), those of you who haven't read our previous freaking nightmares in a minivan family vacations can do so.

Spring Break, 2009

Summer Vacation, 2009

The above links will take you to the first day of each trip, and you can work forward from there.

Provided I don't hang myself in a Motel Hell, I'll be sending reports back from the front.

Annie's Desk, Tuesday Afternoon

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

Ms. DeRanged: "Yeah! I'm a patient of Dr. Grumpy's, and need to ask about my chart."

Annie: "Okay, let me look it up... What can I do for you?"

Ms. DeRanged: "When was I last there?"

Annie: "You were here just once, in December, 2009."

Ms. DeRanged: "Who do you have listed as my family doctor?"

Annie: "Looks like it was Dr. Frendly."

Ms. DeRanged: "Well he's an asshole! And I just fired him! And I don't want you to send him my chart note!"

Annie: "Okay, I'll make a note that he's not your doctor, and so we won't send him any further records."

Ms. DeRanged: "I also don't want you to send him my note from December!"

Annie: "Well, that note already went out."

Ms. DeRanged:"WHAT! HOW DARE YOU! When was that?!!!"

Annie: "The day after your visit, in December, 2009."

Ms. DeRanged: "This is ridiculous! Don't you have any respect for a patient's wishes?"

Annie: "Of course, but at that time you told us to send him a letter."

Ms. DeRanged: "But I just fired him today! I don't want you to send him a letter!"

Annie: "The letter was sent 6 months ago."

Ms. DeRanged: "Then dammit, this is YOUR problem! You get on the phone, call Dr. Frendly, and make him send it back!"

Department of the Obvious

I'd like to thank an anonymous reader for submitting another remarkable research abstract.

Basically, this study discovered that children whose parents lose their jobs are MORE likely to lose their health coverage than children of parents who DON'T lose their jobs.

For the record, I am NOT trying to make a political statement here. I'm just pointing out yet another example of insane research from the Department of Obvious Conclusions. Political comments are not the intention of this post, and will be deleted.

(click to enlarge)

My head is killing me! I'm so happy!

This magazine was sent (unsolicited) to my office recently.

In 12 years I've taken care of a lot of migraine patients. And NONE of them looked this happy about their headaches...





When someone comes into my office with that kind of look, I generally DON'T assume they need a migraine medicine. Haldol (an antipsychotic), perhaps, but not a migraine drug.