Monday, January 22, 2024

Random pictures

 Okay, time to hit the mailbag for stuff you guys have sent in.

First off, we have this label from a home sander:

Next is this, from the insanely long line for Radiator Springs Racers at Disneyland:

"That's tongue in cheek... I didn't mean it that way."

In a tribute to capitalism, I have to respect the location of this cookie store:

Love these stupid ads. Here's a tip: don't try to sleep in the surf. Was this Harold Holt's idea?

Lastly, since we're on the subject of things to help you sleep, Netflix wants to play "one of these things is not like the others."

Monday, January 15, 2024

Modern technology

After having one for a few months, I highly recommend the Amazon Ring to anyone who's ever wanted to see regular pictures of themselves, in pajamas and a robe, carrying out the trash.

Friday, January 12, 2024

Kill me

Currently trapped in line at a pharmacy behind a woman demanding generic Emgality and refusing to leave until she gets it. So I guess I'll be here until 2034.

Monday, January 8, 2024


Dr. Hurricane was an attending where I trained.

He was one of these people who lived at warp speed. While he was a good teacher, and had an excellent fund of general neurology knowledge, it was all limited by his frenetic manic speaking style of rattling off facts, statistics, and teaching points at an insanely high speed on rounds. In fact, he reminded us of John Moschitta, the star of FedEx commercials in the 1980's.

Yeah, and that was what Dr. Hurricane sounded like on a slow day.

I carried a clipboard and notebook with me on rounds, and would frantically, if unsuccessfully, try to keep up with his teaching points. This only resulted in severe hand cramps and my notebook bursting into flames.

Another resident, Karl, made the immortal comment that "Dr. Hurricane doesn't talk. He has lip fasciculations."

In clinic, patients were terrified of him. Not for him actually being threatening, but for his ability to rapidly give them the entire diagnosis and treatment plan in about 10 seconds, at a speaking frequency far beyond the ability of others to discriminate individual words. Dr. Hurricane blew into the room, Dr. Hurricane blew out of the room, leaving a prescription behind, fluttering gently in the breeze.

And, of course, I (the resident) was left standing there as the patients asked "what did he just say?"

Damned if I knew. Their guess was as good as mine.


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