c h r o n i c l e

Evacuate the Colon

2012-01-22T01:00:00.004-05:00

So it occurred to me today that "evacuate" doesn't usually have very positive connotations. In general usage, it usually means vacating a building due to some kind of disaster. In medicine, it generally makes me think of the bowels.

Inspired by this, I've tweaked Cascada's "Evacuate the Dancefloor" into a song about colonoscopies. The thing that really struck me while composing this was how little tweaking many of the lyrics needed to turn it from a song about clubbing to a song about bowel prep...

Oh, bring out the bedpan, let's keep off of the floor
I feel it moving, and it's coming some more
Bowels getting physical, out of control, ah
This prep is killing me, ah, here comes a number three

Through the night, can't sit quite, feel it under your skin
Time is right, keep it tight 'til you're over that bin
Wrap it up, you can't stop 'cause it feels like an enema
(Feels like an enema)

Oh, oh, evacuate the colon
Oh, oh, for my colonoscopy
Oh, oh, stop, drink down this Golytely
Hey, Dr. MD, let my bowels empty out unbound

(Everybody on the ward) Evacuate the colon
Oh, oh, for my colonoscopy
(Everybody on the ward) Stop, drink down this Golytely
Hey, Dr. MD, toilet water flushing round and round

My body's aching, toilet overload
The water's rising, I'm about to explode
Now my bum is irritated, won't stop the flow, ah
It makes me wanna cry, ah, everybody step aside

Through the night, can't sit quite, feel it under your skin
Time is right, keep it tight 'til you're over that bin
Wrap it up, you can't stop 'cause it feels like an enema
(Feels like an enema)

Oh, oh, evacuate the colon
Oh, oh, for my colonoscopy
Oh, oh, stop, drink down this Golytely
Hey, Dr. MD, let my bowels empty out unbound

(Everybody on the ward) Evacuate the colon
Oh, oh, for my colonoscopy
(Everybody on the ward) Stop, drink down this Golytely
Hey, Dr. MD, toilet water flushing round and round

Come on and evacuate, while the camera's warming up
Move on and accelerate, push it out the bum
Come on and evacuate, while the camera's warming up
Move on and accelerate, you don't have to be afraid

Now guess who's back with a brand new crap?
They got everybody on the ward going mad
So everybody in the back
Get your back up off the can and just shake that thang

Go crazy, yo lady, yo baby
Let me see you wipe that thang
Now drop it down low, low
Let me see you scope it colorectal, yo

(Everybody on the ward) Evacuate the colon
(Everybody on the ward) For my colonoscopy
(Everybody on the ward) Stop, drink down this Golytely
Hey, Dr. MD, let my bowels empty out unbound

Oh, oh, evacuate the colon
Oh, oh, for my colonoscopy
Oh, oh, stop, drink down this Golytely
Hey, Dr. MD, let my bowels empty out unbound

(Everybody on the ward) Evacuate the colon
Oh, oh, for my colonoscopy
(Everybody on the ward) Stop, drink down this Golytely
Hey, Dr. MD, toilet water flushing round and round

Arthur Christmas: Biographies

2011-12-22T01:43:00.003-05:00

So, Sandlot and I watched the holiday cartoon Arthur Christmas today. We were hoping for something good thanks to Rotten Tomatoes having compiled a critic rating of 92% fresh and an audience rating of 82% fresh.

For those of you unaware of Arthur Christmas, the film follows Santa's family composed of Santa, his father, his wife, and his sons Arthur and Steve. Christmas has become a high tech affair, with armies of elven commandos rappelling down from the space-age SR-1 flying fortress to deliver gifts. Santa is of retirement age, with his brilliant son Steve already in a de facto leadership role while misfit Arthur bides his time in the mail room.

Having now seen the whole movie in its entirety, I'd give it a 7/10 if only because of the creative approach it took to the Santaverse (watching commando elves in action) and for the awesomeness of seeing a cartoon depiction of Toronto. I don't, however, think I would take small children to see this movie - seeing a bickering, selfish Santa clan ruling the elves as some kind of military dictatorship is hardly the kind of idea I want to instill in small people.

Seriously, the most flawed aspect of this movie are its characters, who even up to the last five minutes of the movie when the "moral of the story" is bright and shiny, still seem tremendously... bad! Let's break it down.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

1) Arthur

Voiced by the young Professor X from X-Men: First Class, Arthur is the young and clumsy younger son of the current Santa Claus. His accident-prone nature can often be more than a mere nuisance - it's noted that he once tripped over an electrical wire leading to a disaster that flooded the elf barracks ("I lost everything in that flood!"). He also has an unhealthy dose of father-worship, which borders on obsessive.

You can tell from the beginning that Arthur is poised to become Santa - he's the underdog, he cares about the family, and most importantly he's the only one who seems concerned about keeping the spirit of giving and belief in Santa Claus alive! Even so, it's hard not to spend the whole movie hoping he won't become Santa, because frankly, he's completely useless!

In the end, it's hard to feel that Arthur deserves the Santa mantle for delivering a single present when his brother successfully delivered a billion. Yes, he has the Santa spirit, but is he really competent enough to be running the show? Hard to believe.

2) Steve

Voiced by Hugh Laurie a.k.a. House, Steve is Santa's older son. He's a technological whiz and commands the elves with the iron fist of a brilliant executive. He's the brains and the brawn behind Christmas, but cares more about efficiency and praise than about the actual children and their gifts. He has a typical materialistic attitude and is covetous of the Santa mantle. Probably, this all has to do with the fact that his father takes all the credit for his work. His pinstripe, designer Santa suit and Christmas tree beard are really a bit much.

In the end, he cedes being the next Santa, despite his father's admission that he "deserves" it. It's true he doesn't really have the same spirit as Arthur, but let's face it - he's the only one who has his sh!t together enough to run the show.

3) Grandsanta

A cantankerous and stubborn old mule who treats the elves and reindeer like furniture, this old man is completely unable to take advice and is hellbent on proving that he's not just a relic, irrespective of the consequences. Watching his sad existence sans Santa is the reason his son doesn't want to retire.

4) Santa Claus

Despite the fact that Arthur worships him as the most giving person of all, Santa is probably the most useless character in this entire movie! He's the official "Commander-in-chief", but really his son Steve has been running Christmas for years. Despite this, he refuses to step down after his requisite 70 Christmases, stubbornly clinging to the Santa mantle despite clearly being past his prime. In fact, he's quite unable to do anything on his own but continues to take credit for all of Steve's successes while placing the blame for any failures squarely on Steve's shoulders. He's a hugely negligent father, a poor leader, and (apparently) a disrespectful husband too ("And I'd like to thank my wife for doing... whatever it is women do while their husbands are at work.").

5) Bryony

Bryony is an elf, and elves are the real movers and shakers in this movie. Despite the fact that there are hundreds of them, they unwaveringly answer to Santa - flying the ship, wrapping gifts, delivering presents. Bryony is a gift-wrapping elf, but she's eager to head into the field to deliver that one missing present once it's discovered that a child has been missed. She can run as fast as Arthur can bike and she's able to offer advice when Arthur has no idea what orders to give. In other words, she could pretty much function without the Commander-in-chief.

Overall, the movie paints a pretty grim picture of the elves - subjugated slaves who do all the legwork in the Clauses' military dictatorship, with skills vastly outstripping those of their overlords, but whose psyches are entirely dependent on their benefactors. The elves at one point go into total meltdown when they think the Clauses have abandoned them.

5) Mrs. Claus

Probably the most well-rounded character in this movie, Mrs. Claus actually cares about the well-being of her family while also being on top of things - formulating a plan when Santa needs to hop into action and being level-headed enough to read the instructions while Santa is being his usual incompetent self. It's sad that she's sidelined by her ridiculous husband.

---

Conclusion: Arthur Christmas was an entertaining-to-watch yet wholly frustrating movie, presenting a unique picture of Santa Claus, but reducing the Santa dynasty to a bunch of selfish, bickering good-for-nothings and placing the Santa mantle on the most useless (though warm hearted) of the bunch.

Chronicle Style

2011-12-11T23:29:00.004-05:00

make custom gifts at Zazzle
I just made a Zazzle store. Ladies t-shirts for Brutus' blog now available.

Risk: The Game of Domination

2011-12-03T18:16:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, I went to Toys'R'Us with my Mom whose new preoccupation is shopping for her grandchildren. While there, I saw an updated copy of Risk - the greatest board game ever - for $17! My copy of Risk is hopelessly out of date and permanently on loan from my next door neighbour circa 1998, and I've been waiting years for this sucker to drop under $40. Needless to say, I picked it up.

My Mom lined up at the cashier while I ducked away to take a look at video games. When I got back, she had thoroughly examined the box, which reads: "Risk: The Game of Global Domination."

Mom: Is this a dominance game?

Andy: Dominance game?

[ Lady in front of us in line turns to look at us ]

Andy: What does that mean...?

Mom: Well it says domination...

Please, Ma. These are not topics to be discussed with parents... or in public. Sure puts a new spin on "bring your foes to their knees", though.

Grammar Nazi: Mock

2011-12-02T17:47:00.011-05:00

So today I went for a practice interview for my application to medical residency programs. Technical glitches aside (the interviewer had not been told I was coming), it went well.

As a side note, however, the interviewer told his secretary to tell the guidance office that students should not be told they are going for a "mock" interview but rather a "practice" interview. The rationale was that there is "nothing mock" about these interviews.

The definition in question is as follows:

mock [mok] adjective
feigned; not real; sham: a mock battle.

I pondered this on my subway ride back home and considered whether this was a legitimate claim or not. It seemed to me that there was, in fact, plenty "mock" about these interviews. They were not real residency interviews and therefore were fake residency interviews.

On further thought, I considered that the interview itself is real - I am myself being interviewed. I am not feigning being interviewed. In that sense, I am practicing, but it is not a "mock" interview - it is a real interview. In that case, perhaps it is not a mock interview but it is a mock residency interview.

Yet according to the World English Dictionary (and common usage), the aforementioned use of the term "mock interview" seems perfectly legit:

mock [mok] adjective
sham or counterfeit
serving as an imitation or substitute, esp for practice purposes: a mock battle ; mock finals

So, mock interview it is. If you care.

Blood, sweat, and tears

2011-11-17T23:00:00.004-05:00

So I've been working furiously on my applications for specialty training, and I guess I've been burning the midnight oil a little too intensely because today my nose started bleeding for the first time in my adult life. Now, if I actually make it into a specialty I can literally say I paid for it in blood, sweat, and tears.

I also realized that when your friends aren't quite sure what to say, they can be kind of jerks. Hah.

Now if my damned nose would stop bleeding, I could get back to work.

Don't judge a book...

2011-10-12T19:09:00.006-04:00

...by its cover.

So yesterday, I wrote about an interaction I observed between the Radiology resident-on-call and a scrub-adorned, ESL-accented Asian male who wanted to take a shower in the on-call room. This morning, I woke up early for Interventional Radiology teaching rounds, and you will not believe who showed up to teach them: a scrub-adorned, ESL-accented Asian male.

"HOLY CRAP!" I exclaimed internally. Was this the same guy? I was initially positive that it is. But after sitting in lecture for an hour questioning my original gut feeling, I'm slightly less confident. Maybe I just can't tell one scrub-wearing, strongly accented, short, glasses-wearing Asian male from another? No, I am not racist against my own kind!

Since I was at first sure it was the same character as the one I had seen yesterday, I spent the first fifteen minutes trying to sort out whether this man was a technologist or a radiologist. Techs can know quite a lot about their domain, but this man seemed to speak with confidence about procedures, research studies, and what sort of material would be covered on Royal College examinations. I was suspicious.

But my hypothesizing vanished once the presenter ended the informal part of the teaching session and moved on to his slideshow. This man was not a technologist, he was the frigging Head of frigging Interventional Radiology!

I felt a lump in my metaphorical throat. I was suddenly very glad I had not piped in to defend the on-call resident yesterday evening (I had previously considered that I maybe should have pitched in something along the lines of, "You know, it's totally rational that the shower in the on-call room should be reserved for the on-call resident."). Despite the fact that this argument still actually makes sense, speaking that way to a power figure could be a career limiting move! (That's kind of sad, isn't it?)

But more importantly, shouldn't a third-year resident know who the Head of Interventional Radiology is and what he looks like?

Then again, there are so many residents and staff being shuffled between different sites (and so little Interventional Radiology in residency) that it seemed vaguely conceivable that he did not. If that was the case, the conversation from yesterday must be read very differently:

Staff: Hey, do you know the password to get into this room? It's locked. I need to shower.

Resident: Uh, that's the on-call room.

S: I know. I need to shower.

R: Well, it's only supposed to be for the resident.

S: What are you talking about? [I'm a frigging staff, why are you barking up the hierarchy?] I just need to shower.

R: Well, who is going to clean it?

S: Who is going to clean it? [Do I look like a janitor to you?] I need to shower, who said this room is only for residents?

R: Uh, the department? Look, it's like you wouldn't walk into someone's room and sleep on the bed, right?

S: I'm not going to sleep on the bed. I just need to use the shower. [Are you dumb or something?]

R: Look, if you want, I can open the door.

...

S: What year are you?

R: PGY-3 (third year)

S: What is your name?

R: Rocky.

S: Rocky. Perfect... [Your career is over, insect.]

Scary. This story also warns us about the dangers of making assumptions as to who someone is and about being short-tempered. You might really shoot yourself in the foot. In fact, doctors in scrubs get mistaken for other professionals all the time. My resident on General Surgery once told me that because she was ethnic (Indian) and wore scrubs all the time, patients would often confuse her for a nurse or an orderly. "Oh, you're my doctor?"

I have to admit that I was quick to jump on the conclusion that the person in question was a technologist (not that I have anything against technologists - I have friends in training to be techs!). But in my defense, it made sense. They were unlikely to be a nurse in the Radiology department, and the odds of them being another resident or a staff-member without the on-call resident recognizing them seemed entirely implausible! Plus, why would a staff need to shower (why would anyone need to shower on their way home)? And why in the on-call room?

The original logic of the resident's poorly construed argument still stands (and I still think he was in the right at least logic-wise). But nobody in their right mind would have talked to the Head of Interventional Radiology that way. A powerful reminder why we should treat strangers (or perhaps everyone) with respect, and try to keep a lid on our negativity.

Then again, it might not have been the same person at all. In fact, as I continued to listen to this morning's lecture, I swear that the speaker's accent had a bit more of a British HK slant to it than the gruff Peter Chao I had originally recalled. Although, I have to wonder whether this is recall bias - i.e. knowing that the speaker was in fact the Head of Interventional Radiology made me perceive his accent to be more refined or vice versa (thinking that the speaker yesterday was foolish made me perceive their accent as more rough). No, I am not an elitist bastard!

But seriously, moral lessons aside, they could have been the same person; they could not have been. Put two myopic Asian men in scrubs and it's pretty hard to tell them apart. How do I know? I've been mistaken for any number of my colleagues countless times: Kushima, Kon, and people who I don't even bear the faintest resemblance to.

I mean for real, y'alls look alike.

The shower fiend

2011-10-11T19:47:00.009-04:00

I'm currently on Radiology elective, and today I stayed a bit late at the hospital working on an assignment. I commandeered a computer in the Residents & Fellows room which, sensibly enough, is connected to the on-call resident's room (the room in which the Radiologist trainee can stash their stuff and can theoretically sleep on nights where they have to stay at the hospital reading overnight films - I say theoretically because there will, in fact, be no sleep).

The on-call resident was also in the Residents & Fellows room, snacking on a bit of light dinner and preparing to read films and field the barrage of pages he was going to receive all night. In walked an Asian guy, dressed in scrubs (who I can only presume was a technologist). He started jostling the doorknob to the on-call resident's room which was, understandably, locked.

A conversation thus ensued between the tech (who sounded like Peter Chao) and the resident:

Tech: Hey, do you know the password to get into this room? It's locked. I need to shower.

Resident: Uh, that's the on-call room.

T: I know. I need to shower.

R: Well, it's only supposed to be for the resident.

T: What are you talking about? I just need to shower.

R: Well, who is going to clean it?

T: Who is going to clean it? I need to shower, who said this room is only for residents?

R: Uh, the department? Look, it's like you wouldn't walk into someone's room and sleep on the bed, right?

T: I'm not going to sleep on the bed. I just need to use the shower.

R: Look, if you want, I can open the door.

The shower in question was en suite to the on-call resident's room, and accessible via said room. It wasn't hard to read the mood. The resident was flabbergasted and exasperated that this tech had muscled his way into his on-call room to use the shower with a seemingly inexplicable sense of entitlement. The tech was frustrated and angry that the residents were somehow acting like they owned the place and claiming this shower as their own.

I turned to the resident:

Andy: Well, that was gracious of you.

Angry resident: Great, now I'm going to have some guy's pubes in my shower.

Andy: Try not to think about it.

Seriously... ew. Why would you think about that? I thought about introducing myself, but the resident didn't really seem like he was in the mood to play nice anymore.

Meanwhile, the tech finished his shower, got changed, and came back in:

T: What year are you?

R: PGY-3 (third year)

T: What is your name?

R: Rocky.

T: Rocky. Perfect...

Then he walked out. No doubt he had plans to complain about these stuck up residents and their attitude. Now, maybe I'm missing something, but in my head it makes sense that the shower that is inside the on-call room is for the on-call resident.

This crud is going to go down one of two ways:

The on-call resident gets informed that he was mistaken and that, not very intuitively, the shower is actually public and that he should avoid antagonizing the techs.
The tech will get all up and at 'em defending their tech pride, complain to the Radiologists, and subsequently be smacked down.

Personally, I'm hoping for numero dos. Now the sense of entitlement, I suppose, comes from using the shower freely during the day or perhaps after hours when the on-call resident has not yet appeared to lock the door.

Seriously though, man... why would you think of pubes?

The thing that I hate about MS Word

2011-08-28T12:26:00.003-04:00

...Is that it's racist! Now I'm not talking about racism against illegal Mexican immigrants or African American ghettos or even against Asian Americans in institutions of higher learning. In fact, what I'm referring to might be more appropriately labelled "nationalist", except that the word nationalist has already been commandeered to mean someone who believes in a strong national identity (rather than someone who is biased against other nations).

What I mean is that MS Word treats Canadians like we're weird. Something that's long irked me when trying to "Insert Date and Time" in MS Word is that if you have the language set to "English (Canada)", you end up with a date option that looks like "Sunday, August-28-11" - because... you know we all stick hyphens between our dates and abbreviate our years. If you select "English (US)", you end up with something more recognizable, like "Sunday, August 28, 2011". See for yourself:

CANADA

USA

Honestly, I think it's some kind of punishment for our spelling "colour" and "centre" properly and adopting the metric system used by the rest of the bloody world. What's that? You're Canadian? Well then say goodbye to the option of inserting the date the way that everyone else uses it... forever.

Now, I might be overreacting here, because it's possible that my computer decided to muck something up (because I swear that the date was not always messed up like this). However, I do remember having this problem at some point with my last computer as well so, I'm sticking to my guns with that age old adage - Blame Microsoft.

Oh wait, that was from South Park, and it went "Blame Canada."

Frig.

The Punt/Bunt Incident

2011-08-14T18:32:00.004-04:00

When Sandlot and I first met, I once told her that I would never want to own a pet that was so big that I would be unable to kick it across the room should the need arise. This isn't because I believe animal cruelty is funny, but should my pet rabbit some day become rabid and decide to try eat me, I'd feel reassured knowing that I could send it flying out the window.

This quickly became one of our earliest and most enduring inside jokes. Every time we see a small dog, Sandlot asks me, "Do you want to bunt it?" When I feel jealous of other boys, I describe getting my "bunting foot" or "bunting leg" ready.

This continued for over a year, until one day Sandlot's roomate's boyfriend was privy to a conversation in which Sandlot referred to me "bunting a little dog." He smoothly interjected, "Wait, do you mean bunt? Or punt? I think you mean punt, because bunting would indicate hitting it lightly with a bat."

All of a sudden, I was at a loss for words (no pun intended). Could this be true? Had I been using the wrong verb all this time? My ego reeled and scrambled to recover, but I said nothing and chuckled quietly. "Well... you know, if someone pitched a small dog at me, I think bunting it with a bat would probably be enough to incapacitate it."

"True," he replied, and that was that. This boy would never know the earth-shattering impact this casually short correction had had on my now debunked inside joke. As someone who prides himself on his command of the English language, his more than adequate vocabulary, and his entertaining writing style, a correction of this magnitude was almost unheard of. It is I who frowns on the asinine grammatical degenerates populating the Internet and corrects vocabulary. But to have been using the wrong word consistently and almost daily for over a year? Good heavens.

Yet I've had some time now to come to terms with the error of my ways. Indeed, the fault is indisputable:

bunt¹ [buhnt]
verb (used with object)

(of a goat or calf) to push with the horns or head; butt.
Baseball . to bat (a pitched ball) very gently so that it rolls into the infield close to home plate, usually by holding the bat loosely in hands spread apart and allowing the ball to bounce off it.

punt¹ [puhnt]
noun

Football . a kick in which the ball is dropped and then kicked before it touches the ground. Compare drop kick, place kick.
a small, shallow boat having a flat bottom and square ends, usually used for short outings on rivers or lakes and propelled by poling.

The only argument that I will make in my defense is that football is a stupid sport that I know next to nothing about. Yet, having been corrected, I immediately recognized that I should be able to distinguish between a "bunt" and a "punt", and part of me felt ashamed. Why?

Well if Freud had his way, he'd associate every negative feeling in adulthood with a negative experience in childhood (at least, the pop culture Freud with whom I am familiar). In this case, my feeling of shame was associated with one single childhood memory in which I experienced the same feeling.

When I was in Grade 6, I was walking down the hall with a friend discussing this book or another, and I dropped the word "subtle", pronounced "sub-tle".

"It's pronounced 'sut-tle'," my friend corrected.

Perplexed, my reflex reply was, "Really? Well, it can also be pronounced 'sub-tle'."

"No, it's 'sut-tle'."

And that was that. It was one of those moments in my life where I realized that I had heard a word used in speaking and had read the same word in writing, but I had never made the association between the two words. I had always read it the wrong way and assumed that "sub-tle" and "sut-tle" were two separate words. When I realized the silly error I had made with a word that receives common usage in the English language, I was ashamed. I felt ashamed that at age 11 or 12, I didn't know this. I felt ashamed at the sheer force and casualness of the correction. I wanted to push back. Argue. Assert my correctness. Except I was wrong.

But I'll tell you, I never pronounced the word "subtle" wrong again. I guess in that way, I accepted that one moment of shame in exchange for avoiding a whole lifetime of it. Similarly, I should probably correct my "inside joke" to accommodate the fact that I intended all along to punt that little critter, not bunt it. Dang.

Played by Carlos Pestana

2011-08-14T16:26:00.007-04:00

So while studying for my surgery exam, I drew from a set of review questions composed by Dr. Carlos Pestana, a retired professor from the University of Texas and the author behind the Kaplan surgery review course. I couldn't help but draw mental associations between this high-yield surgery guru and another famous Carlos...

Nurses and docs
Turn on your iPads to the
Words of Carlos Pestana
At the UofT
OR people - from the Surgery gang

Oh, Hernia Hernia
She reminds me of an OR story
Poking out from your inguina
We're taking her out via laparoscopy

Oh, Hernia Hernia
She fell into a metal tray
To the strokes of scalpel blades, yeah yeah
Held by Carlos Pestana

Stop the masses, stop the classes
Studying in the corner
See as the smart is getting smarter
The dumb is getting dumber

Inguinal hernia in the summer
Risk factors, trying to remember
In my inbox, there's an assessment letter
Staff surgeon just said, "Please do better"

Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Kocher Adson
Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Sick Kids

Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Kocher Adson
Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Sinai

Hernia Hernia
She reminds me of an OR story
Poking out from your inguina
We're taking her out via laparoscopy

Oh, Hernia Hernia
She fell into a metal tray
To the strokes of scalpel blades, yeah yeah
Held by Carlos Pestana

I'm working with the fellow with the suction
Cautery's getting hotter
There is no saline to wash out the bleeder
Surgical tempers flaring

A ventral Hernia on the case list
Thinking of ways to make it happen
Then I called up to PACU
Hoping the day will still have time

Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Kocher Adson
Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Western

Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Kocher Adson
Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson North York

Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Kocher Adson
Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson T.O.

Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson Kocher Adson
Debakey Bonney Kocher Adson open up your site

Hernia, you know you're bread and butter
In the clinic, I will see you
Through the belly, and even when you fall apart
I'll stitch you back together, Hernia, yeah
She reminds me of an OR story
Poking out from your inguina
We're taking her out via laparoscopy

Oh, Hernia Hernia
She fell into a metal tray
To the strokes of scalpel blades
Held by Carlos Pestana

Cuttin' them up, y'all
Carlos Pestana with the surgery gang
Sandlot, J-Rock, my dawg, Mr. Pestana, UofT

Grammar Nazi: Tomato

2011-07-01T00:42:00.005-04:00

One of my Facebook acquaintances posted today a mirthful status update along the lines of:

"Is it pronounced tomato or tomato?"

I found this to be quite clever, since it's an oft repeated statement, but underscores that both pronunciations of the word "tomato" are "tomato", with no written distinction between the two. Written out with correct spelling, this statement just looks silly.

A responder replied with the following attempt to clarify:

" 'to-mato' or 'tom-ato' "

Apparently, this is supposedly clearly read as "to-may-to" vs. "tom-ah-to". This is because the word breaks determine the pronunciation such "mato" produces the "ay" sound as in "mako", as opposed to any other sound (such as the soft "a" sound of "matto"). Similarly, "ato" should be the "ah" sound as in... Well, there aren't really any analogous words.

In fact, even in the first example, you could probably have read things the other way around and put "to-mato" as being attributed to "to-mah-to", just as "mako" can be pronounced as "mey-ko" (more common) or "mah-ko".

Thus, breaking "tomato" into "to-mato" and "tom-ato" does little to clarify the dichotomous possibilities in pronunciation, but in fact merely does much to introduce an error in word emphasis. As any Grade 1 who has learned to clap out syllables will tell you, "tomato" is built from three syllables "to-ma-to". Whether you choose to pronounce that as "tuh-mey-toh" or "tuh-mah-toh", you can't drag along the "m" with the first syllable.

In the end, all you end up doing is breaking a three syllable word erroneously into two syllables. Now I don't know who Tom is, but I doubt he has anything to do with tomatoes.

The New Amazing Spider-Man

2011-03-05T19:17:00.004-05:00

Next to Sandlot, Spider-Man is my favourite person, and his new Fantastic Four threads are EPICCC!!!

But wait, when did the Human Torch die? Sorry, spoiler!

Up on D6

2010-12-07T21:10:00.007-05:00

I know it's been quite some time since I've blogged anything substantial. With clerkship revving up, it's been a struggle to find the time to put anything creative to paper (metaphorically speaking). Most of the time, I'm just trying to balance life as I know it - stressing out, procrastinating, and doting on Sandlot.

Now on my first week of pediatrics, I find myself with a brief abundance of time (or rather lack of study pressure). And while I'm quaking in my boots about my soon-to-be-exposed lack of knowledge, I see myself as being faced with a simple choice: I could study to try to achieve some level of competence, or I could write a song about my time on Obstetrics & Gynaecology.

I think the choice is obvious.

At my home hospital, which we'll call "Sunnydale", the Gynaecology floor is D6. Every morning that I trekked up there, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to Far East Movement's alphabetically similar pop hit.

The inevitable result? The following lighthearted and irreverent would-be one-hit-wonder.

Poppin’ babies out of moms, like a fellow
Epidural got her out feelin’ mellow
T-A-H in O-R Nine, take that cervix
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6
Up on D6, up on D6
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6

Gimme that chart right now, now
Doin’ my tuck-in rounds, rounds
Ladies love my style, at OR table gettin’ wild
Get that IV runnin’, we get that drip and that drop
Now give me two more units cause you know we don’t stop

(4-1-6) Hell yeaaa
Suture up, su-suture up
Superficial vessels, they be bleedin’ like they deep
They be bleedin’ like they deep, bleedin-bleedin’ like they deep
Superficial vessels bleedin-bleedin’ like they deep

Poppin’ babies out of moms, like a fellow
Epidural got her out feelin’ mellow
T-A-H in O-R Nine, take that cervix
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6
Up on D6, up on D6
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6

Chillin’ on, chillin’ on High Risk, with pre-eclam-lam-tics
Girls in preterm labour, breaking water at the crib
This is how we live, every single night
Put that vacuum on the head, and let the babies fly

(4-1-6) Hell yeaaa
Suture up, su-suture up
Superficial vessels, they be bleedin’ like they deep
They be bleedin’ like they deep, bleedin-bleedin’ like they deep
Superficial vessels bleedin-bleedin’ like they deep

Poppin’ babies out of moms, like a fellow
Epidural got her out feelin’ mellow
T-A-H in O-R Nine, take that cervix
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6
Up on D6, up on D6
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6

It’s that breech baby bum, make you section that mum
Make you section that mum, section, section that mum
(First assist)
It’s that breech baby bum, make you section that mum
Make you section that mum, section, section that mum
(First assist)
Hell yeaaa, make you section that mum, section, section that mum
Hell yeaaa, let’s deliver that bum, deliv-deliver that bum

Poppin’ babies out of moms, like a fellow
Epidural got her out feelin’ mellow
T-A-H in O-R Nine, take that cervix
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6
Up on D6, up on D6
Now I’m feelin’ so fly up on D6

With friends like this...

2010-11-17T00:20:00.009-05:00

...who needs frenemies?

Kushima: So, how are things with Bandlot?

Andy: Lol, you can't remember my girlfriend's name, eh?

Kushima: Oh, right, Sandlot... lol.

Kushima: I just remember B because of [her blog name]

As always, names have been changed to protect those involved. Of course, in the real conversation, Bandlot was replaced by Sandlot, and Sandlot was replaced by a real name. Try to wrap your head around that one!

Conversations with Mello

2010-11-04T22:38:00.005-04:00

Mello: How do you know [insert Sandlot's mutual friend's name]?

Andy: Because I'm awesome.

Andy: How do you know [insert Sandlot's mutual friend's name]?

Andy: Btw, this is you:

Andy: http://www.thedoghousediaries.com/?p=1990

Andy: The male one.

[ ...several minutes later ]

Andy: See, you're already gone.

Andy: /flush

Long Live the Grill

2010-09-06T14:25:00.000-04:00

Sandlot tends to come up with some pretty wonkers ideas for baby nomenclature. Basically, when she has a child, that child will be ridiculed more times over their name than George Bush Jr. was compared to a monkey.

Her latest bright idea is to name her future spawn "Harvey's". That's not Harvey, like the infamous Batman villain Harvey "Two-Face" Dent. Rather, it's Harvey's, like the hamburger chain, apostrophe-"S" included. Yes, you understood that correctly - Sandlot's future spawn will be named in the grammatical possessive. What happens when Harvey's himself arises to the age of ownership? That's Harvey's's problem, I guess.

This idea isn't exactly new, although I do think it's taking an affinity for Harvey's burgers entirely too far. What is new is Sandlot's projection that Harvey's will one day meet a girl named Wendy's. I suggested that he could have multiple Wendys (one for each day of the week), but Sandlot insisted that Harvey's have a singluar Wendy's, whose named matched his own illogical possessive nomenclature. The following conversation ensued:

Andy: I don't think that there's any girl named "Wendy's".

Sandlot: Well, then I'll name my daughter that.

Andy: I think that would incest [to pair Harvey's with Wendy's].

Sandlot: Ewwww... that's not what I meant!

Followed up by...

Sandlot: I think I just made an incestuous relationship with my future son and daughter.

Andy: ...

Sandlot: Wait, that's not what I meant! Stop twisting my words!

Speaking of twisted - this is going to be one twisted family.

Previously on Facebook...

2010-09-04T14:14:00.003-04:00

The above photo was posted by Yuffie from her summer vacation. The below discussion ensued:

Sass me, and be prepared to be sassed.

Death by car

2010-08-13T11:54:00.000-04:00

I'm driving down Yonge Street at 1 AM. The intersection is a couple hundred metres away and the light is green. I'm in the left lane. Left of me is a left-turn lane. Left of that is a concrete island. Right of me are another lane and a right-turn lane.

Suddenly, off of the island step three men. Why would they do that? They obviously can't make it across the street before my car arrives. One steps in front of my car, looks at me, and then walks casually into the right lane... he's still standing in the middle of the road.

His two buddies stand in the left-turn lane, also in the middle of the road, indecisive. I hate jaywalkers who act as thought they own the road - as though traffic has an obligation to slow down for them. One of the two takes a step toward my lane. I gun the pedal and zoom between him and his buddy in the right lane. I imagine the whoosh of air as my car races past his face.

I swear I can hear a faint whisper of, "Fuck you, man" through the glass window pane.

Fuck you too. I know where my car is, but the maneuver must have been risky because I notice my heart is beating faster. One of these days, my insistence on guarding my right-of-way will lead to one of you fools splattered against my windshield. I will regret the police charges that follow. Don't take that step.

In the words of Goose from Top Gun, "We regret to inform you your sons are dead because they were stupid."

Men are from Mars

2010-08-12T23:17:00.000-04:00

The difference between the male and female mind:

You hear the word "absorbent" and...

Seriously, my mind was playing a little ditty that went,

"Bounty, the quicker picker upper!"

Kicked in the balls

2010-08-11T00:01:00.006-04:00

...the bowling balls, that is.

Not too long ago, Brutus (Turtle), Sydney, and I went bowling. We were all a little rusty on our game: Brutus confessed he was a "terrible bowler." Sydney radiated more of the "hardcore" aura since she owned her own pair of bowling shoes. I personally am a somewhat schizophrenic bowler - I have, on occasion, been really "on" my game, and at other times, immensely "off."

Anyways, that day was decidedly "off." I came embarrassingly in last place in both games we played. Brutus, on the other hand, proved deceptively adept. He lost to Sydney in the first game then came up from behind and destroyed us in the second game with a whopping 130. Two strikes lined up with two spares and a plethora of one-offs. Beginner my arse.

I came home with a high score of 97. I didn't think it was that bad, but Sandlot, being the loving girlfriend that she is, instantly derided my score. "Wow, that's your highest? So low..." She claimed that thought she hadn't bowled in many years, her average score was probably around 120. I think she confused real life with Wii Bowling. In any case, I set my new goal to destroy my significant other in bowling when the opportunity arose.

So, this past week, Sandlot and I had our first ever bowling date night. All I can say is, if I was "off" my game that night with Brutus and Syd... I was off, face-flat on the ground, and six feet under my game this night. Playing in an unfamiliar bowling alley, it took me awhile to catch a decent stride in our first game, and by that time it was too late for me to catch up, even with a spare or two. Sandlot, the bowling goddess between the two of us, had landed a couple of strikes to secure her victory.

That's okay, though. We had agreed to play best out of three. All warmed up, the second game would be a shoe in, right? Gutter. Gutter. Gutter. Gutter. Seriously, but the end of my fourth of ten rounds, I had achieved the paltry and demeaning score of 2, that is, two. What. The. Fudge?!

I managed to pick up my game for the next few rounds, leading with a spare and following up with a couple of one-offs. Sandlot's game also began to falter a bit. In the end it came down to Sandlot's final shot at victory - the score tied at 55 to 55. Much to my chagrin, she managed to hit a SINGLE FREAKING PIN and gutter the rest. 56 to 55. I lost.

I'd like to say that with a pathetic and puny little score like 56, Sandlot is not really in a position to judge my now lofty looking 97. That's what I'd like to say, but I cannot. Broken and defeated, I can only admit that Sandlot, between the two of us, is bowling lord, lady, and goddess. She's also wonderful, intelligent, attractive, witty (in a punishingly sarcastic manner), entertaining, tall, and I want ass sausage.

Quarter-life crisis

2010-08-09T14:40:00.000-04:00

The term quarter-life crisis was actually coined to describe those among the younger generation who, given vast access to education and choices, emerged on the other side with little inkling of that which they wanted to devote the rest of their lives too - directionless and afloat.

Indeed, the term seems invariably to require some explanation when used, because unlike a mid-life crisis, you don't often see 20-somethings buying a Porche to recapture their youth. Yet, at the core of the quarter-life crisis is a similar problem. Where the 40-something year old pauses and exclaims, "My life is half over! What have I done with my life?!" the 20-something year old pauses and exclaims, "My life is a quarter over! What am I going to do with my life?!"

Of course, allowing the term quarter-life crisis apply to 20-somethings defines fairly implicit expectations. For instance, if you say a quarter-life crisis occurs at 20, we're expecting our youth to live to approximately 80. If you apply it to a 25 year old, you expect them to live to approximately 100.

This struck me recently as I was pondering the direction of my life. See, like most young people, I seldom stop to think about my own mortality nor to question my own longevity. I've always assumed as a young, healthy 20-something in the upper-middle class, I would live well into my 80's and possibly even 90's.

But as I stopped to think about my life today, I realized something. I'm stressed. I'm stressed all the freaking time. I stress out about the smallest and most inconsequential things in life. Then, when it comes to the things that I truly care about - friends, family, relationships, school, and my upcoming USMLE exam... I sweat buckets. I stress out constantly and chronically, such that I can feel the blood vessels in my brain contracting and expanding into tiny little aneurysmal pockets of joy. If stress ages you, I must be at least 35.

I started wondering if maybe I should be adjusting my life-expectancy downward, perhaps somewhere into the 70's. My new life plan goes something like this:

School until 26.
Residency until 31.
Fellowship +/- 1-2 years.
Work 30-35 years.
Promptly die.

It's scary to think about, but if a killer illness hasn't claimed me by my 60's and 70's, there's a reasonable chance that my brain will be on its way to demented-ville.

I think I'm having my one-third-life crisis.

Cooking with the Force

2010-08-07T12:44:00.001-04:00

Some time ago, I blogged about my being potentially model boyfriend material. Unfortunately, these boyfriendly skills did not include meal preparation. Sandlot, as a caring girlfriend, sought to rectify this and bought me for my birthday this wonderful Star Wars Cookbook. This is, for all intents and purposes, a children's cookbook. One can only imagine that Sandlot thought this would be a good ~~way to get me to cook for her~~ place to start my cooking education.

Last month, I visited Sandlot in her current university town for a week. I decided to put my newly minted Force powers to work and spend the week cooking edible (hopefully) meal-things for her. It was, for the most part, a great success; though I am not a Jedi yet. Behold, the fruits of my labours:

As hot as the twin suns of Tatooine, the planet where Luke Skywalker grew up, Twin Sun Toast involved two eggs dropped into holes in a slice of bread and then fried. It was the first item I tried from the book, kicking things off with breakfast. I think maybe the bread slice needed to be wider and the holes bigger because the eggs wouldn't fry all the way through without flipping. As such, the fried eggs ended up looking mangled rather than two nice suns.

Greedo burritos, named after the bounty hunter slagged by Han Solo at the Mos Eisley Cantina in A New Hope, called for black beans. We decided to omit these from our own burrito creations. Okay, so these soft tacos are actually Ol Del Paso fare and don't follow the recipe at all. Sue me.

Oola-la french toast, named after Jabba's head-tail adorned slave girl (who met an untimely end at the hands of his Rancor), called for a single egg and a variety of spices. While it may not look like much, it was damn tasty. So tasty in fact, that I made it twice that week and Sandlot later asked me for the recipe so she could recreate them herself.

Boba Fett-uccine, named after my favourite bounty hunter (who George Lucas made into a whiny little boy in his prequel films), was a vegetarian pasta. I could believe that the galaxy's finest headhunter would be eponymous with a food lacking meat, but the pasta actually turned out incredibly tasty. While I snub my nose at vegans and such, this fettuccine was surprisingly flavourful, owing in no small part to how great the broccoli was. However, I made way too much.

Wookie cookies, named after the race of hairy creatures from which Chewbacca hails, were basically just chocolate chip. However, owing perhaps to the cinnamon called for in the recipe, they had a very distinct flavour and were actually quite enjoyable. Sandlot played around with the recipe by introducing blueberries into a select few of the cookies. Most people avoided those.

Finally, this omelette was my own creation. Yes, padawans, it wasn't in the Star Wars cookbook. Four years of eating at the Queen's cafeteria taught me a thing or two about great omelettes, and I guarantee you these suckers were superb. I might have overdone it at three eggs apiece though. The whole week probably provided enough eggs (and cholesterol) for a month. I'll have to be a little wiser about what I cook next time.

Still, overall my first week of cookery was a whopping success. +1 for my quest to become a model boyfriend?

Rice Nation Planet

2010-08-05T15:51:00.002-04:00

E: I didn't really like the guy though. He was one of those people that liked to drive around in fancy cars with the windows rolled down blasting rap music.

A: Wait, I know what kind of car you're talking about... that's not a "fancy" car.

M: What kind of car?

A: You're talking about a rice rocket! That's not a fancy car...

E: Lol... rice rocket. But this guy was brown.

A: Well, I don't know, a curry rocket?

E: Haha!

M: Curry rocket?

E: Well, I guess brown people eat rice too...

E & A: Basmati rice!

E: Hehehe... Basmati rice rocket.

TL; DR

2010-08-03T11:36:00.001-04:00

Lately, I've cut down on blogging. I've set this new tempo intentionally, even refraining from blogging at times. It was my motive not only to save time for myself, but also to give some breathing room for those of you who read and comment.

It was to my chagrin, as I lamented on a post with a particular dearth of comments, that I discovered people desired a decrease in word-burden, not blog-burden. While I know that my summer entries have been far to skewed toward video games, Stewie presented another reason for the lack of commentary - TL; DR.

Apparently, this is an web-acronym for "too long; didn't read." /sigh

Maybe I should stick to a picture blog.

Window blindness

2010-08-01T00:26:00.003-04:00

So my parents are technologically illiterate. This is especially true of my mother. In fact, I think it should be illegal for my Mom to come within ten feet of an electronic device. However, she's become accustomed to many of the latitudes afforded to modern society by this invention we know as the Internet (such as E-mail).

The problem is, she can't use a computer to save her life. She doesn't know what to look for when scanning a web page or a program window, she can't adapt to even the most mundane of unexpected events (e.g. yes/no pop-up prompts), and she looks to me to help her.

This leads to moments every day where my Mom comes banging on my door yelling the Chinese equivalent of "WTF?!" followed by something like "How come I can't print?" or "What's this thing? Update? Not update? This computer is stupid!" or, in this case, "What's wrong with the computer, everything is in French?"

Invariably, I have to haul myself off my ass, go downstairs for the umpteenth time only to glance at the page and click THE BIG FREAKING BLUE "ENGLISH" BUTTON on the incredibly sparse page. Seriously. No, seriously. This happens all the time.

Believe it or not, my Mom actually has a Computer Science degree. Of course, that was from back when wall-sized computers were programmed using punched cards.

I write like JB

2010-07-18T14:02:00.008-04:00

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Today's Toronto Star introduced a website entitled "I Write Like." The site analyzes any text that you put into it and uses keywords to map your writing style to that of a famous author. Based on my latest entry, I write like David Foster Wallace, some American author who wrote a whole bunch of things that I've never read.

My girlfriend, Sandlot, apparently also writes like David Foster Wallace, "full of irony and self-created acronyms and abbreviations and long-winded sentences." I guess that's what makes us such a power couple. Birds of a feather, right?

Well, we do have similar writing styles... sort of.

Or maybe he's a default.

What's more disconcerting is that Justin Bieber's hit song Baby also channels David Foster Wallace (I'm sure that would be disconcerting for the late Mr. Wallace as well). While I'm sure JB doesn't write his own material, being associated with a prepubescent pop star doesn't sit well with me... although, this would explain why I like that song so much.

Luckily my Bieber association doesn't have to stick. The site admits limited accuracy with only 50 or so authors to compare with and no measure for the degree of correlation. Site founder Dmitry Chestnykh confesses:

I think that people really like to know how they write, even if it's not accurate results.

I think a statement like that makes us all suckers for trying this site.

Addendum: Apparently, the above entry reads like Dan Brown.

Addendum2: Tally of ten most recent Chronicle entries:

Cory Doctorow - 5
David Foster Wallace - 2
Dan Brown - 1
Vladimir Nobokov - 1
Stephen King - 1

Does this make me a xenophiliac?

2010-07-16T23:50:00.008-04:00

Photo credit: Mass Effect Wiki

So I just finished barreling through BioWare's latest science fiction epic, Mass Effect 2. While the game provides numerous junctions at which the player can make small choices, the most intriguing (as in Dragon Age: Origins) was the protagonist's choice of romantic partner.

Male versions of the heroic Commander Shepherd have three options on which to focus their courtship: the down-to-business and initially cold-hearted Miranda, the extra-terrestrial Tali, and the foul-mouthed convict Jack.

Jack, a psycho-killer bitch with tattoos running the length of her body was an automatic out - particularly since I ended up having to choose early on between her and Miranda. Jack might have been fair romantic game for more adventurous gamers... Stewie perhaps?

Miranda seemed a perfect win. Voiced and modeled after the smoking hot Yvonne Strahovski (Sarah Walker from the TV series Chuck), she was the first character Shepherd met in the game and was responsible for bringing him back to life from his untimely demise at the hands of an unknown alien menace. Furthermore, she sported a sexy Australian accent, she was genetically engineered for both combat prowess and the aforementioned smoking hotness, she walked with swagger, and she blew through battles wearing ass-accentuating spandex and high heels (okay, the high heels were actually a bit of a turn off... but I imagine for many people it would not be). Indeed Shepherd spent most of the game getting to know Miranda, and Miranda had all but given the wink wink nudge nudge by the time Tali joined his crew.

Enter Tali. Tali was an alien engineer as well as one of only two companions to reprise their role on Shepherd's crew from the first Mass Effect. As such, bringing her on board felt like bringing back a long-lost friend, and the interactive dialogue suggested as much. Tali, however, is hardly what one would consider a sensual character. First of all, she's rather shy and awkward, unlike the assertive Miranda. While she's humanoid in form, she also only has three fingers and three toes per hand or foot, respectively. Her race of aliens has such a weak immune system that they have to wear environmental protection suits at all times - the Mass Effect equivalent to the bubble boy. What her skin or face looks like is a complete unknown. She could be a five tentacles squid-face under that mask (her species name "Quarian" is indeed uncomfortably similar to the "Quarren" of the Star Wars universe). As if that weren't bad enough, kissing or making love to Shepherd could result in her contracting an infection severe enough to kill her, requiring that she load up on antibiotics and immunomodulators before engaging in any hanky panky - talk about taking the spontaneity out of a relationship!

While Tali is a returning character from the first game, she was never a contender for Shepherd's affections (though I had previously considered that she should be). He was too distracted by his gunnery chief Ashley Williams and the blue-skinned and bisexual Liara T'soni. However, when Tali returned for Mass Effect 2, Shepherd's ship counselor gave him the heads up that Tali's body language indicated that she was out for more than just friendship.

Let's break it down then:

Door #1: Smoking hot Australian girl who Shepherd has been courting for the whole game and has already said yes to him.

VS.

Door #2: Socially awkward immuno-compromised alien with only six fingers. Could die from sex.

Yet, as straightforward as this decision seemed, I found myself vacillating from one to the other. When push came to shove, Miranda was a barely compelling character who seemed transparently placed in my crew to a) kill things and b) be sexy. She had very little meaningful dialogue and even less in the order of meaningful personality.

Shepherd's idea of a pickup line for Miranda came while she was brooding about how she was nothing but the sum of genetic engineering experiments and how her body and talents were not earned. Shepherd threw in something along the lines of, "So I'm not allowed to admire your body or your talents? You're great because of how you choose to live, not where you come from."

She tossed back a fantasy win, "Wow, thank you. Nobody's ever said anything like that to me before, and maybe I wouldn't mind if you admired my body." /gag

Tali, on the other hand, had loads of character. She was defiant in the face of danger, loyal to her family and friends, and awkwardly adorable in her banter (in real life, this is one of Sandlot's many charming traits). Dialogue with her felt warm and familiar, and she often invoked adventures she and Shepherd had braved together in the original Mass Effect.

Having Shepherd choose between Miranda and Tali felt like a choice between lusty good times and potential true love. Tali was an alien with immune issues and an unknown face. Did she even have the requisite... parts? What she and Shepherd did have, however, was chemistry. Miranda on the other hand had the face of a Hollywood actress, an alluring Australian accent (I cannot overemphasize this!), and was willing to strip down and dry hump Shepherd in the engine room. Could I really deprive him of that?

In the end, I threw hotness to the wind and paired Shepherd with Tali - she just had so much more character. Shepherd went to tell Miranda that it was over, and to be honest, she didn't seem too broken up about it. "Oh, I'm sorry that you feel that way. Still, it's probably better this way. Simpler. Strictly professional." We'll see if I regret this when my decisions get imported to Mass Effect 3. If Yvonne Strahovski steps it up a notch in the sequel, I may need to change Shepherd's mind.

Martin Sheen and Yvonne Strahovski?! Watch for more.

On the plus side, choosing Tali is not the weirdest possible outcome. Female versions of Commander Shepherd can have sex with Garrus. /gag

Codenames, aliases, and call-signs

2010-07-14T12:30:00.003-04:00

Sandlot recently tweeted that her codename in militarized alphabet would be Tango Tango. This got me thinking about all the codenames I'd taken over the years. No, I'm not a super-spy, just a hardcore gamer.

Growing up on games in the 90's, it was typical to use an alias of some kind for multiplay. I think it was somewhat built into geek culture to have some kind of alternate online persona. Hackers did it. ZModem text-based RPG players did it. My brother and I did it.

The popularity of aliases is not just rooted in anonymity - it's also rooted in pop culture. First of all, there is a kind of distinct power in being branded with an alternate persona. Think of Dwayne Johnson of WWF, popularly known only as "The Rock." There is a legitimate coolness and intimidation factor to being known only by a forceful alias.

Secondly, gamers like to take on the mantle of the fighter and the hero. Oftentimes, this is done so under the allure of a military or fantasy setting. Military order is exciting. Military culture is cool. Enter then the concept of the "call-sign." Call-signs are aliases used by pilots in the air force and in numerous fictional settings. Take for instance the 1986 classic Top Gun. Tom Cruise's "Maverick" butting horns with Val Kilmer's "Iceman" while the comical wingman "Goose" provided witty banter. Every little boy imagined having their own call-sign emblazoned on their helmet, and every little boy was inspired by the fast-flying fighter jets and military honour code. Heck, I'll never leave my wingman behind.

Thirdly, aliases are an outlet for imagination and expression. My brother, for as long as I can remember has run under the alias of Peregrine. Oh, the years I spent being blown to bits, fragged, and gunned down by this very name. Peregrine refers to a type of falcon, and falcon is a raptor - a bird of prey. My brother was a predator. There was something mystical about this deep and hidden meaning behind the name. When Peregrine was not available, my brother occasionally defaulted to Merlin as a call-sign. This referred not to the mystical wizard of Arthurian lore, but rather another type of falcon.

...

My own childhood was much more schizophrenic. I settled not on a single alias, but constantly invented new personas: Neon, Cateye, White Griffin, Bloodline - each tackier than the last. They were, in many ways, the evolution of my creative juices.

Neon was the first name that stuck with me, and was used throughout the majority of my youth. It was not an invention, but stolen from the Chrysler vehicle of the same name. This didn't stop me from making it my own. In elementary school, I produced an entire backstory to the Neon persona including short stories, drawings, comics, and even a supporting cast.

Cateye was a short lived title, inspired by a sticker set from the bicycle headlight brand of the same name. I used it in video games around the time that I was into physical forms of play such as mock sword-fighting with plastic swords. I would go out into the backyard and find sword or dagger-shaped sticks, painting them with elaborate decor including the name Cateye. I guess I was very tribal at this age.

White Griffin was a long and cumbersome name I used around the time that Transformers: Beast Wars first began airing. I really liked the white tiger character and played around with a variety of aliases that involved white animals, such as White Siberian and White Griffin. In many ways this was my attempt to emulate my brother's animalistic Peregrine alias. I was, as a child, quite envious of it. I also used White Griffin as a springboard to create a "secret club" of sorts in which I enlisted my next door neighbour and best friends. I even made little ID cards with our aliases on them. That didn't last long.

Bloodline was a return of my original Neon character, probably around Grade 7-8. He was the sequel, and I actually drew up a fairly nice looking set of mock trading cards featuring him and his enemies. Again, short lived.

...

As an adult, I've finally settled into a gaming persona with some permanence. It's not stolen off a car brand or a sticker or inspired by sibling rivalry. Warden, the final iteration of my gaming alias is a rearrangement of the letters in my first name, Andrew. It's also intended to carry with it the imagery of a guardian or warrior.

When I first started gaming with J-Rock, he recoiled at the codename Warden. He pictured it to be some mundane station, like a park ranger or prison guard. This reaction surprised me, as I had not stopped to consider that these would be the most common images conjured by the average person's mind.

Warden, to me, was a powerful image. It's an oft used term in fantasy games to portray an order of powerful guardians. For instance the Night Elf wardens in the Warcraft universe or the Grey Wardens in Dragon Age. Additionally, I could recall the term being portrayed similarly in military fiction or science fiction settings. Finally, wardens in real life (and outside of the prison) are often persons of supervisory or governing roles - an elite and aristocratic terminology.

So remember the next time you're fragged by Tango Tango and Warden - the Warden is an elite warrior, not a park official.

Jaundiced!

2010-07-13T13:01:00.005-04:00

Yesterday, my girlfriend Sandlot took the liberty of PhotoShop tweaking one of the pictures she took of me last week. The product came with a warning:

Sandlot: It might look saturated on your comp... because for some reason all my pictures look saturated on your comp.

Andy: I look like I have jaundice...

Sandlot: Yeah, I'm a PhotoShop n00b, mkayyy? This is the first time I've actually used these functions. You can desaturate it.

Andy: Haha, I don't know how to do that!

Sandlot: Really? You don't? I thought you were a PhotoShop pro.

Andy: Well, I usually don't saturate my photos...

Sandlot: HAHA!

Andy: Besides, I try to avoid altering colours, because it'll probably end up green.

It's true. With a mild case of red-green deficiency, tweaking colours that aren't labeled can be dangerous. I learned this in Grade 8 art class when I ended up mixing a perfectly "normal" looking skin tone (to my eyes) that turned out to be green. I learned it again in Grade 9 when I made a Flash movie with an unintentionally green Pikachu.

Even so, I decided to open my PhotoShop and take corrective action. I opened the Color/Saturation menu and given the cue that the picture was too "saturated" I decreased the Saturation. This was a pretty safe bet since this would reduce the intensity of the colour without altering the colours themselves. (I steered hard away from the Hue slider, since I didn't want to turn myself green or purple) I stopped when the skin intensity seemed about right with the caveat that I was taking a bit of a chance on the colour (seriously, fleshy tones are my enemy). I sent it back to Sandlot:

Andy: Here, I think I fixed it.

Sandlot: You sepia'd yourself...

Andy: No, I didn't! My shirt is still blue, and my hair is still black.

Sandlot: Well, you made yourself almost black and white.

Andy: You crazy, or your compy is... one or the other.

Sandlot: No, you are. What did you do? You took all the colour out! This is not your skin tone at all. Maybe it's because you're colourblind.

Aside from how uncool as it is to constantly invoke my colour impairment as an excusatory argument, my desaturated image is not sepia. While I admit that the skin tone may not match mine (I can't tell all that well), I certainly didn't suck all the colour out of it. For reference, I've added a copy that's actually been cast in sepia.

Readers, what do you think? Whose computer monitor (or eyes) are broken? Do I look like a sickly jaundiced inpatient through door number 1? Do I look like a colourless sepia'd fiend through door number 2? Does door number 2 look like door number 3? Let us know.

The Andpire will strike back!

2010-07-09T19:14:00.004-04:00

Like it? Create your own at DomoNation.com. It's free and fun!
Hello friends, I hope that you have all been enjoying this super-hot summer weather. I've spent it more or less between hardcore gaming and logging quality time with my lovely girlfriend, Sandlot. I apologize for my MIA-ness and would like to assure you that I have not forgotten that I do have a blog. More entries will follow.

Until then, enjoy this lovely Domo rendition of Scenes 337-338 of Star Wars: A New Hope. I spent the whole afternoon productively working on it.

In an Age of Dragons

2010-06-24T22:44:00.012-04:00

Why do we seek out fiction? The answer is escape. Whether through books, television, movies, or video games, fiction allows us to escape our own mundane lives and live vicariously through others. In doing so, we immerse ourselves in another world - one similar enough to our own to be relatable but different enough to be fantastical. Finely crafted fiction allows the audience to "temporarily suspend their disbelief" and accept the story as though it were reality. We grow attached to the characters who we are following, through which we experience feats that are exciting and oftentimes heroic. We become invested in them and their struggles as though we know them, and when the story ends we're both blissfully grateful for the journey and yet feel simultaneously empty that it's over. The character, were they alive, would venture on. We, the audience, feel left out. It's likely this reason that book series have such appeal. Returning for the next chapter of the characters' lives in a finely crafted world feels like revisiting an old friend - one that we are loathe to say goodbye to with finality.

The worlds of fiction are so compelling for escape because of their sensational nature. Fiction, while natural feeling, is life compressed. Sleep, bathroom breaks, and idle time are removed (if they serve no narrative purpose). We experience life distilled down to its most meaningful. In doing so, even the most mundane biography becomes epic. We revel in love and romance that may be no more inspired than our own, yet it feels magical because it stumbles from one intimate moment to the next, with no breaks for the slower times in life. In this way, no real life can live up to fiction. We become addicted to the action-packed pace of life retold - life from concentrate.

There are numerous ways to increase the dramatic involvement of the audience, usually at the expense of imagination. For instance, visual media such as movies and television actively present your senses with a world of fiction and fantasy. Your emotions are further manipulated by the addition of auditory stimuli and mood-appropriate soundtracks. This presents another reason why real life feels more mundane than fiction: because there is no soundtrack to your life.

Video games present the ultimate promise. Where other forms of fiction give you the feeling that you've experienced a bit of someone else's life, make you feel like you know them, and leave you feeling like you might want to be friends with them (how many children wanted to meet Spider-Man or date Sailor Moon or catch their own Pikachu?), video games offer the opportunity to be part of the story, to meet and interact with these fictional characters, and to play the hero.

Until recently, however, video games have been viewed as an inferior medium for storytelling. With simple plots and substandard acting, the interactivity often came at the expense of the quality of the emotional experience. However, as the video game industry strives toward an increasingly cinematic experience, its potential as an emotionally involving fictitious experience seems unrivaled.

From time to time, you may have heard me gushing about the sweeping space opera Mass Effect. This shooter-RPG from development studio BioWare had an incredible setting, fantastic voice-work, and engaging story and gameplay. I played it three times. Three times.

But for the last week if not more, I've been locked away in my room, pulling all nighters, bleeding my eyes out trying to finish BioWare's (almost) new fantasy epic Dragon Age: Origins. Whatever impressions I had about storytelling in Mass Effect were completely blown away by Dragon Age.

So fantastic was the setting, that I genuinely felt like the world of Ferelden was one that existed. Everywhere I traveled in that world, people spoke as though it were a vast and real world. Even places I would not have the opportunity to visit in the scope of this game had fully fleshed out cultures and backstories and lore. The characters, particularly my companions, felt so real and so memorable that I genuinely enjoyed conversing with them. I'd often feel disappointed when I would return to camp to speak with my comrades and they would have nothing new to say to me. So engaging was the world that I expended serious thought and contemplation deciding which road to take and what decision to make.

Everything felt so believable that sometimes the little things, which in other games of lower caliber would have been entirely unremarkable, gave me pause. Why was I going into people's homes and stealing from their chests - particularly the poor? How did I get captured, escape, and return only to have my companions greet me with the same dialogue as though I had never been gone? These types of qualms demonstrate that the world of Dragon Age was so immersive that the expectations for character behaviour were almost on par with those in the real world - an experience that no movie could provide.

My girlfriend, Sandlot, will no doubt read the above paragraphs with disapproval. She will, inevitably, shake her head at my overzealous involvement with this fictional world. She will, possibly, question her boyfriend's grasp on reality. She may, briefly, contemplate whether she can stay with such an awkwardly geeky boy. In response to these protestations, my response is as follows:

Fiction involves us. As I learned in high school drama, the performer seeks in the audience the "willful suspension of disbelief" - the ability to, for the duration of the performance, drink in the fictional setting as real, despite the foreknowledge that they are sitting in a theatre or in a living room or at a desk. A good performance is able to make worlds, people, and events come to life. It's able to engage our imaginations and allow us to whimsically dream about greeting aliens or fighting dragons. A good audience is able to put their disbelief on hold an step into that setting.

In many ways, fiction is in fact practice - practice for the real world. It allows us to observe human behaviour from the artists' point of view. Believable fiction teaches us about the world and about people, while at the same time showing us landscapes and events that are improbable if not impossible. It's an enigmatic paradox.

Around Halloween this year, an article appeared in the newspaper postulating that our fascination with fictional monsters - Dracula, Frankenstein, zombies, etc. - was in fact a sign of the safety of our society. When we hear scary stories and we watch frightening movies, we get an adrenaline rush and we desensitize ourselves to the fear. We do this because genuine threats to our survival are few and far between. But by tackling our fear response in this manner we train ourselves for those situations. Nobody, as the article posited, wants to be the boy who runs away in a pinch leaving his girlfriend to fend for herself. Unprecedented situations can lead to unpredictable reflexes.

So, it's perfectly normal (adaptive even) to take fiction with a little bit of seriousness and a little bit of emotional investment. This also increases the level of entertainment and makes both the performer and the audience satisfied.

Now that I've properly justified my investment in this game, we're ready to talk about the experience itself. BioWare billed Dragon Age as a "dark fantasy epic." Dark was meant to imply a mature, adult experience. Epic was meant to imply a grand, sweeping story. I dismissed this as public relations fluff. No doubt "mature" was meant to refer to frivolities such as the persistent blood that stains your characters even after you're done fighting (a feature which I quickly switched off - I preferred my armour shiny and my loved ones neat, not gory) or the sexual encounters with other romantic (or casual) love interests that were possible. I was, however, quite wrong. Dragon Age did feel both appropriately mature and incredibly epic. The storytelling and acting occurred on a level unprecedented in gaming to date.

One of the features that BioWare, as a veteran producer of role-playing games, championed with Dragon Age was choice - the ability to make decisions that genuinely affected the outcome for not only your character, but for the world. Again, I dismissed this as a frivolity. The same thing was said about Mass Effect, but only a few decisions had genuinely meaningful consequences, and the story always converged. Yet in Dragon Age, the decisions you were forced to make were everywhere - some small, some big, some ideological. They coloured the world you lived in, how people reacted to you, and appeared to be referenced in the subtlest of ways. The world really felt alive. I thought a good way to express how exciting this game would be to describe some of these decision points.

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

Let us begin with the love story, because love is a topic which is of universal human interest. My character, Andy Cousland, had the option of pursuing romances with two of his companions (though not simultaneously): the pious bard with a jaded past, Leliana; or the cold-hearted mage, Morrigan. Andy opted to woo Morrigan, brilliantly voiced by Claudia Black (Farscape, Stargate SG-1). Morrigan was a far more interesting character, but it was far more difficult to win her affections. I played Andy as a heroic and moral character. Morrigan was pragmatic - she valued power and survival. She didn't approve of going out of one's way to help others, she often disapproved when Andy turned down moral plea bargains by villains, and she was certainly not one to be doted on. Despite her cold demeanour and utilitarian attitudes, she was hilariously sarcastic. Her battles of wit with Andy's other companions were by far the most entertaining of companion interactions. She also hid underneath an unexpected sensitivity, and it took much patience getting to know her and warming her approval of Andy before this became apparent. She liked pretty things, and was hopelessly torn once she fell in love with the protagonist. Such feelings of affection were completely foreign to her - she felt it was weakness to have her feelings so desperately tied to another, and she begged him to end it between them, though at the same time unwilling or unable to truly desire this outcome. "You selfish bastard!" she would exclaim. "You're going to regret this... I'm going to regret this... but maybe that's the way it's meant to be." Indeed, few of Andy's other companions approved of their union. All suspected some ulterior motive.

They were not wrong, however. When it came time to slay the mighty "old god", or dragon who led the creatures known as darkspawn, it became clear that Andy would have to sacrifice his life in order to terminate this mighty being. Morrigan came to Andy with a ritual - they would conceive a child, and the spirit of the old god would be channeled into the zygote. Where such a transfer would kill an adult like Andy, the zygote would survive... changed. In exchange, Morrigan would raise the child alone and never be seen again.

Of course, this was a bitter outcome. On behalf of my character, I felt used and discarded. I had Andy agree to the joining, because I knew that if I did not, she would suggest it with another of my characters, Alistair. The idea of that turned my stomach. Yet, despite all things said and done, Morrigan paused in the midst of the final battle of the game to uncharacteristically open up and bare her feelings. While she acknowledged that she had complicated her purpose in seeking Andy out by developing legitimate feelings for him, she could not bring herself to regret what they had shared. She loved him, and had hurt herself by what she knew she must do.

In the end, she took off as promised, staying only to complete the final battle with him. During the epilogue, Andy was asked what he planned to do now. Would he stay and help his friend Alistair, who had become king? Would he help to rebuild the order of knights of which he was the last remaining? In some way, I felt duty bound to help Alistair, who had kingship thrust upon him by my doing and with whom Andy had found a close and earnest friend. However, I instead led my character to strike out in the world in search of Morrigan, knowing full well that she did not want to be found. Perhaps, if Andy found her at all, she would feel obligated to strike him down dead, with tears in her eyes. But still, translating my personal beliefs into my game character, I could not help but shirk off everything in the pursuit of true love.

Another game-changing choice appeared with the aforementioned companion, Alistair. Alistair was a royal bastard and Andy and his allies presented him as a legitimate heir to the throne against the villain, Mac Tir Loghain. Loghain was a legendary general who betrayed the king and seized the throne. Eventually, Andy defeated Loghain in honourable combat.

He was given the choice to spare Loghain's life, in which case Loghain would have become one of his companions - a legendary general humbled back into line. Upon defeat, seeing Andy's resolve, he regained his wits and returned to the patriotic, caring tone for which the people loved him. He was repentant. He certainly would prove a useful ally. What I did not foresee, however, was that Alistair would not accept Loghain's surrender. Having betrayed the king, tortured his own people, and hunted down Andy's party throughout the whole game, Loghain was beyond redemption in Alistair's eyes. Sparing him would mean that Alistair, Andy's friend, would leave, bitter and betrayed. Killing Loghain would mean the loss of one of the nation's great heroes, simply gone astray. I bid Andy remove Loghain's head himself. I cringed as I watched.

There was, in fact, a way to spare both Alistair and Loghain. However, Andy would have needed to spent every conversation with Alistair "hardening" him - using his position of influence to strip him of his firm moral convictions, his inflexible sense of justice, and his faith in the Maker. Being of a similar character myself, I had not, and if I could go back, I would not, do this.

There were plenty of other situations that challenged my moral judgment in shades of grey - particularly in down and dirty dwarven politics. (See? Even in video games politics get a piece of my mind!) Should I support the tyrannical and power-hungry heir take the throne so his progressive and no-nonsense policies can see the light of day? Or should I support his father's general's bid for the throne - an honest man but with conservative values which would keep dwarven society isolated and living in the stone age (quite literally). I chose the former, and was quite horrified when the new king's first decree was the execution of his rival.

Should I support one hero's bid to destroy the means to create golems (powerful warriors made of rock) he invented because the cost (dwarven souls) is too great? Or should I support another hero's bid to reclaim golem technology despite the tortuous means of creating these weapons (and the disapproval of most of my companions)? I chose to support my war effort by reclaiming golem technology, then I lied to my golem companion about what really went down so that it wouldn't desert me. I felt kind of bad about that too. At least Morrigan approved.

In the end, Dragon Age provided an immersive and believable fantasy environment. The characters proved lovable and complex, and the story was appropriately epic. More importantly, the choices that your character is forced to make are both ubiquitous and deep. They proved more intricate than a mere style choice of good versus evil, but presented the world in realistic shades of grey. Additionally, few choices came without consequences, and it was the damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don't catch-22 situations that really gave reason to pause and think.

The game's epilogue sheds some light on the consequences of some of your heroic actions. For instance, enlisting the elves gives them respect with the humans for a time. Previously, a richly cultured race, elves were conquered and enslaved by humans and subsequently emancipated but remain highly discriminated against. Their assistance in your quest gives them a reprieve from this, however it does not last long. Only the stalwart elven leader keeps racial tensions at bay. It is a story that is sadly reflective of many real world struggles such as those in South Africa, where apartheid ended, but racial tension is again high - possibly because of Nelson Mandela's presidential absence.

More than 24 hours after finishing the game, it still remains in my thoughts as I continue to ponder this incredibly personal journey and the consequences of those choices.

Citizen of the Domo Nation

2010-06-22T18:43:00.004-04:00

DomoNation.com: Domo does Long Distance (fullsize)

Like it? Create your own at DomoNation.com. It's free and fun!

Who is this mysterious creature that was hatched from an egg? Upon closer inspection we see that his monster-like features conceal a gentle soul with a body of pure fluff. Domo just can't stop watching television. Is this a problem? Perhaps it is if you're already a sloppy creature whose daydreams often lead to disasters. Be careful not to disturb Domo as he sometimes farts when upset.

via domonation.com

What is Domo? Until last week, he was a cute but nameless cosplay at Fan Expo, poised to eat a little child. But then, a couple of Saturdays ago, something magical happened - I won a Domo stuffed animal for Sandlot via the whack-a-mole at Wonderland.

I've never known a winner before...

Suddenly, we were interested in Domo. Who was he? What was he? Was he poo? Was he an alien? Of course, after watching his 7-Eleven slurpee ads on YouTube, we were sold that Domo was the new greatest character on the planet.

The next day, Sandlot confessed to me that she had spent the whole morning watching Domo videos on domonation.com and that she had been tempted to sign up for an account so that she could animate him. What had stopped her was that she had noted a profile picture of one of the users and he looked like the was twelve years old.

Well, that didn't stop me.

The worst controller ever

2010-06-14T21:21:00.003-04:00

...is not having one.

Kinect (formerly known as Project Natal) is Microsoft's answer to the Wii and entry point into the casual gaming market. It offers camera-based control of your XBox360, so you can just wave your hands in the air. The only problem is... why the fudge would I want to pretend I'm holding a steering wheel made out of air? It was hard enough with the Wii wheel for MarioKart where the wheel wasn't connected to an axle.

What could be cool for Kinect is this - not waving at the air, but incorporating real-life objects. In an early concept, they showed a boy scanning his real skateboard with the camera and then applying his real-life decorations to the in-game skateboard. However, he was still ended up pretending to ride a skateboard made out of air. What would make this system really unique is scanning real life items and then using them. So for Tiger Woods PGA Tour, you could hold and swing your real golf club, and not some clumsy Wiimote, and your game would use those movements and that club in-game. Pretend I'm holding an imaginary gun? No thanks.

It's a cardigan

2010-05-21T20:50:00.002-04:00

Earlier today...

J-Rock: Hey, is that a new shirt?

Andy: No?

J-Rock: I mean... new... vest...?

Andy: You mean cardigan?

J-Rock: Yeah, whatever, I don't know fashion terms.

Later, after describing the event to Mello...

J-Rock: Whatever, I don't wear cardigans!

Andy: But you do realize that vests have no sleeves, right?

J-Rock: I don't know, I don't wear vests!

Andy: Wouldn't it have made more sense to call it like a sweater?

J-Rock: No! I don't wear sweaters either, okay?!

Now seeking membership

2010-05-17T16:13:00.007-04:00

Seriously, how do I achieve membership in this club? What if I rock the set of Jersey Shore: Version Yellow Fever?

Despite spamming Jimmy Kimmel's mailbox, I have yet to hear back regarding my membership application. This seems tragically unfair in light of my great ass and piercing brown eyes. As such, I can only make the following conclusion as to why I have not yet been voted in as handsome: white supremacism.

That's right, the only thing holding me back from the hottest in-crowd since the Justice League (apparently writing a mean blog doesn't qualify as a superpower... I beg to differ) is the colour of my skin. Allow me to demonstrate by reviewing HMC's membership roster:

Patrick Dempsey (White)
Rob Lowe (White)
Matthew McConaughey (White)
John Krasinski (White)
Tony Romo (White)
Keith Urban (White)
Ethan Hawke (White)
Josh Hartnett (White)
Sting (White)
Ted Danson (White)
Matt Damon (White)
Ben Affleck (White)
Gilles Marini (White... and French)
Taye Diggs (Token Black dude)
Lenny Kravitz (According to Sandlot, almost White)

At final count, HMC includes thirteen (fifteen if you include Jimmy Kimmel and George Clooney) white folk of varying ages, the token brother, and one half-Jewish/half-Bahamian rock star. God bless America.

If you, like me, are brought to tears by this injustice, please support me by signing my petition to Mr. Jimmy Kimmel that I be forthwith and without delay inducted into the Handsome Men's Club.

[Click here to sign the petition online!]

...

For those of you who, like me, are not walking encyclopedias of pop culture, the Ben Affleck and Matt Damon bits at the end of the video refer to a recurring Jimmy Kimmel joke and a faux-rivalry between Kimmel and Damon. Damon allegedly stole away with Kimmel's long-time girlfriend Sarah Silverman (and announced it via song), and in retaliation Kimmel boned Damon's brother-from-another-mother Ben Affleck (also announced via song). I guess Ben's wife Jennifer Garner has been rolled into complicity. Click here to watch the musical rivalry unfold!

Do you know the muffin man?

2010-05-16T13:59:00.006-04:00

In 2009, Allan Detsky, an internist at the University of Toronto wrote a (partially facetious) JAMA article on the Art of Pimping. "Pimping" is a legitimate term in the medical vernacular, referring to the staff practice of grilling medical students and trainees with questions, often pushing them to their limit.

Last year, Kon directed me to this article, both for its amusing anecdotes and the marvel of its publication in a recognized peer-reviewed journal. In it, Detsky lays out several strategies for both avoiding or (if you're keen enough) capitalizing on the act of being pimped out by your staff.

One such "pimping protection procedure" is referred to as The Muffin:

This technique is particularly useful for senior residents who are fearful that the attending physician will embarrass them with a question they should be able to answer but cannot. The resident holds a large muffin in the dominant hand with the elbow flexed, and slowly makes motions with the elbow that move the muffin toward and away from the mouth, somewhat like the graphical lines representing the attitudes of focus group members used by television networks while watching the recent presidential debates (ie, closer to the mouth if the resident does not know the answer, further if he or she does). If the resident feels that the teacher will call on him or her to answer a question to which he or she cannot respond, the muffin should be placed into the mouth. Most attendings will not ask residents or students to speak with their mouth full of food. If the attending does, the resident should pretend to choke, thus avoiding all future questions.

Kon clearly had this article in mind whilst entering the following anecdote. In our radiology seminar last week, the teaching resident pointed out a few common X-Ray tricks. She followed up these teaching points with, "Staff love to pimp you with these kinds of cases."

A classmate's hand went up. "Excuse me, what does pimping mean?"

The resident registered surprise that a second-year medical student could be unfamiliar with this term in its non-underworld context, but obliged in explaining. Kon, eager to demonstrate his awareness of medical culture and bubbling with excitement at being able to reference Detsky's entertaining paper turned to those around him and with a grin burst out...

"I'll just take a muffin and stuff it in my mouth!"

I choked back a laugh. I guess Kon had not seen Betty White's muffin skit on her recent hosting of Saturday Night Live (to which I was directed by Sandlot), else he would have been aware that the word "muffin" can also be used to connote "vagina." Perhaps this is not surprising from the fellow who during a game of charades once confused the term "rising sun" as meaning "morning wood". I'm sure the Japanese would not be pleased if they suddenly became known as the "Land of the Morning Erection". We can only presume that Kon in that case had been confused with the less-popular term "morning glory" (which then must generate a small chortle at Morning Glory brand stationary).

In any case, Kon's double entendre went unnoticed by the rest of the seminar group, while he himself continued unaware that he was such a cunning linguist.

Sheathe thy weapons

2010-05-15T14:00:00.003-04:00

I don't know about you guys, but sometimes I feel held hostage by the flashing light on my mobile - trying to focus on other things but constantly looking down to check for the reassuring pulsation of a cherished reply.

Sometimes the safest thing to do is to disassemble thy weapon.

I'm a preclerk

2010-05-11T18:49:00.007-04:00

Stewie petitioned me to compose some sort of rhyme for our class newspaper. I, being the fool, agreed and spent all afternoon teasing lyrics out of this migrainous head of mine. In fact, I think it might be a bit too sarcastic for such a serious publication, but whether or not it ever sees print, I've done my part. Here it is for you:

To the tune of Denis Leary's I'm an Asshole:

Folks, I’d like to sing you a song about the professional dream
About me, about you
About the way our scholastic hearts beat way down in the bottom of our chests
About that special feeling we get in the apex of our hearts
Maybe below the apex
Maybe in the costo-phrenic area,
Maybe in the ego, maybe in the superego
Maybe even in the perineum, we don’t know

I’m just a regular bloke, with a CMA sack
I’m your average vain and OCD quack
I like singing, fundraising, and advocacy
I’ve got my research in journals to pad my CV
My ophthalmoscope, my pocket eye chart
My big Queen’s Square hammer and my lab coat look smart

But sometimes that just ain’t enough to get a chum like me residency
(Oh no, no way, uh uh)
No I gotta go out there and look smart at someone else’s expense
(Whoa yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah)
I can’t remember any lessons from class
When I’m pimped out I cry “Lupus!” to pass

I’m a preclerk (He’s a preclerk)
I’m a preclerk (He’s a preclerk, such a preclerk)

Flash my hospital card when I go to the pub
I shimmy up and drop the M-bomb saying, “How about some love?”

I’m a preclerk (He’s a preclerk)
I’m a preclerk (He’s the world’s finest preclerk)

I act real keen in PBL cases
While PBL tutors make delighted faces

I’m a preclerk (He’s a preclerk)
I’m a preclerk (He’s a sweet-talking preclerk)

Maybe I shouldn’t be singing this song
Schmoozing, butt-kissing and carrying on
Maybe they’re right when they tell me I’m wrong
Nah

I’m a preclerk (He’s a preclerk)
I’m a preclerk (He’s the world’s slyest preclerk)

You know what I’m going to do?
I’m going to join a student interest group in my specialty
Be the president, with lots of speakers
All residency committee members
And makes sure they’d all want to go camping with me (yeah)
And I’m going to stare down all the other students
If they’re interested in my specialty
Sucking down Iced Caps and donuts from Tim Horton’s
In large-size Roll Up the Rim cups
And when I’m done infusing my blood with caffeine
I’m going to take my pulse to practice for ASCM
And I’ll note the palpitations I’m having about clerkship
Because I can’t remember a gosh-darn thing from lecture
You know why? Because I crammed, that’s why
2 words: Grey’s freaking Anatomy, okay?
Taylor, Latta, Schreiber – they all told me to study ahead
They can take away my TV have a big study party
Right in the middle of Toronto General Med Ed
And it won’t make a lick of difference
Because I’m still going to cram, okay?
Preston Burke’s not dead, he just got kicked off the show for homophobia
But that’s okay because the new cardiothoracic surgeon is super hot
You know how?
Take Pamela Anderson in a labcoat and multiply her IQ by 15 million times
That’s how hot the new surgeon is!
I’m going to learn to cut and suture
And perform appendectomies, Whipples, IL-2 therapy,
And trach someone with a pen…

(Hey! You know, you really are a preclerk!)
Why don’t you just shut up and sing the song, pal?
I’m a preclerk (He’s a preclerk)
I’m a preclerk (He’s the world’s finest preclerk)

P-R-E-C-L-E-R-K
Everybody!
P-R-E-C-L-E-R-K

I’m a preclerk and I’m proud of it

I got 99 problems

2010-04-27T22:21:00.009-04:00

The first-year charity committee is running a fundraiser via matchmaker questionnaire. This year's survey was not of the one-size-fits-all high school variety (last year a similar fundraiser had us bubble in whether we were in grade 9, 10, 11, or 12). Rather, it was heavily individualized to our medical school experience.

When I arrived at question 19, my brain chuckled a bit, and I shared the following text message with my girlfriend, Sandlot:

Q19. I got 99 problems, but the following isn't one: 1 bling, 2 cash-money, 3 ride, 4 significant other. A = 4. Sandlot trumps ride.

While I thought this was a relatively straightforward gesture, I could not have predicted the lively debate that it would spark about the meaning of the question, and more fundamentally, the meaning of Jay-Z's lyrics.

Sandlot: Lol. I think #4 means u don't have a s/o.

Andy: Ah, I see what you mean, but I don't think that makes sense. If a ride is not your problem it means you have one right?

Sandlot: Hmm your interpretation makes sense as well. I guess I interpreted s/o to be a problem a la Jay-Z.

Andy: Is that what he means? I always thought that meant he was so fly that he has no problem getting it on.

Sandlot: No. I don't think that's what he meant. Haha listen to the song again. You should ask J-Rock, he seems gangster enough to know. Lolll

Andy: But what about Beyonce? I can ask J-rock, but remember his fav bands include BSB, Britney, and Kelly Clarkson. Plus, he does not listen to words.

To the culturally inept, the song in question is Jay-Z's 99 Problems. In it, he opens with the line,

If you're having girl problems I feel bad for you son
I got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one

Now I have to admit, I can't always understand what this man says. Thus, since forever, I've thought this song read, "I've got 99 problems but a f*ck ain't one." In other words, "I feel bad that you have to bitch about girl problems - I've got real problems, but son, girls aren't among them."

Even so, I think my interpretation still stands. J-Rock agreed.

Andy: J-Rock thinks the same thing I do - that Jay-Z doesn't have trouble getting laid. We're looking up the lyrics now.

Sandlot: What? U guys are both fail.

Harsh words. So harsh. J-Rock and I went to Stewie for another word, since despite J-Rock's Scarborough upbringing, Stewie seemed much more likely to have the culturally appropriate answer.

Andy: Hey, you know that Jay-Z song 99 Problems? The line, "I got 99 Problems but a bitch ain't one"... what do you think that means?

Stewie: It means he doesn't have a bitch to be a problem.

Andy: Really?

Stewie: Why, what do you think it means? That he does have one?

Andy: Well, yeah.

Stewie: Well, as in he doesn't have a bitch. He still has girls, and he sleeps with them. He just doesn't have one that bitches (gestures towards Yuffie). Just kidding!

This explanation fell somewhere between Sandlot's and mine - Jay-Z didn't have girl problems, and he didn't have a bitch, but he did have girls.

For her part, Sandlot rescinded her confidence:

Hmm the braintrust at songmeanings.com has conflicting viewpoints as well. Dunno! *shrugs*

There's a website called songmeanings.com? In any case, I think this warrants her taking back that hurtful and premature "fail."

What do you guys think? Does having 99 problems but a bitch ain't one mean that a) there is no bitch or that b) Jay-Z don't take no bitchin' from his girl?

Similarly, does having 99 problems but a significant other isn't one mean that a) I don't have a significant other or that b) I don't have to worry about a s/o because I already have (a wonderful) one?

Share your two cents in the comment box below!

In need of anti-pyresis

2010-04-26T18:24:00.008-04:00

With prepubescent teenage popstar Justin Bieber trending on Twitter worldwide everyday, this boy has accumulated quite the obsessive little fangirls. Someone seriously needs to start working on a treatment for this so-called Bieber Fever (several orders of magnitude more insidious than Giardia) because these cretins are becoming more rabid than Old Yeller.

I have my suspicions that my girlfriend may also be infected. When marking essay exam questions as part of her TA-ship, she stumbled upon a young lad whose answer to world inequality and poverty was, "Justin Bieber should not exist." Fair enough, right? She almost failed him.

Today, in possibly one of the most deceptively titled articles ever, the CBC reported on "Bieber's Aussie show cancelled by fan crush." Because I like to keep an eye on this sixteen-year-old love rival, I clicked the link, expecting to see that Bieber's concert had been canceled over some crazy twenty-three-year-old stalker or some such thing. In fact, the concert was not canceled due to a "fan crush" but rather due to "fans being crushed."

Yes, apparently those teen Aussie girls got so excited that they trampled over one another in a mad rush to see B-boy and secure his affections.

By 3 a.m. local time Monday, police estimated that a crowd of more than 3,000 fans — mostly young teenage girls — were pushing up against the safety barriers. The number later grew to an estimated 5,000 fans.

Dyspnea is a well-documented symptom of Bieber Fever. It results from centrally-mediated respiratory dysfunction secondary to frontal lobe damage.

According to reports, eight fans were taken to hospital for minor injuries, while dozens of others were treated on-site for hyperventilation.

For his part, Bieber didn't seem distressed that his crazy fangirls were bludgeoning each other underfoot, nor did he seem to express any concern about his eight potential lovers that were hospitalized (I guess there's 4992 where those came from). Instead, he confessed his dismay that this unfortunate distraction had prevented him from serenading the crowd. Obviously, he would have been content to continue singing with eight fewer fans.

The 16-year-old Bieber posted a message about his disappointment at the cancellation on Twitter.

"I woke up this morning to the police cancelling the show for safety reasons," he wrote. "I love it here in Australia ... and I want to sing."

I blame society for this epidemic. Seriously parents, you need to take preventative measures! Vaccinate your children against Bieber Fever or treat them symptomatically with close follow-up. This, incidentally, is how I'm treating Sandlot's chronic infection.

Police blamed lack of parental supervision and the disorderly crowd for the crush, with Deputy Police Commissioner Dave Owens describing the situation as out of control.

Bieber has more fans than Bono - or at least, his fans are nuttier.

"We hired the professionals who look after U2, Coldplay, Pink — the big acts," Sunrise weather presenter Grant Denyer told the Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

"Even they weren't equipped and just couldn't handle the Bieber fever."

Dear AstraZeneca or GlaxoSmithKline - you heard it first here: Get on this epidemic before it gets out of hand and you will have a lucrative patent on your hands. Fail to react, and we are all doomed.

I feel like a pretender

2010-04-22T17:19:00.004-04:00

So, this afternoon I hopped the shuttle from my home hospital to its affiliate hospital for a small group learning session. It's worth noting that this was only my third time in the affiliate hospital - I had been there once for a small group learning session like this one and once to hand in a paper.

As I was waiting for my session to begin, I ducked out to use the little boys' room (of note: the only restroom on the floor is awkwardly situated in a patient waiting room - "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I'm not here to see you, just using the john"). When I stepped out of the washroom, a woman immediately ran up to me and exclaimed, "You! You work here - I'm looking for the Gynecology department but I got out on the wrong floor!"

Bewildered and ambushed I stammered, "Oh, I don't actually work here..."

"Great! So you're just wearing a badge..." she retorted, throwing her arms up into the air.

"Ac- actually, I work at- I'm more at [Home] hospital. But where are you trying to go?"

"Gynecology. I wrote down 6th, but obviously, I wrote it wrong because well, this isn't it!"

I furtively looked around for someone who actually worked in this hospital or at least was based at it for their clinical training. I briefly considered running down the hall to ask my peers, but they were pretty far away.

"Well, maybe I'll just take the stairs," she continued. "It'll probably be faster. Do you know where those are?"

"Um... I think that they're down that way," I answered cautiously, gesturing down the hall.

It reminds me of my training this summer at HUMP where we had to tour the hospital because wearing our badges around, people will gravitate towards us for answers. To be honest though, even at my home hospital, I still wouldn't have been able to tell anyone where the gynecology department was, though I do have a better command of the floor plan.

My bad?

Don't you put it in your mouth

2010-04-20T18:36:00.006-04:00

...that's what she said.

So this weekend, Sandlot took a trip back to our alma mater of Queen's University for a final spin around the neighbourhood of Kingston, Ontario. While at a friend's house, she was confronted with an uncommon conundrum. Left on her friend's doorstep had been an unsigned package of cookies with the label, "Hey girls, good luck on your exams!"

Unsigned and unnamed, a mysterious package on your doorstep? The prudent thing would be to a) not eat it or at least b) try to verify who had left it, right? Negative. Sandlot took it upon herself to eat almost the entire package of cookies and patted herself on the back after determining that they were some of the best baked goods she'd ever had the pleasure of partaking.

Now, at this point, I have to express concern. I'm rather enamored of my lovely significant other and I have to admit that this brazen and unashamed disregard for human safety has me distraught. After all, isn't not eating food of unknown origins right up there on the list of principles of common sense instilled from childhood such as, "Don't talk to strangers" and "Don't pick up needles off the ground"? I prefer my loved ones untraumatized, uninfected, undamaged, and safe. Kthx.

This ain't the Roaring Twenties anymore - this is an era of date rape drugs and anthrax laced mail items. Even if said delectable treats were safe upon delivery, who knows what could have happened while they sat there pinned to the front door?

What concerns me the most, of course, is that the tantalizingly excellent taste of this particular batch of cookies has only affirmed to my beautiful partner that she made the right choice in eating these anonymously-delivered sweetened goods. Next time, the truth may not be so delicious.

That's pretty much what Snow White did with the apple, and she was kind of stupid.

Let's face it - leaving anonymous packages in public places never does anyone any good.

Remember, boys and girls, never take anything from a stranger, and don't put things in your mouth when you don't know what they are. If you eat someone else's medicine, or some bad food, or some poison, you could get very sick. Always ask someone you love before put anything in your mouth.

And since your friends were caring enough to let you test out these mysterious edibles, you should replace the phrase "someone you love" with "Andy."

Because, you know, I would have offered the appropriate advice from the get-go rather than let you eat the contents of the package on my doorstep, cross my fingers, and release a sigh of relief when you don't croak.

But what do you guys think? If you found a package of cookies on your front doorstep without any label describing who it was to/from, would you eat it?

Leave your answer in the comments section below!

That's what she said

2010-04-16T17:13:00.004-04:00

I discovered this little gem while at post-exam karaoke on Monday. J-Rock and I were literally floored that BSB had a song with this title and that it was unknown to all of us (especially since J-Rock the Backstreet Boys' biggest fan). How could they have predicted that the song title for this innocent ballad about lost love would one day be reduced to a cheap dirty joke made by thirteen-year-old boys? Glorious.

That same night, I was teaching Mello a classic game to play with fortune cookies - adding "in bed" to your fortune. Like "that's what she said", the amusement stems from making an otherwise innocuous phrase deeply suggestive (and it almost always works). For instance, "Good health will be yours for a long time in bed." Guess whoever received that fortune will be saving a buck on Cialis.

I decided to try the same game with my newly discovered BSB favourite - making it as suggestive as its title by adding "in bed" to (almost) every line. Let's see how it works! [Commentary in square brackets]

There are people that say what you wanna hear in bed [the fakers]
Even on a raining day they'll tell you the sky is clear
When you really really love someone in bed [sexual soul mates?]
Am I right when I say that you want them near in bed?
And if you can't even tell them things that they wanna hear in bed

[Chorus:]
Always, forever in bed
All things she said in bed
Never say never in bed [said Tiger]
Those simple lies that she fed in bed [oh no!]
I will never leave you in bed [go again?]
All the love I thought she had in bed
But can you blame me in bed, no
Cuz that's what she said in bed
That's what she said in bed
She told me we'd see forever in bed
That's what she said, she said in bed, yeah

And there are people that say what they really mean in bed
She said she'd always be there in bed
She said she'd always care in bed
But just when you think that you can
Trust that someone you love in bed [first timer]
Tell me why in bed, or do you know
How stars can fall from above in bed? [the song's climax]

Cuz you made promises in bed
That you couldn't keep [performance anxiety?]
But you're not hurting yourself in bed
You're only hurting me in bed [a little too rough?]
Why would you say things that you really didn't mean in bed?
Oh how can I make you see
Just what you did to me in bed?
Oh, you said how much you really cared in bed
Just when I thought I was in love in bed
Girl, how could you dare in bed?
If I were you I could not lie even once in bed
To the face of the one
That I love so much in bed

Not too bad, eh? I think it's much better than the original.

Oh grow up, Andy.

Um, are we still talking about doing laundry?

2010-04-15T18:56:00.000-04:00

With Stewie, somehow it always comes to this. From MSN:

Stewie: I can pile up 3 loads of laundry before I run out of clothes/socks/underwear

Stewie: Right now I'm at 2 loads... Maybe not even - 1.9

Andy: Hahaha, well then still got a load left

Andy: So no worries

Stewie: Yeah, but I don't want to use up all my loads...

Stewie: At once

Stewie: If you know what I mean

Stewie: (and I mean laundry...)

Andy: Don't worry - you're young, it'll just come back fast again

Andy: If you know what I mean

Andy: (and I mean dirty clothes...)

Stewie: lol, actually but seriously though

Stewie: I know some guys who can only... like you know

Stewie: like 1-2 times a day

Andy: Do laundry?

Stewie: No, the other thing

Something tells me we're not talking about laundry anymore.

Um, are we still talking about pharmacotherapy?

2010-04-14T22:08:00.009-04:00

You may remember that when Stewie sits beside me, shit goes down. Today, we were learning about the clinical use of drugs. If you introduce drugs to a therapy-naive patient at the regular dose, it can take quite a few doses for the drugs to reach a steady therapeutic level in the body. As such, it is often prudent to provide a loading dose to hasten the drug reaching the appropriate level before continuing with the regular dosing schedule. This can be done by making the first dose a "double dose" or "DD" as the lecturer short-handed on the slide.

Stewie reached over and wrote, "I love DD." Then he added, "(double dose)"

Andy: I don't know. I think double-D is a bit too much.

Stewie: You like it a bit lower eh?

Andy: I just like things to be... natural.

Stewie: Ah, you know, you look like an A student to me.

Andy: A? Well, I can settle for B's and C's.

Stewie: No, I can do B's and C's. You're too high an achiever. A's for you.

Something tells me we're not talking about drug doses anymore.

You never forget your first

2010-04-12T19:41:00.004-04:00

Things I've learned talking to doctors: You never forget your first.

You never forget your first pap smear. Mine was on a hooker at Anonymous Hospital. They hired her for the students to practice on.

You never forget the first time you draw blood. Back in my day, the students had to practice on each other. I practiced on Jane Smith. I eventually got it, but I really hurt her.

We've come a long way.

Let's end this war!

2010-04-10T17:53:00.007-04:00

With my second Foundations of Medical Practice exam imminent, I've learned a lot about what constitutes a Trauma Team. I'll have to admit that it's nothing like this video game.

That said, I'm actually really excited for this game to come out, and I'm sure it'll be full of highly entertaining and medically inaccurate procedures. From CT scan diagnosis to plate-screw orthopedic fixation, it covers a wide swath of my medical knowledge. Yet with my expertise still too gestational to pick up on all the flaws, I'm sure I'll be highly impressed and amused - and not just by the saucy trauma surgeons. I mean, this isn't Grey's.

Boy 2 Man

2010-04-08T13:09:00.002-04:00

J-Rock came to class on Monday sporting a dress shirt, jeans, and runners in preparation for a lunch date with one of his friends. Being a departure from his usual t-shirt and shorts apparel, Yuffie immediately spoke up:

Yuffie: Hey, why are you so dressed up today?

J-Rock: Ah, crud. You can tell? I got dressed this morning and I was like, "Yeah, maybe I can just pull off the dress shirt look. Maybe nobody will notice." Clearly not.

Several minutes later, Mello and Yubin came in and sat down behind us:

Mello: Hey J-Rock! Why are you so dressed up today?

J-Rock: Dammit! Does nobody just think that I can dress like an adult for no reason?

Be a man. Wear the right thing.

He or She?

2010-04-07T14:00:00.009-04:00

In my third lecture of the day, this individual appeared in front of me. Wearing a hipster scarf and shoulder-length bobcut, I was briefly confused as to a) who this person was and b) whether they were male or female.

Their back was broad and male-like, but their arms looked slender. They also had a purse (or purse-like shoulderbag) which they spent the duration of the lecture sewing.

My confusion quickly subsided, and I will assure you that from the front, there is no question as to whether this individual is a man or a woman. I'm sure they're also a very nice person. That said, take your guesses -- masculine lady? Feminine man? When you're ready for the answer...

[ Click here ]

Epic Master Fail

2010-04-06T10:24:00.000-04:00

Mello doesn't get jokes. She's also never watched Star Wars. As such, J-Rock and I have decided that were she a Jedi, her name would be Master Fail. Furthermore, because so many of Master Fail's missed punchlines are epic fails, we have elected to refer to her with the full respect which she deserves - Epic Master Fail. Oh yes, that's going to stick.

The other day, Mello told me a story about J-Rock's own epic fail. Last year, while taking part in a clinical skills small group, J-Rock flipped over his hospital badge to look at the backside. On the reverse of all hospital badges are a list of colour codes. For instance, Code Red refers to fire. The oft heard Code Blue stands for cardiac arrest.

Code Pink: Neonatal arrest

"I don't understand," exclaimed J-Rock. "Why would anyone want to arrest babies?!" Chuckles all around. "No, I'm serious! Why would they do that?" The laughter faded as his small group realized he was serious. Some time was then spent explaining that "arrest" didn't involve the police in this context.

Mello: That's like EPIC MASTER FAIL!

Andy: Well, that is an epic fail on J-Rock's part.

Mello: No! It's an epic master fail!

Andy: Dude, Epic Master Fail is your name - it's not an adjective.

Oh, that was epic, Master Fail.

Now that's a trailer

2010-04-05T13:44:00.000-04:00

My brother's game is coming out in 8 days, so rife with Jack Bauer-inspired torture and violence that even though he's sunk four and a half years of his life into it, he still questions the creative content. J-Rock will love it.

I just finished watching the launch trailer and I have four words to say: This. Game. Is. Badass.

Michael Ironside ftw. Such a dramatic voice.

It's like Russian Roulette when you're placing your bets...

2010-04-04T17:47:00.001-04:00

Image source.

There's a new and unhealthy trend building on the Internet, and it's called Chat Roulette. This website pairs you with a random stranger with which to webcam. Don't like what you see? Click next and move on. Anonymous, uninhibited webcam shenanigans with strangers.

Earlier this week, Sandlot tweeted the following thread: "Still haven't been on chatroulette... but quite intrigued now" along with the link to the following Tumblr address: http://chatroulette.tumblr.com/

(Apparently, Tumblr is the new hot blogging site. Both Sandlot and Mello have started one in the last week.)

This blog contains screenshots and videos of hundreds or thousands of Chat Roulette encounters. Should you be fascinated? If fascinated means mortified, then yes. If fascinated means you actually want to try this ridiculous piece of Internet trash, then I have to beg you - please, no.

After extensive browsing of these screenshots, I can reliably comment on the types of people who frequent Chat Roulette. Let me describe the demographic:

8/10 are perverted teenage boys or old men.
Of these, 9/10 will ask to see your tits.
5/10 males will be shirtless.
Of these, 5/10 will be lying on a bed or couch.
1/10 will be naked.
Of these, 9/10 will have their dick flopped out.
1/100 will jack off in front of you.
1/100 will be on the toilet.

Readers, if these are the people you want to interact with, I'm going to have to reconsider our friendship/relationship/acquaintance.

1/10 are girls or ladies looking for kicks.
Of these 1/100 will acquiesce and show you their tits.
1/1000 will be masturbating.
1/10,000 will be having active coitus.
1/100,000 will be having it with an animal.

This is, of course, what draws the horny teenage boys and perverted old men.

1/10 just want to get another use out of their Fan Expo costume.

If I haven't managed to deter you with these statistics, then maybe Brutus can convince you with the following link: "Show me your boobs or the bird dies!"

Besides, if you thought you were bearing your bust anonymously, think again.

The only thing that might make Chat Roulette seem even remotely worth trying is this:

1/1,000,000,000 times you'll end up at a Ben Folds concert.
999/1000 people he chats with won't know who he is.

Dork I am, dork will be

2010-04-03T19:38:00.001-04:00

Lifted from ~~Windows Live Messenger~~ GChat:

Sam: I was just catching up on reading my Google Reader

Sam: I saw 20 new posts from your blog that I haven't read

Sam: So I skimmed through them

Sam: It was heartwarming, lol

Andy: Hahahaha, was it?

Andy: How so?

Sam: Yeah, well...

Sam: It just reminded me of how dorky you are

Sam: And how long we haven't seen each other

April Fools round-up

2010-04-02T15:45:00.014-04:00

Since the advent of the Internet, April Fools has taken on a whole new life that can be enjoyed inclusively from the comfort of one's computer desk. If you've been following my Twitter account, you've taken part in the entertaining gags as I've discovered them. If you haven't, here are some of my favourite videos from this year's April Fools...

...

iPhone move over - Google proves that its Android technology is ready to dominate the smartphone application market just like they have pwned all things Internet. Ever wanted to know what your cat or dog was thinking? Look no further than Google Translate for Animals. Although, depending on the quality of your pet, it may not help much.

...

Sure, we've heard tales of geeks falling in love over World of Warcraft, meeting without superficial considerations like physical appearance or social awkwardness and cutting right to the meat of shared interests and superior raiding skills, but such stories are a rarity right? Not if Blizzard Entertainment can help it. Building on their Battle.net matchmaking technology for Warcraft and Starcraft games, Blizzard hopes to help their gamers find true love on the Internet. No eHarmony required.

...

Bieber Takes Over from Justin Bieber

Justin Bieber is a celebrity, and celebrities do whatever the f*ck they want, right? Here's a rare glimpse into the lifestyles of the rich and the famous. "I once ran into a club. They said, 'Sir, you're not old enough.' So I bought the club, and I made it a Chuck E Cheese. Now who's old enough, bitch?"

(This video linked courtesy of Bieber's biggest fan, Sandlot)

...

Lastly, I know this isn't April Fools related, but this is one of the coolest animated videos I've ever seen on YouTube. Stick Man vs Mouse Pointer. It's a bloodbath.

(This video linked courtesy of Ruru)

The true face of Andy

2010-04-01T19:40:00.005-04:00

So after 434 posts of Chronicle goodness, I've collected quite a following here on the Internets. While I've certainly enjoyed my anonymity, every so often, I get an e-mail from a random follower that reads something like this:

Dear Andy, I love your blog. How come you never post pictures of yourself? I'm sure behind your eloquent, super-brainy medical student writings you're one hot, sexy chap. Are you ever going to reveal your face to us? Your devoted fan, LengLui88 ♥

Well, not one to resist peer pressure, I've finally caved. Here's a picture of me taken this year enjoying the Toronto nightlife. I'm sure you can see why I've withheld my face from you - I want to be loved for the quality of my writing, not my superstar-level good looks. In fact, I'll probably take this photo down later as my anxiety over being identified by lurid Internet creepers builds up.

Having seen my face, you can probably understand a lot more about my life. Things that didn't quite make sense before are likely much clearer now - like how I made it into medical school or ended up dating such a ridiculously attractive and amazing girl as Sandlot.

Happy April Fools. Sorry, but how I landed such an incredible lady remains a mystery.

Head. Desk. Okay!

2010-03-29T18:55:00.008-04:00

I've been really tired lately. If you leave me alone for a few minutes, I'll likely doze off; and I take the opportunities to do so whenever they come. Therefore, putting head to desk on an arm-shaped pillow in class has become what is described as my "default position."

There are typically three things that can rouse my from my reverie:

The name "Andy" called by one of my friends (50% effective)
The lecturer, who has begun to speak (90% effective)
The buzz buzz of my phone to Sandlot's texting (100% effective)

Because the classroom is a typically safe environment, I tend to dispense my corrective lenses and mobile phone on the desk beside my head - sparing these items from the rigorous clutching to which I subject my knapsack when I sleep on the subway.

Today, I learned a valuable lesson: pocket your phone and keep one finger on your glasses.

I arrived earlier than usual - the second one in the classroom. Because the first lecture was a review session, class attendance was set to max out at thirty percent at best. Empty desks all around me left fewer friendlies to watch my back, although in the absence of Mello and Yubin, many of my friends probably would have just played along anyways.

I initiated my usual ritual: Shed phone and glasses, put arm on desk, put head on arm. Okay!

I looked up several times to the buzz buzz of my phone in order to reply to Sandlot's morning texts (a custom of ours to bring a little cheer to a cloudy morn). On my third head-desk, I waited for the familiar buzz as my mind turned to semi-lucid dreams. When I finally raised my head to the sounds of a soon-to-begin lecture, my glasses and mobile were nowhere to be found.

I turned to Ragù, the classmate beside me. "Very funny," I offered drowsily, holding back my indignation. There's something distinctly undignified about trying to solicit your belongings back in a half-awake, half-blind state. Denial was all I got back.

It's a murder mystery. Who stole my glasses? Who stole my phone? I have my suspicions:

Suspect #1: Kushima

Reasons: He and his girlfriend, sitting diagonally behind me, were caught snickering whilst I was trying to find my glasses and my phone. It's possible that they may have merely observed the deed. The items were allegedly recovered from their desk, one row behind my own.

Suspect #2: Stewie

Reasons: Stewie was seated three chairs to my left. He could potentially have lifted said items on the way to his seat, since he had not yet arrived when I put my head to desk. Stewie is also a shit disturber.

Suspect #3: Ragù

Reasons: Ragù was seated one chair to my right and was thus the only suspect who was within arms reach of the stolen items. He was also the person who allegedly "found" them on the desk behind us. Ragù also not-so-secretly covets my beautiful, charming, and wonderful girlfriend Sandlot and likely begrudges our lively textual relationship. If you are reading this: that's slightly creepy.

Don't worry potential-felons - next time, I'll be watching.

Let me be your doctor, baby

2010-03-25T00:01:00.002-04:00

Ever since Sandlot and I went K, I've had Enrique's Hero stuck in my head. Coming off Pain Week, our multidisciplinary week of education on pain management, I composed this little ditty.

To the tune of Enrique Iglasias' Hero.

Let me be your doctor

Would you cough, if I asked you to cough?
Would you sit as I took your pulse?
Would you cry, if you saw a needle?
And will you ask for drugs, tonight?

Would you grimace, if I palpate your hips?
Is it mets? Oh please tell me this
You say you’d die, for the pain is tough?
Not on my watch, not tonight

I can be your doctor, baby
I’ll prescribe away the pain
Climb the analgesic ladder
Percs can take your hurt away

Would you swear, you’ll take your meds on time?
Or would you lie? Sell narcs on the side?
Have I been deceived? Should I not prescribe?
I’m not your dealer, not tonight

I can be your doctor, baby
I’ll prescribe away the pain
If you’re really just an addict
I will take your script away

Oh, I just wanna help you
I just wanna help you, oh yeah
Hurts to touch the sheets? It hurts all the time?
It’s neuropathic pain, tonight

I can be your doctor, baby
I’ll prescribe away the pain
I will treat your allodynia
This time with a T-C-A

I can be your doctor, baby
I’ll prescribe away the pain
Climb the analgesic ladder
Percs can take your hurt away
Percs can take your hurt away
An’ I can be your doctor

Parking, She Wrote

2010-03-24T18:42:00.008-04:00

Over March Break, I headed down to Awesome U to visit my girlfriend Sandlot. Sandlot lives in a suite-style apartment building we'll call Sandy Hall. Sandy Hall is adjacent to a number of other residences including Frosh Hall, an infamously rowdy undergraduate residence.

Now I drove up to Awesome U for the week, so Sandlot kindly secured me a visitor's parking pass. It stipulated a number of eligible parking places including Sandy Lot (for Sandy Hall), Rocky Lot (for Rocky Hall), and Muddy Lot (for Muddy Hall). We weren't exactly sure where Sandy Lot was, but I had parked just outside Sandy Hall.

"Is this the right parking lot?" we quizzically considered. There was no signage identifying the lot - only one that read, "Grey passes only." I looked at my parking pass. It was purple. What was a Grey pass? Still, we considered, our pass said Sandy Lot. In front of us was Sandy Hall. Done.

The next day I woke up to be greeted by a big fat $35 parking ticket. Under "location issued" it read, "Frosh Perimeter Lot." So apparently I had been in a parking lot for residents of Frosh Hall, not Sandy Hall. Could I be faulted that the parking lot was right between the two, without any signs that actually identified it as the "Frosh Perimeter Lot"?

After driving around a bit, I located Sandy Lot on the other side of the building. Actually, this lot did not have a sign that identified it as "Sandy Lot" either, but rather a parking rate sign that said "Sandy Hall." I know this is small beef, but your parking lots should a) be labeled and b) match the labeling on your parking passes.

In any case, Sandlot and I went to the parking office to pay the fine. However, I thought the entire ticketing was rather unreasonable. When we got there, I asked if there was any way that we could complain, and we were provided with an appeals form. We filled it out.

Here's the gist of what we wrote:

"We obtained a visitor's parking pass for Sandy Lot, and parked in a lot outside Sandy Hall. We received a ticket which identified the lot as Frosh Perimeter Lot, however there was no signage identifying it as so. Our parking in the incorrect location was enacted out of confusion rather than a deliberate attempt to disregard the rules. The vehicle has subsequently been moved to the correct lot."

Today, I received the following text from Sandlot:

The judgment decision was "signs are posted and are clear." Clearly not.

Oh, Parking Authority, thou art condescending little buggers. Clear signs, my dears, would be signs that read "Frosh Perimeter Lot" and "Sandy Lot." Kthx.

At least the news isn't all bad: they reduced the fine to $12.

That's still enough for two bowls of udon.

What a sniff disturber

2010-03-22T00:05:00.007-04:00

I mentioned in my most recent post that I've spent the last very precious week with my girlfriend, Sandlot. While away, I've taken to using a D&G Pour Homme bath/shower gel that came in a gift set I received some time ago (bath/shower gel, cologne, and aftershave). Packing my own body wash was key in order to ensure I can travel the world smelling like a man and not like peaches 'n stuff. Apparently, D&G makes some powerful stuff because the rest of the week played out something like an Axe commercial.

What happens when your girlfriend who thinks you smell as good as two tickets to the thing she loves (re: Old Spice) rips your computer out of your hands and fiddles with all your already-logged-in Internet accounts? Irreparable damage to your reputation, apparently.

Here's my Twitter feed from March 17th. Yes, these are all posted on my account - it's like a schizophrenic conversation. Then came Pomme's reaction (one of my few IRL Twitter followers):

My bad. No wait, it's not my bad - it's Sandlot's bad. My only bad is smelling outrageously good.

Then came this new box, conspicuously appearing on my Facebook page. Admittedly, only Facebook creepers who actually check my page (and not just the News Feed) would notice it. Incredibly, that only took a few minutes.

Oh dear. So, let's set the record straight here - I don't sniff myself. Sandlot is a ~~shit~~ sniff disturber. I'm on a horse. 2/3 of those statements are true.

The future is Move-ing

2010-03-18T22:01:00.005-04:00

Sorry the blog pickings have been kind of scanty this week - I've been enjoying a rare and precious week off school and logging also rare and precious quality time with my lovely girlfriend Sandlot.

You may recall my recent excitement over Sony's upcoming motion controller, the PlayStation Move. This excitement has further been compounded by Sony's tongue in cheek advertisement for said motion peripheral, not so subtly bashing on Nintendo's at times finicky Wiimote (and always ridiculous Wii Boxing) as well as Microsoft's upcoming controller-free motion control system, Project Natal.

While my jury's still out on whether the XBox360 or PlayStation 3 represent my gaming future, I'm always happy to see Sony fighting back with marketing that doesn't suck.

That's a Lo blow

2010-03-14T13:02:00.002-04:00

You may remember the Clue debacle from a few days ago, where I made a funny about one Dr. Mustard which almost nobody understood. Today, I gave it another go at the expense of one Dr. Lo:

Andy > Mello, Yubin, J-Rock: Lecturer joke of the day: Shawty got lo lo lo lo lo lo lo lo

Yubin > Andy: Omg I was thinking the same thing!!!!!!

Andy > Yubin: You are the best. You always appreciate my jokes...!

Yubin > Andy: Great minds think alike! Woo woo

As with the Clue quip, slow texter J-Rock reacted in person, rather than via SMS, turning to me with an exasperated grin and shaking his head. Mello didn't notice the message until an hour later when she turned to me and said, "What? I don't get it." (Typical) After a brief pause, her eyes lit up as she pointed to our lecture notes, "Wait, is it him? HAH! HA HA HA HA!"

HD Wii gaming

2010-03-13T13:50:00.003-05:00

...comes to the Playstation 3.

High-definition precision sword battles? J-Rock, you're going down.

We are everywhere

2010-03-12T14:00:00.000-05:00

Some of you may remember my quest to prove to Sandlot - who made the audacious claim that only bright-blue backpacked 1T2's roamed about the surface world - that medical students of all years walked the streets of Toronto everywhere. This led to the Great Backpack Challenge: a contest to snap candid pics of medical school backpacks everywhere in life away from the safe bosom of the Medical Sciences Building.

The contest officially ended with the New Year, a $15 lunch waiting for the victor. My friend Ruru put in a good effort snapping pictures of first and second year medical students, which provided the lowest point values. In total, she accrued 5-points.

My friend Mello was poised to steal victory away, however, having snapped numerous candid photos of dark blue CC4 backpacks (worth 10 points each). I've waited two and half months past the deadline, and these photos have not materialized - victims of Mello's inability to get them off of her mobile phone and over to me. By this point, I dare say, we must consider that she has defaulted on the challenge. You'll note that despite a vigorous description of the circumstances, Mello is not tagged in this post. That's because I am of the opinion that such a dramatic epic fail is unworthy of contributing to anyone's label count. Sorry, pung yau.

So without further adieu, I must congratulate...

the winner: RURU

...for her hard-earned victory. I know she's already got her eye on a couple bowls of udon. Hopefully she's also managed to prove that we are, indeed, everywhere.

Use that paddle; smack that ball

2010-03-11T02:00:00.001-05:00

When Sandlot first got her BlackBerry Curve this summer - a fine example of quality Canadian engineering - I had barely played RIM's additive little mini-game, BrickBreaker. Sure, I logged the occasional round here and there on my Pearl. Having heard my sister gush in advance about how it was the best game ever, I had to have checked it out.

But when Sandlot got her Curve... well then, the game was afoot. This set off a back and forth score setting challenge that ended when Sandlot reached the unattainable heights of 10500 points. I maintained the intense level that we had been playing at for a couple of weeks, but finding the score ever out of reach, I eventually gave in and resigned myself to defeat.

I still logged a game here and there - waiting for my research supervisor, waiting for lecturers to resume, waiting for a text message to arrive, waiting for a subway to enter the station... waiting. Always the result was the same. Too little, too late. It was frustrating in its own right that the score I was aiming for was so high that it took at least 15-30 minutes (I lose track of time) of intense staring at that tiny little screen to even reach the level at which a five-digit score was indeed possible. At such a point, losses were punishing, and to start over again was a colossal investment by my already tired eyes.

Even more troubling was that I always seemed to get stuck at the same impassable level. Just shy of the score I desired, it didn't matter if I had 9 lives or 2 lives - the result was always the same. I had plateaued. So many promises had been broken over this game. A gentleman has nothing if not his word, but this game had taught me a thing or two about humility. "I'll beat you this week/this month/eventually..."

Months passed, and Sandlot had long since stopped troubling her thumbs with BrickBreaker. There was no longer anything to fight for. She had me licked. Then, one particularly extended break in one particularly slow class combined with one particularly fortuitous power up and brought me victory: 11050! I was free of my burden of defeat. The competition may resume.

Of course, I can't say this didn't trouble my rival. Thrust into psychological anguish was she, distressed that she had been dethroned and compelled to play me to defeat once more. A road, that if I have any luck, will be as arduous as my own.

So troubled was she by this turn of events that last night, Brickbreaker invaded her subconscious and crept into her dreams...

You know that level with three rows of bricks? Well I dreamt that I was playing that level, and the ball hit one of the middle bricks, and suddenly all the bricks came tumbling down! Then the level ended and it turned into this completely different game - some kind of secret level which was like a hybrid of BrickBreaker and Super Mario. It's so strange because it was so vivid.

My score just kept going up and up, and I think by the end it was at like forty-thousand. I remember thinking, "That definitely beats Andy's score." Then I woke up.

And then she woke up. Oh, the sweet smell of victory.

Happy freakin' birthday, Sandlot

2010-03-10T19:20:00.003-05:00

I like the band too, though.

Can you Guess Who?

2010-03-08T18:22:00.010-05:00

Clue, the classic murder mystery board game by Parker Brothers is iconic. Popular in its own right, Clue has also received countless references on television, in movies, and throughout Western culture. These references always take the form of the classic Clue deductive statement: "It was [person] in the [location] with the [murder weapon]." For one reason or another, pop culture has almost universally blamed the infamous Colonel Mustard.

It was Colonel Mustard in the library/dining room/study with the candlestick/candleholder/lead pipe!

Well today, amusingly enough, we had a lecturer named Dr. Mustard. I took the opportunity to shoot off an impromptu text message to a number of my friends:

It was Dr. Mustard in the kitchen with the candelabra!

Moments later, the replies began to filter in...

Yubin: Lol he is my PBL tutor hehe

J-Rock, sitting two persons down from me, turned in my direction and spelled out in audible English: "L - O - L." My quip seemed to be well taken, but then chaos ensued.

Mello: ?

During our break, I nudged J-Rock and gestured in Mello's direction. "She doesn't get it."

Mello turned to Maximus on her right and tilted the phone in his direction. "Do you get this?"

"It was Dr. Mustard in the kitchen with the candelabra? No, I don't get it."

The phone was turned over to Yuffie. "No, I don't get it either. What is this?"

"Seriously, were did you guys grow up?" I asked, breathlessly.

"Well, I grew up in China," Maximus countered. "Or at least I was born there."

"Yeah," agreed Yuffie.

"Okay, fair enough," acknowledged J-Rock. "You should explain it to them."

"It's from the board game Clue!" I explained. "There's a character named Colonel Mustard and our lecturer's name is Dr. Mustard."

"Oh! I've played Clue!" exclaimed Mello.

"Oh my goodness... you've played it?!" retorted J-Rock. "Actually, that would have been a good thing to ask first."

Later, Kon stopped me and asked, "What's a candelabra?" He didn't get it either.

Finally, the last text message came in.

Stewie: I don't get it?

I guess when it comes to Colonel Mustard, five to two, my friends don't have a Clue. Childhood fail.

P.S. According to at least 18 people on Urban Dictionary, Colonel Mustard also refers to ejaculating into a girl's eye, causing a burning sensation which makes her wink like a colonel's monacle. /wtfux

Why I don't want to have kids

2010-03-07T14:00:00.008-05:00

Yesterday, I had this compulsion to Facebook-creep some of my old peers from elementary school. I swung by my elementary school's FB group as a starting point and ended up browsing through the group's photo album. Here's a lovely picture of some upstanding Christian youth several years my junior with their requisite cool-kid cancer sticks. The caption of another photo outlines their favourite cigarette break getaways:

Ahem. Yes, Druxy's in the morning. Garage next door during spare. Druxy's after school.

It's funny because I quite liked my elementary school. I liked the teachers, I liked the education, and I had a fairly good time there. Most of what I know of scripture derives not from Sunday School classes, but from my Christian school education.

Yet looking back at the same school through a stranger's lens, I'm agog at the students that I see. Looking around at what became of my classmates, I'm dismayed at their endpoints. It's funny because, I look around at my current surroundings - my peers, my friends, my social bubble - and I'm quite optimistic. The world I live in, while not devoid of the vapid, the manipulative, or the vindictive, is fairly composed.

I live at the epicenter of the Canadian or American dream. I live in a bubble with the educated, the law-abiding, and the moral. Our futures involve careers and families and self-actualization. Even those who push the boundaries of our society-approved lives do so within limits that maintain a collective sense of safety and comfort.

It's easy to forget then, that the world is pretty damn broken. That beyond our social bubble, the majority of the world does not live the dream. In our communities, huge swaths of our youth are adrift and delinquent. One of Sandlot's friends had an elementary school teacher who pessimistically declared that only six people within that class would proceed to a university-level education. Years later, through Facebook, he confirmed that only six people in his class had done so, including himself.

In our nations, discrimination and poverty continue to marginalize populations. In our world, entire countries suffer from disease, illiteracy, oppression, and widespread suffering.

The prospect of raising a kid in this world actually scares the crap out of me. How much control do we actually have over the trajectory of our children? Surrounded by crowds of unruly influence, there's no guarantee that our children won't fall in with the wrong clique. What if my kid turned out to be an amoral bully? A gothic, high-school drop-out druggie? A promiscuous douchebag?

It's a serious responsibility to bear. It's true that I have, for most of my life, pictured myself with Andy Jr.'s in the future. But my pessimistic recognition of the world beyond my insulated borders sometimes makes me question this prediction. After all, you're committing to bring into the world a person who will live in it for a lifetime - and what if he/she comes out wrong?

The funny thing about high school and university is that a lot of the people you know are already on the trajectory that they will follow for the rest of their lives. The punks discover their punkitude. The bullies are set in their bravado. The achievers are working hard. For the most part, the people that I befriended seriously have remained fairly normal throughout. The potheads and troublemakers existed, but I managed to largely avoid interacting with them.

Elementary school, being so far back in time, leaves a lot more open. The dorky kids you made fun of often pull their coolness together in high school and become high-functioners. The innocent kids that we all were diverge into the variety of personas that we will carry into the future.

So in my Facebook stalking, I decided to creep up my best friend from Grade 6. He was a pretty fun guy, with a bit of a strange family. In Grades 7 and 8, he really let himself go downhill - socially and academically. By the end of Grade 8, he received an ultimatum - get his act together, or find another school. He also happened to be the only friend I had in elementary school who lived in my neighbourhood.

As things turned out, I decided to attend high school at my local public school as a number of my siblings had done. My friend also decided to switch over to public school, but for different reasons. We reconnected when we got there, being each other's familiar contact, but he quickly slipped in with the skater punk crowd - listening to heavy metal, brandishing an aloof disrespect for authority and daring sense of humour, and disregarding his studies.

Today, my friend has an exciting career as a grocery clerk.

Meanwhile, while still on my elementary school's alumni page, I took a scan through the wall for any names I recognized. I found one. Sam was in my year, and he was a bit of a troublemaker, though overall not an awful person. He got himself expelled by kicking a hole in the drywall in a fit of rage. Here he posted a comment regarding the principals at the time of the high school and elementary school branches, respectively:

Yes, I think that was just you. Kids are pretty scary. Adults can be equally messed up. Crazies are everywhere. Maybe I'll pass on this child-rearing exercise.

State of the Confederation

2010-03-06T12:23:00.011-05:00

We're back for another politics mini-update. I know that when it comes to politics, it's not just Sandlot and Kushima who have the attention span of gerbils, so I'll try to keep things fast and furious. I'll also go light on the links for the sake of Mello and J-Rock. So, without further ado:

What's going on with the state of Confederation?

# 1 - The Prime Minister's New ~~Groove~~ Budget

Harper's returned to his conservative roots with a 2010 budget that slashes federal funding to government programs and civil service, freezes foreign-aid, eases environmental controls, and espouses corporate tax cuts. It's the kind of budget that will leave us with a small-g government in the future - under-resourced and incapable of undertaking any ambitious endeavours or responding to emerging crises.

# 2 - No Election for Old Men

Despite the outrage that Liberals are feeling over this budget, there will almost certainly be no election. By unjustifiably proroguing government in January, Stephen Harper not only wiped away the political woes of having to respond to his actions on Afghanistan torture, but also positioned his budget release to coincide with the end of the Olympics. With national sentiment at an all-time high, it's likely one of the worst times for the opposition to go into an election to try and dethrone the government. Furthermore, Ignatieff has no viably alternative plan to tote.

What this comes down to is a budget that boils in the blood of Liberals, but that they will tacitly approve by not showing up to vote on it.

# 3 - City Politic Sound Bites

Who is Rocco Rossi? Other than being one of the leading mayoral candidates for the city of Toronto, I had no idea until yesterday. However, he's managed to make a mark on my map for his stance on challenging unions and privatizing the TTC. I haven't had anything a politician said resonate with me as much as the following statement in a long time:

The problem isn’t a sleeping TTC worker in a booth. It’s the fact that in the 21st century there is a worker in the booth collecting paper tickets. We have the world’s best 1970s transit system. The problem is, it’s 2010.

However, with plans to put a freeze on the planned Transity City additions, which are mostly being funded by the provincial and federal levels of government anyway, I still have my doubts about this fellow. I like how you talk smack of the TTC though, sir.

Conclusions - State of the Confederation

Harper has released a crippling budget at a time when Canadians are euphoric off the exhaust fumes of the Olympics, leaving a weak and anemic government. Strong on corporate incentives and weak government programs, Finance Minister Flaherty has described Canada as being "open for business."

Meanwhile, the Liberal opposition is agreeably weak. With no alternative ideas of their own to resonate with the Canadian public, they're happy to disagree in principle and agree in the practical.

Finally, even though I don't live in Toronto, my ears delighted with a politician finally recognizing the TTC for what it is: The world's best 1970s transit system. Amen, brother. You're preaching to the converted.

When the love is gone

2010-03-05T23:26:00.004-05:00

Remember when you first fell in love - how shiny everything seemed? How new? Remember how proud you were? How you flaunted your love and bragged to all your friends? Then things changed, and your eyes began to wander. When the love is gone... move on.

Somebody call a geriatrician, because two human years equal fourteen dog years, which equal a lifetime in computer years. I hate technology.

Once upon a time, I bought a shiny new laptop and it was glorious. Dual core processors packing a dedicated graphics card - I ripped through gaming in a way that my shoddy little Hewlett-Packard made ex never could. Everything worked perfectly - the built-in DVD burner, integrated Bluetooth support, fingerprint log-in...

Now this decrepit old thing slugs along. The microphone jack seems dysfunctional. The DVD burner has long been temperamental. The touchpad exploded and died (almost taking my computer with it). Now, Bluetooth support is crapping out with reliable voice support acting spotty at best.

At first, I thought it was just the Bluetooth headset itself - an easy fix. However, after swapping in a different set to test, I still seem audible to parties on the other side only fifty percent of the time. Given that the microphone jack is also not functioning, I'm left with the last functioning solution for this gradually dismembered technological device - a USB microphone.

However, because I'd like it to have the wireless capacity of my current Bluetooth, I'm left with few options. FutureShop only carries one wireless USB headset, which on Amazon.com carries 20/39 ratings at 1/5 stars.

The lovely device comes with such effusive reviews as this:

First, the sound can get really bottom out. Sometimes my Skype friends sound like gurgly lagoon monsters, hungry and ready to feed. I can't hear the mid or high ranges of their voices. And the connection seems unstable, causing pops and drop-outs. So I take it back, lagoon monsters may be more coherent. Initially I thought this was a Skype problem but I plugged in my wired headset and I could hear them clearly.

I'm at wits end here. My computer, only two years in, seems to have more medical problems than Abe Simpson, with few clinically proven interventions to offer. Medic!

The young and the innocent

2010-03-04T14:00:00.003-05:00

So, there's been a thread on Facebook planning lunch for Stewie's birthday. Yubin and two other gals (labeled Wonger and Wanger) are poised to miss it. Stewie being Stewie made a quip about making up for the missed lunch with a late night "bonding session."

Wonger and Wanger obviously missed the raunchy implications therewithin (or else have feelings about Stewie that were previously unprofessed). Wonger even included a flirtatious wink in her reply.

Meanwhile, Stewie and J-Rock, the resident thirteen-year-old males in our group, had to exercise all their willpower to stay out of the commenting fray and stop themselves from further embarrassing Wonger and Wanger by dragging them through the gutter. What gentlemen.

Driving me bananas!

2010-03-03T18:30:00.007-05:00

I know that driving in Ontario is by no means on anyone's "worst driving in the world" list, but I still get pretty darn frustrated by the ridiculous driving I have to put up with every day. In fact, in the 15 minute car ride from the subway station to my house, I observed no less than three major and wholly upsetting traffic infractions. Let's recap...

First up, we have Intersection # 1. At this intersection, crossing straight across the intersection in this direction is verboten between 4 and 6 PM. This means you either need to turn left (usually cutting through a plaza to get to the other side) or right. Occasionally, police will ticket the rule-breakers going straight, but these rebels don't get their just desserts very often.

The street is one lane except at the very mouth where a car both going left and right can be accommodated. Stopped at a red light behind a bus and two cars, the yellow car decided to make the whole damn road two lanes by driving through the opposing lane. However, not being able to make it all the way to the intersection, he somehow plugged himself back into the lane ahead of the other two cars and behind the bus.

Summary: The yellow car skipped into opposing traffic so that he could sneak himself in ahead of the cars in front of him.

What should have happened: The car behind the bus should have closed the gap in front of it, leaving the yellow car stuck in the opposing lane to suffer a tragic MVA at the hands of opposing traffic when the light turned green - or at least the ire of other drivers.

Past Intersection # 1, we made a left turn and then turned right into Plaza A (that big pile of dirt is actually a McDonald's now). This is easiest and most legal way to bypass the "no straight through" rule of Intersection # 1. Proceeding straight, we were cut off by the red car making a left turn.

You may not know this about me, but I'm religious about my right of way. Obviously, the straight-going individual has right of way over the turning one (unless there's a stop sign or traffic light - there was not). The red car was driven by what appeared to be a seventeen-year-old white boy, who upon being honked, glared and honked back.

Summary: Seventeen-year old delinquent made a left turn against right of way and gave punkish attitude back.

What should have happened: In a perfect world, I would be driving a monster truck or a vehicle equipped with rocket launchers. That would send that irreverent little arse crying back to his mama... in a tin can.

Leaving Intersection # 1 behind, we arrived at Intersection # 2. Intersection # 2 is the end of a two-lane road. You can see the arrows marking that the left lane turns left and the right lane turns right. Now 90% of people I observe (including on many occasions my own parents) make a turn from the left lane and swing directly into the right lane (taking two lanes in one turn). This breaking of protocol (you're supposed to make left turns into the leftmost lane and right turns into the rightmost lane) irks me a great deal, but is fairly common.

However, today we happily made our left turn into the leftmost lane. I looked to the side to see the red car (a different one from the previous diagram) swinging out to our side and landing in the rightmost lane. What the heck? Basically, this car either made the turn from the right lane (most likely) or started behind us and swung out so fast that they finished the turn at the same time at us. Seriously, wtfux.

Summary: Left turn made out of the right-turn lane.

What should have happened: Spontaneous combustion of the offending vehicle.

In conclusion, I hate you belligerent drivers who have no regard for traffic law. I hate you even more when you act like you are in the right and most of all when you have audacity to honk back. In the future, I will join the police academy and become a traffic cop just so that I can troll the streets and impound all your fucking cars. Either that or I'll take over the world and drive around in a monster truck version of the Batmobile armed with guided missiles.

Hello, Mr. Shoddy Driver. Would you like to be squashed today or blown to smithereens? Kthx.

P.S. Just a disclaimer: I do not suffer from road rage IRL.

A writer between a rock and a hard place

2010-03-02T22:44:00.007-05:00

So today, I was ~~singing~~ talking to my lovely girlfriend Sandlot (mush patrol alert!) about how I have a bad case of writer's block and didn't know what to write on my blog anymore. She responded with something along the lines of, "Really? I'll write it for you then. I'll dictate. You just type." I, feeling particularly compliant, agreed. This was the effervescently brilliant result:

Hello friends,

This is Andy. Umm... (Did you just write my "um"?) This is hard. I don't think I can do it.

That's what she said.

It's wet outside

2010-03-01T00:01:00.001-05:00

Walking down the street, a discussion of romantic prospects was taking place:

Andy: You think Mello should date anyone.

J-Rock: That's not true, I only suggested three people - A, B, and C.

Andy: But B's not Honger.

Mello: That's okay... he's hot!

Andy: Whoa.

J-Rock: You didn't know this? Mello pretty much gets soaked every time she sees him. If you put a potted plant between her feet, it would stay watered for life.

Oh dear...

Nothing lasts forever

2010-02-28T00:01:00.004-05:00

As medical students, we take a measured amount of pride in our station. The most common way of expressing this pride ~~is dropping the M-bomb at bars~~ is wearing our uniformly blue med school backpacks. However, given that these knapsacks convert 224 students into an indistinguishable sea of blue, some kind of marker is needed to distinguish one pack from the other (lest we put them down, say, for an exam).

While during Orientation, we were encouraged to brand our backpacks with tacky airport-style name-tags, I opted for a classier approach - pins.

I began the year with my Queen's alumni pin affixed firmly to my bag. This was perfect - it expressed both my pride as a medical student and as a Queen's alumnus. However, after several months, this pin broke in half. Though I managed to mend it with the help of some crazy glue, I decided that it was too fragile to use again - lest I lose it forever (I don't know where it is anymore...).

I swapped in a Superman pin that I'd picked up at Fan Expo from the DC Comics booth. That was pretty neat (not to mention a source of J-Rock's intense envy) until one day it fell off and was never seen from again.

With two pins down, I was pretty discouraged. I replaced the Superman pin with a Batman pin that I'd also picked up from the DC booth. However, this time, I glue gunned the fastening mechanism shut. This pin was never coming off... ever.

True enough, the glue gun worked magnificently, and the pin never came unfastened. However, apparently, while the fastening mechanism remains sturdy, the body of the pin is subject to its own wear and tear. This week, the pin body became detached entirely from the fastening mechanism, leaving nothing but the wiry remains pictured above.

Bollocks. I thought I had outsmarted pin losses, but that's three down.

I guess it's a good thing that Sandlot bought me six more for Christmas.

You held my blog, I held your hand

2010-02-27T01:00:00.006-05:00

I'd like to thank Sandlot for taking over my blogging duties yesterday and providing my readers with some fresh content. It's true, my life has been busy yet boring as of late, leaving with me with little impetus to write. Still, here I am to fill your lives with mush once, sharing with you this most interesting of winter accessories - the smitten.

The smitten (or "couple's glove") is a shared mitten intended for couples who want to keep their distal upper extremities warm whilst getting their mushy hand-hold on. It first came to my attention on Sandlot's blog, whereby it was suggested as a solution to perpetually losing your gloves (it's easy to lose a glove, hard to lose a glover). As we started dating, it became a running joke between us. However, like the unicorn, the smitten was more a creature of myth than living, breathing real-life entity - one of those tall tales that only gets told on the Internets.

Lo and behold, as I kicked back and watched Grey's Anatomy at Yubin's apartment today (Yes, I have been catching up on Grey's this week as Sandlot revealed - twelve episodes in four days), Yubin popped out of her room brandishing the strange looking apparatus above.

Yubin: Isn't this cute?

Andy: What is that?

Yubin: It's a couple's mitten.

WHAT?! The fabled smitten... it exists! I want.

The following text exchange occurred. Mush warning!

Andy: GASP! Yubin has a smitten!!!

Sandlot: Waaaaa Yubin is so cool!! I could totally see her sporting a smitten.

Andy: Her sister bought it for her and her boyfriend, but then they broke up so she gave it to Yubin.

Sandlot: Haha aw. I dunno how I would feel about wearing someone's secondhand smitten. But it's still so cool! I want one!

Andy: Well now we know smittens are not just things you find in pictures on the Internets.

Sandlot: Hahaha. Cuteee.

Andy: Not as gag-worthily cute as we'd be with one. Although it does have little hearts all over it, so it's pretty gaggingly cute.

Sandlot: Little hearts eh? Hrm... I dunno if could wear that, it might be a bit too much. Haha. Plain red smitten. That's what I want. Haha.

Andy: It would be awesome if we had one. All your friends would be like: "OMG I don't know you."

Sandlot: Haha I know. OMG WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME ANDY?!!!!!!!!!!!

Showered you with affection. Tis all.

WHERE IN THE WORLD IS ANDY?!!!! (A Guest Blog)

2010-02-26T16:54:00.010-05:00

Hello Readers of Chronicle!

Once again, this is Sandlot blogging. Except that rather than being invited by Andy to guest blog, this time around, I have overtaken guest blogging duties without his permission.

Yeah, I know what you guys might be thinking at this very moment: "Without Andy's permission?!! This is outrageous! An uproar! Call the military, the navy and the cavalry!!!"

But before we get tax payers' monies involved into this situation, allow me to explain.

Perhaps, similar to me, many of you have noticed that it has almost been an entire week since Andy has last blogged. Normally, this wouldn't stir up any concern... except for the fact that we're talking about Andy - author of Chronicle.

As a self-proclaimed slave to his blog, Andy usually manages to keep us entertained with at least a new post every other day or two. However, having visited Chronicle for the past four days looking for new material about his love/hate relationship with school, passionate posts about politics or even posts dedicated to my awesomeness (calm the heck down mush patrol!), only to be greeted by the same picture of some sketchy man riding the TTC is a cause for worry. Great worry.

Why hasn't Andy updated his blog? What has Andy been doing this past week that is so important that it has made him stop blogging?

Studying?
Watching girly TV medical dramas?
Plotting the final stages of his plan for world domination?
Or maybe he got eaten by a hungry giant mutant gorilla.

Whatever it is, Andy has been neglecting Chronicle and I don't know about you guys, but I can't take it any longer! I mean, honestly, what else am I going to read? The news? Pffttt. My textbooks? Hah! Please!

So there you have it. IF YOU'RE READING THIS ANDY, UPDATE YOUR BLOG. KTHANKS.

Also J-Rock, if you're reading this, you owe me 1/4 of your soul in a nice shiny jar.

I am not a creeper

2010-02-22T17:05:00.005-05:00

Sometimes you run into a person who looks perfectly normal and probably functions about so, but they're clearly not. Take for instance the above TTC patron. He looks fairly ordinary with his chubby midriff (~30% of North Americans), Tim Horton's coffee (~90% of Canadians), and vocational ID badge.

Sure he looks like he's trying to withdraw into his seat, his neck muscles so stiff that it rather looks like he has no neck, but some people have no neck? Sure it's a bit gross that as he tore into his Tim Hortons muffin he let it roll all over the seat in front of him (no doubt infested with all sorts of enteric bacteria), but some people don't understand personal hygiene?

Then, the subway lurched to a start, and from the seat in front of me this only vaguely odd looking man let out a piercing, "AWROOoo!!!"

I turned to my left, my eyebrows furrowed in half-sincere anxiety. "I think he's a werewolf!" I whispered.

As for the photo - even Brutus didn't notice me taking it, and he was sitting beside me. I'm a ninja.

Un-bieber-lievable

2010-02-21T01:36:00.005-05:00

Justin Bieber is the latest incarnation in a long line of prepubescent popstars conceived of in the spirit of Aaron Carter. He first appeared on my radar as an annoying Cineplex theatres pre-show feature, which ran with just about every movie last year. According to the feature, Bieber began as a YouTube sensation before being wooed by both Justin Timberlake and Usher to sign on with their respective labels. He chose "his idol" Usher (and in his first music video "One Time", is portrayed to be buddy-buddy with the icon - "JB, wassup man?").

There's a lot to dislike about Justin Bieber, and I've certainly stacked my case against him. There's his tweenage target audience, his B-cheese music videos, and the fact that the girls in his videos looks at least five years older than him. Then there's his ridiculous appropriation of terms like "shawty", the use of a swagger coach to manufacture himself into an icon, and the fact that he'll probably grow up to be a fat, ugly, acne-laden reality TV star (puberty is a real wild card). And who could forget my girlfriend's unhealthy obsession with the boy?

I'm in good company in feeling this way. Plenty of self-respecting people across the Western world find Bieber's overnight stardom and prepubescent pitch to be outright intolerable.

That's what makes it downright disturbing that I find Justin Bieber's latest single "Baby" to be, well, damn catchy. The sound hits all the right buttons, upbeat with a likable juxtaposition of high and low voices. The video has a polished look to it, with beautiful lighting and colours, slick camerawork, and a natural feeling groove. Bieber himself has upped his game - leaving behind the one-finger salute of "One Time" and "One Less Lonely Girl", he's picked up some legit dance moves, expanded his repertoire of facial expressions, and styled up. Maybe I should get one of these swagger coaches? There's an easy vibe and contagious energy, from the roll-over pool table move to the pushover break dancers. Then of course, there's the inclusion of Ludacris to offer JB some street cred. All in all, a pretty solid play.

Damn, somebody get this song out of my head so that I can go back to hating on this kid. I think I'll steal his shoes while I'm at it.

Listen, look, feel. Isn't that right?

2010-02-17T00:25:00.004-05:00

The following article is written for a satirical publication and is intended for entertainment purposes only. Any similarity to real life events or people is entirely coincidental... except where it's not.

...

With most second year medical students having completed their Art and Science of Clinical Medicine (ASCM) History and Physical (H&P) examinations, controversy has erupted over the competency of these students in performing ASCM-2 exam techniques. The precise exam techniques tested on the H&P are left to the discretion of the examiner. One medical school examiner at a Toronto hospital found patients willing to submit to a male genital exam, as described in the ASCM-2 syllabus.

“What I observed,” reported the examiner, “were physical exam procedures that were completely incorrect. Not only that, but I was shocked at the students’ flagrant and grotesque lack of professionalism.” In recent years, the university has placed a huge emphasis on professionalism as one of the seven CanMEDS roles expected of physicians.

We spoke to the 1T2 social reps, whose names often appear on the MSB 3154 chalkboard as “BJ Social.” They said they were familiar with the techniques used by their classmates which are currently at the centre of this scandal. “From what I heard,” BJ commented, “there was nothing wrong with the technique used in the exam. That’s the way I’ve always seen it done.”

The students who performed the erroneous genital exams are currently being investigated for a major lapse. Meanwhile, the university is working to get to the bottom of how pervasive these faulty techniques are amongst medical students and residents. When medical students were polled as to where they had learned to perform the manoeuvre in question, faculty were shocked to learn that 35% of the class replied that they had learned the technique from the medical drama Grey’s Anatomy, citing insufficient teaching time as the reason for resorting to such means. Noting the risk of such unprofessional behaviour being propagated down the medical hierarchy, this incident has thrown into question the sufficiency of the classic medical education adage of, “See one, do one, teach one.”

...

The above satire was inspired by a true story. In March of 2009, the National Post reported that erroneous intubation technique practiced by many medical students and residents in Alberta had been learned from the TV medical drama ER. The original article can be accessed here.

Year of el Tigre

2010-02-14T21:01:00.005-05:00

That would be my year, bitches. Gung hei fat choi!

(Holy smokes, I'm turning 24...)

Sandlot's Mom: I think the tiger is the most beautiful animal.

Andy (to Sandlot): Did you hear that?

Why, yes, I do try to take good care of my mane. No autographs, please.

I heart you

2010-02-14T01:45:00.003-05:00

Just in time for Valentine's, Sandlot sent me a link to this clever poster.

Andy: That's right. You are somewhere in my left ventricle, between the left anterior descending artery and the circumflex.

Baby got back

2010-02-09T19:33:00.008-05:00

Yesterday, my entry was all about yearbook covers and things "un"-covered. Today, a look at my Queen's ArtSci '08 frosh coveralls. Emblazoned across the rump, the slogan "2008: Best ASUS to Date." While ASUS may stand for "Arts and Science Undergraduate Society" it's provocatively pronounced "asses." In other words, '08 had the best asses to date.

(NB: Based on the number of girls J-Rock has pegged as hot on the UofT campus that were Queen's '08 with me, I think he would agree.)

Andy: I worry about my chronically elevated cortisol levels. I think I might get brain atrophy...

Mello: Amygdala!

Andy: No, more like... cerebral cortex?

Mello: Huh?

Andy: You know, stress hormones affect like five parts of the brain? Amygdala, hippocampus, anterior cingulate gyrus, prefrontal cortex, and...

Mello: Oh! Corpus callosum!

Andy: Oh right, corpus callosum. My bad. I guess the connection is withering between my two brains.

Mello: Hahaha!

Andy: Notice I said two brains, rather than two halves of my brain.

Mello: Oh yeah! The two halves of your brain!

Andy: Nope, two brains. That's how I'm smart and knowledgeable. I have a second brain in my tailbone.

Mello: Is that why your butt is so poofy?

Andy: ...

Andy: No, I just have a big ass.

Oddly enough, the first classmate to ever comment on the size of my ass was Stewie - a fellow bro.

Well, I hope you like it (refer to 5:35). ROFL

Coverage and uncoverage

2010-02-08T15:45:00.013-05:00

If you remember, last year I had a number of complaints about the production quality of the medical school yearbook. But as they say, don't knock it if you can't do better. With all that layout snobbery, I should put my money where my mouth is, right? So this year, I enlisted.

Having submitted a smattering of photos (Great Wall, represent), chibi drawings, and the odd piece of poetry to the Art section of last year's yearbook, the editor-in-chief asked me if I could brainstorm up some ideas for cover art. They had apparently come up with some ideas already but still wanted more.

I haven't tried my hand at designing a yearbook cover since my design was rejected in Grade 12 (when Pomme stole one of my graphics and used it on her own winning cover - oh yes, I haven't forgotten). While I'd tried my hand at a variety of layout positions for student publications since then, I was drawing a creative blank when it came to something as open-ended as a yearbook cover.

The best I could come up with was this "yearbook as labcoat" concept that came to me in the shower (where all great thinking is done). I slapped together a rough concept from Googled images, and voila. Okay, I know it's not terribly impressive or original - but I kind of like it (maybe because it's so miniature for now...).

Interestingly, to search for a picture of a labcoat-cum-stethescope (pun intended), I ran a Google Image search for "doctor." Apparently, doctors are quite a fetish item. I can see the appeal, of course - I do look rather dashing in a whitecoat. Just kidding! (not about the dashing part)

On that note though, after our exam today, about half of the Great Wall split off for a lunch party (to which the other half of us were not invited). Because there are festivities downtown tonight to celebrate Kushima's birthday, one of my friends (who is too embarrassed to be named) asked if I wanted to hang out at their place for the afternoon despite the fact that they were attending the lunch party.

Andy: So what am I supposed to do while you're at lunch?

Anon: I don't know. You can hang out - go on the computer!

J-Rock: Oh, do it. You can search for her downloaded porn. Remember *.avi *.flv!

Anon: What?!

Andy: Look at her - she doesn't know how to download porn...

Andy: ...

Andy: It's all streaming, obviously, heh.

J-Rock (to Anon): Bullsh*t. You're telling me you've never downloaded porn?

Anon: No, I have not!

J-Rock: You've never clicked a link to look at naked pictures before?

Anon: .....................okay, I have.

J-Rock: I KNEW IT!!!

J-Rock: That's blog material - that's legit!

Anon: That is not blog material.

Sorry, Anonymous. I blew it (that's what she said) - your secret, that is.

Time is running...!

2010-02-07T15:31:00.004-05:00

EXAM DAY TOMORROW!!!

So much studying left, so little time! On the plus side, I managed to swing a pass (70%+) on the 2008 practice exam. Whether we can turn this into reality on game day remains to be seen. My goal for today, obviously, is to provide myself with a knowledge buffer so that the fluke factor doesn't screw me over come tomorrow.

As usual, studying provides me an opportunity to look back at all the interesting doodles I drew on my lecture notes while paying keen attention to the speaker. This particular sketch is modeled after a homeless youth depicted in a video we saw. It reminds us to treat street youth with dignity.

When lectures are particularly exciting, my doodles take on a life of their own. You finish drawing one thing, and time being still abundant, you move onto something else. What gets depicted is an elaborate and often ridiculous scenario. Here, on the left we can see some sort of little girl with a tempting Devil on one side and an Angel on the other. Overhead, flies a paper airplane towards an origami crane (or maybe a pterodactyl). Underfoot a robot beep-beeps towards some kind of machine (HCO = bicarbonate?). On the right, Pikachu sits on a ~~Stop~~ "Werd Up" sign while... yes, Greymon (circa 1999) breathes fire. I'm a geek. Leave me alone.

Back to studying...

Gah! The Pressure! (A Guest Blog)

2010-02-06T21:05:00.010-05:00

Hello Readers of Chronicle!

This is Sandlot ~~speaking,~~ erm.. blogging.

Seeing as how Andy is presently out of commission due to an upcoming mother of an exam, I graciously offered to temporarily take over the reigns of Chronicle in order to fill the void for his avid readers. Plus, there is a heaping amount of scientific evidence suggesting that if Chronicle isn't updated on an almost regular basis, then the world will most likely implode on itself or be overtaken by man-eating mutant dinosaurs. Either way, it's bad news bears if Chronicle isn't updated. So that's why I'm here.

Yeah I know, I'm an effin' hero.

Anyway, initially I was pretty excited when Andy finally gave into my persuasion and granted me the greenlight to ~~deface~~ write on his blog. Although I've spent years hammering out posts on my own blog, this would be my first time guest blogging.

At first, I began racking my brain for some quality blog ideas. Something that would not only live up to the expectations of Andy and his readers, but more importantly, generate enough comments to ensure another future invitation to guest blog on Chronicle.

And then I got nervous.

What if no one likes my post? What if it sucks and no one comments? What if Andy hates what I've written?!

On top of it all, I still didn't know what the hell to write about! Despite having all the material in the world to write about, I couldn't come up with one single thing.

Zilch. Zero. Nada.

It became so bad that by the time the afternoon rolled around, the idea of throwing something together and adding in a few Andy-Approved words like "shennanigans" or "holy frick!" or "awesome" seemed mighty tempting.

Then while I was waiting for my dinner to finish microwaving, it hit me! I would guest blog about how I couldn't think of anything to guest blog about. Awesome idea, right?

So there you have it. My first guest blog and Andy's first guest blogger. I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be (that's what she said).

Oh, and I'm going to tag myself in this post. Just because I can.

Got Milk?

2010-02-05T23:59:00.001-05:00

Boy, this almost makes me want to give drinking plain milk a shot. I mean, if it's good enough for Wolverine...?

I found this ad while browsing free comics I picked up at Fan Expo. I didn't know they still made celebrity "Got Milk?" ads - let alone ones this hilarious.

Sandlot: "You should tag me in this post. I'm on the phone while you're writing it so I'm basically a part of it." (Fine, but just because I like you - a lot...)

Adopt-a-blog

2010-02-04T14:20:00.015-05:00

...also known as Andy's Least Popular Chronicles.

So as the author of Chronicle, I get to look back on my writings from a rather unique perspective - that is, from a bird's eye view. I can look down and see a listing of each and every blog entry that I've written, 25 to a page. Being a slave to my blog, then, it fills me with great satisfaction having earned comments on each and every entry. A page with 25 entries and 25 entries with comments is like going on a killing spree in a first-person shooter - you just feel like you've done something right.

Conversely, flipping to pages where comments are lacking on some entries makes me sad. It's like things are going great until someone comes along and shoots you in the head. "Andy's killing spree was ended by Politics."

"What is one to do about these sad entries?" I pondered. However, having recently seen "adopt-an-animal" signs at the zoo or "adopt-a-road" signs on the highway, I had a brilliant idea. I could encourage people to adopt-a-blog entry! Now I realize that adopting an animal or a road is a real disappointment. You don't get to take the animal home and hug it; you don't get a road named after you. Adopting a blog entry is going to be way better. While you may not get to take me or my entries home to hug (unless your name is Sandlot, in which case, hugs are free), you will be duly recognized for your efforts in boosting my meagerly narcissistic ego.

For every undervalued entry that you are the first commenter on, you will receive a tag on this entry as well as the one you commented on (if you're not already). I'll also add a "This entry was adopted by [insert name here]" tag-line to the bottom in recognition of your heroic altruism.

To give everyone a fair chance to boost their label count (good for those who are competing against School, the cold-hearted bitch who rules my life), I'll only recognize five "adoptions" per person per day. Now go forth and multiply. Save the blog entry, save the world.

...

The Chronicle Humane Society abandoned blog entry listing:

- 1 -

~~Chasing those grey skies~~ (Brutus 04/02/10)

What's it about?
An emo little ditty lamenting school, the weather, and lonely days

Why was it unpopular?
Cryptic, under-appreciated, and small on content

- 2 -

~~The knockout blow~~ (Brutus 04/02/10)

What's it about?
Concerned over indications that my friends were using frank Google searches to conduct literature reviews, I polled them over their lit search methodology. Thankfully, most came out in favour of proper research databases, which I found gratifying.

Why was it unpopular?
Despite suggesting the idea in the first place, Kushima opted not to comment on the results. Others were just bored of the topic, having participated in the poll already.

- 3 -

~~Can you keep a secret?~~ (Brutus 04/02/10)

What's it about?
I received a friend request via Window's Live together with discreet advice that should I choose to ignore said request, nobody would be the wiser. I indeed did ignore.

Why was it unpopular?
People obviously didn't find this as amusing as I did.

- 4 -

~~Love's suicide~~ (Brutus 04/02/10)

What's it about?
After tragically wasting all my blogging time trying to record myself singing, I tried to distract my readers with the "Fight the Power" cat from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.

Why was it unpopular?
More people need to watch that movie.

- 5 -

~~The world unseen~~ (Brutus 04/02/10)

What's it about?
A little Flash animation allowing you to zoom through the world from the macroscopic to the microscopic - truly impressive.

Why was it unpopular?
People have a tendency not to click on links.

- 6 -

~~Showdown of the Scholars~~ (Brutus 05/02/10)

What's it about?
The poll from unpopular entry #2.

Why was it unpopular?
People were already bored of the topic, having commented the day before. Plus, after participating in the poll, they were loathe to put in even more effort and leave a comment.

- 7 -

~~Watch your mouth~~ (Brutus 05/02/10)

What's it about?
Sexual innuendo.

Why was it unpopular?
Most of my readers aren't that interested in my work friends.

- 8 -

~~He's got balls~~ (Brutus 05/02/10)

What's it about?
Ballsy pickup maneuver as attempted by the high school student working my lab.

Why was it unpopular?
As with unpopular entry #7, most of my readers aren't that interested in my workmates.

- 9 -

~~This is where science is made~~ (Brutus 05/02/10)

What's it about?
Would-be entertaining anecdotes from my daily life.

Why was it unpopular?
They would-be entertaining, but clearly they weren't?

- 10 -

~~Adventures in Ottawa II~~ (Brutus 05/02/10)

What's it about?
My trip to the Diefenbunker and burgers at The Works.

Why was it unpopular?
Insufficient entertainment value, plus would-be commenters had already left notes on my Facebook photo album of the same trip.

- 11 -

~~Holy rotten brains, Batman!~~ (Brutus 06/02/10)

What's it about?
My summer research supervisor comments on the neurological status of a drunken stranger.

Why was it unpopular?
I should have learned not to blog about work unless it involved me being royally screwed over.

- 12 -

~~Monster Hunter Failure Unite~~ (Brutus 06/02/10)

What's it about?
Why Monster Hunter Freedom Unite is a disappointment as a video game.

Why was it unpopular?
Nobody cares about video games.

- 13 -

~~He's back...~~ (Brutus 06/02/10)

What's it about?
Me being unable to contain my enthusiasm for Mass Effect 2.

Why was it unpopular?
Nobody cares about video games.

- 14 -

~~It ain't over till the fat lady sings~~ (Brutus 06/02/10)

What's it about?
Cheeky comment about my Brain and Behaviour course final.

Why was it unpopular?
Sometimes my humour is just underappreciated.

- 15 -

~~Beds are for sleeping...~~ (Brutus 06/02/10)

What's it about?
Why Sandlot should stop using her laptop while trying to sleep.

Why was it unpopular?
I think most people missed the "...and adult games" joke.

- 16 -

~~Get your mind out of the ghetto~~ (Brutus 07/02/10)

What's it about?
Why gangster culture is terrible.

Why was it unpopular?
I dissed up 50 Cent.

- 17 -

~~The conspiracy theory~~ (Brutus 07/02/10)

What's it about?
An intricately weaved and at times humorous conspiracy theory painting the Conservatives as sneaking manipulators.

Why was it unpopular?
It was about politics. Furthermore, it actually asked for some baseline knowledge of what was going on in politics in order to interpret the majesty of my conspiracy theory.

- 18 -

~~Star Trek: Go boldly...~~ (Brutus 07/02/10)

What's it about?
My first impressions after watching Star Trek XI.

Why was it unpopular?
Obviously, you felt like my asking you to leave a sentence to comment on my two-sentence blog entry was too much.

- 19 -

~~The antonym of finesse...~~ (Brutus 07/02/10)

What's it about?
How much I hate the main character from the anime Linebarrels of Iron.

Why was it unpopular?
Blog about anime once? Might get away with it. Twice? Tough luck, Andy.

- 20 -

~~Pearson to Laguardia (Pt. VI)~~ (Brutus 07/02/10)

What's it about?
Part 6/9 of my New York Trip - Central Park.

Why was it unpopular?
Most people got sick of hearing about New York, plus this entry included video games (which are anathema to comments).

- 21 -

~~Unforgettable love~~ (Brutus 08/02/10)

What's it about?
My impressions of the Korean film A Moment to Remember.

Why was it unpopular?
You guys don't get as giddy about watching Son Yeh Jin as I do.

- 22 -

~~New York, New York~~ (Brutus 10/02/10)

What's it about?
I'm going to NYC, bitches!

Why was it unpopular?
You guys are too cold hearted to offer well wishes...

- 23 -

~~Oh, oh, Gundam 00~~ (Brutus 08/02/10)

What's it about?
A seriously catchy anime J-pop song.

Why was it unpopular?
Things that my readers don't do: 1) Care about anime 2) Click on links 3) Care what music I listen to.

- 24 -

~~Terrorists win!~~ (Brutus 08/02/10)

What's it about?
Me freaking out that we were all going to be radiation poisoned by radioactive tritium stolen from Wal-Mart.

Why was it unpopular?
"Cause we still got terrorists right her in the USA. The Bloods and the Crips and the KKK..."

- 25 -

~~Java Card Open Platform~~ (Brutus 08/02/10)

What's it about?
Greatest album cover ever made; greatest Facebook fad ever.

Why was it unpopular?
Because most people can barely use MS Paint.

- 26 -

~~Being Canobamanian~~ (Brutus 08/02/10)

What's it about?
Pictures of Obama with Mounties.

Why was it unpopular?
I can only imagine that the maple leaf Obama cookies were just too much for your brains to handle.

- 27 -

~~It's coming...~~ (Brutus 09/02/10)

What's it about?
The first trailer for Mass Effect 2.

Why was it unpopular?
Despite how it sounds, it was not about sex.

- 28 -

~~Time well wasted~~ (Brutus 09/02/10)

What's it about?
A day in the life of Andy.

Why was it unpopular?
I think recounting a whole day was just too much for you guys to handle. I've learned to focus in on one amusing anecdote at a time. Attention deficit and all that.

- 29 -

~~So young, and so untender?~~ (Brutus 09/02/10)

What's it about?
Family docs get the shaft again.

Why was it unpopular?
Tagging Kushima is a waste of time, since he doesn't leave comments anyways.

- 30 -

~~From Raleigh with Love~~ (Brutus 09/02/10)

What's it about?
My tiny plane to North Carolina.

Why was it unpopular?
Perhaps out of respect for the fact that this was a funerary trip.

- 31 -

~~In the Spotlight~~ (Brutus 09/02/10)

What's it about?
Son Yeh Jin OMFG!!111oneone

Why was it unpopular?
Korea's most beautiful actress rendered you speechless.

- 32 -

~~Here comes the train...~~ (Brutus 10/02/10)

What's it about?
Observing strangers ftw.

Why was it unpopular?
People did not appreciate my people-watching insights.

...

Okay, so there are lots of uncommented entries left, but this is taking me forever (I had no idea just how long this was going to take). If somehow all these entries got commented on, I would be more than thrilled.

Taking this look back in time has allowed me to realize that some of these entries are actually quite bad. I'm sorry, and I promise to do better. They can't all be winners, right?

A Commuter's Paradise

2010-02-03T14:30:00.011-05:00

To the tune of the Beatle's Elanor Rigby:

Ah, look at all the transit people
Ah, look at all the transit people

Adam Giambrone picks up to the race for the mayor of a city so big
Lives in a dream
Waits for the metro, wearing a face like the frat boy he is to his core
Who is it for?

All the transit people
Commuting everyday
All the transit people
They're always in my way

Daily commuters writing the words of objection that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at them pushing, shoving to get on the train that will never be there
What does he care?

All the transit people
Commuting everyday
All the transit people
They're always in my way

Ah, look at all the transit people
Ah, look at all the transit people

Guy with his iPod blasting so loud I can hear it, it's always the same
He has no shame
Shut down the system, jumping to the platform at rush hour to get to the grave
No one was saved

All the transit people
Commuting everyday
All the transit people
They're always in my way

...

This morning proved another arduous commute. Traffic started out particularly bad, and I was a bit worried I might end up a couple of minutes late for class ("Where did all these people come from, and why do they move so slow?" I lamented to myself). It became a moot point though, as the entire subway system lurched to a crawl due to some unspecified disturbance at Davisville. My subway car delivered me at a snail's pace to my destination - half an hour late for class (taking twice the duration it should have).

I found the back door to the classroom shut tightly, and not being too keen on walking in 30-40 minutes late through the front of the classroom, I decided to kick back for half an hour at the local Starbucks. Sipping on my Chai latte and nibbling at a chocolate chip cookie, I pondered just how shoddy the TTC really is.

It's come to the point where I think that the TTC is delayed almost as often as it is on time. Such unreliable service is really unacceptable, although I've been told that transit can be similarly unpredictable in other cities. The TTC has taken a lot of flak in recent weeks with their unpopular fare increase, sleeping fare collectors, and frequent delays. Adam Giambrone, TTC chair and potential mayoral candidate for the city of Toronto, has publicly apologized for the TTC's public relations fiasco.

Better communication and public relations, they say, are what the TTC needs. After all, the TTC is run mostly by engineers and sometimes they forget to be cordial to their patrons. Well, congeniality is all well and good, and I agree that it's proper to keep us informed of delays. But that's not going to spare you my wrath when the TTC is delayed every freaking day.

To add some emphasis to the point, after my dreadfully delayed morning commute, I took the subway back home after lunch - skipping my afternoon seminar in the hopes of getting some extra studying done. My train went out of service and kicked me off at Sheppard station. My commute disrupted twice in one day? TTC fail. If the TTC is run by engineers, then shouldn't it at least run smoothly?

TTC: "Sorry our reliability is tragic, but at least we let you know."

Andy: "F*ck off, Giambrone."

My kind of game

2010-01-31T14:16:00.005-05:00

Best comment ever:

What worries me is at what point did Apple start making military hardware?

The iSoldier.

Best of Chronicle: Seasons 3&4

2010-01-29T00:01:00.004-05:00

400 posts into the future, a beautiful young woman steps out of the sun. She says, "Come with me, if you want to love."

Fallen behind on Chronicle? The need-to-know to be ready for Season 5:

...

Best of Seasons 1&2

Best of Season 3

Season 3 Special

Andinator the Musical

Best of Season 4