It's a small world

But still an 8 hour drive to Anaheim.

This weekend, Legal Counsel and myself officially made our Disneyland Annual Passports worth the price. We drove to Disneyland and spent two days at the park. Cue the Happy Dance™. She really knows how to keep me happy (yeah, it was her idea). It's the greatest place ever. You'd think I would get sick of it, but I never want to leave.


Let me begin by describing the scam of the century. Most major theme parks try to sell you pictures of yourself on their rides. All in all, a good idea. A nice souvenir showing yourself and several strangers riding your favorite attraction. Well, Disneyland has your pictures prominently displayed for up close viewing. This created the potential for the money saving scheme shown above. Instead of buying the picture, I just use my camera to take a picture of the picture. Genius, right? People usually follow my example once they see it. It's a good way to save money and the cast members don't seem to care. Of course, this scam isunnecessaryy on my favorite ride.


Buzz Lightyear's Astro Blasters! One of the best Disney movies made into one of the best Disney rides. The premise of the ride is that you are a Space Ranger battling the Evil Emperor Zurg. I think he's a terrorist. Or his planet has oil. Either way. Onthee ride, you get a blaster which fires a laser. Hitting targets grants you points, and your points determine your rank. I, for example, am a Ranger 1st Class while Legal Counsel is a Space Scout. We rule! Your picture gets taken at some point (I'm usually way to into it to determine when) and they let you email it to yourself, which is an awesome idea. I don't even know if you can buy a print of it, so maybe it's bad for bidniss. Speaking of hot new rides:


This is Legal Counsel modeling in front of an add for the Monsters, Inc ride "Mike & Sulley to the Rescue." No, she's not the hot new ride. She's just hot. And don't worry, I strangled Sulley for being near my girl. Anyway, the ride is a slow kid ride which tells the whole Monsters, Inc story. It's not worth the crazy "new ride" line, but it is pretty fun. And it's good to see more Pixar rides (please don't kill Pixar, Disney). It's got the smell thing going: the sushi bar smells like a sushi bar (ginger), and the "lemon" snow cones from the Abominable Snowman smell like "lemon." And it has the "I tried to get away from it, but he picked me up with his mind powers and shook me like a doll" guy that I find so hilarious. The best part? Ride operators can see who's in each car, and they'll make Roz say something different based on the riders at the end of the ride. On the first trip, she complimented my brother's glasses. This time she talked to me! She said, "young man in the second row. You're quite a hunk. I'll be in your closet tonight. Just kidding." Score! By monster standards, I'm attractive! Take that, every girl at my high school! The next ride doesn't have monsters, but it is scary:


While a parade was going on, we were able to get on Small World alone. With nobody in the boats ahead of or behind us. Those dolls are terrifying, and they're even more scary when you don't have strength in numbers. I was worried that Chucky's brood would pick our bones clean like piranhas. But we made it out alive. Next time you're at Disneyland, make note of the fact that this ride is based entirely on stereotypes. On to another ride affiliated with stereotypes:


Legal Counsel's favorite: Splash Mountain! This ride always baffled me. It's based on a movie Disney refuses to release because of portrayal of Southern slaves/former-slaves. Couldn't they have come up with a different movie? One that's water related? And that they're willing to distribute? The Little Mermaid springs to mind. As it stands, however, we're going to have a generation of confused children. Ah well, it doesn't matter. I remember enjoying the movie and I know I enjoy the ride.

We decided to do Splash mountain before leaving for home. Legal Counsel wanted to be in the front, since we hadn't been seated there yet. She got totally soaked. I just watched the wave from the big drop rise up and drench her. She was like an adorable, shivering, wet mouse. So cute! But also full of spite. She made us go on again so I could sit in the very front. And this time I got an up close and personal view of the massive wave. The picture above is the aftermath. That and a long, moistened car ride home. During that ride we stopped at In n' Out and I saw this:


Bathroom stall graffiti done in bright pink puffy paint. That was a nice ending to the trip. It's comforting to see a vandal who is secure enough in his masculinity to work in a medium usually reserved for pre-teen girl sleepover t-shirt making. If that actually happens...

That's pretty much all I have to say about my trip. Thanks for sticking with me. I know it's not as entertaining as criticizing professors and Australians or singing the praises of Legal Counsel, but I felt like writing about it. Maybe tomorrow I'll write about why California sucks, or regale you with the Ballad of Walt Flannigan™. My blogging might die down a little this week since I need to study for a physio test. Then again, I have no will power. Especially when it comes to studying.

That's not a knife...

January 26th was Australia Day. Crikey! In honor of such a momentous holiday, I'd like to list all the words and phrases used in the Land Down Under which should be accepted into common usage everywhere (courtesy of Aussie Slang and Koala Net).

a bit more choke and you would have started - a statement made to somebody who has just passed wind in public rather loudly
a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock - not all there in the brain
airy fairy - vague
alligator pear - avocado
as dry as a nun's nasty - very dry
banana bender - a resident of Queensland (damn Queenslanders....)
bastard - a general form of addressing someone (how sweet would it be to go around calling everyone a bastard?)
brown-eye mullet - a turd in the sea
bush oyster - nasal mucus
busy as Bourke Street in the rush hour - extremely busy (I hate driving on Bourke Street)
cackleberry - an egg (hahahaha...I don't know why that's so funny)
dead horse - tomato sauce (what??)
dong - to hit or punch (hehe)
duck's guts - the heart of the matter
Dutch Oven - a large cast iron pot with a lid used for cooking or baking over an open fire (classic)
flat out like a lizard drinking - extremely busy and under pressure from work
franger - condom
freckle - anus (hole new meaning to "freckle face")
from go to whoa - from start to finish
in the altogether - in the nude
larrikin - a rowdy, irresponsible and rascally boy or young man (like Larkitect! By the way, check your gmail)
mappa tassie/map of Tasmania - female pubic area
mystery bags - sausages (gross...and true)
old fella - penis
ridgie didgie - the real thing (that's just fun to say)
scarce as hen's teeth - very rare
sparrow's fart - dawn (confusing and classy)
stands out like dog's balls - obvious
stunned mullet - confused person
happy little vegemite - a happy person
trannie - transistor radio (really?)
useful as an ashtray on a motorbike/tits on a bull - incompetent person
white pointers - topless female sunbathers
who opened their lunch - who farted?

As you can see, Australians are class acts all the way.

I'm also fascinated by the Cockney/Aussie habit of creating slang terms from random things that rhyme:
after dark - shark
aristotle - bottle
billy lid - kid
Dad n' Dave - shave
dog's eye - meat pie
joe blake - snake
septic tank - yank = American (jerks)

And somebody forgot to tell Australia that the roaring 20s are over:
bees knees - the absolute best
cooking with gas - proceeding better than expected
hum dinger - something excellent
keen as mustard - extremely enthusiastic
pictures - movies

And they've got tons of slang for alcohol. surprise, surprise.
amber fluid - beer
Darwin Stubbie - 1.25 L bottle of beer
empties - empty beer bottles
handle - beer glass with a handle
longneck - 750 mL bottle of beer
middie - 285 mL beer glass
pot - 285 mL beer glass
schooner - a large beer glass (It's not a schooner you idiot, it's a sail boat)
slab - a carton of 24 beer cans
stubbie - 375 mL short necked bottle of beer
turps - strong alcohol (compare to TURP)

I hope I've managed to perpetuate every Australian stereotype possible. But remember, I didn't make this stuff up. Have a bonzer day!

Irreversible Eye Trauma o' the Day

Not much blogging today due to tons of small group work. Why must med school interfere with my pointless ramblings? At least I learn a lot in small groups. And I'm doing that thing again. You know, the thing where I want to specialize in whatever we're currently learning about. Now I'm going to become a cardiologist!

Anyway, here's the cause of my ocular devastation (hey, that'd be a good nickname for Devin, if he didn't already have Sawa). I was sitting in physio small group, minding my own bidniss. Trying to learn about the heart and how complicated it is from Professor NoBra. You know, learning the cause and diagnosis of ischemia. Honey Bees, who happened to be sitting next to me, turned and mused to me, "I wonder if we'll learn about diagnosing her camel toe."

Before the higher cortical centers of my brain could cause my neck and extraocular muscles to shut down, preventing me from looking, my reflexes caused me to glance. Worst mistake ever. I saw it. And I don't think I'll ever be able to get that horrible image out of my brain. Unless I use the amnesia ray, aka shotgun. I think I've just given myself a case of instantaneous macular degeneration. My eyes will never be the same.

Let me tell you a little more about Honey Bees. The best way to sum him up is with the title I bestowed unto him this very day - "Walking Good Story." He's constantly doing something hilarious and worth repeating (at least to the people who know him). Not intentionally funny, or even commendable, just worthy of a laugh. Here's a series of vignettes entitled "A Swarm of Unfortunate Events."

The Deafening Door
When we first years rush downstairs during our ten minute breaks for a quick game of foosball, the door to the second year lecture hall is sometimes open. And they're usually in the middle of lecture. Time to move by quickly and silently, right? Not Honey Bees. Every time the door is open he shouts something loudly down the hallway before noticing. Such things as, "I'm hungry!" or "Hey D-rock, what's up?" or "Why does it burn when I pee?" Obviously we mocked him immediately after.

The Embarrassed Elevator
Bees, D-Rock, Ah Jota, Sawa, John Deere and myself were riding the elevator to the 8th floor for a lecture. Also in the elevator were several old ladies and a random doctor. For whatever reason, Ah Jota made mention of me being on “Double Secret Probation” – an Animal House reference. Honey Bees, with his infinite social graces, decides to say “Then you get to have sex with the Dean’s wife” in his loud Bee voice (the exact phraseology is under debate, but that’s the gist). It automatically became the Most Uncomfortable Ride Ever™. Luckily the really old lady in the Rascal scooter had gotten off already. I tried to hide my ID badge from the other riders. Then, I diffused the situation the only way I knew how – by singing “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.” Obviously we mocked him immediately after.

The Graceless Group
Honey Bees has a tendency to say and do inappropriate things during physio small group. Example the first: during our first group, he was sitting in the row ahead of me. I answered a question correctly and he put his fist over his shoulder towards me for the celebratory fist bump, aka “throwing up his rock fist.” The prof immediately inquired, “do you have a question?” To which he replied “That was just a pre-emptive fist bump” and he was laughed at. Obviously we mocked him immediately after.

Example the second: today, Prof. NoBra accidentally mispronounced “Cody” as “Coie” (and I’d like to say living with law students has tainted me, since I instantly thought Perkins Coie). Bees quickly turns around and starts calling him “Coie” from halfway across the room in a mocking tone. The professor then says “Hey, you shouldn’t make fun of him…or me for that matter.” Busted. Obviously we mocked him immediately after.

Example the third: also today. The professor is lecturing and she asks, “Where will the dipole go?” Bess shouts out an answer just like the rest of the class. Only his answer was “Down to Fraggle Rock.” I suppose it’s half my fault for singing that theme song a few minutes earlier. He turns to me and asks, “that was kind of loud, wasn’t it?” Obviously we mocked him immediately after.

That’s all I can think of off the top of my head. I’m sure there are more. I’ll add them later if I remember.

And there was some good news from SBS small group. The other day, one of the professors said that all paraphilias except pedophilia are exclusively male phenomena (ie voyeurism, sadism, masochism, etc) and that only males can get aroused by watching adult materials (trying to keep the p-word out of searches). That didn’t sit to well with me. When I discussed it with the Scooby-Doobies, they also didn’t agree (which was most important coming from the ladies).

The other professor was facilitating my group today, so I asked him his opinion. He also disagreed with the first professor, and said that it is mostly male but not entirely. He also said that the first professor’s distinctions between men and women used to be much more clear cut. So he’s getting better, which is nice. Old people. I tell ya…



Wait…did I say taint earlier? Hehe, I almost missed it.

Ideas pull the trigger, but instinct loads the gun.

In the course of my life, I've developed certain trigger words. When I hear specific words and phrases, it causes me to say other words and phrases without thinking. I can't stop it, they just come out. They change constantly, but I always have at least a few. Here are some of my current trigger/response pairs:

I love _____ - "I love lamp."
tumor - (in Arnold voice) "It's not a tum-ah"
bear/bare - "Our number one threat: bears."
_______ 2 - "Electric Boogaloo" or "The Legend of Curly's Gold"
any 4 syllable word - the "ma-nah ma-nah" Muppets song
Is it worth it? - "Let me work it. Put my thing down flip it and reverse it...."
stapler - "He took my stapler"


I'm sure there are many more, but those are off the top of my head. In the short time I've known D-Rock, he has displayed a few as well:

towel/tau - "Don't forget to bring a towel/tau"
anything related to California - random Arnold quotes
beat, drop the beat - human beatbox
first displayed when discussing heart function, Wenckebach/Mobitz
quit - "I wish I knew how to quit you"

And lately we are both triggered by any possible "your mom" jokes. Which, I must say, have gotten out of control. Oh well, it makes the other med students laugh. Even if D-Rock and I are crying on the inside...


I'm in a weird state with respect to my blog. I really want to write, but I can't think of anything to write about. I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel here. This just solidifies my theory that I'm an improv comic. no prepared material. Anybody know how to get the creative juices flowing?

"Ohana" means "family"

Last week, my old khaver Saul keyed me in to a smokin' deal. Airfare and 2 nights hotel stay in Hawaii for only $194 from NWA (that's Northwest Airlines, not the rap group). It was one of those situations where they don't realize how quickly people will abuse a good deal. $200 off hotel, $200 off flight meant people were booking short trips for extra low prices. Double the discount if Legal Counsel and I booked separate. Which means it would be cheaper for us to get two rooms than just one. We were ready to spring. Break away from the mainland, as it were.

But they realized their folly. Now the deal requires 2 people and 4 nights, minimum. Damn. And I read some people saying they cancelled reservations made before the change. Obviously NWA has never heard of the "No Takesies-Backsies" rule. Legal Counsel, please fax them a copy of the landmark cases "Finders v. Keepers" and "Snoozers v. Loosers," where it was found that Finders were actually Keepers and Snoozers were in fact the real Loosers. The Supreme Court has repeatedly sided in favor of Finders (us) and against Snoozers (them). Northwest Airlines - expect to receive an impolite letter and some poorly baked cookies in the future.

But the damage has been done. I am now infected with the vacation bug. No, that doesn't mean chlamydia. But I have that, too. No, I want to escape the continental United States for Spring Break. Hawaii is still pretty high on the list. Neither Legal Counsel nor Montgomery have been there. Well, I haven't been there without the sole purpose of smuggling pure cane sugar in small balloons into Arizona.

Hawaii has certain perks. Driving around solving crimes, maybe with the help of my partner Higgins. Small blue aliens. Volcanoes. But Hawaii also has its downsides. Ancient taboo idols that would make me almost drown while surfing. Weird strings of events leading me to jump over a shark on skis while wearing a leather jacket. Anterograde amnesiac Drew Barrymore. Did I mention that my entire Hawaii knowledge base comes from television and movies?

Another option is a cruise. Baja Cruises from The Angeles are relatively cheap and again, neither of us has been on one. It sounds like a good deal - free food, free entertainment, Free Willy. We could ride the Pacific Princess with Captain Stubing! I'd love to meet all those celebrities - maybe even Dr. Drew. Then again, Legal Counsel and I would probably have to stop the plot of some creepy leach guy with the help of Sandra Bullock. I really should do more than watch TV and movies...

Our last thought is Europe. No, that doesn't mean we'll be following the band on tour. Although I do love "The Final Countdown." No, I'm talking Old World style Europe. I found a 3 night hotel/airfare/car deal for Ireland for $400. Pretty sweet deal, and we've never been there either. And I could use the line "You must be Irish, because my penis is Dublin." I'm a class act. The main problem with this idea is that it only flies out of New York. With that high price ticket, we'd probably have to hitch across the states, which would be an adventure on its own. Hitch-hiking is always a good idea.

Actually, trips to anywhere in Europe are roughly the same price, with similar dangers. Dublin (Banshees), London (Werewolves), Rome (Vampires), Paris (French People). All roughly the same price. To save money, we could stay at a hostel...Jibbly. That movie ruined the whole idea of European hostels. Or made them better! Free S&M? Sign me up!

So we've got a world of possibilities. Literally. I'm not sure where we'll end up. But I probably won't be able to use my favorite tactic of waiting till the last minute. Although there are some sweet last minute deals. I'll probably just end up knocking on Europe's door at 3am asking for a place to stay, then mooching for a week. If there's one thing I know, it's that Europeans love Americans...

I'd like to use a Lifeline. Can I Ask The Audience?

I want to write, but I can't think of any topics. Anybody have suggestions?

On the plus side, I've got Wham! stuck in my head. "You put the boom-boom into my heart, you send my soul sky high when your lovin' starts..."

You down with IBT?

Yeah you know me!

This weekend I went to IBTs with Legal Counsel, J-Bone and Paneera. I know, I know - it's about time I wrote about that place. If you don't know about it, IBTs is a gay bar on 4th Ave here in Tucson. If you've never seen it, I'm not surprised. Both the front and rear entrances are very well camouflaged. You have to draw a door on the wall with chalk and knock three times, Beetle Juice style.

It's like any other bar on 4th Ave - loud dance floor, quiter patio, several bars, videos of half to three-quarter naked men dancing and gay pride parades. It is a little techno-centric, though (as opposed to hip-hop/rap in most clubs I've gone to). If you're in there, it feels just like any other club. Except it's a total sausage-fest. Dudes everywhere.

The bartenders make really good drinks like Legal Counsel's favorite, the "Come Fuck Me" which tastes like pineapple fruit punch but is probably 90% alcohol. It's a house drink. Legal Counsel asked the bartender if he knew how to make it and he got all offended. That would be like asking Michael Jackson if he knows how to...sing "Beat it." You thought I was going there, didn't you? You're dirty...

One of the things I like most about the place is the people who go there. They generally seem like a better sort than those in most other clubs. They're not a bunch of horny people whose only goal is sex. Well, okay, maybe they are. But I don't have to worry about that - it's no so hostile and gross if you're straight in a gay bar. And they (generally speaking) seem cleaner and nicer. I also get to see some interesting outfits. Highlights of this trip - Sleeveless Flannel Cowboy and Captain Cutoffs (Tobias Funke style).

Probably the biggest perk of going to IBTs as a guy is all the gay men. It's like fishing for an ego boost. Gay men are more likely to hit on you than women since men are more aggressive. It's science. So I went there hoping I'd get hit on (I know, I'm a cock tease) and it totally happened! Sweet! Here's how it went down:

Random dude: Are you from Texas?
Montgomery: No. Why?
Random Dude: You have this sexy Texas nose thing going on. Hot.
Montgomery: Thanks!

For some reason I imagine gay men to have high standards, so that was a nice ego boost. I was really hoping for something along the lines of "are those mirror pants, because i can see myself in them" or "if I said you had a nice body, would you hold it against me" but this was good enough. When he said Texas, I was hoping for a Brokeback Mountain reference. Maybe next time. Legal Counsel beat me though. She got hit on twice. At a gay bar. Yeah, she's that hot.

All in all a fun time. The one bad part is that I'm a horrible dancer. I was told I dance like a straight guy. I don't want to dance like a straight guy! They suck at dancing! I've got so much to learn. I'll probably just stick with the robot...

Hello, my name is Dr. Greenthumb

Based on my own experiences, the questions medical students get asked most often are, in order of decreasing frequency:

1. What kind of doctor do you want to be?
2. Do you think this is infected?
3. What are you doing in my house?

Today I'll be addressing the first question. I'll be addressing the third question February 22 in court. As to the second question: if you have to ask, it probably is.

As soon as you say you're in medical school, the other person will almost always ask, "what kind of medicine do you want to practice." In the past, I usually responded with sarcasm, mostly because I have no idea. My typical responses were "a good one" or "a medical doctor" (you know, as opposed to a PhD doctor). The inquisitor would then give a courtesy laugh or slap me, then look for a real answer. And for the longest time, I didn't have one.

For most of my youth, I wanted to be a pediatrician. Probably because I looked up to mine. And because he had arcade machines in his waiting room. After being told repeatedly that I wouldn't be making any money, I decided that orthopedics was the way to go. Orthopedics still interest me, but most of those docs are arrogant. Emergency medicine has also interested me, since you see all types of cases and people, with new stuff every day. And I've recently realized that "pediatricians don't make much money" should be followed by "for a doctor," so that interest came back (besides, I wouldn't really mind making less if I'm doing what I enjoy).

In medical school, my specialty goal has been changing by the week. Every time we learn something new, I get all psyched up about it. General practice during PCM classes, neurology during neuro, cardiology during the current heart lectures. And the dean has given me an unofficial introduction to proctology. My favorite part of that was the cuddling afterwards.

Recently, however, I've discovered my real calling. A specialty that puts all the others to shame. A specialty geared toward somebody with my...special talents. It's been staring me in the face for years and I didn't even realize it. "Hey Montgomery, what kind of doctor do you want to be?" "That's simple, Mr. Clinton. I want to be Dr. Drew." (I really don't know why I'm going to be to former President Bill Clinton, but we'll see)

I made the realization a while ago, but my conviction was cemented while listening to Loveline last night. As I listened, I thought about the fact that the class which interests me most is Social & Behavioral Sciences (which is also the easiest class). It isn't very convenient, since it means the bulk of my interest is in the class which requires the least studying. But I don't think I want to be a psychiatrist. I'm not sure why, but I've never been drawn to psychiatry (maybe because the phrase "takes one to know one" can be applied to crazy...although I'll admit I am crazy). But if I was on Loveline, I could use my SBS knowledge to explain the unusual behavior of callers. Score!

There are so many reasons I should take over for Dr. Drew when he's done.

1. SBS knowledge can be used without actually being a psychiatrist
2. I'd get to advise and help people with legitimate problems or questions
3. I could try to be funny when i respond sarcastically to dumb callers (my favorite hobby)
4. Rapid turnover of callers appeals to my ADD nature
5. Cool stories, Hansel
6. I've always wanted to yell at people for calling a radio station with their radio on loud
7. Celebrities!

And to top it all off. Dr. Drew started his first version of Loveline in 1983 - the year I was born! All in all, it's the perfect way for me to go. To anybody reading this with connections: I implore you to help get me into this job. With a medical degree and a sense of humor (debatable), I'd be perfect for the job. And if you're reading this, Dr. Drew, I won't let you down.

Adam!.......Corolla!

And I'm out in the nine deuce Cad'

So yesterday I did some driving, ran some errands. you know, no big whoop. But along the way, I saw some interesting things.

Driving south on Tucson, near Grant: I'm stopped at the light and I look over to the car next to me. Much to my surprise, the old man driver was smoking a corn-cob pipe. How awesome is that?? I continued to stare like a slack-jawed yokel for probably a minute. I see him reach up and grab the pipe and on his forearm was a giant tattoo. I couldn't tell what it was exactly, but it looked like a lady. Chalk up another cool point for old man. But couple those facts with the following: he was old, bald, slight underbite, driving a boat-like cadillac. It was friggin' Popeye! Like so many others, he came to Arizona to retire. I know Popeye's arm tattoo was an anchor (or a boat or a tank, depending on spinach consumption) but I stand by my theory. It all makes sense now, since my Physiology professor is apparently Olive Oyl...

Car Wash at Speedway and Country Club: Time for a blast from the past. I was watching the dudes watch my car, when one of the young whippersnappers (D-Rock suggests "whipersnapper", which is hilarious) finishes. He moves toward the big garbage can to dispose of his nasty, wet rage. But instead of dropping it in, he maneuvers to basketball stance and pulls a fade-away jumper toward the bin. I haven't seen that move since high school! Probably because most people realize they look like a jackass when they do that by the time they hit 17. But some people are still livin' the dream, I guess. FYI, he missed the bin by about 4 feet.

Car Wash, part 2: Why is it that every time I go to a car wash they try to sell me on the $70 Super Wash™? I roll up and ask for the cheap, $7 special. Pretty straightforward, right? He then asks if I want the most expensive wash (which is "on special" to $70 - how much does it normall cost??) which includes: outside wash, inside wash, tire wash, car wax, car scent, and inner thigh scrub. If I ask for the cheapest wash, why would you think I need the most expensive? He wouldn't stop pitching it until I started crying...

All over tucson: One of my favorite hobbies since moving to Tucson is watching red light runners. It's like bird watching with a much greater potential for horrible, deadly accidents. Yesterday, I decided to count them after seeing one almost immediately after leaving the house. Here was my driving yesterday:

1. House to Car Wash: 1.2 mi
2. Car Wash to Grant & Oracle flower shop: 4.0 mi
3. Flower Shop to Albertsons at Glenn & Campbell: 2.9 mi
4. Albertsons to home: 3.6 mi

In that span of driving I counted sixteen (16) red light runners. I shit you not. 11.7 miles and 16 red light runners. That's how bad Tucson is. I basically see somebody run a red at every stop light. Usually left turners, but not always. I'd guess 10 or 11 of the runners were left turners. That's bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

That's all for now. Time to get back to physio. "Oh, Popeye...help!"

There's more of gravy than of grave about you.

I'd say that Christmas was good this year. I almost drove myself to bankruptcy buying gifts, but Legal Counsel would know how to get me through that spot of trouble. I got gifts for everybody and all the money issues worked out, so things are back to normal. I'd write about the gifts I purchased, but I don't know how the recipients feel. But who wouldn't love a box of live rattlesnakes? Instead, I'll write about what I received.

On the first day of Christmas, my brother gave to me: 512M DDR RAM for my iBook. That's pretty awesome. It was soo slow before. Workable, but slow. And when I told him I was running on factory specs (256M), I think he nearly had an aneurism. Now I can play WoW and surf for pornographic materials at three (3) times my previous speed. Score!

On the second day of Christmas, my mother gave to me: a stethoscope with PediaPals tag. Score #2. I can finally play doctor proper-like. Until now I've been using two Dixie cups attached with a string. Let me tell you, that technique does not inspire confidence in your patients. But whenever they filed complaints I would write them a referral to Drs. Smith and Wesson. The PediaPals tag has a space for my name and contact information on one side and a FRIGGIN' SWEET MONKEY on the other. How awesome is that?? I'll have a cool little monkey hanging from my hearing device. That alone is enough to push me into pediatrics.

On the third day of Christmas, a joint endeavor gave to me: the complete Family Guy DVDs. Again, freakin' sweet. Now I've got nine (9) DVDs of hilarity at my disposal. That's two chicken fights, 3 vaudeville guys, and countless random references. Score the third.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: the best Christmas gift I can ever remember receiving. Legal Counsel gave me an annual pass to the Happiest Place on Earth™ - Disneyland. Anybody who knows me knows that I love that place. It's so much fun. And now I've got a year of free access to both parks and discounts on food and services. Ultimate score. Cue the happy dance. I didn't even see it coming - total surprise, making it all that much better.

We exchanged gifts at a Carl's Jr. Christmas Eve/Morning at about 1am. Let me tell you - it is impossible to find a place which serves milkshakes at 1 am Christmas Eve/Morning. Don't even try In n' Out, McDonalds or Village Inn. It's a lost cause. But eventually we discovered Carl's Jr., which actually had good shakes. They brought all the boys to the yard. All in all, a memorable Christmas.

Why were we driving around at 1am Christmas Eve/Morning, you ask? Because we did Christmas Eve with her family's family and Christmas Day with my family so we had to drive that night. The best part was when we saw Santa Claus flying over the I-10, travelling north. Evidently he delivers to Tucson first. Probably because it's farther east, and because it has a higher population of cool people.

Christmas with Legal Counsel's sister's in-laws was...interesting. They're Mormon, not that there's anything wrong with that. Little known fact: Mormons love Jesus. Pictures of that dude everywhere. Take a teenage girl's room, then replace all her posters of...damn, who do girls like nowadays...um...Errol Flynn...yes, replace all her Errol Flynn posters with pictures of Jesus and there you have it. And we got to watch a nativity scene. This is probably my first Christmas with any kind of religious aspect (if you don't count, "God damn, that's good turkey").

And because Mormons couples have a minimum child count of 3-4, depending on which coven you attend, there were tons and tons of uncles/aunts/cousins/borthers/sisters/children/fathers/mothers. To curb the rampant gift requirements, a White Elephant was arranged. You know, bring a generic gift, put them all in a pile and pick one or steal somebody else's unwrapped one. A few observations:

1. They take that game way too seriously.
2. White elephant with children involved= horrible, tear soaked idea
3. All Mormons carry gigantic knives (which came in handy for opening gifts in boxes
4. Mormons are horrible at picking generic white elphant gifts. Potpourri? Seriously?

I know I'm generalizing all Mormons based on one family, but guess what? Shut up. I can do what I want. I'll admit that my stereotypes are probably wrong, just to cover my ass.

I'll finish this post with my worst Christmas gift memory, since this year gave me my best. I was in elementary school, maybe 8 years old, and it came from my grandmother. I love her, but this gift was bad. She gave me some personalized pencils. A pretty crappy gift to begin with, right? Scratch that - it's a very grandma gift. Well, these Montgomery pencils actually had my name spilled incorrectly. The -an was replaced with -on. Sigh. The written form of my ever-present mispronouncation. Then she had a big fight with my mom over how to spell my name. It was a little depressing. But funny in hindsight. Anybody else have good stories?

The stars at night, so big and bright...

*clap clap clap clap*

I'm back in class. And I'm tired. The strange thing is, I'm kind of glad to be back. The break was nice, don't get me wrong. I got to go to Disneyland (awesome) and I got an annual pass (totally awesome). Speaking of which, do you think those passes are still good if you get kicked out of the park for exposing yourself to Minnie Mouse? I'll probably be Disneyblogging sometime in the future. My psychiatrist says it is a good way for me to vent my "dangerously unhealthy obsession." Pssh, what does he know?

Speaking of blogging, I've been lagging in my duties. I apologize. Over break I wasn't in a writing mood and couldn't come up with material. And I've been using class time as nap time for the last 3 days. I dreamt I was a pirate sailing the seven seas, ransacking ships in my search for voltage-gated cardiac ion channels. Yarggh, they be critical for ye t' have normal cardiac output.

Since it's the beginning of the year, I'm still trying to figure out my professors. So far, they're pretty amusing. In one class, I have a semi-old lady who has a voice which sounds like she's constantly on the verge of tears. And yesterday she wore a tank top in a very cold classroom. And she doesn't believe in bras. Jibbly. In another class, I have a professor who says "mmmkay" to an absurd extent. Hereminds me of Mr. Mackey from South Park. Imagine "Drugs are bad, mmmkay" except in in fancy science talk. "10% of all diseases are purely genetic in origin, mmmkay." "These genes are passed on in a Mendelevian Fashion, mmmkay." "Mr. Montgomery, why do you keep giggling, mmmkay?"

My current favorite professor, however, comes from a third class. He has several reasons for being my academic bff. My fascination began with his first lecture, in which he constantly said "whoop" in a high pitched voice (a la Chris Berman) every time he made a mistake using Powerpoint. Which happened constantly. If I haven't informed you my humble readers of the following knowledge, you're getting it now: medical school professors have no idea how to use Powerpoint. They don't know how to go in slideshow mode, how to advance slides, how to go back a slide, how to make slides, how to use waterslides or how to do anything using a file with the extension ppt. It's hilariously sad. "Hi, I can slice open your chest and implant a new organ but I don't know how to right click. Let's get that anasthesia going..."

So his lecture went like this: "Let's go to the next slide to see the blood test results *whoop* too far *whoop* didn't go backwards *whoop* too far backwards." He makes learning fun!

Yesterday, though, he wasn't giving us a whoop whoop. It gave me a better chance to appreciate his next amusing quality - he has a Texan accent. Awesome. And even though it was a Texas accent, I still kept imagining him asking for a Mint Julep. Do Texans drink those? I also expected him to say things like "I may not be a big city doctor, but ..." and Flynnerson-style country expressions. "With a single amino acid substitution in position 163 of hemoglobin, boy I tell ya, that dog won't hunt." "If you've got four hemeglobin monomers connected, you've got your ducks bill-to-tail and oxygen can be carried in the blood normally"

So...it's impossible to take people with Southern accents seriously. You just can't do it. Try it, I dare you. Double dog dare. It's the equivalent of having a Valley Girl like totally lecture you on polymerase chain reactions. They can be the smartest person in the world, but nobody will listen. If Einstein was from Alabama, he'd just be forever remembered as "that bumpkin who thought he knew physics." But we would still have those funny posters where he's sticking out his tongue. Hilarious. On the other hand, some accents make you sound smarter. The two most obvious examples are English and German. The dumbest Brit will always sound smarter than the smartest Georgian (if they exist - burn).

On a related note, I love the new English Geico gecko. The best thing that Geico ad people have ever done is to give him a mysterious Cockney accent. He didn't have one before, but now it's magically there. Maybe he had one of those strokes that give you an accent. Whatever the cause, he is now smarter and funnier. This is the best thing to happen to Geico since Kanye West. Now I need to get Geico wit my money. London gecko - it's like pie and chips. you've got pie and you've got chips. What's not to love? If he had a Southern accent, I'd probably track him down and release a New Zealand Kingfisher on his ass. Then switch to Lloyds of London.

I'm all typed out. I'll try to be more on the ball with my writing in the future. It keeps me awake in class, which is nice. I have two options - get distracted and stay awake or pay attention and fall asleep. I'm probably learning the same amount either way. Unless I can convince my professors to speak with a german accent...

Weird Realization o' the Day

I deposited my student loan check today and figured out that I increased my available funds by roughly 32,000%. That's a weird thing to think about...