With a touch of unreserved candor, I would like to recount the events which recently befell the institution of higher learning, that I routinely pay large sums of money to in exchange for… the opportunity to work on pointless group projects, mostly:

Around 2 years ago, the university broke ground for a monstrous, 5-story building which was to provide additional (nicer) classrooms for the medical students (who already had the nicest rooms on campus) as well as classrooms enough to open a school of dentistry (“tooth-jockeys”).

It all sounds well and good. Here’s a little blurb from their official website:

Midwestern_University_Dedicates_State-of-the-Art_Science_Hall_.html

I would, however, like to point out a few small points that the little press-release may have failed to fully elucidate, and that the designers of said building failed to take into account:

First, as you may have read if you clicked on the above hyperlink, the building has been dubbed “Science Hall.” I struggle to find words to describe just how banal a name this is for what is supposed to be the flagship building on campus. And I don’t mean that metaphorically; I’m of the understanding that the building can, in the event of severe deluge, actually shed it’s sturdy moorings and hold it’s own against all manner of pirate attack in the “Water-World” to come.

My classmates and I have come up with a few more appropriate monikers for “Science Hall,” the most printworthy being:

“Significant Annual Tuition Increase Hall”

and

“Mysterious Student Service Fee Hike Hall.”

Additionally, and perhaps most poignantly, the crown jewel of this edifice is the new anatomy lab, which has been thoughtfully appointed with all manner of “bells and whistles,” and broken free of the normal and customary place for the storage of cadavers in proudly occupying the 5th floor. The problem with this, no doubt aside from absolutely terrifying the passing birds, is that cadavers in anatomy labs are incredibly… juicy. This is perhaps the best adjective I can think of. The bodies exude all manner of unspeakable fluids in such lavish quantities that the floors in anatomy labs seem to always take on a certain ‘greased’ quality which facilitates the performance of a wide variety of otherwise impossible celebratory dances upon the exodus from said crypts, while simultaneously fostering the unnerving prospect of causing you, in a moment of careless foot-placement, to lay there yourself. If the bodies don’t ooze enough on their own, students are always reminded by attentive anatomy personnel to douse them in a generous bath of formaldehyde (or rather, whatever-the-heck-they-now-use-instead -of-it-that-still-smells-the-same) at regular intervals so as to retard the otherwise steady march of decomposition.

Since the readership of this publication tends towards the scholarly and intuitive, I’m sure that both of them quickly realized the perils associated with placing such an anatomic laboratory at the top of a brand-new, 5-story building. Indeed: Gravity is a harsh mistress.

A cursory review of my tenuous grasp of this elemental force of the physical universe reveals that gravity indeed makes things go DOWN. Additionally, matter that can ooze, can fill cracks, crevices and soak into drywall, inevitably will do so. I think I even made a point of reviewing this concept with a professor who had begun bragging about the plans for the new building.

To summarize, the new, 88 million-dollar, brilliantly named, Science Hall, opened this quarter, and during our second week (approximately 2-3 weeks following the introduction of cadaveric materials to the lofty lab) we noticed a funny smell that we all easily recognized as preservative fluid/cadaveric juiciness on the SECOND STORY. The smell, it turns out, was indeed the liquid in question, but it wasn’t just wafting through the novel hallways. No. Unfortunately an actual puddle of the stuff was discovered by a classmate through the rather regrettable process sitting directly in its dewy rank during a breakout activity.

Here’s a picture I snapped of the putrified progression of effluent: 

 

Here’s a quick sketch I did to fully explain just what’s happening here:

 

I’m not sure what the school is planning to do about this. Apparently it’s been “fixed,” though I’m not sure what you do about such an issue. If the “Preservative Fluid Valve” was leaking, and simply needed to be tightened, I have to wonder why such a valve would exist in the first place? It’s not usually dispensed in such a fashion.

I suppose at the end of the day, my “takeaway” thought is that, despite being 2011, and being at an institution of higher learning devoted solely to the healthcare sciences, we maybe haven’t come as far as we prefer to think we have. Gravity (and to some extent, capillary action of fluids) is slightly more basic that neuro-biology. Ironic that a building designed to study the lofty and advanced subjects like the latter failed to take into account the former.

-dumbfounding

-draconian

-disconcerting

-dubious

-debilitating

-dour

-dismal

-delirious

-dipody

-diecious

-decanted

-decastyle

-dodecahedron

-dodo

-dank

-duff

-discombobulate

-diatomaceous

-duodenum

-dapper

-dolt

-dullard

It has been a serious amount of time since I last blogged. In my period of silence a lot has changed in my life. What, you ask with duly bated breath? Off the top of my head, I can offer up the fact that I spent 11 weeks living with my parents for the first time in roughly 8 years (I would like to stress that this was solely due to a clinical placement as a part of my graduate study). There’s nothing like going back to the very environment which produced you to give you a bit of perspective on why you might be the way that you are.

For instance. I found out that I’ve become more attached to cheese in the years that I spent outside the nest. What? Not ground-breaking enough for you?! Well, try this on for size: I also learned that I am apparently more willing to take a stab at plumbing repairs than my father, who, it is worth pointing out, has wisely adopted a strategy of not messing with plumbing issues that aren’t broken to the point of flooding the general vicinity. Coincidentally, this is exactly what I achieved upon attempting said repairs. Also I learned that I prefer living with my wife.

In my last quarter of school, the fact that I loathe pointless, busy-work, group-projects was hammered home once again.

I suppose that’s about it for now. I need a bit of time to get back into the swing of this, but check back routinely as I’m hoping to improve my consistency in the coming days.

It’s been called “Snowpocalypse,” “Snowmageddon,” and “Thundersnow.” Whatever it was, it dumped something like 18 inches of the fluffy white stuff, and, according to Weather.com,  was accompanied by winds of 51 miles per hour. It was insane.

My school boasts that it hasn’t ever closed due to inclimate  weather in any of the current staff’s recollection, and the district my wife teaches in hasn’t had a snow-day in over a decade; mind you, we do get quite a lot of snow up here. Both schools closed early yesterday and cancelled classes today before the storm even hit (she still has class off tomorrow because apparently the temperature is now plummeting well below zero and there’s some degree of fear of children freezing while waiting for their respective buses?).

We hunkered into our little fortress (apartment) yesterday afternoon, and though we had intended to watch a movie together, ended up spending large amounts of time simply staring out the window, watching the storm as though it were a fireplace. It was the single-most powerful weather event I’ve witnessed and not slept through.

When we awoke today we were greeted by these images (which we then took pictures of):

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, to be fair, one of those was our breakfast, but I felt it still bore mentioning…

Here’s a before and after shot of the walkway to our apartment, showing how we were quite literally snowed-in. Luckily the apartment grounds keepers had us nice and dug out by around noon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then there was the matter of digging our cars out… This proved to be a pain in the butt (“snowing-pains?”) lasting around 2 hours because shortly after I finished the digging, the parking lot was finally plowed for the first time of the day (2:ooish?) and/or my (insert profane moniker) of a neighbor took to digging his wife’s car out. Between the two of them, they redistributed a LOT of snow behind our cars, forcing me to once again dig out our vehicles. Needless to say, after the ordeal, I was a little bit exhausted (“snow-tired”?). My west-coast readers may not know that each year (and doubtless today) hundreds of fat midwesterners die of heart-attacks while shoveling snow: it’s a surprisingly taxing endeavor. Here’s what I was up against:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

While shoveling the first time I became somewhat contemplative. We’ve gotten so good (especially in the midwest) of overcoming the tricks up nature’s sleeve: snow plows and salt trucks running round the clock, all weather tires and meteorologic predictions (albeit routinely inaccurate ones). It’s big-business keeping nature at bay so that life goes on unaffected. When a storm causes this much of a hiccup in your routine, it’s worth thinking on. There is something almost valuable in having to respond to nature in this way. I think I felt something close to the sort of humility farmers have felt for eons as their careers and lives are largely dependent on the whims of meteorological fate. There was something satisfying about digging my car out. Perhaps is in part due to the lack of oxygen reaching my brain as my poor heart struggled to keep pace with my shoveling and teeth-clenching, but it felt almost good to be reminded where exactly I stood in the grander scheme of things. Despite our modern comforts and the like, we’re still at the mercy of quite a lot of external forces.

Makes me thankful to know I’m loved by a caring and wildly powerful God, methinks.

Last week I got sick. Not just a case of the sniffles, mind you, but the sort of illness where you leave a police outline of sweat on your sheets despite the fact that you spent the night shivering and wondering if you might be in danger of freezing to death. Yeah. Sick.

I don’t tend to get sick either. Sure I’ll get the occasional cold or allergies, but not like this. The last time I was this bad was when I was in undergrad and had the flu. At that time, a cute young lady took pity on me and brought me some tea to help me feel better.

I’ve since married that young lady, but this time around I’ve been making my own tea… I’m choosing not to dwell on this fact because I fear I’ll stumble upon some hilarious cosmic joke that’s been had at my expense. Also, it’s not really that hard to make your own tea, especially when you intelligently move your microwave next to your bed (or vice-versa) and use the former for a nightstand/water heating device.

During the week I still had classes and tried my best to “tough it out” and “walk it off” as they say (coaches mostly) because I had important classes during the week and a practical exam on Thursday. But my body finally gave in on Friday and, ironically enough, I called in sick to my only class which has a mandatory attendance policy. Well done sir.

Having my first sick day in my 2 years of grad school was strangely wonderful. I felt terrible, but it gave me a chance to putter around when I wasn’t clinging to sleep. Puttering is one of, if not my very favorite pastime, and in my humble opinion, a lost-art of our age. It has to be dosed out properly. You must putter virtuously, if you will. Too much puttering and you end up dropping out of school or failing to hold down a “big-boy” job, and not enough puttering and you end up one day not having any hobbies, dreams, or idea of who you actually are (or there’s also the outside chance that you’ve become wildly successful because you spend your free time being productive instead of tinkering around on a guitar, but this sort of individual is perhaps better addressed on some other blog; one involving business, finance, philanthropy, or wall-street, etc.).

The puttering was nice, and I realized how long it’s been since I was able take part in it. I soon began to think about all of the things that I was supposed to be doing, studying, working on, taking care of, etc. and stress began to permeate my stuffy, feverish bliss (which mostly served to underline those two attributes). I realized how BUSY I am. It’s become almost compulsive. As soon as I have space in my schedule I fill it with something else, despite the fact that I’ve no doubt been complaining that I’ve been “too busy.” It’s insane. Having one day’s worth of plans go down the tubes shouldn’t upset the “apple cart of my life” (briefly questions validity of attempted idiomatic expression) as it did.

I don’t make time to putter. For me this means not making time to read (non-school related texts), to pray, to meditate, to play music, to write, to draw, to journal, to just sit and think over cup of coffee. What’s worse is, when I don’t MAKE time to putter, I think I somehow lose track of who I am. I get strangely out of touch with who I’m designed to be. This means I’m like some sort of thin, candy-shell of “me” when I interact with those I care about. I’m a hollow husband; a flaky friend.

I guess I’m still processing this all (both my musings and my mucus), but I think something is going to definitely have to change in the way I structure my life. I think the thought that I’m left with is this: A $25 co-pay to a doctor and a $5 bout of antibiotics (quick shout-out for teachers’ insurance) were well-worth the price-tag: They not only got me well on my way to a physical recovery, but they also helped me realize I was perhaps more ill than I ever realized.

This morning I went shopping. Not for anyone in particular mind you, but for household essentials and foodstuffs mostly. There were a few extraneous items which defy my previous categorization, but nothing to write home about. I made several observations over the course of the morning, and will proceed to dispense with them:

The first was that I absolutely despise the practice of “shopping.” I can’t fathom how some people (women) enjoy shopping as a “release,” but I think it has to do with the fact that this sort of shopping is only therapeutic if it involves clothing specifically for the individual doing the shopping. I hate agonizing over which purchase is the “smarter” buy. For instance, do I get the surge protector for 6 bucks, the dramatically similar model that boasts a 7 dollar price tag, or purchase a 2-pack for 9 dollars. That’s 3 dollars off the first price if I buy 2, but do I need 2 subsequent surge protectors? I’m pretty sure I go into some sort of trance right there in the aisle of Target, where I’m running different life scenarios out to their predicted conclusions in my head. “What if we need another one… then I’ll end up burning gas on another trip. Well… don’t I think I’ll need another one someday? Sure, but if I don’t use it for 5 years it’s going to take up the dearth of storage space I currently possess. Is 5 bucks even a good price for one of these?” And so on. 15 minutes later, I come-to, attempt to wipe away the drool that’s now pooling on the front of my shirt, and toss the 5 dollar model into my cart. I’m still not sure what the objectively correct decision was, but I’m sure it will come to me when I’m trying to get to sleep tonight.

The second observation I made was just how difficult it was to find what should have been easy-to-locate items. I’m the kind of guy who has trouble finding items in a store to begin with and for this reason, I’ve developed a compensatory strategy over the years in which I remember the locations of certain useful items so that I can walk directly to them when the time comes to purchase their replacements. However, stores routinely rearrange their floor spaces, and this leaves me completely disoriented. Also, the signs in the stores confer little help to me because they often boast broad categories of goods, which puts me into a bit of a taxonomic quandary. Is hand soap going to be found in the kitchen supplies or bathroom supplies? The answer: neither. Also, there was an aisle of which I can’t recall the name, however, an appropriate name could have been something to the effect of, “All Manner of Household Solvents, Except for Hand Soap.”

Additionally, I have this habit of finding the most direct route through a store (generally agreed by most western scholars to be a straight line) when traveling to the department of my current interest. And, like an Alzheimer’s patient, I always forget that this is a path fraught with peril because it, without fail, will lead me unwittingly through either the section designated for infants, or for plus-size women’s undergarments. Whenever I enter these sections I am always greeted by the uncomfortable stares of the patrons (who possibly feel a bit found-out themselves), and I frankly feel like a bit of a creep. I sometimes mumble some half-hearted explanation about “trying to find automotive,” but I’ve found it far more tolerable to keep my eyes straight forward and simply increasing my walking rate,  while trying to avoid direct contact with the troubled gazes.

I’m not sure what conclusions should be drawn here, but I’ve come up with these so far: If you desperately need something on a deadline and can’t make it to the store, I’m not your guy. The odds of your desired item spontaneously materializing in front of you are probably slightly better than relying on me to get it for you on time. Also, if you see me out and about, it’s probably a safe bet to wash your hands as quickly as possible if I shake your hand.

So Ken asked if I could draw some of his favorite works of architecture with a Sharpie, I decided that it would be a good way to pass the time during my week of sitting through other people’s boring, boring presentations. I was right. Here’s what the little experiment yielded. Nothing too fancy, and yes, I made mistakes. But overall, I’m pleased. I tried to make them look like cartoonish, stylized sketches of real places, but also keep them easily recognizable.

I also realized it’s probably a little silly for me to have drawn all of these, because I don’t think I’ve actually seen any of them in person (a big “shout out” to my friend, “Google Images”). There’s a chance I’ve seen the Water Tower, but I feel as though I’d remember ever walking past  such a striking building (and I don’t).

I also realized I’d like to travel more so that I can actually see these amazing works of pragmatism melded with art. It would be amazing to sit before these structures that human hands designed and built all those many years ago. Also, I wouldn’t feel like such a poser when I draw them.

The Parthenon – Athens, Greece

The Chicago Water Tower – Chicago, USA

The Charles Bridge – Prague, Czech Republic

- Profligate

- Stochastic

- Shambolic

- Lacrimose

- Halcyon

 

- I like Fall, but I have a gut feeling that it my enjoyment of this season is largely predicated on the fact that I don’t have a yard which I am forced to maintain while all of the trees are shedding their respective leaves. It’s a crisp and refreshing time of the year, but raking leaves has never been high on my list of things to spend my time doing. The silver lining? By the time I can afford said yard, I’ll also be able to afford a leaf blower.

- When you consistently wake up at 5:30 am, suddenly sleeping in until 8:00 am on a Saturday morning suddenly makes you feel like a lazy slob… Staying in bed until 10:00 am makes you feel as though you’ve completely wasted your day.

- According to a Randomized Clinical Trial I’ve been slowly conducting in my free time that investigates the effects of listening to different albums while running 4 miles, I can conclusively say that running while listening to “Back in Black” by AC/DC consistently reduces the time it takes me to run 4 miles by 5-10 minutes. The Avett Bros., though thoroughly enjoyable, tends to make one run slower by an appreciable degree.

- I’ve now killed off 6 pens and 2 highlighters (predicting 3 by the end of this weekend) in the 4 (or so) quarters of school in which I’ve been keeping track of such things. I’m not sure what it says about my apparent need to reach tangible accomplishments in my endeavors (especially when manifests itself in this form), but I still have quite a way to go yet and the blood of many more pens remain to spilt.

Actually, the title is mostly an excuse for me to incorporate the term, “blogosphere” into something I’ve written. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to do this. I think it a silly term, and, as far as I can recall, have only used it in conversation twice; both times in some sort of jesting manner. I suppose that explains the latter aspect of the title of this posting, so I should probably make with the general musings boasted of in the former, eh? Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Even though when I say “you”, I mean that I can count on the sparse digits of a grizzled, old, wolverine rancher the names of my regular readers, and according to my “Blog Stats” I’m not really in danger of offending anyone: I’ve peaked at a whopping 3 views per day during the last few months. Perhaps the blame for these statistics falls, somewhat, on my own shoulders since I’ve been deficient in postings in roughly the same time period (this is becoming a method that I have secret but dubious hopes will eventually culminate in more prolific writing) My last post was about the World Cup, which finished in the middle of July… To be fair I was initially on a blogging “hunger strike” of sorts until Robert once again put his electronic quill to paper, but the dearth of scribbles eventually became the product of both my laziness and my busy school schedule.

Here, my aim is to make the most a night home alone while my wife is out galavanting in the city: Cue the musings.

- It has been a long time since I played a serious game of ping-pong

- Until recently I thought that the squirrel had few, if any, natural predators based on my cursory assessment of their uncanny ability to scamper vertically up the opposite side of trees when I attempted to catch them. Imagine my amazement when I found, while watching Planet Earth, that a plucky creature known as a “Marten” (which is essentially a bigger squirrel) regularly dines on them.

- It’s harder than you might think to find a picture of an animal you didn’t even know existed, and you didn’t realize it was spelled with and “e” instead of an “i.” Here’s a sampling of the images that a search yielded both before and after my realization of the correct spelling: (see if you can pick out which one preys on squirrels)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

- Sometimes it’s incredibly difficult to wrap my head around just how exceedingly wealthy I am. According to Globalrichlist.com, I’m in the ballpark of the top .98% of human beings in the world (and I’m not even necessarily employed!). I complain (often inwardly) about not having this or that and get duped into thinking, “if I only had that one other thing, life would be sweet!” and yet I am in the 99th percentile for wealth in the world. Obviously happiness is not tied at all to wealth, or, if it is, very few people are actually capable of being happy.

_

- I’d like to see hammocks make a comeback. Not that they’ve necessarily gone anywhere, but I’d like to see more of them.