My fat scar

Since a couple people commented on it, I guess I should explain. My scar is rather noticeable and so for years whenever someone asked me about it, I told them about it.

When I was in sixth grade, I sat next to a boy who'd already failed twice. He was much bigger than all the other boys and even had that wispy, teen moustache. I did well in school, he did not. Very soon after the school year started, he let me know that he would be cheating off of me and that I was to let him. If I didn't, or squealed to the teacher, I'd get pounded.

I didn't care for this, so I came up with a plan. For the next multiple choice test I would circle the wrong answers. He'd copy me, then I'd subtly change them to the right answers. I'm sure at the time I thought it was brilliant. Of course, I hadn't thought it through to the logical conclusion. We got our tests back; he got a 0, I got a 100. That afternoon he intercepted me as I walked home from school, pulled out a knife, and slashed me across the stomach.

Except none of that really happened. The kid was real, but he never cheated off me. I just loved telling people that story and seeing their eyes get big.

The real story is more complicated.

When I was ten I started having abdominal pains often. One night it was bad enough that my mom took me to the emergency room. An ultrasound revealed that I had a multitude of small gallstones. Gallstones, deposits of cholesterol or calcium in the gall bladder, are usually a problem in older folks. It's uncommon for kids to have a problem with them. I only had one of the common risk factors: female, fat (obesity), fair (Caucasian), forty (middle-aged), fertile (multiple children).

After various doctors conferred, the recommendation was removal of my gall bladder. It's not a secretory organ itself, it just stores bile produced by the liver. So you really don't need it; the liver will just dump bile directly into the duodenum (first section of the small intestine). The idea was that if I had lots of small ones when I was ten, it was going to be a problem sooner rather than later. I wonder if part of it was also that I was to be the youngest person at the time to have a cholecystectomy - a badge for the doctors.

My roommate at the hospital scared me a little. He'd been accidentally shot in the jaw while hunting which shattered it, and so couldn't speak distinctly. He also drooled a lot. I got to like him after a day though. I imagine some of my distaste for guns came from seeing what happened to him.

The surgery itself wasn't an issue, though I wasn't awake at the time. When the anesthesiologist started the meds, he had me count back from ten. I recall getting to sev...

Recovery was annoying because I couldn't walk well or eat much. I hobbled down the hallways clutching the handrails on the wall; it felt like my thighs was sewn to my chest. I'd get full after a cup of broth. I steadily improved and was happy to go home with a stitched incision. A couple days later I was eating a hamburger (often fatty foods after cholecystectomy cause upset, but I never noticed it) when somebody wanted to see my incision. I pulled up my shirt and everyone saw the small purplish bump on the incision. Not so good.

The sequence of events is hazy, but I ended up back at the hospital being examined by a very concerned doctor. It was an infection for sure. The doctor was worried enough that he started working on it right there in the exam room. No time for anesthesia to take effect so I got the topical cold spray. I was swabbed with some sort of antiseptic and then the doctor popped my stitches.

The next part explains why I have a high pain threshold. The doctor inserted his gloved fingers into the incision and starting pulling out what I recall as pockets of pus. I distinctly remember looking down and seeing his fingers inside me to the knuckle. A nurse - the one who wasn't holding me down - was talking into my ear trying to get me to visualize something more pleasant. She was talking me through getting a good hit in a baseball game. I remember being annoyed because, though I played, imagining a baseball game wasn't all that wonderful for me. But then how was she to know that I'd rather have her talk me through Greek mythology or the plot to The Westing Game?

Now, when I assess patients' pain level ("What would you rate your pain on a scale of 0-10 with 0 being no pain and 10 being the worst pain you can imagine?"), I always remember the intensity of my level 10 pain.

I can't remember much after the fingers-in-the-incision part. I didn't pass out, I just don't recall. The next vivid memory is being in a hospital room with an IV full of antibiotics and the incision packed with gauze. There wasn't room on the infectious unit, so I had been given a room on what I used to call the "terminal kids" ward. Several bald cancer kids and two cystic fibrosis kids were on the same unit. It totally weirded me out when one of the cystic fibrosis kids came to my room and gave me his toys "because I won't need them soon." His mom came by later to get them, apologizing profusely.

I stayed in the hospital for quite a while getting antibiotic therapy and wound care. The wound care consisted of taking off the cover dressing, pulling out the gauze packing (with yellow-green goo), pouring in hydrogen peroxide, gritting my teeth as it foamed up and stung mightily, twitching in pain as silver nitrate sticks were applied to cauterize the wound, then repacking. Twice a day for a long time. Even after I got out of the hospital, my mom picked me up from school to perform the wound care. Because of the infection, I couldn't just be sewn back up again.

So 20 years later I still have a thickened scar running across my abdomen on the right side rather than a thin, white line. Presently, the standard procedure is to perform cholecystectomies laparoscopically eliminating the need to open the belly. Patients now end up with three white dots where the camera and instruments are inserted. Damnit. At least I got a good story out of it.

Emesis assessment

Here's the text of the Powerpoint slide we just went over in class. Fun stuff.

Emesis [also known as vomit] -- Look at it!

Assessment
- preceded by nausea, precipitating or relieving factors, frequency, is it sudden, projectile, or persistent

-Note color and volume
Clear or greenish vomitus with undigested food-stomach
Bright yellow- bile or upper intestinal
Dark brown with feculent odor- prolonged bowel obstruction
“Coffee-ground” or BRB (bright red blood) - bleeding

The Pumpkin-ing of Yogurt

I just finished a container Lucerne Limited Edition Pumpkin Pie yogurt. As an avid consumer of pumpkin-flavored items (see very first first blog post), I was excited but wary. Turned out to be kinda gross. Oh well. Guess I'll be heading over to 7-11 sometime this weekend to see if they've got the Pumpkin Spice Latte back.

Update: In a pleasant turn of events, the Lucerne Limited Edition Cranberry Orange yogurt is wonderful.

Stoopid medical humor

Today in Skills lab we learned how to operate IV pumps. The instructor demonstrated at the front of the lab so we could all see, but since there wasn't a bed and a dummy right there she let the end of the IV hang down into the trash can. Immediately I thought/said, "This trashcan is hypovolemic. Hang a bag of saline before it gets shocky." See, this is what has happened to my sense of humor. Sad really.

Later, the instructor was explaining that it was important when learning how to use unfamiliar equipment to read the manufacturer instructions or watch the training video that is usually available. Relying on co-workers can result in a game of telephone where proper procedure is transmuted into bad habits through a steady accretion of errors or shortcuts. I turned to a friend and before I could even open my mouth he got there first, "Make sure the cartridge lever is pushed down. Purple monkey dishwasher."

Oh Simpsons, is there any situation for which you don't have a relevant quote?

Anatomical art

Mybloodyself hosted a craft night on Saturday. I'm not particularly crafty, but I do enjoy making shrinky-dinks. Here's a couple:



I just had a test about heart attacks on Friday (96%, whoo!) so it was fresh in my mind. The black part is dead tissue.




This is a salute to an organ I haven't had for more than a couple decades now. The sister of a school friend of mine had to have her's removed this weekend. She'll have three tiny white dots from the laparoscopic surgery while I have a fat 10 cm scar. Ahh medical progress.

Three bloody patients

Don't worry, there won't be any pictures. Unless you really want to look at bloody things. I saw all these people when I was working in the ER.

Patient #1: Gored by a bull

Brought in by helicopter from out in the country, this guy had a scalp laceration and a punctured cheek. He wasn't even in a rodeo, just going about the work of raising cattle.


Patient #2: Open leg laceration

Poor guy was helping a friend with some roof work when a piece of metal sheeting gashed his calf almost down to the bone. You could plainly see the different layers of skin and muscle, fascinating really. Luckily for him, compensating mechanisms had kicked in and he wasn't in any pain. He said it just itched.


Patient #3: Mulitple shallow razor cuts to the face, self-inflicted

I knew what she'd done when I took the paperwork in for her to sign, but I had to make an effort to make eye-contact and stay composed while looking at her face streaked with dried blood. Even though this was the least serious physically, it was the worse of the three. The other two were accidents, this was intentional and indicative of some profound problems. I can't imagine what it will be like to live with fine white scars all over your forehead and cheeks. I hope she got the help she needed. Since then I've seen more than a few girls who cut and the scars on their arms and thighs depress me terribly.

Dang. Didn't mean this to end this under a dark cloud.

On the comedy of trauma, death, and burns

One of my instructors this semester has a great, morbid sense of humor. I often bust out laughing at some of the odd things she says. For instance, “People coming in to the ER are scared because it’s probably the first time that they’ve felt like they were dying. And they’re right, it might happen.” It’s funny to me at least.

Another time she was talking about people who drive themselves or a family member to the hospital instead of calling 911. “I can’t tell you how many people have died of a heart attack at corner of 38th & Lamar [one block away from Seton Main Hospital].” All I could think was, “The corner of 38th & Lamar is haunted! Restless souls at Subway and Relax the Back store!”

During a lecture on shock, our instructor had just said “If that happens, call the rapid response team,” when the phone in the classroom started ringing. She pulled off a great double-take. It was unexpected, perfectly timed, and therefore really funny. It does beg the question of why we have a phone in the classroom. Incoming calls are always wrong numbers.

Just last week she was lecturing about how percentage of burns are estimated and she said that genital burns count for 9%. The class quickly pointed out that her slide said 1%. “I was just trying to wake y’all up. Y'all don’t have a sense of humor.” Cause genital burns are hilarious. In fact, I’m going to show up at open mic night at Velveeta Room and do five minutes on genital burns. It’ll kill.

More odd comedy as it occurs.

"Yay! I like to like stuff I don't like."

- Joolie, after I told her I'd loan her my Sports Night DVDs so she could enjoy a TV show about coworkers putting on a ESPN-like sports news show.

A long Saturday

I worked a 13-hour shift today. Scheduled for 8, but they needed someone to do a transport to a medical hospital for imaging so I volunteered. Transporting is easy money. I accompany the patient to the hospital, sit in the waiting room while they do their thing, and accompany them back to the psych facility. Patients who are cleared to leave the facility are always easy-going, so it's usually a calm trip. We mostly chit-chat about the weather or what the procedure will be/was like, stuff like that.

Afterwards, I went to a friend's place and we watched The Wire on DVD. Didn't get any schoolwork done like I had planned, but I made some money and had a nice evening.

R.I.P. Don Walser

I don't remember when I first heard Don Walser, probably when I was at DJing at KVRX while getting my first degree. I do remember the shiver I felt when I heard his incredibly beautiful yodel. At KVRX there are requirements that DJs exhibit some genre diversity and a Texas component. I played Don Walser's "Cowpoke" regularly partly because he met two requirements at once, but mostly because the power and clarity of the yodeling gave me goosebumps.

I saw him a half-dozen times in the mid-'90s. He was great live with a tight backing band. My favorite time was when he played with Kronos Quartet at Bass Concert Hall. The Quartet was a fan of his and put togther some string arrangements for two of his songs. That arrangement of "Rose Marie" was then recorded for his next album. When they finished playing at Bass, there was a long standing ovation. Knowing they had to give an encore but having prepared nothing else, Walser et al. just played the two songs again. It was wonderful.

Walser stopped performing some time ago due to his declining health. I'm sad to say that I forgot about him until I heard the news of his death yesterday. I pulled out Rolling Stone from Texas and "Cowpoke" thrilled me all over again.

Cowpoke (from the album Rolling Stone from Texas)
Rose Marie (from the album Down at the Sky-Vue Drive-In)

Austin City Limits Festival 2006

I've been late in posting because I was sick during and right after ACL. Note to self: if you don't sleep enough, you always get sick. Right. Moving on.

I skipped Friday in an attempt to generic Nyquil myself to sleep and therefore wellness. I slept about 17 hours on and off from Friday afternoon to Saturday afternoon. It kinda of worked. No more fever, but still with the chest congestion and general malaise. Wait, wasn't I going to move on from the sick talk?

SATURDAY

I Love You But I’ve Chosen Darkness
I like you but you are less-than-compelling today and as a local band I can see you within the next month and there's a big crowd over by the Heineken stage so I've chosen Ghostland Observatory.

Ghostland Observatory

Local band that I have been extrememly remiss in not seeing. Wow. A guy twiddling knobs and playing keyboards (in a floor-length cape mind you), while another guy cavorts about singing in a brash falsetto. Sure, I like that kind of thing, but these guys were pulling people in from all over the place. I'll chalk it up to things sorely lacking from some ACL acts (I'm looking at you Iron & Wine), to whit energy and charisma. Keyboard guy just stood there, but managed to still get across a sense of competence and "Whee! This is fun!". I'm sure the cape helped. Singer dude was a firecracker. Dancin' and singin' and jumpin' and worked it like nobody else I saw all weekend. Bravo Ghostland Observatory, I'll see you again as soon as possible.

The Secret Machines
Meh.

TV on the Radio
Bad sound mix and I wanted to see The Shins more so...

The Shins

Generally good. Since touring after their first record, The Shins have become a more muscular, tight band. Unfortunately, they've also smoothed out some of the odd angles that made me love them. Sure Marty (keyboards/guitar) is still hilarious and the songs are punchier, but my brain doesn't melt with joy over them anymore. Maybe's it's my problem. Hard to say. Still, good show, looking forward to their new album out in January. Oh, they asked people to video record them on cameras and cell phones during one song for a video they were making. 1st problem: most people don't have enough room on their devices for an almost four minute song. 2nd problem: the upload site sucked and couldn't handle my large file.

Calexico
Reliably great, but I was less enthused than during previous shows. Maybe being sick? No, I took that into account when evaluating performances. Well, when you seen a band like 12 times in five years every show can't be fantastic. Surprisingly, they didn't play anything from the EP they did in collaboration with Iron & Wine.

The Raconteurs
Just heard them from across the way. Unremarkable. "Steady As She Goes" was great, but nothing else made an impression as I read about various anemias (yes I studied during the festival, nursing school doesn't stop for culture breaks).

Iron & Wine

Snore. Wanted to like it, but couldn't.

Explosions in the Sky
So great to lie back on the grass as darkness descended and have this band take me away. Lovely. I really should go see them more often.

Massive Attack

Daddy G (original member) was off with his wife and brand-new baby so it was up to 3D (original member), the vocalists, and the backing brand to bring it. And they did. And it was so very good. Despite being a band based in DJing and samples, the live version went far above standing on stage and pushing a button every now and then while the light show does all the work. Granted, the light show was fantastic, but the band (two drummers!) was bombastic and coiled and sinuous and noisy. Seriously y'all, I was in heaven even though I think my fever had returned. While it was great that long-time vocalist Horace Andy was there, it blew my mind that Elizabeth Fraser (ex-Cocteau Twins) was there to sing as well. "Teardrop" was gorgeous. Never thought I'd ever hear her do that song live. Anyway, best band of the festival by far.

SUNDAY

José González

I don't think an outdoor festival is the best venue for José. The crowd was respectful, but a solo acoustic guitar-playing singer just doesn't work in the middle of a humid day with thousands of people milling around or rocking out to other, louder bands not too far away. Not nearly as good as when I saw him at SXSW 2006, but still decent. Did an interesting cover of Massive Attack's "Teardrop". Did not do his cover of Bronski Beat's "Smalltown Boy", maybe when he comes back later then Fall. Why do I like this acoustic-guitar singer/songwriter when so many others bore me? To (mis)quote comedian Zak Galifianakis, "The way you play music makes me feel good inside."

Ween
Practically a parody of themselves now. Have gone over to the dark side, by which I mean that they've become a jam band. Wanky guitar work all over the place. I walked up when they'd started "Spinal Meningitis" (yay!) and walked away at minute two of the wank solo (boo).

White Ghost Shivers

They were probably a new band for a lot of the crowd, hence the almost immediate aggregation of more and more audience and the big smiles. They are very good at showmanship. Look at the outfits and the instruments, you know where there at musically. Naughtier than you might expect though.

New Pornographers

Reliably great. Why isn't this band huge? Big hooks, great singing, what else do you need? I guess Neko isn't dressed sluttily enough. Snerk. I was bouncing around throughout. "Laws Have Changed" makes my endorphins skyrocket. Also, Neko is funny.
Soon after taking the stage, “I can’t peform in these freezing conditions. Stage manager, fetch me my parka.” Later she acknowledged Ween playing across the way and quoted some song that expressed the sentiment "I'd give a blowjob for a joint," which she quickly followed with, “Not really. Well, you’d have to catch me in the right mood.” Hee.

Flaming Lips

Packed audience, they really should have been a headliner. Their theatrics still worked in the daylight though. Streamers everywhere, confetti blowers, dancing girl aliens, dancing Santas (girls & boys), superheroes (or if you prefer, underwear perverts), Wayne in a giant hamster ball rolling around on top of the crowd; it was a show. They really have their visuals honed, I wish they’d play more songs though. As much as the crowd really enjoyed it, I can't help but do that annoying "you should have seen them back in the day." They still play "She Don't Use Jelly," but I miss "Halloween", "You Can’t Stop the Spring", "Bad Day". I tell you, it was incredible to see them in 1994 wrapped in Christmas lights at Liberty Lunch. Still, it's great that they're popular now and so many more people know and love them.

BoDeans
I generally like the BoDeans, but I'm in love with "Fadeaway". It's definitely a loop song for me, I'll listen to it for 20 minutes at a time. While waiting for Tom Petty, I wandered over figuring they'd play it at some point. They did and I got all gooey with joy. Sure it was waaay too long with multiple solos, but I love it so. After some song, they broke into The Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated". Nice.

Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
Knowing that I had to be up for clinical at 5:45 the next morning, I told myself I could only stay for three songs of Tom Petty. I walked out the gate while the third dong was fading away. Good thing too, because it started to rain just before I got on the shuttle bus. Apparently the band stopped playing after the fourth song.

Generally a good year. Not as good as last year or The Pixies year or the REM year, but Massive Attack bumped it up for me.

Ann Richards didn't like me

Like some other people I know, I voted for Ann Richards in 1994. She was so very entertaining. Yay Ann! Sadly, Dubya defeated her. Boo Dubya. Then she went to work for a lobbying firm and while she herself did not lobby for tobacco companies, the firm did. Boo Ann.

I had two run-ins with Ann Richards. The first was in 1999 when I lived near Clarksville. I was walking down West Lynn when I saw her getting out of her car in front of the dry cleaners. For seemingly no good reason, she looked at me disapprovingly. I'm quite certain my hair was my normal color. OK then.

The second time was in the summer of 2001 when I was petitioning outside of Bookpeople for a campaign finance reform measure. Knowing that she was not a supporter, I approached her anyway,
"M'am, can I get you to sign to support campaign finance reform in Austin?"
She stared daggers at me and said, "You cannot. It's a terrible idea."
She marched past me and into the store. Whoo-hoo, Ann Richards chastised me.

So that's my Ann Richards stories. Oh, also just a few months ago I saw Anna Deavere Smith workshopping a new theatre piece about the body and illness in which Smith performed as Ann Richards in addition to many other real people as she's done before. It was great, Smith really captured the voice and presence of our former Governor. See it if it comes back around.

Rectum, reptile, whatever

Tonight I was reminded of a patient that was seen in the ER last summer when I worked there. A quick check of the blog confirmed that I inexplicably hadn't shared this story yet. I heard it second-hand, but I believe it to be accurate.

A frequent flyer (patient that comes in often) strode up to the triage desk and when he wasn't tended to immediately begain knocking on the desk,
"Uh excuse me, excuse me, I need to be seen."
"What brings you in today?" asked the triage nurse.

The patient matter-of-factly stated that his ass was bleeding, probably due to anal sex (I guess he wasn't doing it right). The triage nurse misheard him, but being an ER triage nurse who's seen it all, nonchalantly asked,
"What kind of animal?"
"Animal?!" the patient exclaimed.
"Didn't you say animal sex?"
"Uh-uh. A-NAL sex. Janeesha does not do animals."

When the patients start assessing the staff

Sometimes patients who have prior experience with hospitalization turn it around on staff. After answering several questions from a nurse, once a psychotic woman started asking questions herself like, "What month is it? What year is it?" These are orientation questions to assess mental status. The questions cover orientation to person, place, time, and situation. So staff would ask a patient, "Can you tell me your name? Can you tell me where you are? What's the date (or break it down if the patient knows the year and season, but not the month or day)? Can you tell me why you're here?" Sometimes staff throw in a "Can you tell me who the President is," but these days that might instigate a round of name-calling (can you blame them?).

The psychotic patient continued questioning the nurse, "Do you hear voices?"
"Yes," responded the nurse.
"Who's?"
"Your's, right now."
Patient, slyly, "Hmm, you're a smart one."

Unexpected poetry

"Simple nails, simple tales" - patient

I took care of a patient recently that was psychotic with thought disorder. Psychotic in general use conjures images of a maniac killer. Actual psychosis is severely impaired thought processes and/or perception. It may manifest as hallucinations, delusions (fixed false belief, "There's a microchip in my brain"), paranoia, thought disorders, and/or lack of insight (unaware that thoughts and behavior are bizarre).

This young woman had profound thought disorder. April* spoke constantly, quickly ("pressure of speech" and yes I know this describes me as well), and without coherence. The syntax of her speech was correct, there was just no meaning. It was just a stream of phrases with constant rhyming. I've been told that rhyming is unusual. Regardless, it's remarkable to witness. It would be unethical to record patients but I wish you could have heard her when she was really going. Further, she would incorporate words she heard around her into her utterances. Fascinating, and awfully sad. It's like she had something terribly important to tell you, but couldn't pull it together.

“Suddenly, suddenly this sickness”

In the midst of a stream of nonsense, April said that phrase. It stuck out. Was this a coherent statement? An awareness of what was occuring? Or is that just me imposing order on a virtual white noise of words? I suspect the latter and hope against the former. It would be kinder if she was consciously unaware of what was going on with her and wouldn't have memories of it, particularly given one facet of her behavior.

“Come here so I can taste it. I promise I won’t waste it.”

The staff joked that April had a crush on me. That's putting it lightly. She was very sexually inappropriate, mostly with me. I quickly became very good at flinching away from her grabs at my crotch and eschewing her offers of sexual favors. Sometimes she'd just lean against the wall or straddle a chair, stick out her butt, and somewhat wearily suggest we get started. It wasn't embarrassing for me - she's clearly out of it and I strive to be professional - but it was a tad frustrating.

During shift change when I was giving report to a staffperson coming on, April tried to sit on a table. I gently dissuaded her, "Let's not sit on the table. It's not stable." My co-worker and I shared a rueful laugh, apparently April was a powerful influence.

I think about April's stream of words often. Is it at all connected to the bursts of inspiration that artists experience when they write a great song in 10 minutes? The way freestyle rappers flow? How can we "unhinge" ourselves temporarily while maintaining self-awareness?

* Fake name. As always, I often change details of patients' sex, age, etc. to protect their identity.

Blood Sugar Death Magic

As a nursing student, I like to think I bring a little more to the table while I'm working as a clinical assistant at the psych facility. For instance, I'm constantly trying to educate patients on good food choices. When it comes to the diabetic patients, I'm quite stern. "No, you cannot have ice cream. You have diabetes. Let's think of something that will be a more appropriate snack for you."

I do this work only to see it disastrously undone by patient's families. A patient will have already eaten their facility-provided meal which is physician order for an 1800 or 2100 calorie per day diet, and then patients' families come in for visiting hours with pizza and non-diet soft drinks or big bags of Taco Bell. A meal like that can easily top their ordered calorie intake for an entire day. It's not true in every case, but I've seen it plenty of times and it mystifies me. It's not like the patient was just diagnosed with diabetes. Diagnosing doctors and nurses usually do a comprehensive job of educating patients and their families on food intake, blood glucose monitoring, etc.

"Are you trying to kill your [loved one]?" I'm tempted to say, "Why not just roll a stick of butter in sugar and batter, freeze it, then deep fry it?" Usually I just pull them aside and point out that we're trying to encourage good eating habits and that while food often plays a part in comfort and they of course want to help their loved one feel better, an entire medium pizza or eight tacos will make them feel worse in the long run.

I'm generally not a fan of scare tactics, but sometimes I just want to hand them a photo of diabetic foot ulcers.

Recent events

Whew I'm getting really lazy with the posting. Or maybe it's not having a computer at home (why did you crap out on me iBook and after all the nice things I've been saying about you). Now that school is starting, I'll likely be more dutiful.

Some high- & lowlights from the past few weeks:

- Went skiing again and got up on the wakeboard immediately. Something clicked and I just got it, that happened to two other guys too. More fun than skis, but harder to cross the wake. I really need to bring a videocamera with me next time so I can document the spectacular wipeouts while tubing.

- Drove to Arlington to enjoy Six Flags only to find that it was closed. They changed their operating hours only a few days before we went. Hateful. More on that trip here.

- Saw When in Rome, Psychedelic Furs, & DEVO(!!!) in San Antonio. When in Rome were better than expected. I expected utterly awful and it turned out rather cheezy. When When in Rome (ha! fun sentence construction) broke it down during their one hit "The Promise" so the singer could introduce the band I turned to mybloodyself and said, "I'm getting goosebumps. Of revulsion." Psych Furs were good, three original members and all their hits. I was surprised and pleased that they played "Dumbwaiters", an abrasive (well, abrasive for Psych Furs, I mean it wasn't Merzbow or anything) and punky song from their first album. Of course Devo were magnificent. It wasn't all that different from the show I saw in New York last year and yet it was better because I was crammed up against the stage (my choice, there was plenty of room) and spazz-dancing throughout. Three young guys near me had driven 14 hours from Memphis to see the show and I was impressed by both their committment and that Devo still inspires such devotion in dorkish college boys. Thank goodness I had a shirt to change into because I completely soaked the one I was wearing. Wheee!

- Scaling way back on my work hours now that school has begun. The shift I had last Sunday was miserable. Understaffed with some fairly sick patients. I've said it before, I'd rather have 10 depressed people than one manic. You think I talk a lot. I almost offered the manic patient $500 to stop talking for 10 minutes knowing she wouldn't be able to do it, but good judgement won out. At least I further endeared myself to the nursing staff by keeping order.

- School started today. Just a review of assessment, vital signs, blood glucose checks (me and my partner bled all over the place, damn defective clotting mechanisms), drawing up and delivering injections, that sort of thing.

UPDATE: Mybloody posted photos of Devo, Psych Furs, & When in Rome.

When it comes to poetry, I'm a callous meany

National Poetry Slam 2006 is happening this week here in Austin. I've been a slam fan since 1998 when it was last in Austin. I even went to Nationals in '99 and '00 just as a fan. After that lack of money and vacation precluded further trips and I fell away from slam aside from watching Def Poetry on HBO.

I was cancelled from work last night so I went to see a couple bouts. Even though they were free last night (and will be tonight), there wasn't much of an audience. In fact, 15 minutes before the start of the 7 PM bout, I was the only audience member not connected to a team or working on crew. In other words, an automatic judge. They rounded up four more and we got started.

The idea of "judging" poetry is admittedly kinda odd. I recommend reading the Wikipedia entry on Slam Poetry to get a sense of the whys and wherefores.

I'll post more about individual poets and teams later, but this post is mainly to record what a demanding asshole of a judge I am apparently. Throughout the evening I was almost always the lowest scorer, and since the high and low scores are thrown out, all I did was set the low-end point. I'll admit I'm demanding. Having been to three Nationals before, my expectations are high. Yelling continously, painfully bad confessionals, and political speeches that just list terrible US military actions do not impress me. In fact, they kinda piss me off because it's been done and by far better poets.

Scoring ranges from 0.0 to 10.0 with 0.0 being, I don't know running off stage after one line I guess, to 10.0 being a perfect poem. PERFECT. I don't tend to give below a 5 unless the poet messes up badly. Basically a 5 for memorizing and performing it. Everything above that is quality of the text and performance. My scores average around 7.2. I've given a 10 before, twice I think. Both times the hair on the back of my neck stood up and I recall twitching with energy. Last night I have a lot of scores in the 6s and 7s; highest score of the night from me was an 8.8.

At one point after a loud, "emotional" poem that I found cliche and derivative, an audience member saw my score (you hold them up high), turned to me and said, "What do you want?!" To which I responded, "I know it when I hear it," which was really a joke reference to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart's famous line about obscenity in relation to pornography, "I know it when I see it."

What I really wanted to say was I want innovation, flow, truth, beauty, to laugh or get goosebumps. I want my pulse to race. I want tears in my eyes. I want to hear something I've never heard before. I want poetry, not a directionless rant, a catalog of ills, a demonstration of singing skill, an artless plea for tolerance, or a humorless brag. I want to hear/see/feel great poems.

People who haven't ever seen to a slam before tend to be easily impressed; especially when they politically agree with the poets (there are few to no right-wing slammers) or empathize with a poets sad personal history. I was like that too once upon a time. Now, I've seen far too many great performers to be impressed with just energy, volume, and hand gestures.

So, I'll continue to be a judge (I tend to get picked by the bout managers when there aren't that many neutral audience members), suffer the "boo"s of the audience (picking on judges is allowed and expected), and glare at other judges who give four 10s in one night (whatthefuck?!).

Junior Senior totally dissed me, sorta. Well no, not really.

Several months ago, a friend of a friend put out a call for people to join her in a fun endeavor. The band Junior Senior had requested that fans shoot footage of themselves lipsynching to the song "Can I Get Get Get". The footage would be edited into a video for the song. Junior Senior wanted to get submissions from all over the world and noted that they'd like to get a sense of the city/country the fans hailed from. Also, the presence of yo-yos was suggested as they were to be a recurring theme on the album.

So one Saturday I reported to Niki's house to find that I was the first person to arrive. She taught me the song while we waited for the others. Who never came. So the two of us (with a cameraman in tow) danced and sang "Can I get get get to know know know you better better baby" a ridiculous amount of times outside the Guadalupe I Love Video, in front of the giant Austin postcard mural, and while cavorting around the huge star in front of the Texas History Museum. A giant inflatable crab was attached (mounting? humping?) the star. We shook its claw and waved balloons about while tourists gawked at us. I provided yo-yo action as well. At the end of the day we agreed that we were very much rockstars. Niki sent off the footage.

The video is now out and I'm massively disappointed. Either many Junior Senior fans are somewhat cute but rather boring or the video editor is untalented and/or vision-impaired. Almost no one shows off where they are from by say, dancing with the Eiffel Tower in the background or atop a Mexican pyramid. And only one clip of yo-yoing, tragic.

What it really all comes down to is this, I'm not in the video. Laaame. Niki has two brief shots, one lipsynching in front of the Austin mural (not that you can read it in close-up), and the other showing her dancing legs (there was much, much better dancing leg footage). I'm not jealous of Niki, what I'm saying is that we should have constituted at least 25% of the video. Watch it for yourself, I guess. Grumble sourgrapes grumble.

More fun with Spanish

Today we were going over food vocabulary. We had to go around the classroom and find fellow students who liked and didn't like various foods. A girl came to me and asked me about vegetables. What I was supposed to say was, "Me gusta calabaza," or "I like squash." What I actually said was, "Me gusta cabeza," or "I like head," which is true, but not really appropriate to say in Spanish class. I think I blushed.