i totally knew that this would happen

I had been thinking for years (YEARS!) that I might want to get back into print photography, perhaps of the lomo variety, just because while digital photography is great for instant gratification, there's nothing like holding that print in your hand. And let's face it, we never make prints of our digital photos, because dude, that's what Flickr is for. But also with respect to print photography, there's sort of that fun guesswork and the economy that the medium forces on you. I will easily fire off thirty shots of basically the same shot digitally (see: my roughly five million shots of Mack lying on a pillow staring blankly at the ceiling), but when I have to actually pay for the film? Well, let's make sure the light and composition and setting are right and DON'T YOU DARE BLINK, KID. Yes, I know, I am making this hobby sound like an absolute blast.

About two years ago, I was this close to buying a Holga, but decided not to, because I was a resident (read: no money) and I didn't want to buy film AND pay for developing AND find out, like, two weeks later that I had made some stupid mistake with the manual settings and ended up with a roll full of completely blacked out shots anyway. But then a while ago, I started thinking, why not Polaroid? True, the film is more expensive, but I am impatient, and spoiled by digital besides, so I liked the idea of seeing how I screwed up one minute later, not, like, a month later, when I can't even remember what I did when I took the picture. I ended up (in a pique of righteousness, after I, though my own incompetence, didn't win a bid on some cheapy old Polaroid on eBay despite the fact that no one else bid on the item) thinking that Polaroid film was defunct anyway, why buy into a dying medium, and getting this hilariously bulky Fuji Instax 200 instead as my gateway drug. But who am I kidding, I'm probably going to end up getting a cheapy old Polaroid on eBay anyway and thus squandering away the rest of my already ill-spent youth trying to figure out the dying art of instant film photography while all the kids look at me strangely as they glide by on their hoverboards and jet packs. (It will be THE FUTURE, you see.)

Anyway, here was my first roll. Please excuse the lack of a scanner, our old one decided to go all Skynet on us and started making strange sentient human-killing noises, so we unplugged the thing and are deciding if it is a lost cause to try and fix it (likely) or if we will end up needing to get a new scanner. Anyway, I already spent all my money on film, what else do you want from me, people? (Note to Joe: Not really! Don't worry, we still have money! Anyway, Cal probably won't want to go to college anyway.)

What you can determine from this first roll is that I do not know how to use this camera indoors. It cannot focus worth a damn closer than oh, say, 4-6 feet, and I cannot figure out how to turn off the flash, which accounts for the three completely dark photos that I tried to take in the subway station, as well as the two obligatory shots of myself in the mirror. But the outdoor shots worked rather better, and I do like how the camera renders blues.

Second roll. Getting better. OK, so the other thing that you need to know about this camera is that it looks freaking ridiculous. Seriously, like people may laugh at you when you whip it out. I looks like Cal's toy camera, only even more huge. Also, the photo shoots out the top instead of the bottom, which is like--what? Problems I have been troubleshooting include how to get the shot centered (I am used to using SLR so I'm not used to the viewfinder not lining up with the lens--see the totally off-center picture of the Yo Gabba Gabba dolls on the bottom left), what settings to use in different lighting conditions, and remembering to set my focus distance from near to far when I'm shooting different things. (Not that it really shoots anything that near. No macro setting on this thing, that's for sure.)

It's surely not as retro-cool as shooting with some of the old Polaroid cameras, which would make me feel like I was on "Mad Men," chain smoking and wearing high-wasted skirts and living in a state of quiet despair and whatnot. But it was a good start, especially since I knew (know) nothing about instant film photography and at least I didn't have to figure out how to use a second-hard camera from the 1960's with a discontinued battery and no instruction booklet, not even knowing if the camera was functioning or not. However, I fear that I will be there soon. Perhaps adopting this hobby was unwise.

i already used up all the brainpower i might have otherwise used to think of a title for this post

I've decided that to study for my written anesthesia Boards (which I will be taking the first week of August) I will start reviewing 10 practice questions a day, every day, up until the week before the exam, at which point I might step up my game somewhat and start some sort of a cram-a-thon. Ten questions a day is certainly not too onerous, but the only time I have to do it is at home, after both kids are asleep and before I go to sleep, usually a window of about five minutes, seven if I decide to brush my teeth. And this amount of time does not exactly allow for careful review of the source material.

So I guess I have to start going to bed a little bit later. This should not be a big deal--after all, didn't I stay up late every night in college, back when I was a weenie little premed and could only dream of the glamourous life that I lead now? (See: today, I got a free bagel! With cream cheese! BEHOLD, THE POWER OF THE MEDICAL DEGREE.) But the thing is, I've started seeing sleep as sort of an investment for work. As in: if I don't get enough sleep, I cannot think quickly and perform my job well, and this is not good for my patients. And therefore, I have to be in bed by 9pm or else PEOPLE WILL DIE. I know this makes very little sense--I didn't get enough sleep as a resident and I was taking care of patients then--but somehow being the one who is ultimately responsible makes me take everything a little more seriously. And if treating what little is left of my brain to the minor pampering it requires to function well, then by all means, put me in bed before it's dark outside.

Anyway, I did my ten questions for the day. And now I updated my blog, albeit nonsensically. And now I'm going to bed.

almost makes my eyes hurt

Ridiculously neon pink flowers growing outside the hospital.

so...that happened

I love having kids and all that, but one thing that I don't think I'm going to stop being jealous of childless people for anytime soon is their ability to travel. Because no matter how cool you are and how well-behaved and flexible your spawn are, once you have kids, your days of traveling as you once knew them are over. When you have kids, your travel is not dictated so much by concerns such as where you would like to go or what you would like to do when you get there, rather how long the flight is, what kind of kid-friendly activities are available, and whether or not chicken tenders and french fries will be on the menu as a backup plan in case your kid decides to eschew the seared ahi tuna on a bed of wasabi-infused slaw. Before Joe and I had kids, Joe and I traveled. Not as exotically as some of our friends, and not as often as we would have liked, but we traveled, you know? We went to Japan, Hawaii, Europe. And after Cal was born? Florida, Florida, and Florida. Oh, and Atlanta.

The real shame of it is, even if you dump your kids on someone and take a grown-ups only vacation (something that we talked about but probably will not do anytime soon) it's still not the same as before. Because while you can then fly to Prague or Chile or wherever, in all probability we'd just spend our whole vacation missing those kids. And that would just ruin everything. Therefore, whether or not your kids are physically present or not, travel after kids is never quite the same.

So while I know that the hipster thing to do would be to hate on Disneyworld--the commercialism! The artifice! The cloying "Disney Princess" empire (which, with one minor exception, as parents of two boys we have luckily not yet had to accept into our household)--I have to say this: I LOVE DISNEYWORLD. Do you hear that, cool kids? I love Disneyworld. I don't know anything about its corporate policies or unfair hiring practices or creepy communist-leaning history, all I know is that it's one of the few places in the world where you can take a kid and almost everything--EVERYTHING--you can do will be enjoyable and appropriate for them. And that makes it fun for me. Because while I would love to take a trip to South Africa without having to worry about how many sticker books and Play Doh containers and Pixar DVDs worth of cartoons to pack for the flight, I love seeing my kid have fun even more than that.

The nine hours we spent on the road each way were no fun, of course. Cal actually did fine--we packed enough amusements to keep him busy, and at the end of it all, there was the "Cars" DVD on my computer, so why wouldn't he be fine? But Mack--Mack was not happy. At baseline, he is a baby that likes to be held, so being crunched up in the carseat for that long, regardless of how many rest stops we made...well, let's just say that it made me rethink our decision not to fly this year. And even after we got there, poor Mack still had to suffer through being dragged around everywhere like some kind of teddy bear, napping in the stroller, eating on the run, propped up on the nearest convenient lap while his brother went on one ride or another. Oh, the woes of the second-born.

Cal, on the other hand, had probably the best time of his life. Because did I mention that there was a ride wherein he got to drive a CAR on a RACETRACK by HIMSELF? Well, there was! And he thought he was the man! (Don't tell him: it was on rails. Shhh!) And there were fireworks EVERY NIGHT. And ice cream! And he tried a roller coaster for the very first time and didn't die! Oh, but good times were had.

So anyway, we had a good week. Thanks to everyone who e-mailed me road trip entertainment strategies, they were well-appreciated and employed. And now we're all settling back in--back to work, back to school, back to...whatever it is that Mack does during the day when I'm not here. But that's not all bad. It was a nice time, and a fun trip, but it's good to be home, too.

(See full collection of photos here.)

We made it.

On the road.

wash me

I know I need to stop taking pictures of things coated in pollen, but oh my god, now people are WRITING in it.

I said it once before, but it still bears repeating: Gah!

the one true pen

Someone recently asked me (and I'm going to paraphrase here) why doctors all seem to have such a hard-on for that One Perfect Pen. Well, I'll tell you. Short answer: we're nerds. Long answer: the more junior a doctor is (I'm going to include med students in this generalization too, because it applies to them as well) the more time they spend scrawling endless notes and lists and orders that, with rare exception, no one will pay much attention to. Yet the amount of time spent writing is seemingly endless. So what do you do? Much the same as we spend much time and thought into finding that perfect pair of shoes with which to endlessly pace the halls while on call (Sneakers? Crocs? Dansko clogs? Some sort of sneaker-shoe hybrid?), we need to find that One Perfect Pen to make the work a little less painful, less tedious, and in some cases, to even bring a little happiness into our sad, small lives.

When I am writing a note with a nice pen, it makes the writing go faster, it makes my handwriting look nicer, and it actually does lift my spirits. I don't write nearly as much as I had to when I was a resident (when I was an intern in particular, the importance of the One Perfect Pen hit its zenith) but I still do have to write consults and notes and especially orders every day, and while I could get this job done with just about any writing implement, I do like to have me a nice pen.

When I was a third and fourth-year medical student, I had a brief flirtation with the Dr. Grip. Unclear at this point now whether I just thought it was cool to have a pen that was called "Dr." while I myself was not one yet, but it was your standard refillable gel pen, available in a variety of clear plastic barrels (this was the era of the clamshell candy-colored iMac), and it made a nice line. However, time was not kind to the Dr. Grip pen, as it got dropped and lost and stolen (people always need to borrow a pen for "just one second" and end up pocketing the thing *, though I'd like to think more out of habit than malice), and given its relatively hefty price tag (more than $6 PER PEN, my god) it eventually gave way to its cheaper and more disposable brethren.
My intern year in Pediatrics, I loved the Pilot P-500, which was this needle-tipped gel pen that wrote smoothly and produced a beautiful fine line, which allowed me to write very tiny yet legibly. This was important because as a Peds intern, a ridiculous amount of my time was spent updating these "signout sheets," basically these multiply Xeroxed grids for each patient listing their names, medical record numbers, medical problems, meds, and all recent hospital events dating back to their date of admission. Basically, it was a running portable chart for each kid that we would tote around and pass off to each other, from the overnight call team back to the day team and so on. Do you need to write, "J-tube feeds held, vanc and Flagyl added, stool cultures pending, social work contacted for home care" very, very tiny in a itty bitty box the size of a postage stamp? Get you the P-500, friend! I loved this pen.

When I decided not to be a Peds resident anymore and my days of making teeny tiny check boxes were a thing of the past (well, except for my ICU months while in Anesthesia residency--but still, nothing rivaled the number of teeny tiny check boxes on a general Peds inpatient service) I switched to my current love, probably the love of many of you pen nerds out there, the Pilot G2.

I think I read somewhere (perhaps from Pilot's own propaganda, if it can be trusted) that this is the world's most popular gel pen. (I can believe believe it's the most popular in America, but the world--really? Have you seen the pens they have in Asia? Those are some office pen-loving people there, boy. Maybe it's not my fault that I'm this way--it's a biological imperative, written into my genome.) Well anyway, the G2 is a great pen, writes smooth, feels good in the hand, and thought it's a little pricier than some, you can still get a box of a dozen for less than $20. Unfortunately, it does have this unfortunate habit of skipping and leaking ink from the tip after blunt impact, just as I seem to have an unfortunate habit of dropping my pens, so I've killed quite a few that way. Nothing like a big blob of black ink bleeding through the front of your scrub top to shake your patient's confidence. Yes, I look like a mess, but please, TRUST ME WITH YOUR LIFE NOW.

As those on my Twitter stream probably know all too well, I just bought some new pens on sale, the Bic Velocity with a 0.7mm tip in black. They were on sale, two dozen for less than $20, and I'd tried it out before, found it acceptable enough, so figured what the hell.

People, I cannot even tell you with a straight face just how much time I've spent thinking about this pen. First I thought about buying it. Then I fantasized about writing with it. Then I waited and waited (and waited! For THREE WHOLE DAYS!) for the pens to arrive. Then I took them to work and labelled them. Then I wrote with them. Then I looked at them in the light. In the shade. Turned them upside down. Considered them. Compared them to other pens. Tried to figure out if I liked them more or less than the G2. (Less.) Tried to quantify how much less I liked them than the G2. (35% less.) Tried to figure out if I should just stick it out or get more new pens. And then I noticed that everyone around me had died of boredom, because dude, STOP TALKING ABOUT YOUR DAMN PENS ALREADY.

So anyway, why do doctors have such a boner for That One Perfect Pen? Back to the first, shorter answer, which is probably all you needed to know in the first place. We're nerds. Or at least I am.

* This reminds me: after one too many pen thefts, I started to use a strategy called "The Decoy Pen," later renamed "The Sacrificial Pen." Basically, I'd have in my pocket a number of pens, mostly of my preferred brand, but one really cheap stick pen that I, like, got free from the bank. So if someone asked me to borrow a pen, I would give them the cheap one, and if they ended up walking off with it, no big deal. By all means, keep my ballpoint WalMart pen that I found on the floor of the second floor women's bathroom, YOU THIEF.

yellow rain

Pollen in the sidewalk cracks. Gah!