7.29.2014
Down in the pit
A bit of background. The surgical pit consists of examination rooms w a clear space in the middle that holds 3 desks: leftmost is trauma, center is surgery, right is orthopedics. Walk-in patients get triaged at the nurses' desk to one of the three desks. Right next to the pit is resus, which seems to fall solely under trauma's purview, so we're the only ones who receive patients directly from paramedics. Once we stabilize a patient, we can then refer to surgery or ortho or burns or peds. We also have two theaters dedicated solely to trauma surgery, which seems to run around the clock. Obviously, there's the gunshot/stab emergency laparotomies and thoracotomies that we do, but for some reason, we also do wound debridement, skin grafting, and I've seen one bowel obstruction.
On calls are 24h and run from 7am to 7am. My first one was last Saturday, which happened to be the perfect storm of ppl doing stupid shit to hospitalize each other. Not only was it payday, it was also a Darby between the two rival local soccer teams playing in Soweto stadium, and some rowdy political party's first year anniversary, for which they would throw a rowdy party. Lots of drunkenness, which led to lots of stabbing, RTAs, burns, gunshots. the stretchers in resus were wall to wall all night long. You couldn't walk from the foot of a patient to their head without scooting at least 2 beds sideways, like clotheshangers on a discount rack. More stretchers were placed helter skelter at the feet of the lined-up beds. It was a war zone. Things were even worse in the pit (except better bc those patients weren't immediately dying), with people lying, sitting, standing in whatever space they could find. Patients literally lying on the floor! We filled the entire pit. We ran out of blood and X-ray forms at our desk and had to borrow from the fat pads at the other desks We ran out of lidocaine. We ran out of small and medium gloves, giving sets for drips, etc etc. trash and sharps were strewn on the floor and kicked to a corner. It was the best night I've ever had in a hospital. And really, it beat most nights out too. I learned to put in a chest drain, took a few ABGs under pressure, put in a wide bore line under pressure, dressed a burn, sutured and sutured and sutured--all stab wounds.
That first night, we actually ended up staying till 11am bc josh was stuck assisting in a thoracotomy for an iatrogenic rupture of the internal thoracic artery during a chest drain insertion (not mine, a narrow miss, actually. I had asked to put that one in, but bc the intern was under time pressure, she said she'd just go ahead and do it. When she pierced the pleura, a gush of red blood came out. I actually said "whoa" but she took it as a sign that she was in the right space for the hemothorax. I'd never seen a hemo before, so I just went w it. About ten min later, the patient starts getting really sweaty and We had to resus him. But bc the bleed was flowing directly into the drain, 1) there was no hydrostatic pressure increase to help staunch the bleeding 2) the bleed didn't show up on the fast scan. The drain filled up quick though. He lost 1.5 L in no time at all. He was a young guy, so he managed to compensate quite well initially, so his vitals stayed normal for quite a while. Kudos to the intern for recognizing the crash just by him sweating. I would've taken it as a ketamine overdose (we use it to sedate the patients and pretty much keep giving it until they tolerate the drain insertion (it's super painful)). I also had to stay to sort out some pep stuff (more on that later). By the time we got to the car, I was exhausted. And of course, the car wouldn't start bc the battery was dead. Matt reckons it's bc he left the lights on overnight. It's a smallish car so we tried to push start it. Then we tried to jump start it. Then we tried to push start it again. No dice. Finally, the boys called the hire company to change the battery, and I called Chris (a driver I met earlier) to get of me the heck out of there. Stopped to pick up some food, and Got home around 2pm. Pulled Up to find the Germans sitting in our driveway. I didn't realize that they were moving in today and was completely disheartened that my plan to eat an entire pizza in my bedroom while skyping Jon had been scarpered. Ate in the living room while trying to be sociable. Didn't get to bed till 3pm, slept till 10pm, skyped Jon for a bit, then slept again till morning, when I began my second 24h on call.
Second one was just as busy for me--as in, I did the same amount of work, but we actually managed to clear the pit and resus by the time 7am rolled around. Sutured loads of knees. Two from car accidents where the driver bashed his knee on the dash and one from a tree falling on him. Also learned to do a fast scan and cleared a patient w it on my lonesome (sort of, don't worry, the reg was looking over my shoulder at the screen while I did it). Bc josh and Matt weren't on that night and bc I had had to give the Germans my key, I couldn't leave until they came in and gave me their key. Of course, it's the one morning that they're late. So late that the guy who had offered to drive me home leaves, and i have to get josh to drive me back again. Cannot catch a break w getting home from on calls on time. Anyways, managed to sleep a bit more, and am about to start my 3rd on call in a row. Wish me luck.
Johannesburg, first impressions
It seems a lifetime ago that Jon left me at joburg airport after what I think we are counting as our honeymoon (more on that later). Here, in joburg, on my elective at the Chris hani baragwanath hospital in Soweto, my world has focused down to the hospital, the house we have rented in mondeor, and the gym. This microcosm provides enough stimulation to keep me wholly engaged. I'm like a newborn babe, content to try to make sense of my immediate surrounds before trying to wander wider.
the hospital is like a tent city. It's huge and always bathed in sunlight during the day (something no one who has lived in England for any amount of time takes for granted), which goes miles towards dispelling the mordor-like, Goliath slum image I had built up in my mind. an admonitory tale describes a female doctor getting raped in the hospital while walking at night from obs and gyne to blood bank. I had always imagined someone getting dragged by her hair to some dank cellar broom closet in a deserted hospital. Actually, the hospital is never deserted, and obs and gyne and blood bank are on opposite sides of the hospital and requires walking outside for long stretches (a cardinal rule of survival in joburg is that no one should EVER be alone outside after dark). I'm not saying it's ok that she was raped, I'm just saying that precautions can be taken to prevent it happening to me (so stop worrying, Jon). Funny that the lesson ppl seem to have picked up is that girls shouldn't walk to blood bank by themselves at night as opposed to girls shouldn't walk outside by themselves at night. Blood bank is really close to trauma (makes sense, eh?), but I'm usually forbidden from going to collect blood when I'm on call. Seems weirdly superstitious, but I guess when personal safety is so down to luck, we try to make sense of things any way that we can. The other day, a man in the hospital parking lot got shot in the wrist while making a bread delivery. Broad daylight. He was sitting in his car, some guy tried to carjack him, he drove off and got shot, fracturing both radius and ulna. He was surprisingly nonchalant about it. After he got set, splinted, and sutured, he absconded to go finish his bread delivery. Pure luck (or lack thereof).
The elective itself is fulfilling my need for adventure. Every day I learn something new, and it's usually how to DO something new, not just a new medical fact (bc tbh, there are tons of new medical facts that I could learn and forget in every blink of every eye back in England). The first week, I spent mostly on the ward, practicing cannulation and blood letting w unfamiliar equipment, getting to know people, tacitly absorbing all those details of a new place and its logistics that are long-term useless but short-term necessary and incredibly exhausting to figure out. Did manage to do my first femoral stab, which was surprisingly easy. Don't know why it's not done more commonly in the uk...British distaste for the groin, perhaps?
Things do feel more gilligan's island here, and by that I mean a little makeshift, but cool in that self-reliance way. For example, they don't flush cannulae lines here. They just attach a bag of saline, then lower it below the arm: if blood flows up the line then you know the line is intravascular. Or before extubating burns victims, they deflate the cuff and measure the exhaled co2. If co2 is low, that means air is escaping around the cuff, so there's no soft tissue edema and the patient is ready for extubation. Clever, eh?
And dunno if it's bc I'm in trauma, where everything is literally life or death, or whether it's because im in joburg, but the way they treat patients is...interesting. Not good or bad necessarily...ok who am I kidding? It's bad (but also often hilarious). The balance of power is definitely shifted towards doctors. Every night, I see the registrar slapping patients on the head: "hey man! hold still! I'm trying to save your life here! You're really starting to get on my nerves!" WHACK upside the head. In her defence, the patients are generally drunk/high with multiple stab wounds, falling bp, etc etc and she's trying to get a central line in for ionotropes or something while they're flailing about and screaming their fool heads off. Tbh, when she does it, I cheer internally. Surely, every doctor has had that time when they just wanted to slap a truculent patient. If the slaps don't quieten them down, the threshold for sedating patients is low, and a surprisingly high number of them get rapid sequence induced and intubated just to keep them docile. Dunno what the ethics on that is. This morning, a lady w a pelvis fracture was lying in an L shape across hers and another patient's trolleys. A reg dragged her bodily back onto her own trolley like a sack of potatoes while she screamed in pain (and she'd just been handed over, so the reg definitely knew about the fractures).
The way they deal w consent is likewise shifty. I asked an intern whether she'd already gotten consent for a chest drain, and she looked at me like "why in heaven would I want to do that?" A hefty dose of ketamine later, the guy no longer has capacity anyways. In the wards, the only way patients express lack of consent is by being uncooperative. One guy w a partially obstructed bowel kept pulling out his Ng tube. I think they explained it to him once or twice that he needed the tube, but then by the third and fourth time, it was "hey, my man, I've already explained this to you multiple times. If you don't want us to treat you, then you can sign this sheet of paper and we'll discharge you, and you can go home and die by yourself. And don't come back when it starts getting bad again either! And the death WILL be painful!" Luckily, it was only a scare tactic (they didn't let the guy go home after all, even though he offered to sign the form), but it's a scare tactic that gets pulled out w surprising frequency and facility. Another man didn't want to let us take bloods. He was immediately declared "confused". "Hey baba, why are you acting this way? You're confused!" At least they still have to get written consent for surgery.
Bc the healthcare here is still v paternalistic, patients are grateful for the care they get, even though the care is free (cf UK patients' attitudes). I've made grown men cry w pain while suturing them, but afterwards, they all thank me in this charming, sincere way. It's amazing. We went grocery shopping in our scrubs after work the other day, and ppl stopped us to say what good care they got at Bara after their accident. it felt good. Like i'd finally become a useful member of society. Maybe this contributes to the lack of consent...bc doctors know best, and afterwards, patients are thankful, regardless of their feelings at the time. Well, they're either thankful or dead.
11.03.2013
Lamu
holy crap, it's been years and years since i started writing this post. it's time to just send it out into the world. i wash my hands of you, lamu.
*Ahem. i started this post a couple of months ago, so some things are a bit dated...(the year 2000, the year 2000...robotic being finally rule the world).
also, i seem to have written the beginning of this post twice now...so you can actually choose your beginning:
nostalgic version:
we took a bus to lamu...a bus that the state department warned against...that an american GI in uganda taught me how to hijack if necessary (his advice was to curse at the driver to keep his foot on the gas...and if he threatened to stop, i was to wrench him out of the drivers seat and drive the bus myself, at which point he asked if i could drive stick, the answer to which is no. "oh," says he.). nothing really happened on the bus ride there, except we got stopped by some heavily armed army men who were checking for marijuana. everybody got off the bus; we were split into women on the shaded side, men on the sunny side while they searched all our luggage. the bus ride back was much more exciting. we sat next to a bunch of tied chickens and an armed guard. the chickens sat docilely on the floor, tongues slightly out, not moving a muscle. we poured them some water from our bottle to drink. they seemed to enjoy that.
lamu is an island with no vehicle access. the bus dropped us off on the other side of the water, and everyone crowded onto a boat. we squeezed into the prow, stowaways. we could see a bit of sky thru the cracks in the wood. the roof was too low to straighten our spines. water sloshed in at us, and we shared this coveted bit of sitting space with 20 others.
erika, ash, and i couldn't convince the boys to join us on the dangerous bus route from mombasa to lamu. whatever, we didn't need them. other than the police barricade, where everyone got off (boys to the sunny side of the bus, girls to the yin), and they searched everyone's luggage for pot, the bus endured nothing more rigorous than the patronage of some thirsty chickens. on the way back, we had an armed guard escort.

lamu is only accessible by boat. donkey remains the main source of transport on the island, which has allowed lamu to retain its labyrinthine network of alleyways.
we arrived like stowaways, i.e. emerging from the dripping hull of a crowded boat, just in time for mawlid al-nabi, a festival celebrating muhammed's birthday. our timing couldn't be more perfect.
after rejecting a number of mediocre rooming arrangements and explaining to the offended owners that their home was nice, but we wanted toilet seats (holes in the ground are fine, but if you give me a toilet, then i want a seat), we finally found a lovely tiered house featuring flights and flights of non-uniform staircases winding their ways around knuckled flowering trees. i shared a "room" with ash at the top of the house.
We didn't even have to get out of bed to catch the sunrise.
*Ahem. i started this post a couple of months ago, so some things are a bit dated...(the year 2000, the year 2000...robotic being finally rule the world).
also, i seem to have written the beginning of this post twice now...so you can actually choose your beginning:
nostalgic version:
we took a bus to lamu...a bus that the state department warned against...that an american GI in uganda taught me how to hijack if necessary (his advice was to curse at the driver to keep his foot on the gas...and if he threatened to stop, i was to wrench him out of the drivers seat and drive the bus myself, at which point he asked if i could drive stick, the answer to which is no. "oh," says he.). nothing really happened on the bus ride there, except we got stopped by some heavily armed army men who were checking for marijuana. everybody got off the bus; we were split into women on the shaded side, men on the sunny side while they searched all our luggage. the bus ride back was much more exciting. we sat next to a bunch of tied chickens and an armed guard. the chickens sat docilely on the floor, tongues slightly out, not moving a muscle. we poured them some water from our bottle to drink. they seemed to enjoy that.
lamu is an island with no vehicle access. the bus dropped us off on the other side of the water, and everyone crowded onto a boat. we squeezed into the prow, stowaways. we could see a bit of sky thru the cracks in the wood. the roof was too low to straighten our spines. water sloshed in at us, and we shared this coveted bit of sitting space with 20 others.
lamu is a land of dhows and donkeys.
holy crap let's just get this over with version:
now that i am over a year behind in this thing, it is time to catchup in earnest. especially as my boss, in yet another bid to stop me surfing the internet, has blocked all internet mail servers, as well as youtube, and a few other of my standby entertainment sites. ah well. new beginnings.
holy crap let's just get this over with version:
now that i am over a year behind in this thing, it is time to catchup in earnest. especially as my boss, in yet another bid to stop me surfing the internet, has blocked all internet mail servers, as well as youtube, and a few other of my standby entertainment sites. ah well. new beginnings.
erika, ash, and i couldn't convince the boys to join us on the dangerous bus route from mombasa to lamu. whatever, we didn't need them. other than the police barricade, where everyone got off (boys to the sunny side of the bus, girls to the yin), and they searched everyone's luggage for pot, the bus endured nothing more rigorous than the patronage of some thirsty chickens. on the way back, we had an armed guard escort.
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
lamu is only accessible by boat. donkey remains the main source of transport on the island, which has allowed lamu to retain its labyrinthine network of alleyways.
we arrived like stowaways, i.e. emerging from the dripping hull of a crowded boat, just in time for mawlid al-nabi, a festival celebrating muhammed's birthday. our timing couldn't be more perfect.
after rejecting a number of mediocre rooming arrangements and explaining to the offended owners that their home was nice, but we wanted toilet seats (holes in the ground are fine, but if you give me a toilet, then i want a seat), we finally found a lovely tiered house featuring flights and flights of non-uniform staircases winding their ways around knuckled flowering trees. i shared a "room" with ash at the top of the house.
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
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| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
| From lamu 3-2009 |
5.25.2012
clever vs nice
there are too many clever people in the world. when faced with a choice, be nice instead. it'll get you less attention and make you friends more slowly, but they'll be better friends.
something it's taken me a long time to realize, and obviously something i struggle with.
anyone got a fortune cookie i can stick that in?
something it's taken me a long time to realize, and obviously something i struggle with.
anyone got a fortune cookie i can stick that in?
12.21.2011
sick of all the weight loss advice...gonna write my own
tip 1: sit in bed emailing all morning...give those fingers a good workout. you'll lose weight if you're too lazy to go downstairs to the kitchen.
tip 2: eat lots of different foods so they'll fight in your tummy and cancel each other out
tip 3: chew lots to get all the flavor out, then swallow. these actions use lots of face muscles.
tip 4: lift your fork/glass/spoon to your face multiple times before eating/drinking off it. it works better if you count aloud during this process. if this seems daunting, you can pump yourself up beforehand by muttering "5 reps per bite" under your breath beforehand. thrash wildly when the men in white coats come to take you away.
tip 5: eat sketchy foods and develop a stomach bug. diarrhea is the best weight loss medicine.
tip 2: eat lots of different foods so they'll fight in your tummy and cancel each other out
tip 3: chew lots to get all the flavor out, then swallow. these actions use lots of face muscles.
tip 4: lift your fork/glass/spoon to your face multiple times before eating/drinking off it. it works better if you count aloud during this process. if this seems daunting, you can pump yourself up beforehand by muttering "5 reps per bite" under your breath beforehand. thrash wildly when the men in white coats come to take you away.
tip 5: eat sketchy foods and develop a stomach bug. diarrhea is the best weight loss medicine.
12.06.2011
overwhelmed
4+2 years of college did not prepare me for bra shopping at victoria's secret. i stood in a stupor as the saleswoman explained the bra shapes complementing the boob shapes and which lines had what...in the end, i lifted my shirt and bought the ones she liked the best. i hope her tastes match jon's.
11.19.2011
resolutions
when i started medicine, i kind of decided that i wouldn't let what i learned affect my way of life too much. yes, there are all these dangers out there, and if you hold the world up to a microscope, it's a gross place. but i've survived up to now, i'm relatively robust, and once you start avoiding the gross, where do you stop? it's all a slippery slope to bree van de camp.
only...i've decided i'm not going to eat anymore bivalved mollusks. did you know that human sewage plants don't kill the enteric viruses in poo? these viruses get into the water supply, where all these mollusks just sit around filtering tons of water to get the yummy and the yucky out of it. in fact, mollusks act as filters for the especially harmful types of norovirus (those that bind ABO glycoproteins). plus, it's not like oysters are that tasty anyways. i mean, if pigs sat around in virus infected water all day, i'd probably still eat them, but oysters are so not worth the risk.
5.01.2011
random thoughts about paga 21
every year, paga divides my life: pre and post. this year was better than the last in that more international friends came, so the social scene wasn't dominated by the brits (seriously, there is a herd party every weekend that is more fun/less awkward than the crown & roses drinking game scene--btw, my scale of good times is by the amount of alcohol required before you're having one. altho there is ample drinking opportunity w the herd, i find myself jolly even without the liquor). oh yeah, and the herd were there this year, yay!
but then again, this year was not as good b/c we lost in the finals to fembot ballers 13-6...i don't think they were 7 points better than us. takeaways? losing sucks. i need to get more stable on my around backhand breaks. it's ok to hold the disc for a bit before throwing...tend towards the ange.
moments for the highlight reel: i tipped a callahan to myself in the semifinals against the russians (bonus points for demoralizing the russians), i got a poach D on one of the best japanese cutters, and i got a point block on one of the main czech handlers (both for immediate conversions). nothing spectacular on O, i'm afraid...something to work on.
the rest of paga was a blur...even without copious amounts of alcohol. lets see...shenanigans in the arcades:
- we managed to top last year's elephant debacle by getting 5 people on a mechanical horse while ppl dressed as old men waved their canes at us (they then blocked up a roundabout by crossing extremely slowly..the cops got involved).
- ange and linz are, as suspected, both ace at various tabletop games (air hockey, foosball). i sucked only marginally less than neibh, who may or may not have had an injured shoulder.
otherwise:
- i ate the obligatory amounts of gelato, strazzopreti, calamari (ie LOADS)
- went for a cold dip in the mediterranean (my first)
- caught up w the asian friends (jake, jim, doc, sherry, steph & trey, who are now ENGAGED!!!), the hot lava friends (alice, minh, beth), the mit friends (lori & christy, who is now PREGNANT!!!!), and the european friends from hotpot last year.
ok, now i'm less sleepy, so will get back to studying the kidney.
4.08.2011
jon is awesome
an email description of an evening in beirut:
First along the seafront promenade – no sand but a nice broad pavement. Weirdly, no restaurants along the coast so we headed inland a bit. Lots of local street food but nothing that we were looking for. Ended up back in the fancy downtown where we had al fresco supper on cobbled streets where the leaves on knarled cedar trees, dappled by subtle illumination, chewed at the sandstone pillars on archways between which were interleaved domes of mosques and spires of churches, such are the perpetual emblems of a once war-torn city.
Or, if you would prefer that description in a more Hemingway-esque style:
“Hi,” I said.
“… Oh”, he replied.
“…,” I paused.
“How about a drink?”
“Hey,” I replied.
4.07.2011
How do you get 2 whales in a car?
*on the motorway, dummy.--ok, so it doesn't really work in print, but if you don't get it, try saying it allowed.
Paul dropped into the UK for a brief stint while his brother Andrew sits on a panel at the Skoll Foundation Conference in Oxford. I met him for lunch at Mai sushi on Monday (I ate, he nibbled) before heading out to Swansea for 3 days.
i love stuffing my friends full of good food, but it's troublesome when friends visit from areas with better food than London (eg HK, cali, nyc, chicago, basically almost everywhere), so it was a huge relief when Paul revealed that he'd been in Africa for the last couple of weeks. Jackpot! Recently returned 3rd world travelers are so low maintenance and grateful for everything. he was bound to be impressed, and sure enough, cornish pasties knocked him off his feet. furthermore, when we first got into our hotel room in swansea, paul peeked into the bathroom and said: "wow, lily, have you seen this shower?!" um, yes, paul, it sprouts hot water when you turn it on. i totally get where he's coming from though...after mbita, my biggest joys were running water & real pillows.
that first night in swansea, we walked to our hotel and then went to mcD's to get a "snack"...
paul: "wanna share some chicken nuggets?"
me: "no"
paul (to cashier): "i'll have the 20 piece chicken nuggets, please."
needless to say, that snack ended up being our dinner, especially after i won a free apple pie to wash down the mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, & french fries. ah, the beginning of our foray into brown colored foods. also, can we all just agree that orange fizzy fanta tastes better from mcdonalds? i don't know if it's the dispenser, the straw, the cup or what, but fanta in a can should be called can't (har har).
the next morning, we caught a bus to rhossili of worm's head fame. we got there too late to walk all the way out onto the peninsula, but we got far enough for paul to pee in the ocean and for me to play w the shells that completely covered all the rocks...it was like walking on, well, a slippery, mossy, mollusky chunk of rock (yes, i know, you're dumbfounded by my creativity).
| From swansea mar 2011 |
| From swansea mar 2011 |
after watching the ocean drown the rocks, we took in a fairly overpriced lunch at a sea-side restaurant and caught a bus to another stretch of shoreline, upon which we hiked to oxwich castle.
- lots of nice views of the beach (paul showed his appreciation for the prettiest ones by pissing from them, although they were invariably too far for him to hit the water).
- a rope down a steep path that allowed us to "rappel" down to the beach, where we found a homemade lobster trap (we think) & a very dead rabbit.
From swansea mar 2011 From swansea mar 2011 - a troop of ponies that galloped down to our bit of grass. the beautiful white one was heavily pregnant and thus shy, but a black one snuffled all over my R4 looking for treats (paul fled to the background and mumbled something about not wanting to be eaten).
| From swansea mar 2011 |
- a wildfire that the firemen were having trouble approaching w their trunk.
- friendlier natives than the deep south (sorry, hometown, but it's true)
- lots of large dogs
- lots of hiking paths
- lots of joggers
- lots of surfers
we got to the castle just after closing, and it was deserted but accessible, which meant that paul and i could scramble all over its moldy walls without censure. awesome.
in the evening, we caught a bus back to swansea, where we found an unloved toddler's bike forlorn next to a rubbish bin. in spite of its sliding handle bars, flat tires, and miniature size, paul rode circles in the street (i managed to stay on just long enough to prove that i, too, could ride it if i so desired).
| From swansea mar 2011 |
Dinner = lamb chops for paul, lamb cawl for me at the no sign wine bar on wind street. as w every meal, bites were interspersed w scrabble strategery.
| From swansea mar 2011 |
the next day kicked off w a lazy trip to the dylan thomas museum, where we could listen to bbc recordings of him speaking like a preacherman and rolling is r's to beat the thunder. as paul says on his blog, half the exhibit is devoted to proving he's not a womanizing alcoholic; i contend the other half is dedicated to establishing the importance of swansea (over london & nyc) to his poetry.
then we headed to mumbles, a seaside town w a pier. i lunched on bubbles & squeak at the kitchen table, a yellow organic cafe that reminded me of tosci's. paul had eaten 2 meat pies en route, so he just sipped a (very delicious) fruit juice (beets, ginger, lemon, apple). the surfer dude owner drew us a secret map, and we hiked up to find a past place for WWII anti-aircraft guns and down to find a cheerful, red, plastic dragon slide that said "mumbles pier" (further along, seagulls nested and a plastic bikini'd gorilla lay on her back in disuse). More hiking along the coastline revealed a boat-shaped playground and a giant shaggy dog that liked to romp (to his owner's chagrin).
| From swansea mar 2011 |
| From swansea mar 2011 |
| From swansea mar 2011 |
| From swansea mar 2011 |
the next day, we took the train to oxford, where we sat by the river and played scrabble. i finally beat paul (1 out of 10, baby!). mags graciously let us borrow some bikes so we biked into town and made dinner w andrew before coming home to a final game of mapominos. oxford is not as pretty as cambridge, but much more accessible. oh well, i like my towns sleepy (when they're not overrun by tourists).
final impression of gower: a place i wouldn't mind retiring. it's got:
color me impressed.
| From swansea mar 2011 |
7.12.2010
welcome to czech
a few impressions:
the tap water is cold and delicious. cold enough to be numbing after a few seconds. where does it come from? far underground? even ice seems to be scarce, and soft drinks from restaurace refrigerators are often only tinged with cold.
the architecture is amazing, but the stonework is sooty. i spent lots of time looking up at cupolas. one building near the herd house even had an iron man hanging from the neck...i wonder who he was...
the astronomical clock is mechanical! i can't believe things can work without batteries.
pork and potatoes! i'm not a fan of dumplings if they don't have fillings, but i'm for any culture that uses pig for EVERYTHING! others of my teammates weren't so chuffed.
how did we do at worlds? iceni ranked 17th, after crawling out of a very tough powerpool. we lost to hot beaches, storm, and uno, but i believe we had a shot at both hot beaches and storm. our only other loss was to chukyo university, uno's feeder team, who went on to rank 10th. in the beer bracket, we had an underwhelming performance against little miss sunshine (except by kaleigh, who made sure we won 17-10), decimated jinx 17-5 (they had earlier beat leeds), beat wildcard 17-something, and then won a nailbiter against e6 (we were down 2 breaks coming out of half, game to 13...and managed to score the last 2 points in a row).
and now we're in vienna. watched the world cup last night, and i still think soccer is ridiculous. cheaters win too often.
the tap water is cold and delicious. cold enough to be numbing after a few seconds. where does it come from? far underground? even ice seems to be scarce, and soft drinks from restaurace refrigerators are often only tinged with cold.
the architecture is amazing, but the stonework is sooty. i spent lots of time looking up at cupolas. one building near the herd house even had an iron man hanging from the neck...i wonder who he was...
the astronomical clock is mechanical! i can't believe things can work without batteries.
pork and potatoes! i'm not a fan of dumplings if they don't have fillings, but i'm for any culture that uses pig for EVERYTHING! others of my teammates weren't so chuffed.
how did we do at worlds? iceni ranked 17th, after crawling out of a very tough powerpool. we lost to hot beaches, storm, and uno, but i believe we had a shot at both hot beaches and storm. our only other loss was to chukyo university, uno's feeder team, who went on to rank 10th. in the beer bracket, we had an underwhelming performance against little miss sunshine (except by kaleigh, who made sure we won 17-10), decimated jinx 17-5 (they had earlier beat leeds), beat wildcard 17-something, and then won a nailbiter against e6 (we were down 2 breaks coming out of half, game to 13...and managed to score the last 2 points in a row).
and now we're in vienna. watched the world cup last night, and i still think soccer is ridiculous. cheaters win too often.
4.26.2010
words about words
pooja (in a broad northern accent): "you're having fun with them tah-mah-toes"
me: "haha, them tah-mah-toes..."
pooj: "what would you say? them tah-MAY-toes?"
me: "um, we wouldn't say them anything"
pooj: "ohhh THOSE tah-mah-toes"
pooja slaps herself on the hands. if only everyone could be as committed to their grammar.
another conversation:
trang: "what's that word...for when you put blood outside?"
me: "blood? outside?!"
pooj: "a scab?"
trang: "no, animal blood."
.......the word she wanted was "congeal". the conversation didn't make any more sense with context.
me: "haha, them tah-mah-toes..."
pooj: "what would you say? them tah-MAY-toes?"
me: "um, we wouldn't say them anything"
pooj: "ohhh THOSE tah-mah-toes"
pooja slaps herself on the hands. if only everyone could be as committed to their grammar.
another conversation:
trang: "what's that word...for when you put blood outside?"
me: "blood? outside?!"
pooj: "a scab?"
trang: "no, animal blood."
.......the word she wanted was "congeal". the conversation didn't make any more sense with context.
my new rule is that i will catch up when i feel like catching up, but the backlog will not stop me from writing about current events.
the weekend was eventful. friday night, si organized an outing at vibe to see ladi6. i am not hip enough to have heard of any of these things...vibe? ladi6? where the f is brick lane? but he promised me the best bagel in london, and it was within walking distance of work, so after a couple of tequila shots celebrating a colleague's bday on the green, jackie, jonnie, anne, and i traipsed off toward east london. we got distracted by some thai food, but we made it eventually, and the venue was great, the cider delicious, the music meh (apparently it got a lot better after jon and i left...pffft).
saturday featured a 3hour 8am partybus trip to bristol for some scrimmaging. we lost in game point to leeds leeds leeds. d line had some (read: a lot) of trouble converting, but we did manage to get some d's. the o line looked like a machine (well-oiled and all that). i took that night pretty easy, but some of the girls had a big night out at people's republik (the plan was to eventually get to inferno's, but ppl's r is like the blackhole of nights out). sunday started with dimsum, followed by a 2 hours skills session in hyde park at which whit kakos made a surprise appearance (yay!), and then...it took me 1.5 hours to get home thanks to the northern line closure (which seems a bit daft on marathon weekend), and as soon as i got home, we remember that the parkway drive concert we thought was on monday was actually on sunday...so that's another hour journey back into town for some hardcore metal.
i highly recommend going to a metal concert in a smallish venue. the energy is fantastic, and watching teenage boys flail like berserker never gets old. the first time i saw a circle pit, i thought it had formed spontaneously, but i eventually cottoned on to the fact that the band was calling it. it's a bit like square dancing actually...the band will say, "circle pit!" and the room will turn into a cyclone of bodies, or they'll say "split the room!" and the boys will flood to opposite sides, and on the count of four, they all throw themselves at each other, crashing like waves in the middle. winamp should create a new graphical sound visualization...instead of those bars going up and down, it'd use skinny teenagers bouncing off each other.
we saw 4 or 5 different bands, culminating in parkway drive, which was the most normal and likeable one. they seemed to genuinely enjoy being there in front of an audience and rocking out. the lead singer was so pleased that the audience knew enough words to sing along that he grinned like a kid. it's nice to see a band that isn't jaded with the rockstar lifestyle yet, and they weren't afraid to incorporate some melodic guitar bits in amongst the killer fast bits. the other groups were a bit older, a bit muscley (in a "i've just gotten out of prison way"), and way more tat'd up.
going home after the show was a bit of an adventure. although british people are normally all for queueing, british people straight out of a metal concert try to squeeze as many people as possible simultaneously through the train doors. i was carried through by the 3 hyper-aggressive boys behind me, all the while apologizing to the guy in front of me whom i was pressed up against. once we were all on the train, we discovered that it wasn't even crowded--we all got seats. what melodrama! arrived home to a very affectionate cat. and that, in a nutshell, was the weekend.
next weekend, jon's going to brussels on a roadtrip with doug and family...i'm staying home to cat-sit.
the weekend was eventful. friday night, si organized an outing at vibe to see ladi6. i am not hip enough to have heard of any of these things...vibe? ladi6? where the f is brick lane? but he promised me the best bagel in london, and it was within walking distance of work, so after a couple of tequila shots celebrating a colleague's bday on the green, jackie, jonnie, anne, and i traipsed off toward east london. we got distracted by some thai food, but we made it eventually, and the venue was great, the cider delicious, the music meh (apparently it got a lot better after jon and i left...pffft).
saturday featured a 3hour 8am partybus trip to bristol for some scrimmaging. we lost in game point to leeds leeds leeds. d line had some (read: a lot) of trouble converting, but we did manage to get some d's. the o line looked like a machine (well-oiled and all that). i took that night pretty easy, but some of the girls had a big night out at people's republik (the plan was to eventually get to inferno's, but ppl's r is like the blackhole of nights out). sunday started with dimsum, followed by a 2 hours skills session in hyde park at which whit kakos made a surprise appearance (yay!), and then...it took me 1.5 hours to get home thanks to the northern line closure (which seems a bit daft on marathon weekend), and as soon as i got home, we remember that the parkway drive concert we thought was on monday was actually on sunday...so that's another hour journey back into town for some hardcore metal.
i highly recommend going to a metal concert in a smallish venue. the energy is fantastic, and watching teenage boys flail like berserker never gets old. the first time i saw a circle pit, i thought it had formed spontaneously, but i eventually cottoned on to the fact that the band was calling it. it's a bit like square dancing actually...the band will say, "circle pit!" and the room will turn into a cyclone of bodies, or they'll say "split the room!" and the boys will flood to opposite sides, and on the count of four, they all throw themselves at each other, crashing like waves in the middle. winamp should create a new graphical sound visualization...instead of those bars going up and down, it'd use skinny teenagers bouncing off each other.
we saw 4 or 5 different bands, culminating in parkway drive, which was the most normal and likeable one. they seemed to genuinely enjoy being there in front of an audience and rocking out. the lead singer was so pleased that the audience knew enough words to sing along that he grinned like a kid. it's nice to see a band that isn't jaded with the rockstar lifestyle yet, and they weren't afraid to incorporate some melodic guitar bits in amongst the killer fast bits. the other groups were a bit older, a bit muscley (in a "i've just gotten out of prison way"), and way more tat'd up.
going home after the show was a bit of an adventure. although british people are normally all for queueing, british people straight out of a metal concert try to squeeze as many people as possible simultaneously through the train doors. i was carried through by the 3 hyper-aggressive boys behind me, all the while apologizing to the guy in front of me whom i was pressed up against. once we were all on the train, we discovered that it wasn't even crowded--we all got seats. what melodrama! arrived home to a very affectionate cat. and that, in a nutshell, was the weekend.
next weekend, jon's going to brussels on a roadtrip with doug and family...i'm staying home to cat-sit.
11.06.2009
ziggy
| From ziggy stardust 10-09 |
jon and i are moving tomorrow to balham (yay). in the meantime, world, meet ziggy stardust, wondercat extraordinaire. hobbies include chasing tampons, playing with pearls, walking across keyboards, and teddybear wrestling. thanks to him, i now spend WAY to much time curled up on the couch.
7.29.2009
back to the grind
it's my second day of work today, which for me, means getting back to a routine, finding more reading material for the tube (stat!), learning to use a mac, and giving up my daytime tv (b/c all my tv channels are owned by the british gov, there are always pairs of stations that play the same thing: e4, e4+1, channel 4, channel 4 + 1, virgin, virgin+1, etc etc. as you can imagine, the +1's just play the same programming an hour later. i've been known to watch the same gilmore girls episode 2 hours in a row. their quirky gab is irresistable (and infinitely preferable to the unscripted gobbledygook of big brother). for you, it probably means more frequent blog posts.
and all that is to say that work is boring. always. i had dinner with philipp, my boss at credit suisse last night, and i found out that i don't miss it. not the politics. not the ass kissing. and definitely not...hmmm...did i mention politics? legally, i'm not allowed to work yet (shhhh!), which is to say, i'm not getting paid. ooof. and even when i do get paid, it will be measily compared to my last salary. but meh, i can't live on the $10 daily allowance that jon's giving me. i'm just not that low maintenance (and public transport costs a pair of limbs in london). so for now, i'm working 3 days a week, not getting paid, and hoping that eventually, i'll get a spousal visa for the uk. until then, who knows.
7.16.2009
mombasa
we stayed at ash's mom's timeshare resort, which had its ups and downs. the luxury was refreshing--private bathrooms, air con, mosquito nets, but it felt like a resort in florida, not africa. people were there with their families, old ppl populated the pool...and we were warned in the orientation meeting to stay away from the beach boys. so, the typical resort experience was very sterile. you flew in, got picked up at the airport, and joined the water aerobics and putt putt sessions. but we had our own car. we were free to go as we pleased. still, it was depressing to see the masai huddled in the tennis court, roasting in the sun as old tourists in sunhats picked thru their trinkets. watching the tribal dancers brought in for a post-dinner show felt very voyeuristic. they rumbled in, gyrating to local gods, while we sat sipping colorful drinks and clapping politely. maybe if we could've joined them in their ritual...but just watching, knowing they had been paid to come in, well, it was unsavory...like we had displaced their gods and they were dancing to us. dirty.
most of the time we lounged at the pool or the beach. the beach wasn't nearly as nice as zanzibar's. in low tide, there were miles of not quite beach...mucky black sucky sand and pools of brackish water. to get anywhere swimmable required walking over a mile out. we did manage to squeeze in a very nice beach walk with the beach boys (who prefer to be called beach operators to escape the sexual griminess associated with the term beach boy). they showed us lots of interesting sea life (urchins, starfish, slugs), and took us to a coral rock pool that was deep enough to dive into. we brought snorkeling equipment and got a nice peek at the stripey fish that huddled in the coral to escape the surf. i did an ok job of not getting bashed into the coral, but i think erika got scratched up pretty badly. she bruises like a peach, that one.
and then we ran into mika, mika, and morgan! what are the chances? small world, all that jazz. i mean, i understand that most travelers thru africa follow the lonely planet, but we were off the path beaten down by backpackers. we were in a posh timeshare resort...and so were mika, mika, and morgan, courtesy of mika's mom, as a honeymoon gift to mika (the other one) and morgan. not only where they in the same resort, they were in the room right next to ours, which came in handy when we locked ourselves out and had to break in via our balcony.
remembering that mika's dad is a mechanic, we had him look at our car, which translated into driving the car to market with a carload of ppl, which meant that i got to ride on the roof :-D. i've always wanted to ride the roof of a 4x4, and what better place to do it than africa, where my safety was no one's concern but mine. we bumped along the dirt road as i held on for dear life to the roof rack. when we got to the major road, we sped up, turned up the kings of leon, and i leaned into the wind and took advantage of the speed bumps to wave at the catcallers who yelled, "hey cheeeeena!". FREEDOM!
that night, we bought some prawns from the beach boys and made ash's spicy red prawn curry, along with garlic+lemon stringbeans, and a huge cucumber, tomato, avocado salad. as usual, we made way too much food, but luckily, gerwin was stoned off his face, so we put away a good deal of it. the ants had their way with the leftovers.
Another memorable meal was when we got the beach boys to throw us a moonlight seafood bbq. to be honest, they oversold it a bit, promising us lobster, kingprawns, fish, and crabs and delivering only octopus, barracuda, and prawns, but the home made coconut wine, the excellent curry, and the great ambiance under the stars made up for everything. i told them i liked sea urchin, so they picked a few of those for me too. we literally cracked them open and ate them raw...which was sandy and salty, and not quite the uni-like experience i had hoped for. did i mention the curry was to die for?
![]() |
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
most of the time we lounged at the pool or the beach. the beach wasn't nearly as nice as zanzibar's. in low tide, there were miles of not quite beach...mucky black sucky sand and pools of brackish water. to get anywhere swimmable required walking over a mile out. we did manage to squeeze in a very nice beach walk with the beach boys (who prefer to be called beach operators to escape the sexual griminess associated with the term beach boy). they showed us lots of interesting sea life (urchins, starfish, slugs), and took us to a coral rock pool that was deep enough to dive into. we brought snorkeling equipment and got a nice peek at the stripey fish that huddled in the coral to escape the surf. i did an ok job of not getting bashed into the coral, but i think erika got scratched up pretty badly. she bruises like a peach, that one.
and then we ran into mika, mika, and morgan! what are the chances? small world, all that jazz. i mean, i understand that most travelers thru africa follow the lonely planet, but we were off the path beaten down by backpackers. we were in a posh timeshare resort...and so were mika, mika, and morgan, courtesy of mika's mom, as a honeymoon gift to mika (the other one) and morgan. not only where they in the same resort, they were in the room right next to ours, which came in handy when we locked ourselves out and had to break in via our balcony.
remembering that mika's dad is a mechanic, we had him look at our car, which translated into driving the car to market with a carload of ppl, which meant that i got to ride on the roof :-D. i've always wanted to ride the roof of a 4x4, and what better place to do it than africa, where my safety was no one's concern but mine. we bumped along the dirt road as i held on for dear life to the roof rack. when we got to the major road, we sped up, turned up the kings of leon, and i leaned into the wind and took advantage of the speed bumps to wave at the catcallers who yelled, "hey cheeeeena!". FREEDOM!
that night, we bought some prawns from the beach boys and made ash's spicy red prawn curry, along with garlic+lemon stringbeans, and a huge cucumber, tomato, avocado salad. as usual, we made way too much food, but luckily, gerwin was stoned off his face, so we put away a good deal of it. the ants had their way with the leftovers.
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
Another memorable meal was when we got the beach boys to throw us a moonlight seafood bbq. to be honest, they oversold it a bit, promising us lobster, kingprawns, fish, and crabs and delivering only octopus, barracuda, and prawns, but the home made coconut wine, the excellent curry, and the great ambiance under the stars made up for everything. i told them i liked sea urchin, so they picked a few of those for me too. we literally cracked them open and ate them raw...which was sandy and salty, and not quite the uni-like experience i had hoped for. did i mention the curry was to die for?
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
| From mombasa 3-2009 |
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