A look back in horror ...

... well, maybe not "horror" but 2008 had a lot of sketchy moments for me, the country, our planet.

But - I'm not going to blog about any of them. Who wants to reminisce about the crappy stuff? Life's too short for bitching and moaning all the time.

So, today's the last day of 2008 and I can't believe how fast time flew. In fact, I threw a clock and a banana out the window this morning to compare and contrast how things fly. Not very well, I might add, and now I'm going to be hungry and will probably sleep in tomorrow.

Anyway, family life continues to be fun and comfortable. Peter can be a handful at times, but he's also the spark that lights my way home after work each day. Laura, who hates to be mentioned in anything on the Internet for fear of identity theft (and doesn't know I have this blog), is becoming an awesomier (probably not a word) mom every day. Laura and I are able to catch our breath every now and again, and remember to be crazy-in-love couple of 39 year olds.

Our extended families are doing well and we're thankful for their love, guidance and distractions.

We are starting to make a few "friends" out here in this barren wasteland, so staving off insanity and depression for another year is definitely a plus.

Work is fine - there are sick people in the suburbs as well, I have found. Some of them actually take their meds and listen to my advice. It's shocking, frankly.

I was able to row and scull much more this last summer and while I have an extra few pounds on these days, I'm pretty healthy for the most part (knock on wood). My bonsai's are doing OK and I had my first official visitor to the "Steve Cytrynowicz Saint Paul Bonsai Reserve" this summer (Hi, Linda!).

Laura and I are trying to scrape together offspring #2, but it's taking a few months more than the last time. Keep your fingers crossed that my swimmers are good and her eggs aren't past their expiration date. Guess we'll have to keep on trying (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).

So, the economy sucks, we have too much debt, we still live 1300 miles away from our closest family members and we still don't have too many friends in this weird state.

But, all in all, I fell pretty lucky and thankful these days.

So, until the "fugue" clears ... Peace and Happy New Year!

It's starting to look like Christmas ...

... especially with blowing snow and falling temps.

I haven't really been in the "christmas-spirit" the last several years. For no reason, really, just bogged down with life and work, etc.

But I feel an increasing glow from that tiny ember of spirit in my otherwise cool heart these days. I seek out the 24 hour Christmas song station on the radio while I'm in the car. I want to see gaudy front-lawn decorations. I was excited to see that Laura had put up the christmas tree early this year. I look forward to a cracking fire while Peter opens up presents on Christmas morning.

That's probably it - Peter. He's getting old enough to maybe not understand the holiday, but he'll be old enough to appreciate the gifts and family time.

It'll be a few years before he can get the "cool toys" that I'll want to play with, but when I have the chance to make him happy like every 22 month old should be - then I'll gladly call that christmas-spirit.

Peace on Earth, good wil to all men (and women).

Now, I just have to find something good for the wife ...

I want to write a book ...

... but I don't have much talent, any free time or know how to do it.

Plus, it's a dying medium - relegated to take-offs and landings and laying on the beach.

But ... let's see what I can do anyway.

Smatterings ...

... Facebook is still evil. There's an application called "kickmania" where you paste the FB picture of a friend (or acquaintance!) on the body of an unsuspecting generic girl/guy and then you kick the shit out of them - for distance! Like I said, evil ... but disturbingly fun.

... Jock or nerd? I went to my 21st high school reunion (In know, 21st? don't ask), and while a majority of my former classmates were cool, upstanding and interesting people, there were still a handful who were acting like they were still 17. Oh well, not everyone grows up.

... News flash - Minnesota winters still suck after 7 years.

... Children are amazing. I had a particularly enjoyable weekend with my 21 month old. He was pulling out some expressions, actions and abilities that frankly blew me away. I know I'm prejudiced ... but I think he's a genius.

... I've come up with inverse workout law. The older you are, the more you need to work out. The corollary: the older you are, the less you like to work out. The corollary to the collary: the older you are, the harder it is to work out. The inverse of the inverse: everything is completely the oppopsite, the younger you are - less need, more time, easier.

I now know what my dad meant when he used to say to me as a kid, "Steven, don't get old".

Peace

Better than the original ...

... sometimes an imitation is better than the original.

For example I have been mining the iTunes song library for interesting covers recently. I think it takes some skill to put your own personal spin on an accepted standard.

Here is just a small sampling of some the gems that I found:

1) "Everybody Hurts" - This was originally done by REM, but I really enjoy the Dashboard Confessional version, especially towards the end of the song.

2) "Jolene" - the White Stripes rendition is very stripped down and haunting and raw. I don't think Dolly Parton had this in mind when she penned this song for her bleating-sheep style of singing.

3) "Somewhere over the Rainbow" - it takes a 500-pound Hawaiian man to sing this song correctly. Long live Iz. Judy Garland, who?

4) "MMM - bop" - continuing on the Hawaiian sound, this Hanson song was best done by a group of guys from Hawaii who do a lounge act.

5) "Come Sail Away" - this will probably out me as a geek, but I found a college Acapella group that does an incredible version of the song. Search for Boca Acapella on iTunes and the title the song to find it. The end will blow you away.

peace.

goobledy-dook ... or learning Dragopn Naturally Speaking ...

So, learning how to speak, although her again . Backspace backspace

medications try that again: So of learning how to speak all over again.

Let's try that again: So, learning how to speak all over again.
This is my first effort with a voice recordation program. The word recordation should have been recognition, which is frustrating and also sobering. I'm learning that the computer takes a while to learn but I'm also learning that I don't speak very clearly.

Hopefully in the future at this program. Will adapt and now be able to speech without having to type.
That last sentence should have read:
Hopefully in the future, this program will adapt and I will be able to speak without having to type. Unfortunately, I sound like a robot and an idiot to the people in the office next to me.

I'm not a fast typist but I learned some bad habits along the way and they are very hard to unlearn. So, maybe this was recognition program will help me get my thoughts down.

Four rule spew out something unintelligible.

Peace.

Ah, caffeine ...

... is wonderful.


My version is usally carbonated, cola-colored and flavored with aspratame. I know aspartame is evil and I'll end up with a tumor in my head someday, but what's an insulin-impaired dude to do?


I only left my desk for a moment and my office mate, whom I affectionately call "bones" helped himself to my caffeine:

I don't mind him having a little (he can't take much in - no stomach), but he just wouldn't shut up for the next 2 hours! He kept on knocking stuff of my desk and singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" over and over.

He finally passed out on some of my bonsais:

Uncool, bones ... uncool.

A day in my life ...

... with type 1 diabetes.

(I know - *groan* - another diabetes post - boring!)

It's World Diabetes Day, so I thought I'd blog about my dealing with diabetes in my own warped way.

1) Calling the kettle black - It's known in my clinic that I have type 1 DM and that I wear an insulin pump. However, for a bunch of medical professionals (nurses, mostly) their undestanding of the disease is lacking. This morning, someone brought in a cake for someone else's birthday. My sugar was about 120, so I took a small piece and was setting my bolus, when I heard, " Hey, you have diabetes, you shouldn't eat that."

I looked up to see the 300 pound, 5 foot tall rooming nurse from the other care unit shoveling a piece of cake the size of my head into her piehole. As she's admonishing me for my sliver of carbs, the crumbs are falling out of her mouth and a visible sweat is starting to bead on her forehead. I just stared at her as she joked about doctors not being the healthiest eaters, etc.

I was going to challenge her to a foot race around the clinic at lunch, but I think her heart would actually explode if she tried to exert herself - so I held my tongue and offered to cut her another piece of cake.

I know I'm mean and cruel, but maybe this will change your mind - last week, I overheard her telling another nurse that she's trying to pack on another 20 to 30 pounds (exacbating her asthma, hypertension and arthritis), so that her insurance will cover her bariatric surgery completely as a medical necessity and not charge her for an elective procedure!


2) You don't look that sick - The little old lady (who take 10 medications a day for her heart disease, lung disease, kidney disease and breast cancer) is looking at me pitifully after I tell her I'm checking my blood sugar because I have diabetes. She shakes her head, mumbles "that's too bad" and shuffles off toward the pharmacy with her walker (complete with cut tennis balls on the foot pads) stopping to occasionally untangle her portable oxygen hose. Really?


3) I could never have that thing hooked up to me - Every now and then my insulin pump falls off my belt loop and dangles from my side. Or my pumps beeps or vibrates as my blood sugar goes too high or too low. Often people think it's my beeper, but as that technology is getting assimilated by cell phones these days, more and more people ask me what that "thing" is with the tubing. I tell them it's an insulin pump - and the reaction I get is either a) blank stare (no idea what I'm talking about) b) big grin (dude ... you're like a cyborg) or c) revulsion.

I'm always amazed by reaction "c". It's not okay to make fun of the retarded kid or the woman in a wheelchair(I'm NOT saying that's ok, by the way), but it seems to be "okay" to verbalize the disgust of "having to wear that thing". I used to glibly joke that this thing is keeping me alive (in order to make the jerk feel bad), but now I smile and remark, "well, I hope you never have to". Then, in my mind, I put a jinx on them that they pee their pants when they walk away but that never happens - sigh.


So while all the above has not happened to me today in particular, they occur frequently enough that it feels like it happens every day.

I used to get pissed off, but now that I'm doing pretty good with the condition 14 years later, I find solace in a excellent A1c, the fact that I'm healthier than 96% of the people I know and that my family loves me for who I am - occasional crankiness to the insensitive people in the world and all.

Happy WDD!

Happy D Blog day! Hope I only have to wish it to myself ...

I don't blog about my diabetes that much because as an Internal Medicine physician, I see the stark reality of diabetic complications everyday at work. I'd rather focus on, what are to me, the more interesting things that happen in my life in my blogs.


Don't get me wrong - I don't ignore my diabetes or hide it from anyone - I wear an insulin pump and a CGSM and I will check a fingerstick anywhere (restaurants, movie theatres, church, bar) at any time. My A1c is inthe 5.3 to 6.0 range consistently through a lot of hard work on my part.


But I don't go out of my way to tell people. I'll answer truthfully if they ask - I wear my pump as a tool, not as a badge of honor. I'm one of those people who classify themselves as "having diabetes" not as someone who is a "diabetic".


I not knocking anyone who labels themself in either way, but we all have our coping skills and I'm comfortable with mine. Enough on that.



Anyway, I'm dealing with my diabetes (and all the fun it brings) and I accept the that responsibility even when I fall off the exercise wagon or knowingly scarf down an extra piece of pizza at a luchtime meeting that will send my blood sugar northwards of 250 for the rest of the afternoon. I am also dealing with the fact that some very minor complications are creeping into my life despite a "normal" A1C.

I'm a big boy - I was diagnosed 14 years ago when I was 25 and in my third year of medical school. I (hopefully) have the wisdom and wit to deal with what I have to do each day in order to live a long and healthy life.


But my son isn't a big boy. He's 20 months old and I'm deathly afraid that he'll develop diabetes someday.

Thanks to a crappy mutation in my genes, he has a 5 to 8% chance of getting type 1 diabetes. While he may have inherited my brown eyes and infectious laugh, he may have inherited my propensity for auto-immune diseases. That ... truly ... sucks.

Everytime he has a fever or gets a sniffle, I worry, in the back of my mind, that six months later he'll start demonstrating the signs and symptoms that I was too blind to see when I was diagnosed - the thirst, the urination, the fatigue, the weight loss.

I think I'm able to get a hold of my diabetes because I got it relatively later in life than most folks. I think it would be hell to have to grow up with diabetes - many people do, but I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy let alone my 20 month old toddler. He shouldn't have to worry about shots and finger sticks - he still has to learn how to ride a bike and spell his name and watch "Pingu" on Sprout.

So, every milestone he celebrates, my mind rejoices that he's diabetes-free. However, the pessismist in that nagging diabetic portion of my brain asks, "but for how long?".

My wife and I have looked into the blood testing (islet antibodies, et al) that can be performed to see if my son is at increased risk for developing type 1, but wow ... talk about implications! If it's negative, then whew ... but what if it's positive? There's nothing to be actively done at his point - maybe some "gene therapy" if this was 20-30 years in the future.

I guess it comes back to coping mechanisms. Would you want to know if it was your health on the line? Some people want to know, while others are more comfortable without knowing. As a parent of a child that is still totally dependent, I'm going to remain in the dark for now. Life is short enough and I don't want to waste it worrying about something that may or may not happen. For now, life will be what it should be for a 20 month old - easy and care free. We often unknowingly load a lot of "baggage" on our kids as they grow- he doesn't need this.


For now, Peter is strong and funny and smart. He plays hard and laughs easily. He has a wicked sense of humor and curiosity. I hope all he knows about diabetes as he gets older is that his "old man" has it and is doing ok.


========================================

So, happy D Blog day! Enjoy the other blogs and I hope I posted this right. I don't think it matters too much, because I think only my niece reads my blog - and then, only when she's bored. Hi Alissa! see you at Thanksgiving.

Peace.

We're really a republic ...

... so I hate it when people say that the USA is a democratic country.

In a true democracy, the voters vote on everything. Every law, every official, etc.

In a republic, the voters elect people who then vote on the major issues. Sure, alot of the local and state elections are democratic, but it stops there.

The biggest "republic" act is the electoral college process every year. Sure, you pull your lever for Obama or push your button for McCain, but when it comes down to it, some "electorate" makes the official decision for you and possibly millions more in your state. Most states also go by the "all or none" rule, where as if the majority of the state's electoral votes goes one way, then all the electoral votes from that state go to the majority candidate.

Seems a little fishy to me.

The electoral college idea came from a time when the "common people" weren't considered knowledgable enough to be trusted in choosing the nation's leader. If you ask me, I think it's an antiquated process and skews the perception of the support for the candidate.

This is seen every election where the popular vote is nowhere near the electoral college vote margins. And, in the rare occasion, the "popular" president doesn't win because he has a slightly less number of electoral votes!

Amazing.

So ... I don't want this to sound anti-American or anti-voting, but it's just something to think about.

As for me, I'm hitting the polls at the local parochial school (separation of church and state? that's a topic for another day) after work, then I'm gonna sit back, have a beer and watch the republic unfold on TV.

Peace! Vote! twice, even! ;)

To sleep, perchance to dream ...

... aye there's the rub.

I know Hamlet was talking about the "eternal dirt nap" that we all eventually take, but I'm more concerned with the act of catching 40 winks.

I seem to be stuck in the 5 winks, 5 winks, 5 winks, 15 winks cycle (I fall asleep fine, but wake up every hour until 3am and then finally fall into a deep sleep until my alarm jars me awake 3 or 4 hours later.

Sleep specialist thinks I have "chronic insomnia". Really? Thanks for the insight doc.

Because of some family history, I'm going to get a sleep study in a few weeks anyway to rule out the funky stuff. But I just may be one of the millions who spend their nights groggily chasing the elusive sandman who somehow always misses his stop at my bedroom. Bummer.

Well, thanks to Dr. Sleepy, I'm going to see if the good people at Aventis Sanofi can help with my slumber.

Until then, don't wake me up if I nod off - else, I'll starting quoting Shakespeare again.

'Til morrow, good friend.

It's fun to stay at the ...

... YMCA.

I guess the only time a stright guy (yours truly) can extol the virtues of the YMCA is when he talks about working out - which also sounds a little gay if you think about it.

Ok - off to a bad start, I don't want to sound like a homophobe and a lazy bastard at the same time.

Especially because I am a lazy bastard.

I'd like to lay around, watch TV and eat cheetos after work, but I can't if I want to live "well" to a ripe old age. By living well, I mean not being blind, on dialysis and with all limbs intact.

These things are a concern to me becuase I have Type 1 Diabetes.

Type 1 is the type that kids usually get and is a result of an autoimmune process. The body is exposed to something (aka as an "antigen" usually a virus) and in the process of fighting it make antibodies against the antigen. Unfortunately sometimes these antibodies (in susceptible people) do more than they're supposed to after the antigen is gone. They go looking for more antigen to destroy but find normal cells in the body that are familiar to the antigen and these antibodies start to kill off these normal cells. In the case of type 1 diabetes, the normal cells in question are the beta cells in the pancreas - the cell that produce insulin. So, several months after the body is exposed to the antigen (usually manifested as a "cold"), the antibodies have been slowly knocking off the beta cells and a critical mass is reached whereby the beta cells can't make enough insulin to cover the body's need and the body develops diabetes. Diabetes, in lay-man terms, is when there's too much circulating glucose in the blood stream - in the type 1 case because there isn't any (or enough) insulin to help this glucose to get brought into the cells to use as fuel. Exercise is one of those rare body functions that allow the cells to suck up glucose without the need for insulin to help them.

Don't worry - the physiology lesson is over for now.

So, as opposed to someone who wants to lookgood in therir bathing or birthday suits, I need to work out to stay healthy. And, yes, I'm just vain enough that I wouldn't mind being the "hot dad" at the soccer games.

So, back to the YMCA.

I'm used to the dingy, grungy basement work out rooms and the chlorine baths they called pools of my youth. So I was in total shock when I visited the YMCA across the street from my work last week. It was beautiful; light and airy; no visible fungii walking around in the showers; all the treadmills had a little screen hooked up to cable! (seriously!)

There's free daycare for 2 hours and the kids were ecstatic to be there - doing crafts, playing games. Hell, I want to spend an hour there, have some milk and then lay down for a nap!

So, young man, were do are going? Everybody - It's fun to go to the Y-M-C-A ayyyyy.

Really? are you really that dumb? ....

Every now and then, my professional life seems like a Saturday Night Live skit:

(don't worry - names have been changed to protect the retarded).

Interior. Doctor's examining room. Handsome doctor is talking to slack-jawed patient who's sitting on the examining room table with his shirt off. The doctor is peering intently at the patient's back with a large light and a magnifying glass.

Doctor: so, this thing? (pointing to a spot on the patient's back)
Patient: (squirming a little) Yes. what is it?
Doctor: oh, it's ... just a zit. In fact you have a bunch back here (doctor removes hand from patient's back and wipes it on his lab coat).
P: No. (thinks for a second; shakes his head) I don't think so.
D: (somewhat flustered) okayyy. (he locates another lesion) How about this one.
P: yeah ... that's another one.
D: (frowning) yeah - that's a zit too.
P: no, I don't think so. I think you're wrong.
D: well ... it looks like a zit.
P: nah. What are those little bumps people get on their skin ...
D: zits?
P: no ... they start out red and then get a whitish head thing. If you squeeze it, pus comes out?
D: like a zit?
P: no, not quite. People get them alot when they're teenagers ...
D: well, other names for zits are comedomes, acneiform lesions, blocked pores ...
P: no. You know, not zits - they can cause scars if you scratch them ...
D: (looking frustrated) like pock marks from zits?
P: hmmm ... nah. I get them when I eat greasy food and if I get all sweaty and don't shower.
D: (walks back to desk and sits down - sighing) do you want a lifeline?
P: what?
D: nothing. If you had them before, what did you use to treat them?
P: you know, over the counter stuff, like "NOXY 9".
D: you mean, "Oxy 10".
P: nope. I'm sure it's Noxy 5.
D: Do you mean "nonoxxynol 9"? the spermicide in condoms?
P: No - that's "minoxidil". It makes my pee tube burn, but I can't have any more kids, 7 is enough!
D: (obviously frustrated) no, no, NO! Minoxidil is for baldness!
P: (looking at doctor a little leary-ly) doc ... I ain't bald.

et cetera, et cetera.

It lasted like this for 15 minutes. We couldn't agree on the name of the lesions, the meds, and whether he had a "colostomy" versus a "colonoscopy" for colon cancer screening.

I think Darwin was wrong.

Rainy days and Mondays always get me down ...

... and today is both.

There is an actual condition called SAD - seasonal affective disorder. I know, somebody has a sick sense of humor.

As the sunlight wanes in the fall, our vitamin D levels fall, our neurochemicals get a little jumbled, our circadian rhythms get off track - this all results in feeling a little "blue" (very impressive medical term).

Some scientists claim it's a residual from our caveman ancestors. Despite feeling some depression, there is also a mild decrease in hormone levels and adrenal levels - making our bodies work a little more slowly, thus needing less food and energy to make it through the cold, dark winter.

I feel it big time. I don't get clinically depressed, but I feel it's harder to get up in the am when the alarm clock goes off; it's harder to stay exercising (I usually get an increased urge in January as the days start to get longer); it's harder staying focused at work, etc.

I have a 250 watt Metal Halide bulb in the basement under which I put my tropical bonsai's in the winter. I'm drawn to it like a moth in the dark days of November and December - I'll spend more time watering and pruning etc. Which is impressive because the rest of the basement is dank and dreary and smells like cat piss and hairballs.

The only ways to combat this are meds (I don't need any more, thank you), light therapy (seriously considering) or good ole forcing-yourself-to-do-more-outside and get your sun fix as much as possible.

I could also move someplace tropical where the sun's rays don't have much seaonal change, but I don't think I could handle the heat. I would miss the early fall and late spring days that getmy body humming. And I hate to admit it, but spending some time skiing and sledding is good for my soul too.

Only about 2 months until the waning sunlight days become waxing again, so I'll do what I always do - bitch about the weather, bitch about Minnesota, curl up on couh or in the bed with my family and wait until spring.

Or look for me in the basement, under the plant grow light. Peace

I'm not paranoid, I'm just observant ...

Everybody has personality quirks and character flaws. Taken to an extreme, however, and I call it pathology.

There's alot of "pathology" out there.

Okay, I know I need a little patience ...

But that never has really been my strong suit.

I'm not a complete, blithering id-driven goofball, but when something hits a chord in me, then I have to do something about it. Usually, this pertains to my hobbies, but has also gotten me married twice. Usually, it works out fine - excpet for the first marriage.

So ... I bought a boat:




Well, technically, I haven't bought it yet - I'm sending out a check tomorrow and can't pick it up until April 2009, but that's a story for another day.

Anyway, It's a 20 year old boat from a manufacturer that doesn't exist anymore. But it's pretty and has a good reputation - it's like a really good knock-off clearance item. It may be hard to see but it's part red fiberglass, part wood cockpit and has old-school film decking. It's not a sexy, single-piece, honey-comb, space-age material construction that weighs less than my toddler, but it's a nice boat.

I will go as far as to say it may even be yaarrrr. (go see "The Philadlephia Story" if you have no idea on what I'm talking about.)


So, while I couldn't afford the newest Lamborghini out there, this was an awesome deal on a garage-stored, classic corvette convertible that was only driven 2 miles to church on sundays by an old lady.

I can't wait to get on the water next spring.

Something profound ...

I haven't blogged in a while due to life getting in the way: a new job (of sorts), lack of sleep due to a toddler who is experimenting with life at 2am, and dealing with the malaise of the changing seasons.

I wanted to write something profound - nothing like my usual banalities and semi-witty life observations.

So here goes ...

One time (or things) may be an excpetion, two times is a coincidence, but three times ... three times is a trend.

Thanks. I'm here all week. Don't forget to tip your waiters.

One of the sweetest sounds ...

When a rowing shell is set-up (ie - balanced properly), when the oars are off the water, when the releases and catches are clean, when the boat is moving at a fairly good speed ... when all of this happens at the same time ... the shell sings.

It's a mild trickling sound and the ever-so-slight feeling eminating from the floor of the shell.

It's the sound of a fluid dynamics phenomenon called cavitation - millions of tiny bubbles forming and collapsing in microseconds as the water rushes past the bottom of the boat due to optimum flow and pressure differentials.

It's the sound of a good row. And this morning, after the chop settled down, our boat was in fine voice.

All right, I know my humor is sophomoric at times ...

... but check out the link on "photobombing". I haven't laughed out loud like that from something on the web in a long time.

http://www.asylum.com/2008/06/13/photobombers-ruining-your-picture-one-click-at-a-time/

Shit - I don't know how to enable the hyperlink - you'll have to cut and paste to your browser.

peace.

One Saturday in the galley ...

Last Saturday was my rowing club's annual early Fall race/challenge (a race for others, still a challenge for me) called the Pike Island Challenge.

It's a nice 13 mile row up the Mississippi, around Pike Island and back. It's nice because the scenery around the island is a mix of scenic (herons, bald eagles and foxes) and industrial (looming interstate bridge overhead at one spot) with a little finesse factor thrown in - it's narrow around the island; in fact, you have to pull your oars in as you go under one of the bridges on the western edge of the island and need to avoid grounding yourself in the Mississippi mud.

Well, it's usually nice, I hear -I had never been all the way around before - but on Saturday I was relegated to the "leftover 8+" and the row waS "interesting". (I had wanted to scull, but instead I was placed in a sweep boat.) I'm not saying the crew weren't good rowers but it was a mix of people who hadn't rowed a lot together or ever - some club rowers, some competitive rowers and me. And, god forbid, I was put in the "engine room" - 6th seat, which is supposed to be the power and technical position. There were a lot more technically-oriented rowers than me in the boat and while I could've been the "power" in the row - the row was more or less an equivalent of an easy jog. No real power needed.

I did enjoy the scenery, but because we were a disparate bunch, there wasn't alot of cohesiveness and camaraderie. While the eight of us were ok (me, for example) to good rowers (two competitive team members) - the boat (ENOTS 1 - a large while whale of a ship) lurched and lumbered it's way up and down the river. There was no sense of swing and it just felt ... uncomfortable. I knew it was going to be a long day when I realized that the boat had only covered half the distance in twice the number of strokes than the double I usually row in the morning about 2 miles into the row.

It was a head-style race and we had been passed by the 4 boats that started after us even before we hit the halfway mark. Discouraging to say the least. Despite this, I did try to increase the pressure and move the boat a little bit with the last mile to go - mainly because we were going on 2 hours of constant rowing and I had lost feeling in my left buttock.

We eventually made it back to the boat house and my spirits lifted when I saw Laura, Peter and Laura's father waving at me from the house's ramps. They had come down to get the breakfast and partake in the social events after the row.

However, my spirits took a little plunge when I got out of the boat and my hamstring wasn't just numb but also wasn't functioning! I seriously thought I was going to have to be air-lifted off the dock, because there was no way I could've made it up the incline on one leg. Luckily, my "dead leg" came back to life after a few minutes and I was able to lurch up the dock, similar to how ENOTS had traveled while in the river!

The breakfast and festivities afterward made it worth the while. My in-laws who were in town for the weekend were enjoying the atmosphere and the scenerey and Peter and Laura and I made the most of the inflatable jumping house-thingy. I'm sure I was over the weight limit, but Peter and Laura and I couldn't help collapsing into a big giggling pile inside of it.

Next year ... no more eights; hopefully a double - hmm, may be a single?

Single sculling on Lake Hosmer ...

I'll blog more later, but I have to get it out there - I rowed a racing single. On a lake. Without tipping over. Three times. One of the times, the "chop" was a foot high.

I have a lot more practice to get comfortable, then alot more to get good, but ... it was awesome.

My Soundtrack ...

Lately I've been listening to "The Natural" soundtrack on my ipod/phone while doing chores around the house.

I heartily encourage it.

There's nothing more to make you feel heroic when you're taking out the trash than the sound of a Randy Newman orchestration:

The arpegio of the strings swell; slowly crescendoing as I weave my way through the backyard, down the steps and into the alley.

As I open the lid of the trashcan, the woodwinds twitter in anticipation.

I grasp the top of the hefty bag with both hands and as I hoist it into the night air, the brass section kicks in:

Da da da daaaa!

The cymbals crash (crash!) as the trash lands in the can with a satisfying thud kicking up a slight odor of dirty diapers and old spaghetti sauce.

Da da da daaaaa! I flip the lid closed as the cymbals crash one more time. Crash!

There's the stillness of a short coda as the cymbal crash fades into the night.

I turn and walk back to the house, accompanied by the mournful wail of a single oboe as blackness falls on my backyard.


Hmmm - what goes better with loading the dishwasher? Punk or classis rock?

Facebook is evil ...

I know, I'm too old to have a Facebook page.

But I do - deal with it. Anyway, the thing is more addictive than crack.

Not only do you get to satisfy your egotistical needs by posting stuff about yourself, you also get to get a voyeuristic glimpse into the life of your friends and family - and eventually their friends and families, ad nauseum.

I think that why it's so additive. Somebody asks to be your friend (or you ask to be their friend) - and then, wham ... you see who they are friends with and the geometric progression begins.

Crack kills. Facebook kills time.

Seriously. I'm pretty busy at work and have more than enough stuff to keep me hopping from 8 am to 6 pm, but yesterday I found myself playing scrabble with my brother (who lives in Pennsylvania), IM'ing my sister-in-law (who lives in Miami) and looking at another friend's (who lives across town) funny but disturbing photos.

I looked up from my computer screen and realized that my next patient was sitting in a paper gown in a cold room waiting for me for 20 minutes. I could hear C. Everret Koop and Richard Kildare (google them, young ones) spinning in their graves.

Much apologies to Dr. Koop and his family if he is not, as I assumed, deceased.

The Kid is allright ...

Peter wasn't feeling too good.

He was tired and cranky. Being a 17 month old and having teething pain ... sucks.

You know you hurt, your parents know you hurt and there isn't much to do than NSAIDS, orajel and time.

The lack of communication would be the most frustrating thing to me - all I do is talk, and type and go to meetings. To be in his world of not being able to express feelings and concerns and most of all, pain, would probably drive me or any other sensible adult insane.

So, on saturday morning we were playing in the living room. Well, we were trying to play in the living room - he was mostly whining and throwing his toys around while I was trying to keep my eyes open - it was a long night prior.

After an hour or so and maybe only minutes before a full-blown toddler meltdown, I had enough. I sccoped him up and started towards the stairs. It was naptime and instead of the usual kicking and screaming, he slumped into me, resting his head on my shoulder and letting out a little whimper.

It made my heart break.

We got into his room and I had to put him down to change his diaper - also usually a kicking and screaming event. But not today. He just looked up to me with a pleading and exhausted look in his brown eyes.

All I could say was "I know" over and over as I fastened the new diaper on and pulled his shorts back up.

I carried him over the bookcase and picked up the ibuprofen. He gave it a wary look and started to shake his head and say "No" - one of his 3 or 4 words.

We sat down onthe glider and I drew up 5ml of the thick liquid. Peter was still saying "no" but in one instant our eyes met - he was staring more intently than I had ever seen him stare before.

He held my gaze as I calmy said, " I know - this stuff tastes yucky, but I promise it'll make you fell better ... I will never hurt you. (pause) Will you drink this?"

He had stopped whining and studied my face for a good 10 seconds and then looked back at he little shot glass of medicine in my right hand. Then he looked back at me.

"Yeth", as he shook his head emphatically.

There was complete trust in his face as he slurped the goooey liquid down. He clambored off my lap, picked up his rabbit and held him in a headlock as he pointed up towards his cradle. This was the most deliberate he had ever been in anything.

I scooped him up, gave him a kiss on the cheek and laid him in his crib. He immediately grabbed his Pooh bear in the other arm and closed his eyes. He was asleep almost before I closed his bedroom door.


A few hours later I could hear him on the monitor and I went into his room to get him out of his crib. We reached towards each other at the same time as I hoisted him out.

He gave me a big hug. And then pointed out of the room - his sign language for "let's go downstairs".

I was still carrying him as we walked out of the room. As we approached the door, he patted me on the shoulder, pointed at the medication sitting high up on the bookshelf, smiled and tightened his grip on me.

Wow. I had never felt like a parent before.

It might just be the boat ...

I last wrote about having a good row due to being tired and blister-y.

Well, I've since had 2 more good rows and I can't say the blisters were that much of a factor. I must be getting better.

Nah ... it might just be the boat.

A blister in the sun ...

I row and scull on the Mississippi River out of the Minnesota Boat Club on Raspberry Island in Saint Paul about 6 months out of the year. The other six months, "Old Muddy" is more like "old slushy" or "old frosty" due to the interminable winters here.

I've been rowing for about 3 years now and, well ... I'm not that good. Ok, I'm not horrible, but I have a long way to go until I'm skimming effortlessly over the water. I even wear a tshirt to practice that states, "It take alot of courage to row this badly" much to the chagrin of my club team.

This morning, I was rowing with my doubles partner, Bruce, before work and my hands were killing me. Last night, I rowed (badly) with my team in a coxed 4 boat and as a result I literally skinned some of the fingers on my left hand. I left alot DNA in the river.

So I was all taped up this morning and it didn't help - my sweat was causing the bandaids and tape to come off and they soon added to the trash floating south to N.O.LA. I was sore and tired from last night and my hands were tender to say the least.

But ... as a result, I was lightly gripping the oar and I didn't try to overreach and I ended up having a really, really good row. Bruce had a good row too; I know becuase he had a little grin on his face after we docked and put the boat back up in the boathouse.

Bruce is a man of few expressions, but a solid and good guy. The grin made my day and my usually futile attempts at this sport temporarily worthwhile.

So, by being tired and being slightly in pain, I was able to accomplish what my coaches have been saying for the last 3 years - "relax and just row". In other word, stop being anal, stop overthinking and trust your body's instincts.

Cool. See you on the river.

It's been a while ...

... and I'm trying to get back into the swing of things.

Life has kind of gotten in the way - you know - work, play, family, career (ie - a boring on-line course that took too much time and energy for the yield it has provided) - but I need a little "release-valve". Something to exorcise (or exercise?) the demons in my mind.

Also I'm a little slow today at wotk and my knee hurts - may be more on this later.