Animated shorts

This post doesn't actually contain any animation. Unless, of course, you draw it yourself as you read.

Little Park

I thought that maybe I shouldn't post this because it happened over a week ago. It's not current. But then I remembered, this isn't the fucking newspaper. Who cares?

I was walking through Greenwich Village (or Soho, or something around there) when I ran into this tiny park on a corner. In fact, it was so small, I'm not even sure you could call it a park. It was more like a park-like space. I probably couldn't find it again if you paid me because, first, I didn't make note of the cross streets, and, second, I was a little drunk. I had the day off after a night of OB anesthesia call so I went to check out this bar.

I believe in drinking before 5pm when you have the day off. Just because you can.

Christine, I went to Ulysses. You're right - great Guinness. The Ear Inn - also great Guinness. Check it out next time you're in town.

Anyway, I was strolling about in the middle of my day off, a little tipsy, when I stumbled (not literally, not that tipsy) onto this...







I'm not sure what else to say about that, except that Blogger sucks all the color out of already inadequate pictures. Which is to say, it was one thousand times better in person.

We're About 9

The next day, I went to Union Square in the morning (remember the veggie pictures?) and then Madison Square Park in the afternoon. Turns out, there are free concerts in Madison Square Park on Saturday afternoons. I saw this group play a few songs...



And, I've been singing Miscreant Men for over a week.

I don't wanna kiss you.
I don't wanna hug you.
I don't wanna hold your hand.
I don't wanna take you back to my apartment.
I don't wanna lay you down in my bed.
I don't wanna tell you stories,
about what we'll do in the morning.
I don't wanna cuddle you tight,
all night...

Friday

As I was leaving work, walking through the endoscopy recovery room, a patient arrested. One minute, talking. The next, not. I was the first to respond, and, looking back on it, my response was okay...not perfect, but okay. Did I panic? Did I ever. But, I kept most of that on the inside and did what needed to be done. In spite of our efforts, the patient died. I left with arms sore from chest compressions and feelings mixed. I don't want bad things to happen, but I want to be there when they do.

Such is the job and my stage of training I suppose.

The Met and the MoMA

This weekend, it rained. So, I went to the museums.

Ahh...the museums. I know nothing - nothing - about art. But, I like it anyway. Well, most of it. European decorative art (furniture and the like)...I couldn't care less about that shit. But the rest of it, I like.

The MoMA has a fabulous Van Gogh exhibit right now. 'Fabulous' is such a lame word to describe Van Gogh, but it's all I've got. (It was only an English minor.) Starry Night looked just like that limited edition Starry Night poster that hung in your dorm room. Except, well, much starrier.

Today

It was a good day. Three routine cases, but three good intubations, first with the Macintosh, and then with the Miller. The Macintosh is the blade you see people use when they intubate on TV. It's wider and generally easier to use. The Miller is the blade most anesthesiologists actually prefer. It takes a bit more skill to manipulate, but you can also intubate much more difficult airways with it.

What's that I hear? Oh, that's you snoring. Yeah, sorry about that. Moving on...

To bed. I'm moving on to bed. It's that time.