Daily Archives: October 3, 2007

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I hate school

October 3, 2007 10:40 pm , 7 Comments ,

Wistar’s nightly news:

1. My cousin Mimi just got engaged.

2. My fiction class thinks I’m gross. I took the criticism very well in the classroom tonight, but now I want to curl up and die. Sometimes words take a while to sink in. Words like “Wistar, I felt like your story was bludgeoning me.”

3. I am going to become an expert on amputation. Does anyone have a friend or relative who has had something amputated recently? I am specifically looking for information about transtibial prostheses.

4. I booked a hotel room in Williamsburg for Homecoming weekend. I hope there is more going on at W&M than the usual football game, a capella group reunions, and pancake-eating. Please come hang out with me at the back of the Green Leafe. It has been five years since graduation and my alcohol tolerance has gone way down. You might glean some slurred wisdom about what life has taught me in the intervening years about failure, suffering, and the proper way to apply makeup.

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Hipster doctors feel your pain

October 3, 2007 5:04 pm , 1 Comment ,

Two medical posts today.

1. Young Brooklyn doctor opens medical practice for uninsured artists. Makes housecalls on motor scooter and answers questions about your rashes on the instant messenger. I wonder how many of these conversations turn into cyber sex. “Now tell me where it’s swollen. Tell me what it feels like.” You know all those artsy types are going to be video chatting with the good doctor, showing him their engorged nipples.

PS Is the above post too graphic? I don’t even know anymore.

2. Doctors aren’t trying to torture you (or my grandmother); they actually do not perceive your pain. To save them from daily trauma brought on by over-empathizing with their patients, doctors’ brains experience detachment from their pain receptors when someone is suffering. I wonder if this works for parents who are doctors, and if this explains why my dad was always trying to staple our leg wounds together in the backyard.

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Fine, I will go to the grocery store

October 3, 2007 1:39 pm , 3 Comments ,

I know it’s been a long time since we’ve had fresh produce in the house. Or bread. Or meat/cheese/cereal/caloric sustenance. But mostly I am finally, after many hungry months, capitulating to this grocery store visit because I am out of sugarless gum. And Christian’s Pizza is right next to Giant so before shopping I can finish a good book while I eat my gourmet slice of artichoke olive tortellini sun-dried tomato broccoli pine nut whatever. I started George Plimpton’s The Curious Case of Sidd Finch last night. It’s quirky, yes, but in an old school, charming way. It’s about a Buddhist monk who is recruited by the New York Mets for his 168 mph fastball. The book is great research for the new gig I got editing a former professor’s sports novel. I have been finding that when you ignore every loathsome personal memory you have about sports (being forced to play them in the rain, being on the losing-est team in the league, being on a team with popular bitchy girls who hate you), sports writing can be pretty entertaining.

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Lovebirds

October 3, 2007 9:34 am , 5 Comments ,

Last night in writing workshop, Middle mentioned NanoWrimo, the National Novel Writing Month that owes much of its popularity to being fun to say. Not only can people churn out novels like robots, but they can actually sound like robots when they explain what they’re doing. “Na-no-wri-mo,” I thought. “Hehe.”

“It’s only 50,000 words in November,” Middle said. “We can even get a head-start.” Annie, a full time student at UVA, looked aghast.

“I’ll do it,” I said. “What’s the big deal?” Selvi reminded me that some people had jobs.

Middle and I smiled at each other, complicit in our marathon novel-writing plans. I imagined that the whole coffee shop was solemnly witnessing a historic event. It reminded me of last Saturday when Darren and I played soccer for the Crutchfield team, and he scored (what could be considered) the game-winning goal. I ran across the field and slapped him ten and gave him a kiss. I assumed that all the other players were watching us, thinking “Aww. Look at those lovebirds. That is so cute.” Then I heard “Hustle back, Crutchfield! Get in position! Anyone need a sub?”

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