Things just don't go right with ipods

I've been on the losing end of too many ipod draws lately. They raffled one off at my sister's variety show. They gave one away at an insurance talk I was at. Late last year, one of my medical anecdotes was chosen as the best of the issue in Stitches. I won a stethoscope. I just learned that an ipod was given to the story judged best of the year. I DIDN'T win. Can you believe it?

Anyways, I was poking around some random store with Greg, and I came across some ipod earphones. They were really cheap. Curiously cheap in fact. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I cheerily purchased the headphones. Only to learn later that evening that there is no Right ear bud. It came with TWO Left ones. curses

To Fahreen, Fareen, Fureen, Furine . . .

At last night's dragon boat practice (the first ever in an actual boat), I met a girl named Fahreen.

In grade two, I had a good friend named Fahreen. Actually, I'm uncertain as to the spelling. But I remember what it sounded like.

Anyways, I remember her because she taught me to share.

It was lunch one day. She offered me half her cookie (At least I think it was a cookie. It could have been some chips.) This was unprecedented behaviour in grade two. My amazement was compounded by an upbringing which had led me to believe that any sort of junkfood was all at once immensely evil, and immeasurably desirable. She cheerily explained that she was a Brownie, and this 'sharing' business was just what Brownies did.

It was mind boggling, eye opening and unexpected.

I tried to track her down some years later. I emailed my primary school, but they told me that they couldn't give out any information. Confidentiality and whatnot. yadayada.

Fahreen! Wherever you are! I owe you half a cookie! An a whole lot more.

Neat!

It's a blog cloud! I've been putting random blogs through it. It's very honest in a fractured, fragmented, piecemeal kinda way.

You have to be happy without it

I think competition is a good thing. It inspires greater performance than would otherwise be achieved. It can help to assure a standard of excellence.

But it can be crushing. And draining. And cruel. And it can control you. If you let it. If you want it to.

You have to be happy without it. You must stand and be what you are and let that be enough. Because I truly believe that it is.

Now that's a project!

I've watched a few episodes of this show in my rather futile attempts to learn Mandarin. (Really. Why else would I watch it? Come now.)

Anyways, I've had short hair for awhile now. Maybe I should try growing me some Asian Hero Hair like the fellow in the video. Just imagine.

What next?

My cooking classes end next week. Dance class finished a couple of weeks ago. Hockey finished last month.

I wonder if I should pick something new up?

I'm thinking golf lessons or something. It'd be nice to actually putter about when I tell people I'm puttering about.

Suggestions anyone?

My friend was suggesting photography lessons, but I'm not so thrilled at the idea.

Motown soup

I've been joining the 'soup team' at cooking class lately. All the soups we've made so far involve apples and a blender. And lots and lots of butter. The cooking instructor guy is a butter fanatic. I for one, do not usually make blended butter apples into soup, but I guess that's why I'm taking the class.

In other news, there is a club in Hamilton that plays all Motown music on Wednesday nights. This is actually just as awesome as it sounds. There is a saying often attributed to Mark Twain:

Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening. Love like you've never been hurt and live like it's heaven on Earth.

I won't comment about the rest of it, but that first part isn't so easy!

i heart dragonboat

As I was passing through the student centre yesterday, I came across some of the kids who are on the dragonboat team.

I say kids because they are in first year undergrad. This means that most of them aren't even legal yet. It also means that when I was in first year undergrad, they weren't even in High School yet. Holy hannah.

Anyways, they had ordered a LOT of Kentucky Fried Chicken, and as it happens, were unable to finish it all.

We exchanged hello's, and then they offered me some KFC.

They had me at hello.

Aside from finishing their chicken, I ate both their tubs of salad (coleslaw and potatoe), as well as their box of fries. It was glorious.

This event alone has made dragonboat worthwhile. I hope they don't cut me.

Accountability

I was describing my research activities to a friend of mine the other day.

He wasn't so interested in my research. He was more interested in who was paying for it.

As it happens, at least some of my research this year is being sponsored by government agencies. Seeing as how the majority of my readers come from Canada, I suppose that you, through your tax dollars, are funding me in this, my year of exploration and good times.

Anyways, in the ensuing conversation, during which my so called friend questioned the worth and utility of my research, I came to a conclusion.

Since this research is being sponsored (indirectly) by you, I suppose I should be held accountable (albeit indirectly) to you all as well.

So I invite any of you to phone/email/fax/or contact me in any way for research updates. So you can sleep soundly at night knowing that your tax dollars are being well spent.

The long walk home

I was walking home the other day from the Farmer's Market when I saw this:

A little old lady sitting on the ground, her back against a building. Her left hand was pressed against her chest. She looked to be in distress. Two other old ladies and a middle aged gentleman (friends? randoms?) were clustered around her.

I approached immediately. I offered my cellphone to the gentleman. He assured me that they had already called 911, and were now just waiting for help to arrive.

As I continued walking up the street, questions bounced in my head. What should I have done? Should I have announced that I was a medical student and attempted to take control of the situation?

I also thought about the lady on the ground. I figure she either fell and broke something. Or she was having a heart attack. If she broke something, I wasn't really going to be any use. But what if she was having a heart attack? And what what if she ended up needing CPR?

Two blocks from where I left them, I decided to go back, just in case they needed me. I ended up hanging around with all my grocery bags for around 20 minutes until help arrived. I'm not certain, but I think the lady had fallen down and hurt her wrist.

But I still wonder. What is the optimal course of action?

Does becoming a medical professinal make you responsible for the all the hurt and sick that you encounter? Can you leave your job behind? Are you allowed?

And the winner is...

The NCAA tournament is over! Florida schooled UCLA to take the title. Sadly, no one got this pick right.

The winner of the first inaugural Simonscapes March Madness Bracket is...

Steph! With 38 points! Uncle Ming came in second with 37 points. Greg and Sara tied for 3rd with 35 points. My mom still has nine points. At least she's consistent.

Congratulations Steph! The prize is totally cool. Seriously.

Thanks to everyone who participated!

A cappella

I've managed to wrangle myself a role in the ceremonies for this year's graduating class. This is good because otherwise, I think I'd need some sort of invite to attend since I'm no longer graduating with the class of 2006.

I'm not doing anything too stressful. I'm joining a whole bunch of classmates in singing background music during a slideshow.

I'm not much of a singer. In fact, I think most of my musical endeavors have a tragic aspect to them.

1. I played a heck of a lot of piano, but I get terrible performance anxiety. Also, not to sound like a big pansy, but I think all the manual contortions have given me weak wrists.

2. I took a summer's worth of fiddle lessons. My fiddle teacher seemed impressed by my progress, but most of her other students weren't yet toilet trained. Also, I was only taught two songs, and my the limited practice I did do of these two songs was enough to drive my poor housemates to drink. (Sorry. More drink. They were Irish. Not that I'm stereotyping or anything.)

3. I sang in a Gospel Choir, which was loud and boisterous and so very much fun. But after some personal debate regarding the morals and ethics of my situation, I decided to leave this activity behind.

Fundamentally, I suppose the real pathos lies in the fact that I'm talented enough to recognize talent. And to realize that I'm sorely lacking.
Also, that I really love it. It's never nice to love something you're not good at.