Things That Make Me Happy

Getting free stuff from the enemy...

...because it makes it easier to mock them.

A trellis made out of skis...

...because every garden needs a little kitsch.

Really cool friends...

...because they send me boxes from really cool places.

An inspiring grocery store...

...because I never would have thought to cook swordfish steaks had they not been on special.

And finally, caffeine gum...

...because, well, why not?

Since When Does "Uke" Translate as "Nerd"?

...yes, it's a legitimate question. This past Friday, I engaged in my second intentional skipping of class, again for the purpose of playing the ukulele. This time, it was more legitimate (at least in my mind) than last time's "ahhh, it's so nice out, let's just sit outside in the sun and play music" truancy. This time, it was for the annual New York Uke Fest held at Baruch College. Yes, there is such thing as a ukulele festival. Why not? It's a versatile instrument that is relatively easy to learn, and who's ever heard of an unhappy ukulele player? (Not me.) So anyway, off I went to Midtown to participate in workshops, marvel at the newest ukulele models and gadgets, and see fantastic performances. And, um, buy a new ukulele. It's sooo pretty! It's a concert-sized, solid-maple Kala, with a very bright and surprisingly loud, crisp tone. It is in no way a replacement for my soprano beginner's Kala, which has a sweeter, warmer tone. No, I like to think of it as a step into the true enthusiast's realm, in which I gradually add more and more to my collection (while in the meantime taking the newly enhanced opportunity to teach friends how to play as well). Aloha!

Ukulele vending must be one of the happiest jobs in the world.

Could the festival be complete without some hula? I think not.

Greg Hawkes, the keyboardist from The Cars, has since become a huge uke fan/performer.

The oldest performing musician in America, if not the world: Bill Tapia, 102, closed out the concerts with his jazz uke style. What a guy.

Colbert

When I made my decision to go to school in New York last spring, I had one goal, one dream, one great aspiration that would mark my four years here as successful. I am ecstatic to announce, only nine months into my stay here, that I have achieved that lofty ambition: I have attended a live taping of The Colbert Report.

Right here.

Tickets are free and available on the show's website, but that doesn't mean they're easy to get. On the contrary: they're released in small amounts at seemingly random times in the day for seemingly random upcoming dates. This past Monday, I checked the website out of curiosity after finishing the pharmacology exam, and what do you know, I scored three tickets for Tuesday. Let me just say that it wasn't at all difficult to find two more people to come with me. We had to get there early (which translated to 4:45 -- we couldn't get there earlier because of class) to get a better spot in line, which translated to better seats in the studio. When we were finally able to walk into the studio, it was like magic. It looked exactly like the TV show (obviously), but it felt so surreal to actually be there. Before the show began, a comedian came out and entertained us in the audience. Then, Stephen himself came out and did a short question-and-answer session.

SOOOO excited to be here!

My favorite Colbert moments are the ever-so-rare clips in which he cracks up, not able to stay in character because of the ridiculousness of whatever he's reporting. Miraculously enough, we got to witness one of those moments. Check out the clip, OR just go ahead and catch the full episode. I'd recommend the latter.

My stomach ached from all the laughing. Jon, Eman, and I were euphoric after the show, calling and texting our friends to brag about it. What a perfect night. Oh, Colbert. What a hero.

Responsibility

We have a pharmacology exam tomorrow, which means that I've been spending my weekend memorizing drugs. This, more than anything I've done in medical school so far, has made me realize that, WOW, I'm going to be a doctor. I'm not just memorizing this stuff for an exam; the knowledge that I'm acquiring in school is going to help me help others, and maybe even save some lives. This is still a somewhat abstract thought, but what has really struck me is how quickly everything seems to be moving. I'm just a month away from being done with my first year of medical school. Where did the months go?! Three years from now, I will be graduating, and I will be a doctor, and I will only be 26. This is what boggles my mind. A doctor, at 26? No way! But yes...that's how it works. I'm left with a feeling of excitement, awe, and above all else, responsibility. In three short years, I am responsible for holding the knowledge of a full (although, granted, a new) M.D. That's a whole lotta responsibility -- and I'm excited for it.

I had another encounter with responsibility this week, as well, when I received my orders for my USAF training this summer. (Unfortunately, the orders weren't entirely correct, so I still can't make any summer plans until they get amended. However, the gist of them was right.) I must make my own flight arrangements to Texas. I am authorized to rent a car on the government's dime. I am to report at 0700 in ABUs on 21 June. I am, now and for many years to come, an Air Force officer. It's not a game, it's not for fun (although it is fun), it's truly what I am. If that doesn't make me feel responsible, then I don't know what can.

Definitely Tough Enough

The Tough Mudder race has done its worst, and we have made it through triumphantly...but not without some marks. (Disclaimer: There will be pictures of blood later. You have been warned.) We knew it was a different kind of race when one of the first things we had to do after picking up our packets was to go to the marker station -- to have our numbers written across our foreheads. What in the world? Apparently, it was a liability thing; they were concerned that the racing numbers would get ripped off or mauled in some other way. Ironically, it turns out the paper numbers came through quite well, whereas the forehead numbers began trickling off almost instantly as we were sweating in the sun. Oh well.

It DID get pretty beaten up, though.

The day was HOT and HUMID. It reminded me of the kind of weather we had in Alabama last July for COT. No problem, I thought, I've done obstacle courses in this kind of weather before; plus, the last time I did it, I was wearing heavy combat boots, pants, and a jacket that didn't breathe. This time, I took full advantage of the non-dress-code situation and chucked my shirt about half an hour in. Best choice ever, although there were repercussions later.

For example, this little gash right here. Let's get a close-up on that.

Yeahhh...that's a nice bit of subcutaneous tissue right there.

What can I say about the race? It was tough. (That was a given.) We began by running up a longgggg, steep(ish) hill, which was punctuated by a crawl through a patch of icy, melty snow. Our knees received their first abrasions there. The next obstacle was a "crawl" underneath a long piece of netting, but it was easy for me because everyone around me was taller. Then we were each given a log to carry to the top of a hill and back down again, after which we faced the most challenging obstacle of the day: the long, hard climb up the steepest hill I've ever attempted to scale on foot. No one could run up this thing. We were all walking -- staggering, really -- and even that was too much; many (including me) had to stop several times to catch our breaths. This thing was ruthless, and it took at least a good 10 minutes to finish. At the bottom, before the beginning of this monster, there was a sign reminding us, "Remember...you signed a death waiver." Thanks, Tough Mudder. Great to know you're on our side.

That was definitely the worst part of the course. The rest was relatively easy, and definitely fun. We crawled through tunnels, ran through the woods, slogged through a 4-foot-deep mud swamp (after which I threw out my no-longer-white T-shirt which I had plan on getting rid of anyway), and full-body crawled through the mud under extremely low wires. The "COT Facial" last summer prepared me well for that one, though the mud gave me significantly more scratches on my legs and knees. The next part of the race was the best, because we had come to the lake. We had to pull ourselves across on ropes, then dunk under 3 rows of barrels, then jump off a plank, swim to a buoy and back to the shore (which was surprisingly hard in shoes). Next, after scaling two 12-foot walls, we had to run 3 times up and down a hill (where I bit it and got covered in mud once again), and then wait in line for the slip-n-slide.

I'll just go ahead and ruin the story here. THIS is what happened on the slip-n-slide.

This is where it gets interesting. The slip-n-slide, fun though it was, was where I had my biggest problems. Sure, the ride down was a bit rough, but it was fine. The issue was the bottom. I somehow lost speed, so I tried to drag/launch myself into the water by pulling forward. Bad idea -- I slid into the water, which happened to be hiding a nasty layer of gravel at the very edge. My stomach now has a nice, wide-spanning set of mostly parallel scratches, plus the nice, deep abrasion that I showed earlier. Awesome. I tried to ignore it (it was pretty numb at the time, anyway) and finished the race strong: over one more wall, around another lake, and through the burning, stinging smoke of the path surrounded by 2 walls of fire. Total time: 1 hr, 32 min, 45 sec. We enjoyed our free beer and snacks and then made the trek back to the Bronx.

Tough team

Today, every single muscle in my body is sore, my shoulders are sunburned, and my cut is still oozing. (Thank goodness for Neosporin.) The other guys all feel the same way, but today we wore our shirts proudly to class. What was the first thing we did when we got back? We signed up for the 12-mile Tough Mudder in New Jersey in November. I can't wait!

Pie, Again

Tomorrow is May 2. I have been looking forward to May 2 ever since February, when I registered for the Tough Mudder, a race that requires substantially more insanity than I am normally willing to admit to. It's held at a ski resort in Pennsylvania, and the course consists of approximately 7 miles of running...plus 17 obstacles. First of all, any race that only gives you an approximate distance has got to be pretty crazy. Second, take a look at some of the obstacles: We'll have to crawl hands-and-knees through snow, drag a log up a hill, slog through a pond of mud, jump 15 feet into an ice-cold mountain lake, scale mud-soaked walls, run through fire, and face a "surprise" obstacle at the very end. Did I mention that we have to run through fire? Yes -- run through fire. The only word I can think of to describe my feelings about this is: AWESOME.

Dinosaurs are tough, just like Tough Mudders. Just don't let them eat the blueberries underneath.

I'm not going alone. I will be teaming up with 4 of my fellow classmates in this endeavor. One has been in the Navy for many years (and has even served in Iraq), one is a former track star, one lived in Antarctica and researched for NASA, and one is the 43rd-ranked discus thrower in the world. Am I out of my league? Maybe, but I refuse to think so. I fully expect to be more exhausted than any other time in my life when the race is done, but I look forward to it.

Gooey chocolate-pecan

Tonight, the 5 of us are going to psych up and carbo-load, as all serious Tough Mudders should. I haven't done the whole pasta-dinner-before-a-race thing since high school, so I'm really looking forward to it. The guys are taking care of the dinner, but I said I'd handle dessert. What could possibly be a better dessert than pie? Perhaps 2 pies? Sure. So that's what I've made this morning: pies. And tonight we'll feast.

I can't wait!