Germy

Another clip show post. This one was titled "Flash fiction kid no steal the candy" which probably means that it is a product of the flash fiction workshops we would have. At the start of the class we would take 10 or 15 minutes to write no more than a page. Good stuff comes under pressure, usually and I know that seeds for more involved and lengthy pieces were sewn during those sessions.  Flash Fiction kid no steal the candy “I know he took my candy.” Ignacio hid in the shadow of his Grandma, peering around her considerable girth so that the excessive white of his eyes starkly contrasted with his dark complexion, as he continually positioned himself behind his advancing protector. I continued to fire accusation projectiles propelled by circumstantial evidence; Ignacio’s Grandma was having none of it. “My Ignacio is not a thief, and, look: his Halloween candy sits there, right on the top of the chiffonier. He hasn’t eaten half of it yet.” She said all this with a...

Here is another story written 5 or 6 years ago -- dusted off and thrust into the harsh light of self-criticism of a mind not yet broken and rebuilt for practicing medicine. I vaguely remember writing it -- I really remember that the story was inspired by one of the best classes I've ever taken. It was basically a semester of studying nuclear weapons, atomic energy and the geo-politics that surrounded (and stills does) the nifty little trick of splitting an atom. The instructor was a biochemist by trade but had a passion that he turned into an elective course. I also have a feeling that this may have been my first attempt to follow in the footsteps of the late great David Foster Wallace and his obsession with footnotes in works of fiction. At the time I thought I should start doing the same -- and its a credit to my writing instructors that they were patient enough to let me work through that foolishness on my own.  To be sure there are some cringe-worthy aspects of this specif...

A few days ago I was searching my email account for some document from many years ago. While doing this I came became distracted for a long time with reading old stories from when I was in undergrad writing classes. I figured I'd dust some of them off and put them up here. Some are kinda cringe-worthy, to be sure, but this one, and a few others are post ready right off the shelf. This one didn't even have a title and appears to be from a character sketch assignment with a single page limit. Character Sketch Finally, I was able to cross the busy boulevard and continue peddling my fashionable, yet old steel Bianchi 12 speed road bike down the mature tree lined Side Street. It was not long before I could see his house at the end of the block. Ernest had lived in this house since he was 20 years old. It was new when he bought it, and he and his wife had raised 5 children in it. Now, he lives in the four bedroom, one and half bathroom, Tudor style home by himself. ...

The Power of Analogy When I was a younger some of the best times with friends involved philosophical meanderings that only a teenager could sincerely believe were original revelations. An idea that I "happened upon" was based on the premise that all of the physical tools we used in the world (hammers, pulleys, fasteners, wheels, and even motors share mechanical principles with the  highly conserved "9+2" arrangement of the flagella ) could be traced back either in direct or indirect etiology to an anatomical structure or functional component. At the time I was not filled with a burning desire to be a physician and my knowledge of the history of anatomical studies -- one of the ancient scientific disciplines was all but unknown to me. But, even at that supremely awkward season that is post-pubescence, I was in love with the idea of knowing and interpreting the world through analogies and metaphors. If I had only read something like this fascinating article by R...

Rush fans are now ruling the world -- just like nerds now repay school yard bullies with pinkslips and downsizing, Rush fans take solace in the fact that they're still enjoying real music being made and performed live while fans and supporters of lesser music coprohagically binge and purge on the excrement of pop music's ghost. I am a little young to be a part of the first and original Rush fan base. The band was originally formed in 1968, and since their self-titled album was released in 1974, they have maintained the same configuration of members: Neil Peart (percussionist and primary lyricist), Alex Lifeson (lead guitar and backup vocals) and Geddy Lee (bassist, keyboards and lead vocals.). These days, one doesn't have to have much rugged individuality  nor be willing to bare ridicule in order to testify as part of Rush-fandom -- but this wasn't always the case. In part, my introduction to the music of Rush was hastened by my Canadian family. Rush...

I've written about skateboarding quite a bit on here, and while it occupies no real tangible part of my daily activities these days, I still, even now, find myself thinking about it -- or watching clips here or there. I constantly make note whether a given street is sufficiently smooth, or whether there is a big crack at the top of a stair set. I imagine myself tackling terrain that I probably wouldn't have even attempted while at the top of my game. The other day I came across this post: I took pause after watching several times and then began to contemplate and deliberate between an idea of cyclic or more linear patterns of existence and how humans really like to think that their era of material existence holds some significance that transcends space and time. There is an easier way to gain a glimpse into the nature of time and generations of people and what patterns can be discerned. Whether it be geo-political strife or cooperations, music and clothing stylings or c...

I'm nearing the end of my vacation period in my third year of medical school. Along with the traveling, sleeping-in and seeing old friends that has filled this month I have also been able to dive into some fiction reading -- reading that has nothing inherently to do with medicine. Even though I have a handful of books waiting for me at home, I had this feeling that I wanted to find something completely new, as if the books that I had been looking forward to reading had already been tainted with the sweet stench of medical education. When I was in Portland earlier this month, I made made my way to Powell's book store and stood in front of the huge selection of 'staff-picks' and without reading the back of the dust jacket picked out a book. I picked out a book based on title alone -- it was this one  'Rivers' by Micheal Farris Smith  which ended up being a satisfying if not an excellent read. So it was when my wife and I were at SFO headed to the plane to br...