East Bay

For the next month I will be a daytime East Bay resident. Why, you ask? I am rotating through the oral sugery department at the Alameda County Medical Center, Highland...it's basically an Oakland based hospital. The one big change is having to be up so early to arrive at work by 6:45am. I know, 6:45am. The only positive I can think of at this moment is that I am being prepared for my early mornings that will start this July after I begin my new residency. Back in January, I remember one of the attendings telling me that residents arrive at about 6:45am for morning lecture but that some residents arrive at 6:00am to get their OR ready for the first case. 6:00am. 6:00am. Long gone are the days of dental school where I had clinic at 10:00am.

I was telling Robert about how morning rounds are such a train of people parading through patient's rooms at 7:00am. Literally 13 of us went around to check on patients. 3 attendings, 4 oral surgery residents, 1 extern, 4 U of P dental students, and me. I understand that the entire hierarchy of medicine has been developed to teach students, but sometimes I can't help but feel like the patient is some specimen that gets addressed in the third person as if not present. Robert (and I'm sure, countless others) confirm this complete lack of humanity. Unfortunately, that's the "system." And though it is impersonal, at times, it's turned out a lot of top notch medical professionals. Maybe one more?

Impromptu Concert

I came across an interesting Washington Post article that ran two Sundays ago. The summary is that one of the world's premiere violinists, Joshua Bell, pretended to be a street musician at L'Enfant Plaza in the D.C. metro. For 45 minutes he played some of the most sublime pieces in the violin repertoire. The goal of this social experiment was to see how many people would be able to recognize the caliber of music being performed and to see if people would take a minute or two out of their busy schedules to acknowledge the performer. You can read the article at the link listed at the end, but I'll ruin it for you. Out of the 1,067 people who passed him by in that 45 or so odd minutes, only 1 or 2 people really stopped to listen to his music. One woman actually recognized who he was and in fact, had seen him in a concert a week or two before. She even struck up a small conversation with him at the end (there are video feeds of the hidden cameras that day). Man, if only that would have happened here in SF....lucky woman, the one who basically got a free recital at a distance of 10 feet.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/04/04/AR2007040401721.html

I tend to ignore a lot of street musicians here in SF because really, most of them suck. I don't have to stop in front of them to listen and figure that out because I can hear the jumble of sounds from a block or two away. But I do recognize the better ones, the very few times they are to be found. Just this weekend I was riding on the Muni to meet a friend downtown. As we walked toward the stairs to exit the terminal, my friend noticed I was humming and pretty loudly, too. He stared at me and said, "You know this song?!?! Wow." What was that song you ask? That "song" was the prelude to Bach's first cello suite. There was a high school or college aged student playing cello just at the base of the steps. He was good. Imagine a lanky skater-boy wearing a knit cap with his cello positioned between a pair of torn baggy khakis. It's a look I feel like a lot of young artists go for...dancers and musicians who like the juxtaposition of their classical art against the dirty, punk, grunge look. One of those "Go ahead and judge me as a miscreant to society but watch me tear out this Beethoven piano concerto!" I appreciated his work and shouted something like "Go on with your Bach self!" (Just kidding, didn't say that). And just today at the hospital there was a harpist playing in the OR family waiting area. Stanford hires musicians as a part of a hospitality/therapy/rehab program they have for patients and the anxious families. I loved it, and I told her.

As a person who used to freelance a lot more in the music world, yeah, I got (and still do) get tired of people asking me to play "Devil Went Down to Georgia," but the occasional "thanks" or "sounds great" is enough to keep me going...who am I kidding, it's only enough to keep me going as long as whoever hired me has a check with my name on it at the end of the night. So my point is toss a buck or two in the the open instrument case next time you hear something you like, even if it's the guy playing empty water jugs with chopsticks.

I'll Have a Glycolic Acid, Please

I know, I know...everyone keeps telling me, "You're Asian! You're gonna look like you're in your twenties well into your forties!" Okay, so I agree. We tend to fend off those wrinkles for most of the decades of our lives, but it seems like over the course of a few years, we age like that. Some of the oldest looking people I can think of are Asian...probably cause they're the ones I'm related to. Anyway, just in case my genetics decide to deviate from centuries of established facial integument architecture, I treat myself to the occasional facial. Yes, it isn't cheap, but is it worth it? Every penny. Who doesn't like to be pampered? And in an attempt to make those spa services accessible to more people, the founders of the following site have contracted salons and spas across the country to come together toward the common goal of fighting world hunger. Uh, okay, so maybe not something that noble, but at least they've joined forces to get participating spas to offer services for only $50. That's more than 50% off in some places. Call and schedule now. Really. You owe it to yourself. www.spaweek.org

Jete

Lately, I've been heading to the ballet a lot. In fact, I've seen every single one of the five programs they've presented this season. Why? Well, one of my friends out here started dating a ballet dancer status post the Nutcracker and one very fortuitous trip to the bar. And if you've read my blog in the past, you know I am a fan of the dancing...you know, my dream career. So I wasn't talking ballet before but the concept is the same. I can't complain about the comped tickets either.

This past weekend was three days of late nights, and on the last night, I was out at the karaoke bar celebrating the dancer's birthday. So of course there were a billion other ballet dancers there also....maybe just under a billion. I was introduced to another friend, a cute, fit blonde who looked so familiar, but it was one of those things you couldn't place. High school? Summer camp? College? None of those. It turns out she was the star of a movie Orlene and I watched parts of for practically an entire semester: Center Stage. If you've seen it, then you know which blonde in the red ballet shoes I'm talking about. She was so sweet! It made my week. If you haven't seen the movie, just Youtube "Center Stage" and you'll see who I mean.

It didn't happen to me but only if...

I came home from work today, and Eric had this story to tell me:

"So one of my patients today...wait, let me just tell you what happened. First off, there is a new dental assistant working in our clinic who speaks very little English. Okay, so remember that for later. Back to this patient. Let's just say she was not all in the right place. She had an extensive list of allergies. Not just your run of the mill allergies. She told me she was allergic to all these chemicals. She even told me she was allergic to the 'lead aprons' you wear when you get x-rays. Not the lead though, the threads. She kept saying, 'I can feel the threads in the thing starting to irritate my throat!' The woman told me that's why she brought plastic Walmart bags to the clinic. She would rather use those plastic bags as her shield instead of the apron, but the white ones not the blue ones....cause they have a dye she is allergic to. Also, I heard from another student that she had to run out of the clinic because the wax a student was working to next door was causing her throat to swell. Back to today's appointment. So I asked the new assistant to take radiographs. A few minutes later, the assistant comes in and asks, 'Is that lady all okay?' My assistant told me that as soon as the dental chair was raised, the woman shouted, 'Oh my god! You didn't tell me you were going to raise the chair! That's how I lose my energy!' Apparently, from what I could understand from the assistant, the woman jumped out of the chair and laid down flat on the floor. She pulled a gun looking device from her purse, and according to the assistant, 'She put to her..uh...to her... VAGINA! She put to her vagina!' I couldn't believe what the assistant was telling me. Just imagine this hispanic woman trying to relate the story of a crazy woman pointing a gun-shaped item at her pelvic area while shouting the word Vagina, over and over again."

Like I said, this is all Eric's story.

It was only 5 years ago...

...that I was receiving literally hundreds of RSVPs and "Return to Sender" envelopes in my first apartment in Baltimore. Back then, I was organizing my five year high school reunion alongside my friend and class president, Krupa. I had always known this was a reunion year, but I think I've been trying to put it off...until I read someone else's myspace bulletin that was reminding everyone of a 10 year reunion to take place this fall.

So why am I so hesitant to undertake this responsibility? It should be a piece of cake, right? First, when I say I was receiving hundreds of RSVPs, I'm not talking about 200 or 300 pieces of mail. Oh no, I graduated with about 800 some people. Yes. It was a large freakin' class. Address changes, name changes, guests, complaints about ticket prices, trying to organize an event in Philadelphia from Baltimore, depositing checks, etc. It was a headache. And if you ask me, maybe a little too much for the 4-5 hours the event lasted. I wonder if this year, I could just tell people to meet in a parking lot on a Friday night. I'm in touch with all the friends in high school I need, all two of them.

Secret Asian Man

I've been making a habit of eating out lately. I say, "why not?" I could probably eat in a new restaurant every night and still not become jaded with the selection of cuisine offered at these eateries. Tonight, I headed over to the Richmond District, a.k.a. the "real" Chinatown-the Chinatown devoid of asian balloons (known as paper lanterns to everyone else but Eric) and English signs written in that choppy, short stroke, rough-egded Chinese font. You know the Chinatown where there isn't a man on every block hacking away at the erhu (that winey Chinese lap-cello looking instrument).

I decided to try some Pho from this noodle house down the street from my favorite Burmese place. I knew what I wanted to order but perused the menu just to get a feel for the breadth of courses. After I placed my order, I left to stop by a few asian grocery stores to pick up some non-Safeway items: boba, longan, dumpling wrappers, green tea powder, etc. Three stores later and one quick stop off at the car to unload, and I was ready to pickup my order. When I arrived back at the restaurant (about 30 minutes post ordering), the waitress looked at me as though I was a new patron. I stared back at her, and it finally clicked who I was. "Oh, you the one with the take out orda!" She walked back to the counter while shouting to her co-waitress in Vietnamese. Translation of what she said: "Oh my god! He remembered to come back for his order! He probably forgot it until now! I didn't think he was gonna come back. Five more minutes, and I was gonna take it back, and he would have paid us for nothing! Hahaha!!" The way these two women were laughing, it was as if they were having some weird joke at my expense. But I got them back. They thought I had no clue what they were saying. Most people, and I mean Asian people, recognize me as Chinese so I am not surprised the waitresses didn't think I understood Vietnamese. A ha! I looked at the woman and said, "You thought I forgot my order? I already paid for it, so I definitely was not going to leave it here with you." As Margaret Cho would say, "She was so shock!!" She started laughing, and her waitress friend asked her what I had said. I took the bag from her hand and walked out the restaurant all smug.

Moral? Be careful who you talk about in a different language in front of his/her face. You never know what languages people know. Or just wait until a person leaves to talk about him/her.