The Frog

Sometimes when you try to help someone, you don't. And sometimes when you're a kid, you make bad choices. Example:

Years ago, my brother Bret and I were on vacation with our family in Southeastern Iowa. Our great aunt had a big, two-story farm house with a pool. One dark night, Bret and I stepped out of the Alf-themed kids' guestroom onto a balcony. The wood balcony was wet and we were barefoot. While standing there, I was startled by something small and wet that landed on my foot. It was a frog. As I picked it up, we both got a glint of excitement in our eyes. What do frogs like to do? Swim, of course. Where could he swim? In the pool. It's right there! Without thinking much more, I shouted, "Be free frog! Fly!" and threw the frog in a shallow arc down to the pool. We shouted with excitement, but fell silent at the sickening smack of the frog hitting the pavement, one foot short. Maybe he was better off; the chlorine bath he was about to receive may have done him worse. (Here I am assuming that all frogs are boys. However, some West African frogs are known to spontaneously change from male to female in a single sex environment. They even made a movie about it.) We stood their in silence. The sickness of that smack stuck with us. We went back into our Alf-themed room and shut the door. Don't know if he survived, but my best guess is that he's hopping on St. Peter's feet now. Poor little guy.

My da** Broca Region's misfirin' again!!

 

I usually keep it pretty clean. Always have. Even with growing up on a farm, foul language just never really got the best of me. When I left the farm at 17, I became a sailor for a few months. That didn't phase me either. If anything, my language got cleaner. 

So, why is it that in the last two weeks (2nd year of medical school started two weeks ago) my brain has been more profane than any place I have ever been? It's as if a little, filthy mouthed sailor is kicking back in my melon, telling me what to think. I took a test yesterday and when I got to question #6 all I could think was, "Beep! Blip! Beep, beep! Beeeeeeeeep!!!"

Unfortunately, I feel that I have come up with some real winner/hilarious combinations. I don't feel right sharing them, so I'll have to keep them locked up in my brain vice. Man, it's a good thing you can't sin with your thoughts.

H.A.L. 9000

Hello.

I recently updated my computer to OS X Lion. I went to Payson High School, home of the mighty Payson Lions. So I figured we were meant to be and that combined we would become absolutely explosive. BOOM!

During the process, I was prompted to update my user profile and password. I thought, "Wouldn't it be funny to change my username and picture to HAL's red eye and name." I did, and now every time I open my computer I am greeted by that deadly supercomputer. It's not a huge deal, but I get a little kick out of it every time.

The downside: my computer is now trying to kill me.

Wish you were here.

Hello Brad.

This post is for you.
Number 1: it's finals week. Too bad we can't cram together, like the old days.
Number 2: you won. That's right, Brad. SLAB pizza. It finally happened.




So, just swing by SLAB and get your free slice. I hear they've been surprising customers with pulits too. And if anyone deserves to be surprised by one it's you.

King of Scholar Hill

I have been subconsciously engaged in a 'Scholastic King of the Hill' this whole time. You see, most people try desperately to get to the far right end of the bell curve. Generally, further to the right is always better. But maybe there's a flaw in the way the bell curve presents information. I was taught that you win by staying at the top of the hill, not by falling/being thrown down the other side. I realize the importance of conforming to their system, but somewhere, during a scout camp long ago, it was burned into my soul that only the crest of the hill matters. Or maybe it was ingrained in my heart long before that. Maybe Gaga's right and I was just born this way. I don't know. I remember that ultimate feeling of power though. Standing at the top, the desperation in the smaller kids' eyes and the dirt in their teeth. Being at the top made you the Alpha Male or Beach Master. You could call yourself whichever you preferred because you were king.

 

So, I probably fixated on that whole experience too much. It's unfortunate that when I finally started to win I became "too old" to play anymore. But I guess I found a new hill to fight on, the bell curve. Now, I don't mean to get all technical, but I should clarify that it is the mode that I always strive for, not the mean. The mode is the most common score and therefore the top most point on the hill. (I am surprised you didn't know that.) Being the mean, or average, just doesn't satisfy. The mode (or the way as it is known around my apartment) is completely different. The mode contains all the thrill and glory associated with being King of the hill.

One time, some jerk in the 98th percentile tried to explain to me that he was more intelligent than me, but I knew who was really on top. ...I then threw him down a real hill, to drive my point home. Who's laughing now?

You win, if you think you win.