Dear Bono,
How can I be so sad about someone I have never met? Well, not in real life anyway. I first met David Bowie as a young girl. I watched the Goblin King and sang and danced to the songs. I dreamt I was Sarah, twirling through the masquerade dream and able to look directly into his gaze. As a freshman in high school, the world of music beyond Disney films was just starting to open to me (I realize I was a bit old.) I went through the stacks of used music at Media Play and got my double CD "Best of Bowie" for $13. As I listened, I fell instantly in love with "Changes," taking on "And these children that you spit on as they try to change their world are immune to your consolations; they're quite aware what they're going through" as my mantra. As we prepared for college, I gazed haughtily at the popular kids in my high school who the line "I watched the ripples change their size but never leave the stream" as they stayed at home with their high school friends while I set out to change the world but studying to be a doctor in Africa. I continued to listen, his different lyrics spoke to me through my struggles and triumphs. I found friends through their love of David Bowie. A colleague with whom I felt distant from quickly became one of my closest allies after discussing the MCA "David Bowie Is" exhibit.
I almost went to Denver, to see his show back in college. My mom wouldn't let me go alone and my friend backed out due to finances and I knew sneaking out to a city 12 hours away wouldn't work.
I never saw him live. But I sat for hours in the video room at the MCA exhibit, listening to the music, his costumes near. To be so close to David Bowie, but yet so far.
"You're not alone...."
Wednesday, January 13, 2016
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
2015
Dear Bono,
You say nothing changes on New Year's Day. Maybe that's why I hate it. It is possibly my least favorite day of the year. Yes, I have some great memories of ringing in the New Year. Watching all the celebrations from around the world as people rang in the new millennium and then celebrating the new year at the Salt Lake Cemetery as part of a "self-appointed apocalyptic welcoming committee" was actually a highlight, as was cheering on the new year 11 years ago at the Eiffel Tower. Yet, I still hate it. Maybe because it marks the end of the magic that is Christmas. Probably is is more because of my own neurosis that cause me to panic about the vast new year ahead of me. I sort of hate clean slates because they can only get messed up from there.
2015 brought me some good times. Three of my favorite things happened this year: U2 tour! (Phoenix, Boston, Dublin trips!) Star Wars movie!!! (And it wasn't a disappointment!) And Sherlock! Except that actually won't start until Jan 1st. But I agree with Bridget Jones' philosophy about New Year's-it should start later because people are still in celebration/holiday mode. So, Sherlock will get tagged onto the end of 2015. Also, I went on a lot of trips. I love trips. Tampa beach, New Orleans, DC, Kentucky, Prague, Amelia Island for work. Pittsburgh, Phoenix, Boston, Dublin for concerts. Iceland, DC, Mammoth Caves, Kirtland, Chicago for fun.
But 2015 was also not great. It has brought me uncertainty about my future-my training comes to an end in June. Then what? I don't know. And that makes me dread 2016. And 2017, 2018, 2019.....
I am one of those people that says "things will be better when x has happened"
Goal for 2016: Be a person that says "things are great now"
But things will ACTUALLY be better when you go back on tour!
xoxo
J
Monday, August 10, 2015
CB and other random thoughts
Dear Bono,
Have you heard of Crystal Ballroom? Of course you have, you wrote the song. But it is also a U2 community (U2mmunity?) of people who get together to talk U2 via social media. This world is crazy how this stuff can bring people together. I did ask if anyone else thought that they would be a different person if not for U2, and people said yes, so I'm not alone in letting you dictate my life. Ha.
Is your song "Rise Up" supposed to be a Bruce Springsteen song or what?
What's the best way to look for a job? I am in the process of looking for my first non-training surgeon job, and even though I know that about 50% of pediatric urologists change jobs within the first 5 years, I keep thinking that whatever I do will be what I do for my whole career. Can I blame you for that too? I mean, why couldn't you be Vince Clarke and just bounce around?
xo,
JP
Have you heard of Crystal Ballroom? Of course you have, you wrote the song. But it is also a U2 community (U2mmunity?) of people who get together to talk U2 via social media. This world is crazy how this stuff can bring people together. I did ask if anyone else thought that they would be a different person if not for U2, and people said yes, so I'm not alone in letting you dictate my life. Ha.
Is your song "Rise Up" supposed to be a Bruce Springsteen song or what?
What's the best way to look for a job? I am in the process of looking for my first non-training surgeon job, and even though I know that about 50% of pediatric urologists change jobs within the first 5 years, I keep thinking that whatever I do will be what I do for my whole career. Can I blame you for that too? I mean, why couldn't you be Vince Clarke and just bounce around?
xo,
JP
Monday, July 13, 2015
Boston
Dear Bono,
I saw you in Boston. I drove 2 hours to get to Akron, OH to catch a direct flight to Boston on Friday, and despite the airline's best effort to make me miss beginning of the show, I made it with 10 minutes to spare. I was in one of those expensive seats, corner back from Adam. The energy was indescribable. It was one of the greatest shows I have been to. I cried during Iris. It has always been a powerful song, but for some reason on Friday I just felt all the feelings of the song. And when you sand "shine like stars...."
But Saturday was even better. I was on the front row on the rail on Adam's side. Did you notice me? You glanced at me. I went for that spot because Adam interacts with the crowd. I didn't go for the E stage. I dream of being pulled up on stage, but I know that I am not the beauty you look for.
But Bono, I want to tell you that when you talked about performing Bad at Live Aid 30 years ago, and you touched Lou Reed, and you learned about the world around you and started on your quest to alleviate some of the suffering, you were telling my story. I became a U2 fan at age 14. PopMart was the toughest ticket to get since you hadn't been to Utah for 14 years. Someone put a "2" next to the "U" on the mountain to welcome you. But my mom was overprotective. She did not want me to go to the big stadium to see you, though it was only 20 minutes from my house. The night of the show, my older sister and her friend somehow convinced my mom to let us drive to the stadium. I don't recall the make of my sister's friend's car, but her older brother had stolen that sticker from the airplane that said "use bottom seat for flotation" and that was on the back seat. The windows were down. We could hear the music. Tickets were long gone, but we parked and walked up. There were hundered of people sitting outside listening. Did you know that? I walked around the stadium and I could see Larry's hands beating the music out, but nothing else. Yet I could feel the magic.
I babysat so I could afford your albums. I hated babysitting. As I listened to the music, I read the liners, wondering what Greenpeace and Amnesty International were about, loving the music. I would go through phases where I would listen to songs on repeat. "Like a Song." "Angel of Harlem." "Running to Stand Still." "Ultraviolet." "Bad." Bono, I loved the music.
I went to college and spent hours and hours downloading music, listening to music, chatting with fellow U2 friends I met through Napster or through eBay when I tried to figure out the best way to get around Ireland with my most desirable Slane Castle night 1 ticket. Again, mom was overprotective and I couldn't go. The biggest regret of my life along with not driving to Denver by myself to see David Bowie after a friend backed out. But mom always had a gift of telling me know by making me feel like the worst daughter on the planet. It's hard to argue though, my older sister never disobeyed while I stayed out in high school until 2 am cruising the city pre-cell phone days while I knew my mom was sitting at home thinking I was dead.
But in college I realized my passion was for healing the world. I long pictured myself as a doctor, but in discussing my plans with my best friend growing up, this involved working for rich people. Now I pictured myself working in Africa, living in a yurt. And Bono, this was thanks to you. Did you know you had that effect on me? I signed every Amnesty petition. I got good grades and then went to medical school. I became a doctor, and then have spent the past 6 years of my life in training to be a pediatric urologist. But then I fulfilled the dream you instilled in me: I went to Africa. I healed children that otherwise would have been shunned. I saw African wells. I look forward until my next chance to go back. Bono, do you realize that your time at Live Aid shaped not only your life but mine?
I wanted to let you know.
xoxo
JP
I saw you in Boston. I drove 2 hours to get to Akron, OH to catch a direct flight to Boston on Friday, and despite the airline's best effort to make me miss beginning of the show, I made it with 10 minutes to spare. I was in one of those expensive seats, corner back from Adam. The energy was indescribable. It was one of the greatest shows I have been to. I cried during Iris. It has always been a powerful song, but for some reason on Friday I just felt all the feelings of the song. And when you sand "shine like stars...."
But Saturday was even better. I was on the front row on the rail on Adam's side. Did you notice me? You glanced at me. I went for that spot because Adam interacts with the crowd. I didn't go for the E stage. I dream of being pulled up on stage, but I know that I am not the beauty you look for.
But Bono, I want to tell you that when you talked about performing Bad at Live Aid 30 years ago, and you touched Lou Reed, and you learned about the world around you and started on your quest to alleviate some of the suffering, you were telling my story. I became a U2 fan at age 14. PopMart was the toughest ticket to get since you hadn't been to Utah for 14 years. Someone put a "2" next to the "U" on the mountain to welcome you. But my mom was overprotective. She did not want me to go to the big stadium to see you, though it was only 20 minutes from my house. The night of the show, my older sister and her friend somehow convinced my mom to let us drive to the stadium. I don't recall the make of my sister's friend's car, but her older brother had stolen that sticker from the airplane that said "use bottom seat for flotation" and that was on the back seat. The windows were down. We could hear the music. Tickets were long gone, but we parked and walked up. There were hundered of people sitting outside listening. Did you know that? I walked around the stadium and I could see Larry's hands beating the music out, but nothing else. Yet I could feel the magic.
I babysat so I could afford your albums. I hated babysitting. As I listened to the music, I read the liners, wondering what Greenpeace and Amnesty International were about, loving the music. I would go through phases where I would listen to songs on repeat. "Like a Song." "Angel of Harlem." "Running to Stand Still." "Ultraviolet." "Bad." Bono, I loved the music.
I went to college and spent hours and hours downloading music, listening to music, chatting with fellow U2 friends I met through Napster or through eBay when I tried to figure out the best way to get around Ireland with my most desirable Slane Castle night 1 ticket. Again, mom was overprotective and I couldn't go. The biggest regret of my life along with not driving to Denver by myself to see David Bowie after a friend backed out. But mom always had a gift of telling me know by making me feel like the worst daughter on the planet. It's hard to argue though, my older sister never disobeyed while I stayed out in high school until 2 am cruising the city pre-cell phone days while I knew my mom was sitting at home thinking I was dead.
But in college I realized my passion was for healing the world. I long pictured myself as a doctor, but in discussing my plans with my best friend growing up, this involved working for rich people. Now I pictured myself working in Africa, living in a yurt. And Bono, this was thanks to you. Did you know you had that effect on me? I signed every Amnesty petition. I got good grades and then went to medical school. I became a doctor, and then have spent the past 6 years of my life in training to be a pediatric urologist. But then I fulfilled the dream you instilled in me: I went to Africa. I healed children that otherwise would have been shunned. I saw African wells. I look forward until my next chance to go back. Bono, do you realize that your time at Live Aid shaped not only your life but mine?
I wanted to let you know.
xoxo
JP
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Nothing Changes on New Year's Day
Dear Bono,
I hear you played "Gloria" a few nights ago. I wish I was there. I had big plans to get some tickets in the late drop but then realized that I am 6 hours from Chicago and had to work at 6am the next day and it just wouldn't work out. Please play it for me next week?
Bono, it is New Year's Day. Happy New Year! July 1st. The day all the hospital changes over. The new trainees start and the old trainees move up the ranks. Truly, a terrifying day to be sick. And to be a new trainee.
I remember my first day. July 1st, 2009. I was started on vascular surgery. I walked into the hospital at 5am, knowing that I was on call that night, covering vascular, cardiac, and thoracic surgery patients, in other words, really really sick patients. Like 90 of them. I did my work as best I could during the day-asking the vascular surgery fellow for help and mostly getting either no help or not useful information. It was my first day! What do I do when a patient goes into a fib with RVR? What does that even mean?? I didn't eat that day. Or that night. I finally ate the next day, at a conference, where our nutritionists brought samples of Ensure so we could taste the filth we were making our patients drink. It was nectar of the Gods to me. And then I had to do all sorts of work and discharge people and I remember 3:30pm that day; after working 34.5 hours thinking I could not do it.
Somehow I did.
Yesterday, I finished my clinical fellow year. 6 years of training in, this year is supposed to be about me and research and my interests. Today, though, was basically the same as yesterday.
Maybe next week I can write and research?
xoxo
JP
I hear you played "Gloria" a few nights ago. I wish I was there. I had big plans to get some tickets in the late drop but then realized that I am 6 hours from Chicago and had to work at 6am the next day and it just wouldn't work out. Please play it for me next week?
Bono, it is New Year's Day. Happy New Year! July 1st. The day all the hospital changes over. The new trainees start and the old trainees move up the ranks. Truly, a terrifying day to be sick. And to be a new trainee.
I remember my first day. July 1st, 2009. I was started on vascular surgery. I walked into the hospital at 5am, knowing that I was on call that night, covering vascular, cardiac, and thoracic surgery patients, in other words, really really sick patients. Like 90 of them. I did my work as best I could during the day-asking the vascular surgery fellow for help and mostly getting either no help or not useful information. It was my first day! What do I do when a patient goes into a fib with RVR? What does that even mean?? I didn't eat that day. Or that night. I finally ate the next day, at a conference, where our nutritionists brought samples of Ensure so we could taste the filth we were making our patients drink. It was nectar of the Gods to me. And then I had to do all sorts of work and discharge people and I remember 3:30pm that day; after working 34.5 hours thinking I could not do it.
Somehow I did.
Yesterday, I finished my clinical fellow year. 6 years of training in, this year is supposed to be about me and research and my interests. Today, though, was basically the same as yesterday.
Maybe next week I can write and research?
xoxo
JP
Monday, May 25, 2015
Catwalk
Dear Bono,
I saw your shows in Arizona this weekend. I got Edge's signature on my tour program thanks to my husband's freakishly long arms, but didn't manage to get yours. I saw you, though. You were on stage, probably less than 10 feet away from me. I was there, on stage right, on the rail, a third of the way down the catwalk. Do you remember me? I wanted to talk to you, to tell you my plans for surgical care in the Third World. You were busy performing.
I was in the high seats the next day. You wouldn't have seen me. I dreamed that night that you picked me out of the crowd for your show, and I walked the catwalk from the e to the i stage, and it was the same as the bridge between University of Maryland hospital and the Baltimore VA bridge.
I need more tickets.
xoxo
jp
I saw your shows in Arizona this weekend. I got Edge's signature on my tour program thanks to my husband's freakishly long arms, but didn't manage to get yours. I saw you, though. You were on stage, probably less than 10 feet away from me. I was there, on stage right, on the rail, a third of the way down the catwalk. Do you remember me? I wanted to talk to you, to tell you my plans for surgical care in the Third World. You were busy performing.
I was in the high seats the next day. You wouldn't have seen me. I dreamed that night that you picked me out of the crowd for your show, and I walked the catwalk from the e to the i stage, and it was the same as the bridge between University of Maryland hospital and the Baltimore VA bridge.
I need more tickets.
xoxo
jp
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Happy Birthday
Dear Bono,
Today is your birthday. Happy Birthday! I wonder how you celebrate birthdays. I have found that as I have reached adulthood, birthdays excite me less each year. I think my peak was age 7, when I got my Barbie with the swimming suit and crimped hair and a Barbie sized swimming pool. I remember taking it out back and filling some water in that pool and putting my Barbie in it, while my mom made sure to warn me not to get her hair wet because it would ruin her hair. I took really good care of my toys, since we didn't have much money and I knew each toy would have to last a long time. Now my Barbies are all in a little suitcase. My sister opened up her Barbie suitcase for her daughter to play with over Thanksgiving. It was a jumble of plastic legs and torsos, yet looking at each Barbie brought back such memories!
Now that I am grown and have more money, each little thing I have is just that-one more little thing. This year, I want memories for my birthday, not things.
xoxo
JP
Today is your birthday. Happy Birthday! I wonder how you celebrate birthdays. I have found that as I have reached adulthood, birthdays excite me less each year. I think my peak was age 7, when I got my Barbie with the swimming suit and crimped hair and a Barbie sized swimming pool. I remember taking it out back and filling some water in that pool and putting my Barbie in it, while my mom made sure to warn me not to get her hair wet because it would ruin her hair. I took really good care of my toys, since we didn't have much money and I knew each toy would have to last a long time. Now my Barbies are all in a little suitcase. My sister opened up her Barbie suitcase for her daughter to play with over Thanksgiving. It was a jumble of plastic legs and torsos, yet looking at each Barbie brought back such memories!
Now that I am grown and have more money, each little thing I have is just that-one more little thing. This year, I want memories for my birthday, not things.
xoxo
JP
Monday, February 23, 2015
Eye-rolling in silence
Dear Bono,
My neighborhood is very hipster. There's cobblestone streets, hybrid cars, and even a macaron bakery. While my husband's friend was in town for her 10 year PhD reunion, we tried to go to a hipster neighboorhood restaurant.
Yes, this restaurant is so hipster, it does not take reservations. It takes "call aheads" and despite calling ahead an hour and a half as instructed, we arrived and still had no table one Friday night last fall. Indeed, this restaurant is so hipster, it has a hostess who weighs probably 70 lbs, a server who dresses like James Dean (pomade and all) and another server who has a handlebar mustache.
Though I did not know the above at the time. All I knew is I had just worked for over 12 hours and I was hungry and there was no table for us yet! Naturally, we do the only logical thing, which is have them give us a menu to look at while we stood outside in the Autumn breeze.
"Lobster roll?..." I overheard a fellow "wait outside until your name is called" patron. I turn my ears. I am, of course, the girl who ate lobster 7 days in a row on my trip to Maine only a year before. Obviously, Ohio is landlocked. Thus lobster roll=risky in my opion. I continued listening. "I suppose I could choke down a lobster roll. It's no New Orleans lobster..." the chap chortled. Laughs from his co-outside waiting people ensued.
"What?" I thought to myself. "Lobster doesn't come from New Orleans. Surely, SURELY he must be joking!" But he wasn't. He was just fancying himself REALLY cultured.
"My good sir!" I exclaimed (in a British accent). "I prithee excuse my interruption, but I could not help but overhear of your delight at finding a lobster delicacy on the menu! However, I fear you are quite mistaken about the origins of lobster in the States! Indeed, the lobster to which you refer is largely found in New England, and the crustaceans clasically found in New Orleans are actually a distant relative of lobster called crawfish!"
Actually, I didn't. I should have. Instead, I just eye-rolled in silence. I really hate people who put on airs about their fancy ways, which is one of the big problems I have with the city in which I currently live. It is a big Midwestern city. People here come from smaller Midwestern cities, and think it is the REAL DEAL. But even growning up in a small Western city, I knew the Midwest was the worst. And in the end, I convinced my husband and his friend of that too. And we returned the menus and walked down the street to the (slightly less presumptuous) tapas restaurant.
xoxo,
JP
P.S. Get me out of here!!!!
My neighborhood is very hipster. There's cobblestone streets, hybrid cars, and even a macaron bakery. While my husband's friend was in town for her 10 year PhD reunion, we tried to go to a hipster neighboorhood restaurant.
Yes, this restaurant is so hipster, it does not take reservations. It takes "call aheads" and despite calling ahead an hour and a half as instructed, we arrived and still had no table one Friday night last fall. Indeed, this restaurant is so hipster, it has a hostess who weighs probably 70 lbs, a server who dresses like James Dean (pomade and all) and another server who has a handlebar mustache.
Though I did not know the above at the time. All I knew is I had just worked for over 12 hours and I was hungry and there was no table for us yet! Naturally, we do the only logical thing, which is have them give us a menu to look at while we stood outside in the Autumn breeze.
"Lobster roll?..." I overheard a fellow "wait outside until your name is called" patron. I turn my ears. I am, of course, the girl who ate lobster 7 days in a row on my trip to Maine only a year before. Obviously, Ohio is landlocked. Thus lobster roll=risky in my opion. I continued listening. "I suppose I could choke down a lobster roll. It's no New Orleans lobster..." the chap chortled. Laughs from his co-outside waiting people ensued.
"What?" I thought to myself. "Lobster doesn't come from New Orleans. Surely, SURELY he must be joking!" But he wasn't. He was just fancying himself REALLY cultured.
"My good sir!" I exclaimed (in a British accent). "I prithee excuse my interruption, but I could not help but overhear of your delight at finding a lobster delicacy on the menu! However, I fear you are quite mistaken about the origins of lobster in the States! Indeed, the lobster to which you refer is largely found in New England, and the crustaceans clasically found in New Orleans are actually a distant relative of lobster called crawfish!"
Actually, I didn't. I should have. Instead, I just eye-rolled in silence. I really hate people who put on airs about their fancy ways, which is one of the big problems I have with the city in which I currently live. It is a big Midwestern city. People here come from smaller Midwestern cities, and think it is the REAL DEAL. But even growning up in a small Western city, I knew the Midwest was the worst. And in the end, I convinced my husband and his friend of that too. And we returned the menus and walked down the street to the (slightly less presumptuous) tapas restaurant.
xoxo,
JP
P.S. Get me out of here!!!!
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Art
Dear Bono,
I've been thinking a lot this weekend about art. The old "what is art" question makes me want to roll my eyes, but at the same time, I actually do wonder sometimes what makes art. I do think that ultimately art is in the eye of the beholder, as do most people, I'm sure. I certainly don't have any views on art that will change the world and shock future generations.
This weekend I took a much needed break with my husband. We went to the booming metropolis of Pittsburgh. Actually, I sometimes forget what a real city looks like, and Pittsburgh is a decent city. We met some of our best friends there for a weekend trip where our priorities were 1) eating lots of good food. That's basically it. Also, I love these friends because they share the same priorities as us.
After being stuck at work until 8pm on Friday and therefore not arriving in Pittsburgh until 11:30pm, the five (ok so our friends have a baby too, but I'm pretty sure his priority is also to eat good food. He is a chubby baby) of us had a delicious brunch on Saturday morning. Going back to priorities here. Mmmm. Then we thought "hmmm... now that we are full, we need to fill some time until it's time to return to our priority again." So we settled on a visit to the Andy Warhol museum.
Here's where the art comes in (though, believe me, I could see art in my spare-rib hash from breakfast). I have long been a fan of modern art. I love love LOVE it. In my college sculpture class, where we had to give a talk on modern day sculptors, I spoke of Christo-who I started my talk with an asterisk: "Um, so professor, you may not consider this guy a sculptor, and if you don't I can totally do another one." Turns out, this professor LOVES Christo. Also, he hates Chihuly and does NOT consider that guy an artist, so the girl that did her report on him had to do another. Again, art=eye of the beholder. Also, if you are in an art class, art=eye of the professor.
Anyway, I loved the museum. It was fantastic. So much to see. My favorite part was the silver cloud exhibit were I could get in the room and toss the bouncing clouds around. There's something about becoming a part of the art that I think also opens up the mind of the beholder and lets them see a piece in a new light. And at the end, I got to screen print my own picture. I chose an orange back ground, did a bright pink panda, and then overlayed that with another screen print of a list of rules. The girl working at the screen print area was pretty shocked when I suggested doing these two layers, but she was pretty impressed with my screen printing skills when I was finished, which was flattering, but I was also slightly offended-after all, I am an artiste.
Walking back after the museum, we saw some people on the bridge, and I thought "hmm, that looks like that guy that's really good an in all those movies that now I can't remember his name." Turned out, it WAS. Also, it was John Goodman as well. And the guy that's in all those movies is Alan Arkin. Thanks IMDB! It was no sooner than I had thought that the guy looked like that guy, but my husband grabbed my shoulder and said "THAT'S JOHN GOODMAN" and I heard the voice and said "Yes it is." Also, IMDB came through AGAIN, because when we searched "Alan Arkin" and "John Goodman" Fargo came up, but ALSO, some new Christmas movie that they are currently filming in Pittsburgh! We presumed they were on their way to the Warhol museum, and I considered stalking them and asking them to sign my panda rules screen print, becuase while it is an amazing work of art, having John Goodman and Alan Arkin's signature on it would really make it that much better, at least in the eye of THIS beholder. But then my husband, who is really good at spotting famous people, mind you, said that meeting these people was always kind of a let down, because they are normal people. And I again thought about art. And how art is created by people that sometimes we think are on a different level, but they are just people. I thought about how I used to love to spend my time doing art. I thought about my high school sketch book, and how sometimes late at night, I would spend some time sketching. (Often, they were pictures of The Edge, because he had a very interesting look in the late 80s). I thought about my life now, and how I am miserable and my love of art has disappeared into my misery. I thought about my friend that was on the trip with us, and her former career as a lawyer, and the misery that went along with that, and I thought about the joy she had now that she devoted her life to photography and being a mother. And I realized, I need to create. I need to make art. I need to dance. These bring me joy. And then, just like that, my thoughts on art were over, and we walked over to the Strip and got some biscotti and meat.
Later that night, my husband and I attended a Garth Brooks concert. Ok, so maybe that was the reason behind the whole trip. I mean, Garth Brooks is an amazing performer. I saw him at the Obama inauguration concert at the Lincoln Memorial and he tore. it. down. Do you remember? You were there. In fact, you were the reason I went to the show and stood outside that frigid January day. But Garth stole the show. My friends didn't appreciate Garth, and they decided to stay in their room with their baby, which I guess was good since the show didn't start until 11pm.
I've been a closeted Garth fan for decades. My cousins were farmers in Idaho. I considered myself, a Utahn, to be far more refined than they. They loved their boots, their Wranglers, and their country music. I loved The Gap. I mean, what was more refined in 1990 than The Gap?? Also, I didn't really listen to music at the time, but I HATED country. At some point, I started to appreciate Garth. I got his Hits, and taped the Double Live concert off TV and would put it on after school sometimes. And then he quit touring. The Las Vegas show happened, but I wasn't into traveling that far to shows at the time (Oh, Bono, how you and Dave Gahan have changed that) but after the Obama concert, I KNEW it'd be a great show. And then he announced a tour! And he announced it only one city at a time! And it came to be that he announced Detroit and Pittsburgh, 2 cities a mere 3 hours from me. And our friends from Philly said they'd meet us in Pittsburgh, and my husband (after some coercion) was amenable to going to the show. And Garth was playing 1 show Thursday, 2 on Friday, 2 on Saturday, and 1 Sunday. And I got tix to the 10:30pm Saturday show, because they had some good seats. And we went. And his voice was going. And it was a HUGE performance-complete with the Pittsburgh Steelers coming on stage and shooting confetti into the crowd. And it was Garth's birthday! And Garth said that that show was one of the all time best moments in his life. And I wasn't sure if he meant it.
Going back to the art. Sometimes, I don't know what is true and what is part of the high gloss shine on the art. I think he meant it. Reading reviews from the Thursday night show, I can tell our show was a bigger deal. But these big shows are meant to entertain. They don't necessarily intend to make the audience think. I compared the show to the last live show I went to-Joseph Arthur, the day before Thanksgiving in his home town of Akron OH (2 hrs from my work-I got out of work at 7pm and missed about the first 15 minutes of the show.) Just one man with his guitar, creating his own layers of loops. Talking with the audience-his high school friends and teachers, his parents. Taking requests from the audience. Sure I was on the front row for that concert while I was up in the 200s sections for Garth. And yes, Garth had two different treadmills on his stage, while Joseph Arthur had a box that he would stomp on to create the percussion. But both of these performers gave their all to their art.
Sincerely, JP
I've been thinking a lot this weekend about art. The old "what is art" question makes me want to roll my eyes, but at the same time, I actually do wonder sometimes what makes art. I do think that ultimately art is in the eye of the beholder, as do most people, I'm sure. I certainly don't have any views on art that will change the world and shock future generations.
This weekend I took a much needed break with my husband. We went to the booming metropolis of Pittsburgh. Actually, I sometimes forget what a real city looks like, and Pittsburgh is a decent city. We met some of our best friends there for a weekend trip where our priorities were 1) eating lots of good food. That's basically it. Also, I love these friends because they share the same priorities as us.
After being stuck at work until 8pm on Friday and therefore not arriving in Pittsburgh until 11:30pm, the five (ok so our friends have a baby too, but I'm pretty sure his priority is also to eat good food. He is a chubby baby) of us had a delicious brunch on Saturday morning. Going back to priorities here. Mmmm. Then we thought "hmmm... now that we are full, we need to fill some time until it's time to return to our priority again." So we settled on a visit to the Andy Warhol museum.
Here's where the art comes in (though, believe me, I could see art in my spare-rib hash from breakfast). I have long been a fan of modern art. I love love LOVE it. In my college sculpture class, where we had to give a talk on modern day sculptors, I spoke of Christo-who I started my talk with an asterisk: "Um, so professor, you may not consider this guy a sculptor, and if you don't I can totally do another one." Turns out, this professor LOVES Christo. Also, he hates Chihuly and does NOT consider that guy an artist, so the girl that did her report on him had to do another. Again, art=eye of the beholder. Also, if you are in an art class, art=eye of the professor.
Anyway, I loved the museum. It was fantastic. So much to see. My favorite part was the silver cloud exhibit were I could get in the room and toss the bouncing clouds around. There's something about becoming a part of the art that I think also opens up the mind of the beholder and lets them see a piece in a new light. And at the end, I got to screen print my own picture. I chose an orange back ground, did a bright pink panda, and then overlayed that with another screen print of a list of rules. The girl working at the screen print area was pretty shocked when I suggested doing these two layers, but she was pretty impressed with my screen printing skills when I was finished, which was flattering, but I was also slightly offended-after all, I am an artiste.
Walking back after the museum, we saw some people on the bridge, and I thought "hmm, that looks like that guy that's really good an in all those movies that now I can't remember his name." Turned out, it WAS. Also, it was John Goodman as well. And the guy that's in all those movies is Alan Arkin. Thanks IMDB! It was no sooner than I had thought that the guy looked like that guy, but my husband grabbed my shoulder and said "THAT'S JOHN GOODMAN" and I heard the voice and said "Yes it is." Also, IMDB came through AGAIN, because when we searched "Alan Arkin" and "John Goodman" Fargo came up, but ALSO, some new Christmas movie that they are currently filming in Pittsburgh! We presumed they were on their way to the Warhol museum, and I considered stalking them and asking them to sign my panda rules screen print, becuase while it is an amazing work of art, having John Goodman and Alan Arkin's signature on it would really make it that much better, at least in the eye of THIS beholder. But then my husband, who is really good at spotting famous people, mind you, said that meeting these people was always kind of a let down, because they are normal people. And I again thought about art. And how art is created by people that sometimes we think are on a different level, but they are just people. I thought about how I used to love to spend my time doing art. I thought about my high school sketch book, and how sometimes late at night, I would spend some time sketching. (Often, they were pictures of The Edge, because he had a very interesting look in the late 80s). I thought about my life now, and how I am miserable and my love of art has disappeared into my misery. I thought about my friend that was on the trip with us, and her former career as a lawyer, and the misery that went along with that, and I thought about the joy she had now that she devoted her life to photography and being a mother. And I realized, I need to create. I need to make art. I need to dance. These bring me joy. And then, just like that, my thoughts on art were over, and we walked over to the Strip and got some biscotti and meat.
Later that night, my husband and I attended a Garth Brooks concert. Ok, so maybe that was the reason behind the whole trip. I mean, Garth Brooks is an amazing performer. I saw him at the Obama inauguration concert at the Lincoln Memorial and he tore. it. down. Do you remember? You were there. In fact, you were the reason I went to the show and stood outside that frigid January day. But Garth stole the show. My friends didn't appreciate Garth, and they decided to stay in their room with their baby, which I guess was good since the show didn't start until 11pm.
I've been a closeted Garth fan for decades. My cousins were farmers in Idaho. I considered myself, a Utahn, to be far more refined than they. They loved their boots, their Wranglers, and their country music. I loved The Gap. I mean, what was more refined in 1990 than The Gap?? Also, I didn't really listen to music at the time, but I HATED country. At some point, I started to appreciate Garth. I got his Hits, and taped the Double Live concert off TV and would put it on after school sometimes. And then he quit touring. The Las Vegas show happened, but I wasn't into traveling that far to shows at the time (Oh, Bono, how you and Dave Gahan have changed that) but after the Obama concert, I KNEW it'd be a great show. And then he announced a tour! And he announced it only one city at a time! And it came to be that he announced Detroit and Pittsburgh, 2 cities a mere 3 hours from me. And our friends from Philly said they'd meet us in Pittsburgh, and my husband (after some coercion) was amenable to going to the show. And Garth was playing 1 show Thursday, 2 on Friday, 2 on Saturday, and 1 Sunday. And I got tix to the 10:30pm Saturday show, because they had some good seats. And we went. And his voice was going. And it was a HUGE performance-complete with the Pittsburgh Steelers coming on stage and shooting confetti into the crowd. And it was Garth's birthday! And Garth said that that show was one of the all time best moments in his life. And I wasn't sure if he meant it.
Going back to the art. Sometimes, I don't know what is true and what is part of the high gloss shine on the art. I think he meant it. Reading reviews from the Thursday night show, I can tell our show was a bigger deal. But these big shows are meant to entertain. They don't necessarily intend to make the audience think. I compared the show to the last live show I went to-Joseph Arthur, the day before Thanksgiving in his home town of Akron OH (2 hrs from my work-I got out of work at 7pm and missed about the first 15 minutes of the show.) Just one man with his guitar, creating his own layers of loops. Talking with the audience-his high school friends and teachers, his parents. Taking requests from the audience. Sure I was on the front row for that concert while I was up in the 200s sections for Garth. And yes, Garth had two different treadmills on his stage, while Joseph Arthur had a box that he would stomp on to create the percussion. But both of these performers gave their all to their art.
Sincerely, JP
Monday, January 19, 2015
January
Dear Bono,
How are you??? How's the arm? I am... well. I never caught the hang of January.
-J.P.
Saturday, December 27, 2014
The winter greys and your accident
Dear Bono,
Since last month, much has changed. Fall melted into winter here in the Ohio River Valley and I fear the sun will not make an appearance until late April. I applied for that job in Montana. The closing date is December 31. I also emailed people in other jobs. Who needs verbal abuse anyway. I have found the 2nd year fellow to be a most kindred spirit. We both hate our boss (ok, so most of the non-physicians in our division feel that way). Actually, here's another example of his "Mean Girls" behavior. He had a physician only Christmas party. And didn't invite the 2nd year fellow or myself. Both physicians. Also, they kept it very hush hush, like they didn't want us to know about it. Of course it still gets out. Slap in the face. I guess I am good enough to drop everything and call his patients whenever he sends me a "can you check on ____" text, but not good enough to be invited to their party. What stung all the more was when the nurses in the operating room put up Santa hats for the physicians and stockings for the nurses, and NOTHING for the 2nd year fellow and myself. Truly, we are nothing. It actually reminds me a bit of that Britney Spears song that I am sure you have never heard but I heard it because I am the same age as Britney and therefore her songs spoke to me despite largely being written by people who were decades older than us: "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman." Except I'm not a nurse, not yet a doctor. Though I have been a doctor. For 6 years. And if I had known 6 months ago what I realized 3-4 months ago (that fellowship is stupid and that I could've been happy being an adult urologist), I would have applied for adult jobs and never had to deal with these drama queens.
Ok. I know I am petty and also could be probably considered a drama queen. It is hard not being overly dramatic when one feels like they are back in the 7th grade drama! But Bono, how are YOU? That bicycle accident-ouch! How is your clavicle/hand/back. I actually can't all quite remember what you hurt, but it sounds painful. Surgery for your injuries! I have to say that after spending 6 years in the operating room, I never want to have surgery myself. Sure, when patients say they are scared, I reassure them. After all, usually there is nothing that goes wrong. But I guess as a surgical trainee, I have taken care of my share of the unusual part-the part that does go wrong. And boy, it is scary. I only have been under anesthesia (besides local-which could still kill a person) once. I was sixteen and getting my wisdom teeth out. Now I didn't go to any of those "oral surgeons" who gives full sedation. That is for fancy people. And the dentist I had my whole life, whom I still see, was good enough to take out my teeth. Just a little local, a little nitrous, and they were out. I remember hearing about how crazy people could act when under nitrous. Now there is proof on YouTube. I was excited to hear about all the funny things I said, because, I am a funny person, so therefore my funny should be exponentially higher with the added socially inhibiting drug, right? But all I remember was feeling like I was suffocating with that mask. It was awful. No funny stories, no nothing. Just me, feeling the "clink, clink, clink" of them breaking my teeth out of my mouth and hearing the dentist exclaim "that is the biggest wisdom tooth I have ever seen." Luckily, it was soon over, and I didn't have to get back in the chair until a week later when I had infections in all my sockets and had to get them incised and drained without anesthesia because it was a Sunday. I remember that as being painful. Nevertheless, I am glad you are doing well. I was a bit surprised at the announcement of the tour, but I'm sure the planning of this preceded the accident and I am sure it is difficult to reschedule arenas, just because of a few broken bones. I did manage to secure some tickets. As usual, this was a minor cluster, and it is a bit frustrating that the two nights are going to be different, but I didn't know a) different it what manner, or b) which show was which, so of course I had to buy tickets to both. And of course, despite being a member of U2.com since 2005 and Propaganda before that (which was way better, in terms of having awesome magazine, and MUCH better ticket distribution, but I'm sure you spend hours reading the comments boards and have already seen how everyone says this. Actually, back in college, I spent HOURS on U2 message boards. I was on the U2 Wire. Oh, the joy! I met friends on those things. The internet in its youth! What a joyful place! But, I have been too busy lately for things like "message boards" and "friends" and only looked briefly over the U2.com message boards when I was having a problem with the ticket purchases. There was much anger on the boards that day. And much wistful discussion about the Propaganda days. The old days were always much better than today, anyhow.) Anyway, I was only able to secure GA tickets for one night in Boston (night 2). Then the other night was sold out. So I had to spend 300 bucks per ticket because that's all it could find in a pair (really, Bono? I have $86,000 in student loans! And I thought the $120 "Golden Circle" for Elevation was rough) for the other night (night 1). But I wanted to be on the floor for both nights! So I have decided to fly to Arizona, where they had floor seats for the opposite night as Boston (AZ night 1), but then what if you switched the order of the shows between AZ and Boston, and now the AZ night 1 show is the same as Boston night 2, so I had to get tickets for AZ night 2 as well, just in case. No floor seats were available this time, but I am old and don't want to wait in a GA line 2 days in a row, so the nosebleeds it is. I am poor. I thought I mentioned this already? Gone are the days of 360 Tour where I easily got GA tickets and ended up on the 1st or 2nd row in 5 out of 6 cities (the 6th being Philly, where I was working in Baltimore that same day and got off work at 6 and drove straight to Philly and walked into the stadium right as Bowie came on and headed to the back because why not? Sure, you can't have Bono call out your poster "President the Edge, 4 More Years"-a nod to the DC show a few nights prior) and make the Edge come look at it if you are in the back like you can if you are in the 2nd row like at Charlottesville. And sure, you can't have Adam Clayton mouth "thank you" after he has seen you elatedly dancing for the past 2 hours because you are on the front row right in front of him like you can at the Salt Lake show. But then again, if you are in the back, you are less likely to need to sit down from heat exhaustion because it is TOO HOT and there are TOO MANY PEOPLE like in the 2nd row at the Baltimore show, and you are less likely to encounter people angrily speaking French to you when you try to get your 2nd row spot back after a port-a-potty break that had like 2 squares of toilet paper left, mind you, like at the Montreal show. So, being in the front has highs and lows. But either way, it involves MUCH sitting and waiting to get let into the show to begin with.) I forgot what I was talking about. Anyway, get well soon, Bono.
-JP
Since last month, much has changed. Fall melted into winter here in the Ohio River Valley and I fear the sun will not make an appearance until late April. I applied for that job in Montana. The closing date is December 31. I also emailed people in other jobs. Who needs verbal abuse anyway. I have found the 2nd year fellow to be a most kindred spirit. We both hate our boss (ok, so most of the non-physicians in our division feel that way). Actually, here's another example of his "Mean Girls" behavior. He had a physician only Christmas party. And didn't invite the 2nd year fellow or myself. Both physicians. Also, they kept it very hush hush, like they didn't want us to know about it. Of course it still gets out. Slap in the face. I guess I am good enough to drop everything and call his patients whenever he sends me a "can you check on ____" text, but not good enough to be invited to their party. What stung all the more was when the nurses in the operating room put up Santa hats for the physicians and stockings for the nurses, and NOTHING for the 2nd year fellow and myself. Truly, we are nothing. It actually reminds me a bit of that Britney Spears song that I am sure you have never heard but I heard it because I am the same age as Britney and therefore her songs spoke to me despite largely being written by people who were decades older than us: "I'm not a girl, not yet a woman." Except I'm not a nurse, not yet a doctor. Though I have been a doctor. For 6 years. And if I had known 6 months ago what I realized 3-4 months ago (that fellowship is stupid and that I could've been happy being an adult urologist), I would have applied for adult jobs and never had to deal with these drama queens.
Ok. I know I am petty and also could be probably considered a drama queen. It is hard not being overly dramatic when one feels like they are back in the 7th grade drama! But Bono, how are YOU? That bicycle accident-ouch! How is your clavicle/hand/back. I actually can't all quite remember what you hurt, but it sounds painful. Surgery for your injuries! I have to say that after spending 6 years in the operating room, I never want to have surgery myself. Sure, when patients say they are scared, I reassure them. After all, usually there is nothing that goes wrong. But I guess as a surgical trainee, I have taken care of my share of the unusual part-the part that does go wrong. And boy, it is scary. I only have been under anesthesia (besides local-which could still kill a person) once. I was sixteen and getting my wisdom teeth out. Now I didn't go to any of those "oral surgeons" who gives full sedation. That is for fancy people. And the dentist I had my whole life, whom I still see, was good enough to take out my teeth. Just a little local, a little nitrous, and they were out. I remember hearing about how crazy people could act when under nitrous. Now there is proof on YouTube. I was excited to hear about all the funny things I said, because, I am a funny person, so therefore my funny should be exponentially higher with the added socially inhibiting drug, right? But all I remember was feeling like I was suffocating with that mask. It was awful. No funny stories, no nothing. Just me, feeling the "clink, clink, clink" of them breaking my teeth out of my mouth and hearing the dentist exclaim "that is the biggest wisdom tooth I have ever seen." Luckily, it was soon over, and I didn't have to get back in the chair until a week later when I had infections in all my sockets and had to get them incised and drained without anesthesia because it was a Sunday. I remember that as being painful. Nevertheless, I am glad you are doing well. I was a bit surprised at the announcement of the tour, but I'm sure the planning of this preceded the accident and I am sure it is difficult to reschedule arenas, just because of a few broken bones. I did manage to secure some tickets. As usual, this was a minor cluster, and it is a bit frustrating that the two nights are going to be different, but I didn't know a) different it what manner, or b) which show was which, so of course I had to buy tickets to both. And of course, despite being a member of U2.com since 2005 and Propaganda before that (which was way better, in terms of having awesome magazine, and MUCH better ticket distribution, but I'm sure you spend hours reading the comments boards and have already seen how everyone says this. Actually, back in college, I spent HOURS on U2 message boards. I was on the U2 Wire. Oh, the joy! I met friends on those things. The internet in its youth! What a joyful place! But, I have been too busy lately for things like "message boards" and "friends" and only looked briefly over the U2.com message boards when I was having a problem with the ticket purchases. There was much anger on the boards that day. And much wistful discussion about the Propaganda days. The old days were always much better than today, anyhow.) Anyway, I was only able to secure GA tickets for one night in Boston (night 2). Then the other night was sold out. So I had to spend 300 bucks per ticket because that's all it could find in a pair (really, Bono? I have $86,000 in student loans! And I thought the $120 "Golden Circle" for Elevation was rough) for the other night (night 1). But I wanted to be on the floor for both nights! So I have decided to fly to Arizona, where they had floor seats for the opposite night as Boston (AZ night 1), but then what if you switched the order of the shows between AZ and Boston, and now the AZ night 1 show is the same as Boston night 2, so I had to get tickets for AZ night 2 as well, just in case. No floor seats were available this time, but I am old and don't want to wait in a GA line 2 days in a row, so the nosebleeds it is. I am poor. I thought I mentioned this already? Gone are the days of 360 Tour where I easily got GA tickets and ended up on the 1st or 2nd row in 5 out of 6 cities (the 6th being Philly, where I was working in Baltimore that same day and got off work at 6 and drove straight to Philly and walked into the stadium right as Bowie came on and headed to the back because why not? Sure, you can't have Bono call out your poster "President the Edge, 4 More Years"-a nod to the DC show a few nights prior) and make the Edge come look at it if you are in the back like you can if you are in the 2nd row like at Charlottesville. And sure, you can't have Adam Clayton mouth "thank you" after he has seen you elatedly dancing for the past 2 hours because you are on the front row right in front of him like you can at the Salt Lake show. But then again, if you are in the back, you are less likely to need to sit down from heat exhaustion because it is TOO HOT and there are TOO MANY PEOPLE like in the 2nd row at the Baltimore show, and you are less likely to encounter people angrily speaking French to you when you try to get your 2nd row spot back after a port-a-potty break that had like 2 squares of toilet paper left, mind you, like at the Montreal show. So, being in the front has highs and lows. But either way, it involves MUCH sitting and waiting to get let into the show to begin with.) I forgot what I was talking about. Anyway, get well soon, Bono.
-JP
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Motivation?
Dear Bono,
Work is rough. I can't respect my boss because he is a total jerk. Hmm, not really jerk, as much as a 14 year old girl who likes to just gossip and be mean. I told one of my old bosses from my last hospital that the attendings here are like the "Mean Girls" but wear less pink.
So I'm looking at other jobs. Why torture myself for extra training, when I could just get a regular old job. There's one at this VA in Montana. I love the VA. Montana is nice. Also, this job has NO CALL. Like, ever. And no nights or weekends. I'd be a normal person again. But I guess you don't know what that's like?
JP
Work is rough. I can't respect my boss because he is a total jerk. Hmm, not really jerk, as much as a 14 year old girl who likes to just gossip and be mean. I told one of my old bosses from my last hospital that the attendings here are like the "Mean Girls" but wear less pink.
So I'm looking at other jobs. Why torture myself for extra training, when I could just get a regular old job. There's one at this VA in Montana. I love the VA. Montana is nice. Also, this job has NO CALL. Like, ever. And no nights or weekends. I'd be a normal person again. But I guess you don't know what that's like?
JP
Saturday, November 8, 2014
I blame Colin
Dear Bono,
Again, weeks and months even have gone by without a single note. I shall lame the bulk of the blame squarely on my job. Residency was tough-crazy patients, sick patients, long surgeries, long clinics smelling of urine. But in order to practice as a physician, it was something I had to do. And it wasn't even that bad-for the last six months. That is, once the annoying attending physician we had left, and once I got over my deep depression at the fact I hadn't matched into a fellowship spot.
Which makes it a bit ironic-the fact that now that I have a fellowship spot, I hate it and want to quit. Fellowship is something people do for extra training in a given field-mine is pediatric urology. I could be urologist without it, but in the U.S. one has to do a pediatric fellowship to be able to sit for the boards for pediatric urology. And I like the surgeries, and I like the patients. I hate my boss. He is horrible. I decided part of his issue is he doesn't think that women are full people. This makes it hard to get any respect from him. Luckily, I have the fellow a year ahead of me (there is only one of us a year) to comiserate with, as she is a woman, and she got screamed at by him in a very nice restaurant in Miami. She understands my pain.
And last night, I had a dream. Our program is putting together a conference next week for visiting faculty to learn about some other elements of pediatric urology. I dreamt that one of the other attending physicians was asking me a question during it, and my boss got mad at ME and then told me to do all kinds of other paperwork because I was whispering while these speakers were here. And when he told me this, I stood up, and told him I quit, and walked out. And I felt free. All this weight I have been feeling, this dread, this ulcer-inducing stress, was magically gone.
And then I continued to dream. I went to Washington DC where I was in the same political internship program I was 11 years ago during college. (The students seemed young-I am clearly not 20 anymore.) And we heard that David Bowie was coming to play an intimate acoustic set in Waldorf, MD. And I had front fow seats. And it was amazing. Although I was mouthing to him that I liked his shoes during it (they were pink/purple sparkly things) and he appeared afraid of me (not unlike how in my REAL life, Nicholas Cage looked like I was about to attack him when I had to get my stuff from a chair behind him during filming for a movie I was an extra in, but that is a different story for a different day.) Irregardless, it was a fantastic dream.
But that's all it was. I had fallen asleep with the 1995 BBC Pride and Prejudice on. Those Darcy eyes must have penetrated my soul and all my true hopes played out while I slumbered.
-JP
Again, weeks and months even have gone by without a single note. I shall lame the bulk of the blame squarely on my job. Residency was tough-crazy patients, sick patients, long surgeries, long clinics smelling of urine. But in order to practice as a physician, it was something I had to do. And it wasn't even that bad-for the last six months. That is, once the annoying attending physician we had left, and once I got over my deep depression at the fact I hadn't matched into a fellowship spot.
Which makes it a bit ironic-the fact that now that I have a fellowship spot, I hate it and want to quit. Fellowship is something people do for extra training in a given field-mine is pediatric urology. I could be urologist without it, but in the U.S. one has to do a pediatric fellowship to be able to sit for the boards for pediatric urology. And I like the surgeries, and I like the patients. I hate my boss. He is horrible. I decided part of his issue is he doesn't think that women are full people. This makes it hard to get any respect from him. Luckily, I have the fellow a year ahead of me (there is only one of us a year) to comiserate with, as she is a woman, and she got screamed at by him in a very nice restaurant in Miami. She understands my pain.
And last night, I had a dream. Our program is putting together a conference next week for visiting faculty to learn about some other elements of pediatric urology. I dreamt that one of the other attending physicians was asking me a question during it, and my boss got mad at ME and then told me to do all kinds of other paperwork because I was whispering while these speakers were here. And when he told me this, I stood up, and told him I quit, and walked out. And I felt free. All this weight I have been feeling, this dread, this ulcer-inducing stress, was magically gone.
And then I continued to dream. I went to Washington DC where I was in the same political internship program I was 11 years ago during college. (The students seemed young-I am clearly not 20 anymore.) And we heard that David Bowie was coming to play an intimate acoustic set in Waldorf, MD. And I had front fow seats. And it was amazing. Although I was mouthing to him that I liked his shoes during it (they were pink/purple sparkly things) and he appeared afraid of me (not unlike how in my REAL life, Nicholas Cage looked like I was about to attack him when I had to get my stuff from a chair behind him during filming for a movie I was an extra in, but that is a different story for a different day.) Irregardless, it was a fantastic dream.
But that's all it was. I had fallen asleep with the 1995 BBC Pride and Prejudice on. Those Darcy eyes must have penetrated my soul and all my true hopes played out while I slumbered.
-JP
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Say Yes to the Dress
Dear Bono,
A strange thing happened to me yesterday. I ordered a cat food container to keep the ants out (I am a nice cat owner to my cat I rescued from a wood pile in Southeast DC. Now that I think about it, she should just be grateful to not be still living under that woodpile). Anyway, the box arrived and was slightly open. Eh, no worries, nothing too valuable in there. So I opened the box the rest of the way, and there is a J Crew pink bridesmaid dress in there.
My guess is that it fell out of it's actual box, and UPS saw my box was partially open and figured it went in there and put it in.
So Bono, what do I do? Call J. Crew and see if they can figure out where it belongs? Call UPS? Return it and try and get store credit (a couple of people suggested that). My husband said that it's actually like the show, "Say Yes to the Dress" and I need to say yes to it and wear it. It's not my color...
JP
A strange thing happened to me yesterday. I ordered a cat food container to keep the ants out (I am a nice cat owner to my cat I rescued from a wood pile in Southeast DC. Now that I think about it, she should just be grateful to not be still living under that woodpile). Anyway, the box arrived and was slightly open. Eh, no worries, nothing too valuable in there. So I opened the box the rest of the way, and there is a J Crew pink bridesmaid dress in there.
My guess is that it fell out of it's actual box, and UPS saw my box was partially open and figured it went in there and put it in.
So Bono, what do I do? Call J. Crew and see if they can figure out where it belongs? Call UPS? Return it and try and get store credit (a couple of people suggested that). My husband said that it's actually like the show, "Say Yes to the Dress" and I need to say yes to it and wear it. It's not my color...
JP
Thursday, August 21, 2014
I can't, I'm working
Dear Bono,
You're a busy man. I'm sure you're constantly torn in multiple directions trying to figure out the best balance and the right prioritization (hint: sometimes it's just getting the new album done already). Welp, Bono, you area not alone! I am also very busy. Indeed, I work hours and hours and hours and hours a day, then also every 3rd night. And every 3rd weekend. Nonstop. Ahh, the life of a surgical trainee. It's actually kind of appalling when I tell people about it. So much so, that I can't believe that it is my life and I am living it. (This is also the experience I had last weekend when I was telling a visiting pediatric surgeon from Nigeria about healthcare in the U.S., and how we can't get everyone coverage, and how physician reimbursements are-like how surgeons don't get paid for seeing a patient that had surgery within 30 days because it's part of a global fee, etc, and the more I told him about it the more he said "this is not right" and I just had to agree. But I digress.)
Anyway, there have been many MANY events over the past 9 years of my life that I have missed due to medical school or residency. Family reunions (in Costa Rica, no less), birthdays (I have not yet met my 15 month old nephew), holidays (I made it home for 1 Christmas in the past 5 years. That was worth it though-it was a surprise and my husband and I showed up at his home for Christmas Eve dinner and my home on Christmas morning. Worth the $2000 bucks for tickets. No Thanksgivings.) A friend of mine is getting married in December and I just was looking at the RSVP. Probably can't go because it's over the holiday schedule, and a reception in Las Vegas is on a Friday and I can't make it there because it is 4 hrs away when I work every night until 7pm, and then the one in DC (a 1 hr flight) is on a Monday night, so also not going to happen. Why must my life always be "I can't, I'm working?"
Bono, I need to find a job that will let me sometimes answer "sure, I can make it. And I can help set up/clean up too!"
-JP
You're a busy man. I'm sure you're constantly torn in multiple directions trying to figure out the best balance and the right prioritization (hint: sometimes it's just getting the new album done already). Welp, Bono, you area not alone! I am also very busy. Indeed, I work hours and hours and hours and hours a day, then also every 3rd night. And every 3rd weekend. Nonstop. Ahh, the life of a surgical trainee. It's actually kind of appalling when I tell people about it. So much so, that I can't believe that it is my life and I am living it. (This is also the experience I had last weekend when I was telling a visiting pediatric surgeon from Nigeria about healthcare in the U.S., and how we can't get everyone coverage, and how physician reimbursements are-like how surgeons don't get paid for seeing a patient that had surgery within 30 days because it's part of a global fee, etc, and the more I told him about it the more he said "this is not right" and I just had to agree. But I digress.)
Anyway, there have been many MANY events over the past 9 years of my life that I have missed due to medical school or residency. Family reunions (in Costa Rica, no less), birthdays (I have not yet met my 15 month old nephew), holidays (I made it home for 1 Christmas in the past 5 years. That was worth it though-it was a surprise and my husband and I showed up at his home for Christmas Eve dinner and my home on Christmas morning. Worth the $2000 bucks for tickets. No Thanksgivings.) A friend of mine is getting married in December and I just was looking at the RSVP. Probably can't go because it's over the holiday schedule, and a reception in Las Vegas is on a Friday and I can't make it there because it is 4 hrs away when I work every night until 7pm, and then the one in DC (a 1 hr flight) is on a Monday night, so also not going to happen. Why must my life always be "I can't, I'm working?"
Bono, I need to find a job that will let me sometimes answer "sure, I can make it. And I can help set up/clean up too!"
-JP
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Mix Tape
Dear Bono,
Remember mix tapes? I loved making them. Recording songs I loved off the radio. I remember permanently having a blank tape in one of slots on my 2 deck sound system just in case something great came on. I probably still have that tape somewhere with the Hollywood remix of "Desire" and the extended mix of "Two Hearts Beat As One." Somehow being able to just go to iTunes and download any song takes some of the fun.
I've been trying to put together a care package for my sister in law. What do you give someone who will be in the hospital getting chemo for a month? So far I have earrings (what woman wouldn't want gorg Kate Spade earrings), a hat (Beaker from the Muppets. His perma-panicked expression matches my feelings most of the time), the Doris Day/Rock Hudson movie collection on DVD, and plans for some macaroons, lip balm, lotions, socks. I was thinking what else to get, and then I thought about a CD. But then my thoughts went back to iTunes, and how nobody buys CDs anymore. Screw it. I made a mix CD.
My husband made me a mix CD 11 years ago. This was before we were really dating. We were still in that "friends" "hanging out" phase. He dropped it off at my college apartment before he went home for the weekend. I wasn't home and was surprised when my roommate showed me the gift. I always thought I liked him more than he liked me. To that end, I tried not to read too much into the CD. Not long thereafter, we actually started dating. At some point, I made him a mix CD (pre-iTunes, post Napster era). I put all kinds of great songs on it, and some special rarities including one of your own 1976 demos. I put this at the end of the CD, knowing he loved U2, and thinking he may have not heard it. Unfortunately, it was titled "The Dream is Over" (whoa whoa whoaaaaaaaaa) and he, unlike me, read a lot into each song on the CD. Oops. He still won't let me forget that (though I won't let him forget the time that before we were dating he had me order a Freur album off Amazon, even though I said he could borrow it from my sister who already had it (random), and he never paid me back).
Because of this thing that people do of apparently finding meaning in mix CDs that really the only meaning is "here, I hope you like this" I spent several hours stressing out over what songs to put on this CD. Obviously, it needs to be uplifting. And Phil Collins never hurts ("I have two ears and a heart, don't I?" Which, come to think of it, should be the title of a Phil Collins biopic, should one be made). Any other recommendations?
-JP
Remember mix tapes? I loved making them. Recording songs I loved off the radio. I remember permanently having a blank tape in one of slots on my 2 deck sound system just in case something great came on. I probably still have that tape somewhere with the Hollywood remix of "Desire" and the extended mix of "Two Hearts Beat As One." Somehow being able to just go to iTunes and download any song takes some of the fun.
I've been trying to put together a care package for my sister in law. What do you give someone who will be in the hospital getting chemo for a month? So far I have earrings (what woman wouldn't want gorg Kate Spade earrings), a hat (Beaker from the Muppets. His perma-panicked expression matches my feelings most of the time), the Doris Day/Rock Hudson movie collection on DVD, and plans for some macaroons, lip balm, lotions, socks. I was thinking what else to get, and then I thought about a CD. But then my thoughts went back to iTunes, and how nobody buys CDs anymore. Screw it. I made a mix CD.
My husband made me a mix CD 11 years ago. This was before we were really dating. We were still in that "friends" "hanging out" phase. He dropped it off at my college apartment before he went home for the weekend. I wasn't home and was surprised when my roommate showed me the gift. I always thought I liked him more than he liked me. To that end, I tried not to read too much into the CD. Not long thereafter, we actually started dating. At some point, I made him a mix CD (pre-iTunes, post Napster era). I put all kinds of great songs on it, and some special rarities including one of your own 1976 demos. I put this at the end of the CD, knowing he loved U2, and thinking he may have not heard it. Unfortunately, it was titled "The Dream is Over" (whoa whoa whoaaaaaaaaa) and he, unlike me, read a lot into each song on the CD. Oops. He still won't let me forget that (though I won't let him forget the time that before we were dating he had me order a Freur album off Amazon, even though I said he could borrow it from my sister who already had it (random), and he never paid me back).
Because of this thing that people do of apparently finding meaning in mix CDs that really the only meaning is "here, I hope you like this" I spent several hours stressing out over what songs to put on this CD. Obviously, it needs to be uplifting. And Phil Collins never hurts ("I have two ears and a heart, don't I?" Which, come to think of it, should be the title of a Phil Collins biopic, should one be made). Any other recommendations?
-JP
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Dinner
Dear Bono,
Today I went out to dinner with a co-worker. The one who is a year ahead of me. The one who knows the challenges of my fellowship better than anyone else. It is nice having someone to relate to.
Sincerely,
JP
Today I went out to dinner with a co-worker. The one who is a year ahead of me. The one who knows the challenges of my fellowship better than anyone else. It is nice having someone to relate to.
Sincerely,
JP
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Phone Calls
Dear Bono,
I am not an unfriendly person. I don't like crowds of people, but I get energized when I talk to some people (not all people.) I really hate talking on the phone though. Hate hate hate. Ever since I was a kid, the thought of calling someone has given me anxiety. It has eased up. Mostly because my job involves returning calls (doctor, no order for tylenol. Please place order for tylenol).
I keep thinking I need to call my sister in law, but I keep not doing it. It's easy to rationalize-she is probably getting more calls than she can handle, plus I had a lot of stuff to do at work, etc etc.
I should call though.
Sincerely,
JP
I am not an unfriendly person. I don't like crowds of people, but I get energized when I talk to some people (not all people.) I really hate talking on the phone though. Hate hate hate. Ever since I was a kid, the thought of calling someone has given me anxiety. It has eased up. Mostly because my job involves returning calls (doctor, no order for tylenol. Please place order for tylenol).
I keep thinking I need to call my sister in law, but I keep not doing it. It's easy to rationalize-she is probably getting more calls than she can handle, plus I had a lot of stuff to do at work, etc etc.
I should call though.
Sincerely,
JP
Monday, August 11, 2014
RW
Dear Bono,
Robin Williams is dead. How does it feel to have your doppelganger be gone? Not that Robin Williams was really your doppelganger-especially not in the Neil McCormick Way. Your similarities began with fame and ended with looks and extreme hairiness.
Apparently it was a suicide. An endpoint of a deep dark depression. I wish I could say I cannot fathom why people do this, but I can. I have faced darkness myself-that "God-shaped hole" you have mentioned in the past. I guess sometimes that hole can just swallow us up. With some hope, we are perhaps spat back out-off to fight another day and another chance to fill that God-shaped hole. But for some, it is a void that cannot be filled.
Sincerely,
JP
Robin Williams is dead. How does it feel to have your doppelganger be gone? Not that Robin Williams was really your doppelganger-especially not in the Neil McCormick Way. Your similarities began with fame and ended with looks and extreme hairiness.
Apparently it was a suicide. An endpoint of a deep dark depression. I wish I could say I cannot fathom why people do this, but I can. I have faced darkness myself-that "God-shaped hole" you have mentioned in the past. I guess sometimes that hole can just swallow us up. With some hope, we are perhaps spat back out-off to fight another day and another chance to fill that God-shaped hole. But for some, it is a void that cannot be filled.
Sincerely,
JP
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Emotional Cripple
Dear Bono,
I am an emotional cripple. I really feel like most of the time I just feel.... nothing? No, not nothing. Just flat. Little punctuations of emotion show through occasionally. Usually, this is signified by an exclamation point signifying anger or frustration. Occasionally, maybe a comma of calm and joyful peace. Rarely, it's a hyphen of sadness. I tend to bury that sadness.
The difficulty of my life escapes my exterior during sad movies. I melt into a mess of goopy tears that the 3 year olds sitting next to me in any given Pixar movie peer at from behind their 3-D glasses.
I returned today from a laparoscopic surgery class in Toronto. That sounds pretty bad-ass of me, doesn't it? Bono, I took out a pig's kidney from one 10 millimeter and two 5 millimeter incisions on her back. I mean, think of how good she would look in a bikini, if only pigs wore bikinis, and, obviously if she wasn't put down at the end of the day. Still... I am pretty awesome.
Except I'm not. At least that's how I feel. I feel like a small fish in a huge ocean. Maybe even one of those fish that live in the dark depths that largely go unnoticed by everyone else. A guy getting into my shuttle from the red parking lot to the airport on the way to Toronto stepped on my right foot, moved, then stepped on my left, never noticing I was there. I want to shout, "I'm right HERE, don't step on me!" But I don't. Because I bury feelings.
I managed to get an email during my trip to Toronto-my phone functions were turned off due to the high roaming charges that I cannot afford. Despite my recent 32nd birthday, I am too laden with student loans to pay 50 cents per text and 89 cents per minute on the phone. The email let me know my sister in law has cancer. She spent her birthday in the hospital getting more and more blood tests.
Bono, why is that? Why do bad things happen to good people? I know that this is a generic questions, and of course I am not really asking you. I think that this is more of an address to God, and I know you are not God, except maybe in the way Alec Baldwin was God in "Malice."
During my layover at LaGuardia, I called my in-laws. My husband doesn't yet know his sister has cancer because he is halfway across the world. Bono, I realize I haven't written you in over a year. I will have to fill you in on all that later. I didn't cry. I felt flat, yet again. On my flight home, I listened to music, skipping songs that were incongruent with my mood. I found the songs I rested on-Phosphorescent "Song for Zula", U2 "So cruel", "Love is Blindness", "One", The Ark "Stay With Me", Ryan Adams "Two", Coldplay "The Scientist", all reflected a bitter sort of love, one that may or may not long for something better. I guess that's how I feel really. Not flat, but not brightly polished like so many of the people around me are. More dull, but not in a boring sort of way. Dull the edges of my antique mirror-the one that distorts my face with the blotches and stretching that happens as mirrors lose their sparkle.
Bono, I will try and be better about writing you.
Sincerely,
Me
I am an emotional cripple. I really feel like most of the time I just feel.... nothing? No, not nothing. Just flat. Little punctuations of emotion show through occasionally. Usually, this is signified by an exclamation point signifying anger or frustration. Occasionally, maybe a comma of calm and joyful peace. Rarely, it's a hyphen of sadness. I tend to bury that sadness.
The difficulty of my life escapes my exterior during sad movies. I melt into a mess of goopy tears that the 3 year olds sitting next to me in any given Pixar movie peer at from behind their 3-D glasses.
I returned today from a laparoscopic surgery class in Toronto. That sounds pretty bad-ass of me, doesn't it? Bono, I took out a pig's kidney from one 10 millimeter and two 5 millimeter incisions on her back. I mean, think of how good she would look in a bikini, if only pigs wore bikinis, and, obviously if she wasn't put down at the end of the day. Still... I am pretty awesome.
Except I'm not. At least that's how I feel. I feel like a small fish in a huge ocean. Maybe even one of those fish that live in the dark depths that largely go unnoticed by everyone else. A guy getting into my shuttle from the red parking lot to the airport on the way to Toronto stepped on my right foot, moved, then stepped on my left, never noticing I was there. I want to shout, "I'm right HERE, don't step on me!" But I don't. Because I bury feelings.
I managed to get an email during my trip to Toronto-my phone functions were turned off due to the high roaming charges that I cannot afford. Despite my recent 32nd birthday, I am too laden with student loans to pay 50 cents per text and 89 cents per minute on the phone. The email let me know my sister in law has cancer. She spent her birthday in the hospital getting more and more blood tests.
Bono, why is that? Why do bad things happen to good people? I know that this is a generic questions, and of course I am not really asking you. I think that this is more of an address to God, and I know you are not God, except maybe in the way Alec Baldwin was God in "Malice."
During my layover at LaGuardia, I called my in-laws. My husband doesn't yet know his sister has cancer because he is halfway across the world. Bono, I realize I haven't written you in over a year. I will have to fill you in on all that later. I didn't cry. I felt flat, yet again. On my flight home, I listened to music, skipping songs that were incongruent with my mood. I found the songs I rested on-Phosphorescent "Song for Zula", U2 "So cruel", "Love is Blindness", "One", The Ark "Stay With Me", Ryan Adams "Two", Coldplay "The Scientist", all reflected a bitter sort of love, one that may or may not long for something better. I guess that's how I feel really. Not flat, but not brightly polished like so many of the people around me are. More dull, but not in a boring sort of way. Dull the edges of my antique mirror-the one that distorts my face with the blotches and stretching that happens as mirrors lose their sparkle.
Bono, I will try and be better about writing you.
Sincerely,
Me
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