This Week's Matchup: Zev vs. Doctors

by singerz

Last week, a girl asked me if I would be her “friend with benefits”. I was like HAROOOGAH! (nothing to do with what she said, I had a waffle stuck in my throat and that’s the sound I make when I’m choking. Mmmmm boy do I love waffles). Anyway, I told her I’d have to think about it. Turned out, when she said friends with benefits, she was referring to health and dental benefits. Joke is on me. Well, and on the medical insurance company. And on the provider group, I guess. But mainly, the joke is on me.

So speaking of health and doctors (nice segway, eh?) my whole life I have hated doctors. (Hated = feared). (If you haven’t noticed, I LOVE parentheses (I really (really, (no, REALLY) ) do)). Sorry.

So what were we talking about? Ah right- doctors. I know that doctors are more common than guys whose favorite movie is either Shawshank Redemption or Usual Suspects. And I know they are necessary and help people. But I think that because of a couple of incidents with doctors that have happened to me, I’m simply afraid of the whole lot of ‘em.

Incident 1: Zev is approximately 9 years old. Needs some weird procedure where the doctor has to shove something up Zev’s nose to go down his throat to take pictures of things. Zev receives novocain. Doctor returns, pokes Zev’s nose, and asks- “Do you feel that?” Zev replies- “OW, YES.” Doctor says – “No you don’t, you just think you do.” Zev wonders, even with his little 9 year old brain, why doctor would ask Zev the question if he wasn’t going to believe his answer. Doctor starts procedure. Zev feels the procedure. It hurts. A lot. Zev’s mom calls him a baby. Lots of crying involved.

Incident 2: Zev is approximately 12 years old. Gets braces with reputable orthodontist. Reputable orthodontist usually does not wear gloves when he places hands in Zev’s mouth. Reputable orthodontist has very hairy hands. Human hands are generally not hairy, but reputable orthodontist’s are hairier than a Chewbacca. Zev eats reputable orthodontist hair for breakfast twice a month, unless his braces break and then he gets it a little more often. What a treat.

My mom, or as I like to call her, “Mom”, calls me a baby and mocks me for the “crying-like-a-bitch-when-the-doctor-wanted-to-prick-your-finger-with-the-little-needle-to-get-blood-when-zev-was-18” incident. Well mom, the only prick in that story went to school for 7 years and makes you read Good Housekeeping in his waiting room. And I’ll give you a hint- it’s not me. I have Redbook in my waiting room.

Doctors do many good things- help, heal, and fix people. I know this because I watch Grey’s Anatomy. Meredith is SO annoying. And Yang is just so cold, yaknow? The point is, many grown men are afraid of showing their Willy Wonka to doctors, and I might just be one of them. Sorry Mom, but that’s the way I play it, homes.

The Car Crash that is Graduation

By Mink

So my little sister graduated college yesterday, a lovely occasion. Well not exactly, I'm certainly proud of the kid even if we had our doubts. The sis and I recently had a lunch convo that went something like this:

Cum Laude graduate: Jon, I got a job as a teacher in Los Angeles and I'm moving this summer.
Me: Fantastic. I am so proud of you being all grownz up.
Cum Laude: Yeah so I need a car. Can you buy a new one and I take yours.
Me: Nah sorry I don't have the cash for that now and besides it would never make the trip out there since the brakes and engine are on life support not to mention the defroster isn't operational.
Cum Laude: Well I wouldn't need to drive it out there, I could just ship it.
Me: True, but that's kind of expensive
Cum Laude: Really? I thought its cheap to send them out there by boat?
Me: Boat? You sure about that?
Cum Laude: Yeah isn't that how they ship em?
Me: Over what body of water?
Cum Laude: The gulf of Mexico?

Anyway, even if her geography is more than a little remedial she was going to get a diploma, so I felt like she earned the right to make her family sit through something that is about as painful as being in a car crash only far less exciting. (my co-blogger's brother also graduated but the graduate himself made the wise choice to skip the 2 hour torture session)

The way it works at UMD is that each department holds its own graduation and the sister was going to be receiving a degree in History (even if she also thinks that California is where the constitution was written). To add to the brutally long commencement address by one of the professors we also had to endure an elaborate description of each of the PHD graduates fine work. Now don't get me wrong, if I wrote a scholarly 535 page PHD paper entitled: "Married to Empire: Ruling Class Masculinity, and the Asexual Ideal in Late Victorian Britain," besides becoming asexual myself I would also demand that a room full of proud family members and graduates with no plans of advanced history degrees be subject to hearing all about why Queen Victoria never turned in her V-card and how that influenced an entire generation.

But since it was clear that they weren't handing me a PHD, I joined the rest of the audience in staring at my cuticles as each PHD advisor got up there to share the enthralling highlights of each paper. Basically the only things that saved me from my ripping out my upper back hair were cell phone text messaging and the asanine word associations that my brother and I started doing with the graduate's names on the program. My two favorite names in the whole graduating class were: Elizabeth Woodhead Nutting (comments to yourself) and Ashley Tease.

After two grueling hours the misery was over and we could now eat. Sure, the rents and grandrents were proud and even emotional but I am pretty confident that a ceremony consisting solely of the awarding the diplomas followed by some photograph taking would've produced the same effect. I turned to my brother at the end of the debacle and informed him that he would need to switch from his Biology major over to Physical Education if he wanted me to even consider attending his graduation.

I HATE Pigeons

by singerz

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up one morning and was the only one in my apartment. One roommate, (who, for purposes of anonymity, we will call “Doug”), was out somewhere, overachieving. The other roommate, (who, for purposes of anonymity, we will call “Levite”), was at work being angry at his boss.

As I was going through my morning routine (which includes: being unreasonably angry at the company that makes my alarm clock, drinking a diet coke, and trying to track down that funky smell), I heard a noise coming from Levite’s room- which happens to be the room attached to our terrace.

A pigeon had somehow gotten into Levite’s room. (“Somehow” = walked through the door to the terrace that was left open). So I, of course, did my duty as a wonderful roommate and shooed the pigeon away and back outside. Sounds straightforward, no? NO. Every time I stepped toward the pigeon to try and shoo it out, it FREAKED OUT. Somehow, after the pigeon had gotten in, the terrace door had blown closed. And so I was trying to get in to open the door, but every time I stepped in the room, the pigeon went berserk, flapping around and freaking out. Eventually, I threw a shoe at the door, it flew open, and the pigeon was out.

But alas, not before the pigeon shat. Alot. On Levite’s floor.

Later that day, Levite gets home from work and comes in to my room. “Ummmm, Zev, why is there a mess in my room? Was it Doug?” Now, a few thoughts immediately flew through my weird (and large) head:

1) Why does Levite call poop a "mess"
2) Why would Doug poop on the floor?
3) Even if our toilet is stuffed most of the time, still.
4) If Doug HAD, for some crazy reason, pooped on the floor, why would it look like pigeon poop?

Turns out what Levite meant was – did Doug leave the door open to the terrace. The moral of the story? I hate pigeons. Also, our apartment needs a new plunger. But back to the pigeons- they are arrogant, filthy, and ugly. How can an animal be arrogant? Oh I think you know. If pigeons could talk, they’d say something like: “Even though I’m filthy and disgusting, I think I am so much better than you.” Well, I got a newsflash for you, you g-ddamned nasty New York pigeons. You’re NOT better than me. I hate you. Next time: Other arrogant animals, including cats, foxes, and those huge cockroaches you see in yeshivas in Israel.

Sweet Home Alabama

By Mink

As some of you know, my top secret job informed me that I was required to accompany 4 others from work to Anniston, Alabama for a five day training seminar. I have gotten kind of tired of responding to all the questions about the trip so I decided to answer the FAQ's here.

Q: Where the hell is Anniston, Alabama?

A: 80 miles west of Atlanta and 60 miles east of Birmingham. It's not every day that you have to fly into a different state to get to your destination. I also was alarmed when at some point during the ride from Georgia my cell phone clock jumped back an hour as we entered the ridiculous central time zone. (when did bama join the central? was that part of baseball's realignment?.....weird)

Q: Who was the town named after?

A: Legend has it that back in the late 90's there was a young mayor here who in a weak moment during an adolescent crush decided to rename the town after the Friends' phenom. Shortly thereafter he was impeached from office after illegally photographing the city's gorgeous mountain chain (see http://www.hollywood.com/news/detail/id/1733986).

Q: Are you the lone Jew of the town this week?

A: No only because one of my lady co-workers is a member of the tribe as well. But that hasn't changed the fact that I have spent most of the week nervously laughing at holocaust jokes. I also think I was peer pressured into joining the KKK (there isn't much I wouldn't do for some good grits!)

Q: Are you at least staying at a nice hotel?

A: I am actually staying at a former military base. I share a bathroom, have a curfew and must eat my meals in the cafeteria. Besides the 3 girls who are with us, there are only maybe 2 others on the whole base. So basically its just a major sausage fest.

Q: How is the nightlife?

A: There is a lounge that is opened till 10 with $2 beers and free popcorn. So that has been a blast even if it means telling corny jokes to a bunch of male middle aged-married emergency-planners as they hit on your friends.

Q: What kind of bullshit training is this? Cmon do you really think we believe you are working?

A: This is actually a tough question. You see we are getting some kind of adult instructor certification from the government but it sounds like they (uncle sam) aren't even sure what that means and we have had daily arguments to try to figure that out. All I know is that the first day I had a rude awakening when I learned that the group photo was happening at 6:45 AM, that we would have daily homework, and be required to give 3 presentations. But the unlimited Dr. Peppers and snacks has certainly kept me from complaining.

Q: Are the other trainees cool?

A: They are enjoyable. I particularly enjoy this one dude from Northern Florida whose most memorable line was upon returning to class from a bathroom break with water all over the bottom of his tanktop proclaimed in a thick southern accent "Just to be clear, I didn't pee myself."

Q: When do you return?

A: The deep south is actually growing on me and I may never return back north......I like the new language and culture and besides I hear the bar exam is much easier down here.