I like it on...

*gets onto soapbox*

Yes, I know that it's a fun little harmless game, and that it's sparking a lot of interest and attention into what it's supposed to highlight. But I hope that you girls are making that fleeting split second of turning millions of guys horny worth it, and are actually donating.

Same goes with all you guys next month in Movember. Gonna grow the mo? Then donate some money.

Oh, and if you are going to say that, "Yeh, but it raises awareness", true... but then that's kinda like telling everyone that there's rubbish on the ground, but instead of picking it up yourself, you stand there waiting for someone else to do it.

Donate.

By the way, I like it when "it" can pay for my dinner ... I'm getting kinda poor :P

Exam... again...

One day I will write in this blog when I am not procrastinating for an exam. PS. making flow charts is fun!

The unwritten rules of life

- Whoever eats the last chip/biscuit/lolly must throw away the package. I'm sorry that fat Freddy ate nine of the Tim Tams and only left you the last one. Rules are rules. The bin is over there.
- Racist remarks are only acceptable if they are directed toward your own race. This is why I have remarked, "bloody Asian" a million times, and I still haven't been sliced into three by a machete-wielding ninja loitering around Box Hill station. This is called 'sending up' your own race. Note however, that I cannot call someone using the dreaded N word that rhymes with "bigger", for my skin is not inclined in that way. If I did that, I would deservedly receive a cap in my ass.
- Calls for shotgun can only be yelled when the car is in view. You must also be outside in order to make a valid shotgun call. In the case of a tie, the driver chooses who rides shotgun. Also, shotgun calls are only valid for the length of that single trip. Return trips require another shotgun call. Shotgun rules are sacred. Even the rules of the Bible take a backseat to these rules. (Get it? Backseat! Ha!)
- No talking allowed in the public bathroom. This one mainly applies to males. Pissing in a public toilet requires the speed and efficiency of a crack SAS unit on a snatch and grab mission. Go in, head straight for the far urinal, zip down, shoot down the urinal cake, zip up, wash hands, get out. Why? This should explain why.
- If there are more women in the building, then the toilet seat must be left down after use at all times. However, if there are more males present, the seat must be left up. To clarify, the seat is not always down. I know you women complain about "having to touch the toilet seat to put it down", but did you ever stop to think that we men have to touch it as well to lift the damn thing up? And none of this, "at least you don't have to sit on the seat when you go to pee" business. You should have thought of that when you decided not to let the Y chromosome in.
- When washing the dishes, they must be rinsed. Leaving the dishes on the rack covered in soapy water defeats the entire purpose of cleaning it in the first place. If my year 11 chemistry tells me correctly, soap/detergent doesn't clean shit... it just helps it slide off the plate. So if the plate dries with the soapy gunk on it, it'll dry with the shitty food germs still on it. Cleaning fail.
- Whilst on the subject of all things kitchen and cleaning, tea towels that drop onto the floor do not magically clean themselves when placed back onto the bench/oven rail/cupboard handle. Put it in the laundry and get a new one. Kitchen cleaning nazi has spoken!
- When wearing a shirt with a collar, the collar must not be worn up. For f@#k's sake, we don't live in the year 2002 anymore.
- Whiskey that is at least 12 years old is not for mixing. If I ever see you pouring coke into a 12yo Chivas or a Johnnie Walker Blue, I will pick up that drink and splash it onto your face (then promptly steal the bottle of scotch and run away). This rule does not apply if you are a rich bastard, and a $500 bottle of scotch is the equivalent of a bottle of water for us mere mortals. In that case, go nuts and do whatever you want with that bottle of liquid happiness. May I suggest buying 50 bottles of it and pouring it into your golden tub for a nice, relaxing bath.
- When someone has graciously stopped and let you merge into the slow, heavy traffic, an obligatory courteous wave of thanks is in order. You are the reason why road rage exists if you don't acknowledge this act of kindness ... you ungrateful son of a bitch!
- Last one in is a rotten egg.
- If you are the last customer/s in a restaurant/cafe, you must leave as soon as possible. Hospitality workers have lives too, you know. No one wants to be held back at work because you like to take 97 minutes to drink one latte. Also, if the staff begin to put the tables and chairs up around you, they're basically saying "Get the f*#k out!"
- For all men, no crying allowed in front of your fellow males. I cannot stress the importance of this rule. The world exists only because of the collective level of testosterone that exists at any given time. It is a positive feedback loop whereby one acknowledges the manliness in a fellow male, and reciprocates by being even more manly - usually by a single incomprehensible grunt, or a silent nod of the head. This loop ensures adequate global testosterone levels which physically enables the world to spin in its orbit around the sun. Without it, we are doomed. Crying in front of other males is only allowed in special circumstances, that being at funerals and on the footy field. Crying alone is fine. Likewise, so long as she doesn't mind emotional types, crying in front of females is also ok. Just don't let her tell your friends.
- There are two types of escalators: ones at the shopping centre, and ones at train stations. If on the former, you may block people from walking up without condemnation. If at a train station however, stand to the left and let people walk up on the right side. For every person that stands to the right and therefore blocks the people wanting to rush up the escalators, one person gets fired from their job for being 13 seconds late. This person then can't find another job and their mortgage repayments fall behind significantly. Subsequently, their house is lost and the rest of their family is left out on the streets. The eldest daughter must help out with the family's plight and so abandons her dream of becoming a world-class doctor (of which she would've been and would've found the cure to cancer) and instead commences her new life on King St, working three strip bars per evening. This human tragedy could have been avoided if only you stood to the left.....
- No dancing to Justin Bieber. Her music sucks.

Things I have learnt so far this year

Almost the halfway point of the year.

Random stuff that I've learnt so far:

- Living away from home is fun

- Living away from home means doing your own laundry - not fun

- Med school is like high school all over again, except this time we give a shit

- Some people are just pure evil

- It is possible to feel like you're sixteen years old again

- McDonald's burgers are now small enough to eat five in one go

- Mountain Dew was surely invented by God himself

- If I could have two wives they would be large size KFC popcorn chicken, and large size HJ's onion rings

- You get drunk a lot quicker when you're already stressed or emotional

- It is best that you don't zone out three times, when you're driving in the foggy dark for ninety minutes

- My new goal in life is to get rid of every bus lane in the state

- Costco supports obesity

- Regular exercise isn't so bad after all

- I like squash

- You can survive on a regular bedtime of 2am

- Italian football/soccer players are still actors

- A vuvuzela is more annoying than eight little two year olds screaming for mummy in high-pitched squeals whilst you have a headache

- A Geelong vs Hawks grand final rematch is still on the cards

- Kingston is a delicious motherf*#king biscuit
- Condensed milk in a tube is just asking for sweet, sweet trouble

- I get withdrawal from not having mum's chicken soup

- My eyesight is getting shit

- I don't miss full-time work

- I miss full-time work income

- I hate the tax office

- Foxtel IQ will be the reason why every kid will grow up fat and lonely

- I no longer know what the fuck I am doing with computers anymore. (Seriously, wtf is OneNote?)

- I really should stop dropping the F-bomb

- "Cunt rash" is the biggest insult ever invented short of "you were an accident"

- UFC is awesome, even though it looks like men in weird sexual positions beating the living shit out of each other

- iPhones will one day rule the world, Matrix-style

- Rugging up in multiple layers and a beanie is completely offset by wearing thongs

- My black beanie automatically makes me a burglar/robber according to everyone else

- I am still really shit at noticing things, like when someone cuts/colours their hair

- When it comes to friends, quality > quantity

- My friends are awesome

Prochaska and DiClemente's Stages of Change: Exam edition

Pre-contemplation
This stage commences the moment the academic year begins (or following a previous exam during the year). The thought of the next exam is far from your mind. You have more important things to think about, such as what's for dinner tonight, or how many bottles of opened wine did I leave under my bed, and surely Justin Bieber doesn't have testicles. At this stage, exams are four months away, which is like, next year!

Contemplation
With each passing week, the lecture notes and other random pieces of paper pile up on the desk. You look at it, and then think about how awesome it would be to set it on fire right about now. Unfortunately, the arsonist within you is overcome by that voice in the back of your head (usually dad) that keeps asking, "so, have you been studying?" Have I been studying?! Where do you think I am? A university?? ... oh wait, shit! Yep, it's about this time where you start thinking about opening the books and spending some quality time with it. Of course, you're only thinking about it. At this stage, you're still pissing away every weekend, and watching pirated movies, three films at a time.

Preparation
Alright, enough f*#king around. It's time to do something about this exam. You're driven, not so much by the thought of failing the exam, but rather by the fact that a fail means a repeat, and a repeat means another year without an income, and another year without an income means another year leeching off other peoples' money through Centrelink. Hey, that doesn't so bad actually. Anyway, it's about this time that you get your arse into gear. The TV goes off, the computer games get shelved, and you tell your friends that you will be AWOL for the next few weeks days. But that's ok. You will make new friends. Those friends are called Caffeine, Cocoa, Guarana, Taurine, and Benzodiazepine. Also, it's about this time that you actually decide to go buy a pen.

Action
Right, it's time to knuckle down. You close the curtains, isolate yourself from the outside world and let your nerd-like instincts kick in. Pharmacology? You've learnt more about drugs during year 9 (out the back of school). Neurophysiology? More like grade 3 math. Anatomy? Home economics. You are a highly-trained, finely-tuned studying monster. An SAS soldier might be able to shoot you in the head 3km away with a pistol, but he can't draw a brachial plexus in 13 seconds flat like you can.

Maintenance
You've got your study on, and there's no turning back. What's that? Your boyfriend is calling? Tell him you have a new man, and that man is the pharmacist downstairs who is about to teach you three lectures worth of pharmacology in three minutes. What about cleaning? Pfft, everybody knows that houses clean themselves within two weeks of an exam. There is nothing that's going to take you out of your hypnotic, studious state of mind. You are in the zone. You are Michael Jordan winning six NBA championships. Muhammed Ali in the ring. Tiger Woods completing all the holes with a record score (pun intended). Of course, this would ideally continue on until exam time, at which point you will have reached the stage of Termination, but in reality, it never does. Inevitably, you will...

Relapse
So the study period has begun and you have come flying off the blocks like Usain Bolt on a concoction of steroids, ketamine, and methamphetamines. Who knows? For you, that might actually be literal. Either way, you failed to realise one thing. This whole studying business is a marathon, not a sprint... unless you're starting the night before, in which case ha! you're fucked! If there's one thing you should've learnt from primary school, it's that the tortoise always win, not the rabbit... stupid dumbarse rabbit. Throughout the course of studying, you will be tempted by various distractors to throw you off your newfound love for all things academic. Girlfriends, alcohol, strange urges to get on a plane that's going to another country. Whatever it may be, it just makes things all the more difficult. You will crack, and all of a sudden you will find yourself waking up next to three finished bottles of wine, twelve empty beer bottles, and thirty minutes to go before the exam starts.

It doesn't help that you will at some point (usually a week before exams), freak out and stress yourself to a state of catatonia and near-death. You think you will fail, based solely on the fact that the dude sitting on the other table knows that there are two eyes in the human body, whereas you thought there was only one. Don't worry, however, because it's a known fact that almost everyone will get to this state. I say 'almost' because there will be an inevitable few that will stay calm and collected. These are the ones that think they know everything. It is these people who will end up failing simply because it is not humanly possible to know everything. Hence, they are liars, and know nothing.

All that stress is usually followed by apathy. You are over it. Who gives a toss about this exam anymore? As a result you end up ceasing all study, and instead, engage in completely pointless exercises of procrastination such as writing practically useless blogs the night before an exam. :D

Tips for an OSCE

An "OSCE" is a fancy way of saying a "clinical exam" to those of you who are wondering... and that's directed to the med students, too. If you are one of them, and you still haven't realised this ... good luck. You'll need it.

Three and a half years ago as I fudged my way through my final physio clinical exam, I promised myself I would never go through another one of these ever again. Well, that worked out well didn't it...

Anyway, I see people starting to freak out about the OSCEs. I've picked up the odd tip and hint along the way, and it's only fair that I share them:

- When you feel like you're running out of time, and your eight minutes is almost up, you've probably still got seven and a half minutes left.
- If you are unsure as to how to do that particular knee test, just make something up, and explain that it is "a variation of that test" ... Chances are, it probably is.
- When assessing the sim patient's gait, look at their legs. Assessing someone's ability to walk by looking at their face is akin to a deaf person reviewing a rock concert.
- When getting someone to stand on one leg or close their eyes with their feet together, make sure you are standing close enough to catch them. No one likes a patient that has fallen down. It usually ends up with an unnecessary hip operation, an angry patient, and a court hearing.
- Saying "good" or "awesome" as a filling-in response when the patient says "my dad died of cancer" doesn't really make you look compassionate.
- If you haven't washed your hands in the last 30 seconds, it's time to do it again.
- Asking the patient to take off their pants without explaining to them why they need to is slightly awkward, and probably sexually unwanted.
- The sim patient will be wearing a fake arm. The needle goes here.
- The rubbish bin is usually a plastic bag. The needle does not go here.
- If you are asked to do an MMSE, the sim patient will probably pretend to act agitated and aggressive. If he/she decides to pull out a knife on you, stop and call for help. Continuing with the MMSE usually ends up in murder. No one likes a dead med student. It gets messy.
- If you can't elicit a reflex, just say "there is no evidence of an increased reflex". It's a bit like saying the food is "caramelised" rather than "burnt"
- Bring a watch that can keep track of the seconds for when you measure heart rates. Counting to thirty in your head is not really reliable, unless you are an actual clock.
- You can fake your way through using an opthalmoscope. Just learn how to turn it on ... that bit you can't fake.
- An otoscope is for the ear, not the eye.

If you are freaking out, take a deep breath, and calm down. You know your stuff, so don't panic. You're not going to be perfect, and you'll probably forget things or make one or two mistakes. Everyone will. I plan on making three per station. You'll still pass. Remember, you're the one in charge, not the examiner or the patient. You have the control. You're the boss. Walk into the room and be one. Destroy that station.

Medical Ethics in one minute, not one day

- Ask the patient if it's ok before you stick a camera up their arse. It also kinda helps if you tell them why you have to do it.
- Make sure the patient can rationally decide for themselves without coercing their decision-making process. Coercing is bad. Paedophiles coerce little children. Do I really need to say more?
- If jabbing someone with a needle for the purpose of research, it only works if the said needle doesn't contain a flesh eating virus disguised as 'a potentially new drug treatment'

- Try and make the patient walk out of your room feeling better. That's kinda the whole point of this medicine thing..... in case you haven't yet figured out why you're here.
- You're holding a mini ninja blade otherwise known as a scalpel. Note that it is not a killing tool.
- When the patient walks out of the room, don't tell the world about their rapidly growing list of STIs. It may be amusing to you, but probably not as amusing as it is for their lawyer.

The end.

Weekend.

Medical Law

Friday morning again. Law all over again. Hardly anyone's paid attention again. About half of the class has turned up to the tute. You know what? I've actually taken quite a bit away from these law sessions (seriously!!!) So, it's time to revise. Let's revise the key issues regarding medical law, and the best way to stop them from threatening your career.

By the way, a disclaimer: If you are reading this years after it has been posted, and you are the legal practitioner of a client who is currently suing me for something, then please note that all this is not to be taken seriously. I repeat: I AM JUST JOKING! Also, if you are a medical student reading this, and you do decide to take this seriously, YOU DESERVE TO HAVE SOMEONE SUE THE PANTS OFF YOU, YOU DOUCHE. AND IF YOU ARE READING THIS WHILE CLASS IS GOING ON, THEN STOP READING AND START LISTENING!

Key Medical Issues

Mistaking Left vs Right

We've all done it - mistake the left for the right or the right for the left. Hell, I did it during my driving test all those years ago. If I can turn left when some guy asks me to go right, imagine what I could do with an orthopaedic drill, a bone chisel, and a human body that's been anaesthetised! Such a tragedy can be easily avoided with a thick, black permanent marker. When that poor sucker that's going under the knife walks in, don't shake hands or say hi to him/her. There are more important things to be done first. Get the marker out and draw a giant star on whichever leg needs to be operated on. You can even be creative and draw or write something on there. "Say goodbye to this leg" is not recommended.

Confidentiality

What goes on in the consult room, stays in the consult room. You wouldn't want your doctor disclosing your current STI track record would you? Confidentiality is like the house sewerage pipes - break it, and you're in deep shit. You can omit names, but the world is tiny. If you mention "a 56 year old female", chances are, some guy 400 metres away will hear you and know exactly who you're talking about. Avoiding this is pretty simple - just shut the hell up in public. But what about those "secure" medical records? They always ends up in the wrong hands. So what do you do? Do what the crims do. Burn the evidence. At the end of every consult, take those notes you've been writing diligently and burn them in front of your patient's eyes. Nothing says "it's OK. Your secret's safe with me" better than burning paper.

Medical Negligence

Negligence is the technical legal term for "a huge cock-up". There are endless ways of achieving this. Such ways include administering the wrong drug, letting the patient fall and fracture a hip when you get them out of bed, injecting into a vein when you're not supposed to, and somehow causing someone to go blind when you're inserting a scope up their rectum. Best way to avoid such cock-ups? Five words: Let the nurses do it. Face it, future and current doctors. You might be there to make the decisions and boss people around, but when it comes to "hands on" work, you have as much dexterity as a seven month old baby. The nurses completely own you on most procedural work, so just admit your shortfalls and let them do it. It's not being lazy, it's called "doing what's best for your patient". The plus side is, if something goes wrong, the lawyers won't be coming after you. Win!

Relationships with clients

Falling in love with your patient is a huge no-no. No matter how hot your patient is, no girl is worth your medical career. (Exceptions to this rule can be found here, here, and here.) It's hard to avoid such feelings though. You're stuck in a small room all day, and you meet so many people. And with all that stress you're exposed to, it's hard to keep those emotions in check. You need reminders. And what better reminder than a picture of your significant other. Plaster her picture everywhere in your consult room, but that picture shouldn't be one of her smiling or else it's like she's saying "go on, I approve of your infidelity!" No, those pictures should have her looking at you with an angry "if you cheat on me, I'm going to take away most of your money" face. That should be enough to stop you from cheating on her.

Sexual assault

The sexual assault lawsuit is complicated. Well, for males at least. When a male doctor does something unlawful with a female patient, then that lady will rightfully see it as sexual assault. Yet when a female doctor does something unlawful with a male patient, then that guy will usually see it as a fantasy coming true. Regardless of such gender differences, sexual assault is indeed a very serious issue. There is, however, one major problem with tackling this subject. You see, there is just no way around it. I don't know about you, but you can give me all the warning you want. It still won't make a finger up the anus, a poke of my breast, or an alarmingly-thicker-than-the-hole-it's-supposed-to-go-into sized tube up the urethra any less traumatic. Face it, men. There is one absolute with becoming a doctor in today's litigation happy Western society: You are eventually going to get sued for sexual assault at some time. It doesn't matter how innocent you are, it will still happen. So what do we do? Simple! Get to know your medical board! It's the board that decides whether to pass your case up to the courts, so act early and neutralise it before it gets there! Humans are a very subjective species. Medical boards are full of humans. Logic thus says, medical boards are subjective. Use it to your advantage. Find someone, who knows someone's friend, who knows someone's aunty, who knows someone's brother, who knows someone's cousin, who knows someone's best friend, who knows someone on the board. Then buy him wine, or her some flowers. Nothing influences passing judgement on someone more than "Hey I know that guy! He's alright!"

Informed Consent

It is not enough to simply ask the patient, "Is it OK for me to go ahead?" You must ensure that the patient has been disclosed all the relevant information and results regarding the tests that led you to the proposed management, as well as details regarding the actual proposed management. You must inform them of the potential benefits of this management, as well as the potential risks involved. Following this, you must then tell them of the probabilities that the aforementioned benefits and risks would occur. You must then ensure that they are aware of all other treatment options that are available to them. Whilst giving all this information, you must ensure that you haven't coerced them into making a decision, and that their final choice is not confounded and is free from bias. Somewhere along the line you must make sure that they are still with you, and haven't gone insane with information overload. If they are still there, you must then ensure that the patient is competent to make the decision themselves. This may involve various tests of mental and psychological stability. Should they not be competent enough to make an informed decision, their next-of-kin, or court-appointed "decision-maker" needs to be soughted. Once an informed decision is made, and consent is gained, you must then obtain written documentation as evidence that the consent process is completed. This often requires you to find a pen of some sort and the patient to read about seven pages of size 4 font writing. Good luck to you if the patient doesn't read English. Once all this has been completed, it is likely about 2:21am in the early morning, and the practice has been closed for the past five hours.

Basically, what I'm saying is, learn to become a 24 hour doctor in order to accommodate all the informed consent requirements.

Med student types (in a lecture theatre)

It's Friday morning, and I'm sitting at the back of the lecture theatre. I always feel bad whenever I don't listen in to lectures. But from this back row, I can see pretty much everyone else's laptop screens, and all but about six people are obviously not listening. I feel quite good now. Anyway, there's just no way I can tune in, so in order to keep awake I present to you:

Med Student Personalities in a Lecture Theatre

Facebook Stalker - Systematic reviews show that 120% of students with a laptop in any lecture will end up on Facebook at some point. Chances are, you are part of this group. You like to update your status about just how bored you are with the lecture. Not content with that, you will also talk to the person sitting next to you with Facebook chat, to express how bored you are. Congratulations! You may have just found the most efficient way of communicating with someone 30cm away from you: By relaying the message through some IT office halfway around the world.

The Gamer - You might be playing solitaire. Perhaps it's Farmville. Maybe it's a flash game on some website. Whatever the game, you pale in comparison to the people who are playing counter-strike against each other from opposite sides of the lecture theatre.

Rubber Neck - Sleep is for the weak! That's your motto. It got you into med and by Jebus, it's gonna get you through the course. Of course you have to sleep at some point in time, and what better time than during a lecture. Dim lights. Monotonic voice. The soothing sounds of laptop keyboards typing away. You don't need a pillow. Your neck was made flexible for a reason. Everyone else is laughing at you everytime your head flings forward or to the side, and then snaps back like a rubber band. But that's OK... just don't drool as well.

Arm Stretcher - You just can't stop stretching that right arm of yours. Every three slides you feel the urge to stick that right hand up, and ask a question to the lecturer. Don't worry about the fact that your question will be answered on the next slide anyway, or that all your questions will eventually need a combined total of 18 minutes to answer, just make sure you get to stretch that right arm. Cramps are never a fun thing to have.

The Rager - No I am not referring to raging lesbians, I am talking about the ones that get worked up into an angry fit of rage. You are forever linked to the preceding med type. When that arm goes up, somewhere, in some corner of the theatre (usually the back corner) the sound of a fist smashing against a laptop can be heard. That fist is likely yours. You hate people that waste your time, and believe that learning is best done with your mouth shut and your ears open. (Open eyes, and conscious state are optional)

Multi-Tasker - You are quite talented. Your eyes can concentrate on your laptop screen as you power through your next tute or PBL presentation, whilst your ears are expertly trained into the voice of a lecturer like a dog. Of course, you're brain is a bit retarded and can only take one thing at a time, so either your tute answers are gonna suck or that lecture just went straight out the other ear. That's alright though. The important thing is, you believe you got both things done at the same time. And that's efficiency.

Chronic Latecomer - Oops, you slept in again! You've done it five times this week already, and it's only Tuesday! Mathematically impossible, but you have a knack of finding a way to do this!! You only have one choice: skip breakfast. Um, WRONG! Bring your breakfast to the lecture. Nothing says professionalism and class than a bowl of weet-bix in the back row. Next time you might consider upping the ante by bringing in a sandwich press.

Ninja - The number of 'ninjas' tends to fluctuate, with a significantly higher proportion seen the closer it gets to Friday afternoon. You are undoubtedly the smartest of the entire student cohort. You are so smart, in fact, that you can attend the lecture from the comfort of your own car seat, whilst driving back to Melbourne.

Copycat - You type out *everything* on the slides that are presented even though it will be made available later on the web. Your excuse is usually "it helps to keep me awake". You, my friend, need to discover the joys of caffeine, which leads me to...

The Addict - To you, having four lectures in a row after lunch amounts to torture by forcible watching of Grey's Anatomy. There is no way you can last the next 59 minutes and 59 seconds of the first lecture, let alone the next three ones. Your only saviour? A coffee. Really struggling? Then only a Mother will do - $3 worth of guaranteed consciousness, at the expense of getting diabetes later on in life. You never sit in on an afternoon lecture without one by your side. No food or drinks allowed in the lecture theatre? That's OK, a can of Mother is in its own category of consumable goods.

The Territorial Marker - Sure you may not have urinated on that seat like a canine, but hell hath no fury on the poor unfortunate soul that decides to sit on your chair. Yes, you could've sat on any of the one hundred and fifty other seats in the lecture theatre, but that would go against everything you stand for. There is something about this particular seat. It might be the balanced mood lighting, or perhaps it's a Feng-Shui thing. Either way, you have an obsessive compulsive disorder.

Chair Squeaker - You just can't sit still for more than five minutes without shifting positions. Either that or you have haemorrhoids. Your frequent ass-shifting causes your chair to squeak like a tortured duck. You are quite funny when there's a group of you doing it at the same time.

Old Schooler - You are a technological dimwit that can't get your head around having to click on the "start" button to shut a computer down. You don't care that every student was given free laptops by the faculty. That's not how you roll. For you, when it comes to note-taking, only a pen and paper will do. In fact, if you had your way, we'd all be writing with a quill and black ink, which coincidentally would make for some awesome cross-lecture-theatre ink fights.

Model Student - You are sitting in the lecture, listening in intently, and taking due and diligent notes for the entire 60 minutes ........... hahaha! I lie. Such a thing doesn't exist.

The Meaning of Life...

... is like doing one of those frustrating cryptic crosswords. You know there's an answer. It's just that a) it requires too much thinking to work it out, b) you're never really sure if you've got the right answer, and c) when you find that answer and tell others about it, people think you need to go out and get laid a bit more. Unlike a crossword though, the meaning of life usually doesn't have one single correct answer. So trying to explain it would be as productive as finding the corner of a circle. It would also inevitably end up in one of those philosophical arguments where fancy words such as "absurdism", "utilitarianism" and "post-modernism" get thrown around by people, whilst I just smile and nod and do my best to feign that I have an IQ with three figures in it.

I'm sure there's several variations to whatever it means. I've heard people say that the meaning of life is to do whatever is good for others. Fair enough, but then what if that other person is the second coming of Hitler, Saddam Hussein, Napoleon, and the Cookie Monster combined? Another version of it is simply to live, and keep populating the world. A very pragmatic approach, yes, but then anyone who adopts this version comes across as a horny rabbit on heat that just wants to bonk anything that moves. My favourite is probably the "to love and be loved" purpose to life. Everyone wants to be loved. I like to be loved. Love me. Cuddle me. Hold me. Hold me. Never let me go until you've told me. Told me. What I want to know and then just hold me. Hold me. Make me tell you that I'm in love with you...... No wait, those are just lyrics to a song.

Anyway, the point of all this is to say that for the first time in my life, I feel like I may have found my meaning and purpose, whatever that may be. Hooray!

Just don't ask me to explain what it is, 'coz I wouldn't have the slightest idea where to start.

Happy Easter

Easter is a magical time of the year. Somewhere near the North Pole, in his giant mansion made from the slave labour of three hundred underpaid elves, an overweight man enters a secret room with a secret machine. He walks into this machine, and upon exiting he is immediately about five feet shorter, his ears about three times as long, and that white beard of his is now all over his body. Yep, Santa Claus has morphed into the Easter Bunny. Back at his "toy factory" the elf slaves, in all their orange-faced glory, remove their cute little pointy elvish hats to reveal their thick, curly green hair. Yes that's right, the elves are in fact the Oompa Loompas, toy makers for six months of the year, chocolate bees for the other six. The entire clan was won by Santa off an inebriated Willy Wonka, in a game of high stakes texas poker that marked the epic downfall of an entire chocolate empire. In a last-ditched effort to salvage his pint-sized orange-coloured workers, Willy put his entire factory on the line in one last bet. He thought he had won, but someone forgot to tell the intoxicated chocolate king that having five cards of the same colour isn't actually a legitimate winning hand. With the Oompa Loompas and the plans for a chocolate empire now in the hands of Santa, the fat jolly man in a red suit decided to branch out.

And that's how the Easter Bunny was born.

For most, this is what Easter is all about - stuffing ourselves full with the goodness of milk chocolate, then running around the block a couple of times everyday because you feel guilty. You eventually get over it within about eight days, and accept the fact that you're always going to be a fat person simply because you live in a country full of fatties, you fatty fatty boomba.

Of course, there's the original reason behind having an Easter in the first place, which is the religious aspect to it. Christians celebrate this time of year in honour of a man who gets nailed to a cross. I'm supposedly one of them. I say 'supposedly' because most wouldn't think me as one... must be all the swearing, insulting, and violent tendencies that I have. Actually, I now realise why Christians are looked upon with an eye of oddity. Think about it. We celebrate an innocent person dying a painful and excruciating death. Somewhere along the line, logic and religion obviously had a falling out. Obviously the concept is not as simple as that, and to explain it now would put me at risk of looking like a man wearing a white shirt, and black tie, and knocking on your door with a thick book in one hand. (Speaking of which, someone's gotta teach those guys how to understand when a person just doesn't want to hear it right now so please let me go back to my lunch which is now cold because of you!! ... apologies to any Mormons)

In a nutshell, for us odd religious types, it's about appreciating when one gives up something for the benefit of others. And hey, religious or not, that stuff happens everywhere. Just look at all the people lining up to give blood at the Red Cross, or the people calling in on Good Friday to donate to the Royal Children's Hospital, or the people risking their lives as part of Medecins Sans Frontieres. Hey, us humans aren't so bad at all!!!

Whether you believe in the religious god, or the chocolate god...

Happy Easter!

Also ....

It's good to be home for the next entire week. Mmmmmmm, my own bed. :D

MED SCHOOL!

So at some point in time, between now and the last post, I quit my honest day job as a full-time torturer physio and woke up in Egypt. Then I found myself travelling through Jordan and Syria, doing my best Lawrence of Arabia meets Moses impersonation, before realising that I had reached Turkey, where no one can really work out whether they're Middle Eastern, European or Asian. Filled with hummus, and more bread than the stomach of a fat baker with an eating disorder, I came home, bummed around for a bit, then found myself in med school. Hooray!

How the hell did I end up here? I stand by the idea that I bullshitted my way into here ... literally. That GAMSAT result was pretty average for the science and humanities questions. The overall score was brought up by a decently high score on that essay section aka. how-long-can-you-write-for-without-your-hand-exploding section. Two essays worth of prime grade A bullshit in sixty minutes, and voila! here's your invitation to an interview. Of course, the rest is history. I'm sure the bullshitting resurfaced again for those ten or so mini-interviews I had to do. All I remember from that day, was explaining to one of the interviewers that it was ok for some lady to breastfeed a baby that was not hers. I don't know about you, but if I knew my doctor said that, I'd be hightailing it for the exit door even if I was bleeding profusely from all four of my limbs at the time.

So here I am, in what is one of the happiest stretches of my life, living in a house with eight other insane people doing the same med course with me. I say insane with great affection, but quite frankly, we're all exactly that - insane. The mere acceptance into med school has given me the greatest sense of accomplishment and satisfaction, and I have never been more excited about the future than I am now. Yet if you just pause for a second and take a closer look, I, along with the eight others under this roof and seventy or so others in the entire cohort, can be described in two words:

F*#@ing NUTS!!!

Don't get me wrong. There's plenty of good to be had here. But the logic of the here and now is as goes....

- Hi there. Would you like to give up your steady income and embark on a journey of poverty for the next half a decade or so?

- Would you like to be part of a university course that will destroy all the other aspects of your life?

- Would you like to go through another life of exams that cause you to freak out just because everyone else is freaking out too, even if the exam is about as worthless as a five cent coin in the pocket of a man walking into a Ferrari dealership?

- Would you like to go through another decade or so of scrutiny, judgement, inferiority to superiors, and more stress than a blind snail without its shell crossing ten lanes of peak-hour freeway?

- Would you like to be rewarded for your efforts on completing this course with a job that requires you to develop the sleeping patterns of a retarded, narcoleptic owl?

- Would you like to earn a job that promises great pay, only for you to realise in twenty years that, for the time, effort, and stress you put in, you'd get paid more by working the corporate ladder at Ernst and Young or working St. Kilda's streets?

- Would you like to have a career where innocently misreading '6.0' for '60' means you accidentally killed the poor little seven year old girl in bed 2A because you gave her ten times the amount of painkillers, and as a result you have to explain to her parents that their daughter is dead not because of your idiocy, but rather because your optometrist is crap? (or in my case, because I refuse to go see one in the first place!)

If, like me, you answered 'yes' to all of the above, you are probably here with me in Gippsland, doing the same uni course, procrastinating from the same exam that's going on tomorrow.

Yet the fact that you haven't snapped and decided to quit already means that, like me, you actually quite liked saying 'yes' to all of the above .......... you crazy weirdo.