The Great KONY 2012 Bandwagon

*dusts off the soapbox and steps onto it*

Joseph Kony is an evil bastard that deserves to rot and it's good that people finally know of him now. There's a good reason why he is number 1 on the ICC list.  The shit he does actually happens whilst we munch away on choc jam donuts dipped in honey and watch Big Bang Theory re-runs on our 75 inch wall-mounted TVs.  The intention of KONY 2012 is to make him famous, and it has thankfully worked. I sincerely hope we see his face in an international court soon, preferably dragged into the hearing by two kids holding teddy bears, and placed in front of a line of children taking turns to throw wasabi ice cream at his eyes, before being sentenced to a lifetime of being the toilet cleaner at every Ugandan, Sudanese and Congolese orphange....

BUT!! before you get swept up in KONY 2012, know these 3 things:

1. KONY 2012 has an end-goal that is focused on direct military intervention by the UPDF (Ugandan army). Research the UPDF and know that the UN has condemned them for acts of rape, running prostitution rings, looting, corruption etc.  Many human rights observers believe that that this is still going on. Supporting KONY 2012 means you will be supporting the UPDF as well.

2. Joseph Kony and his LRA have been around for many years. Kony himself is no longer in Uganda, but is rather in Congo and has been for many years now.  Joint US and UPDF military action has forced him to flee.  For the UPDF to capture him, they will have to do it outside their own borders. The UPDF has been entering Sudan and Congo to continue military operations (but supposedly aren't allowed to now? Can't find info to back that one up).  Regardless, is allowing foreign armies into other countries in such an unstable area wise, especially considering that Uganda was forced to pay $10bn in reparations to Congo due to the aforementioned UN report regarding their indiscretions?  We also know of the trials and tribulations of Sudan's civil war lately. Think of the overall big picture and what could potentially occur to the general civilian population in that area, if there is escalating military activity that is not coordinated properly between the neighbouring regional countries.  There is no point in ridding Kony, if we just open up another pandora's box of problems, a box that could perhaps be avoided if there is at least more dialogue between concerned parties before instigation of force.

3. If you are thinking of donating money: KONY 2012 is run by Invisible Children which has been around for a decade now, and have made a number of films.  It does also carry out actual charitable works rather than just advocate military intervention (eg education for kids, early warning radio networks in Uganda etc.)  However, check public figures and know that only just over 50% of your money actually goes to charitable programs ( http://www.charitynavigator.org/index.cfm?bay=search.summary&orgid=12429 ).  After administration fees, and fundraising expenses, the rest of it pretty much goes to making flashy films (like the one you saw) and awareness/advocacy.  Awareness and advocacy is now pretty much moot. The world knows now.

What I'm trying to say is basically this...

Firstly, remember that it's about Joseph Kony, not KONY 2012. Secondly, remember that there is more than just Joseph Kony in that part of the world that we can help with in a more substantial way that isn't just clicking on links, social media sharing and bill posting on city walls that some poor council cleaner has to take off later on.  Before you get swept up in the frenzied explosion of the celebrity-approved, fist-pumping-of-the-masses, flashy-film-making of KONY 2012, read into Kony and his LRA a bit more as well as the UPDF.  More importantly, find out more about the bigger picture of Uganda, Congo, Sudan, and surrounding areas, and the awful plight they endure on the whole. The *last* thing we should do is focus solely on Kony, and neglect the fact that the problem of child soldiers, amongst other genocidal horrors, is an old and widespread problem in that part of the world.  This is not to belittle the sheer atrocities of Joseph Kony, but to neglect the wider problem would be tragic.  Yes, action has to begin with one and Kony is a good place to start, but if you focus on this one instance, it should facilitate ongoing conversation about all the others. Joseph Kony is a symptom of a much bigger underlying disease.  You go to the hospital because you want a cure, not just something to mask the symptoms.

Invisible Children and its KONY 2012 campaign is not necessarily deceiving or manipulative. The intentions are good, and should be applauded, if anything simply because they have the balls to actually try to make a big difference. Go ahead and support KONY 2012 only if you think that there's no other option to get rid of him, and only if your conscience is clear regarding the UPDF. If you, the independent individual who can think and act for yourself rather than be swept up in the swelling mainstream masses of social media and popular sentiment, think otherwise, there are other, more concrete ways of devoting your time, money and support such as donating to a 4 star charity that serves the region (charitynavigator.org helps). Posting bills up in the city on April 20th is all well and good, but after you've done that, and you've left it to be cleaned up by other people, are you yourself going to get your hands dirty, and put your money where your mouth is?

*gets off soapbox*

Now does anyone have the number for that Navy SEAL team that got rid of Bin Laden? :D

Things I have learnt from my time in Kenya and Tanzania

 Wise lessons from a land far away

• I want a pet cheetah.  No, I want two pet cheetahs... and a baby elephant... and a zebra foal
• Popping your head up through the roof of a jeep with the cold morning wind smashing flush against your numb face whilst the driver fangs it at about 100km/hr down a lonely Serengeti trail could possibly be the best thing ever
• Don't buy drinks when baboons are around
• Lions spend about 90% of their day sleeping or lying around. They are my true idols
• I don't think I could ever enjoy a zoo anymore 
• Passionfruit Fanta.  It needs to come to Australia, now!
• Don't be a female in the Maasai clan, unless you like having to do everything (including build the house) whilst the man sleeps around and does basically nothing
• Be a man in the Maasai clan if you like sleeping around with several wives and doing basically nothing
• Hotel safe lockers aren't always safe
• End-of-med-school trip (med schoolies?): Thailand? Bali? Fiji? Vietnam?  Hell no.  ZANZIBAR!
• The dish that Jack Black was referring to is clearly a Zanzibar seafood pizza from the night market
• I like camping in tents, but clearly not for 20 days
• My name is "China" according to every tout in Tanzania.  If not, then apparently my name is "Japan"
• This tends to happen a lot:
  "Raffiki (my friend), where are you from?"
  "I'm from Australia."
  "Really? You don't look like it."
  (In my head): No shit, genius
• Diamox is the greatest drug ever.  Pity that it forces you to take a piss on the side of a mountain about 17 times a day
• Life's biggest dilemma: Stay in your warm sleeping bag for the next four hours holding off the biggest urge to go pee, or cut your losses and go outside your tent and into the subzero temperatures to answer the call
• My knees clearly don't like racing downhill for three straight hours 
• In order to distance myself from them, my Australian accent turns extra bogan whenever a large group of loud, obnoxious Chinese mainlanders annoy all the Africans at the airport (and yes, it's ok for me to say this!)
• I will probably come down with malaria at some point within the next six weeks 
• Larium anti-malarials give you crazy dreams, such as the one where you wake up in the middle of the night panicking and trying to find your way out of your dark tent, because you think you are trapped in a hot air balloon and the pilot is lighting the fire under you....
• Irishmen don't tan well.  Actually, they just don't tan at all
• Carabiners and bandanas - the greatest travel accessories ever
• When I don't shave for five weeks, my face looks like it just came off the set of a really bad 1970s D-grade porn movie
• Never be away from the internet again when uni results are released
• Tanzania could be the greatest all-rounder of a destination: world-class beaches, unrivaled wildlife, unique people, crazy adventure, and most importantly, excellent beer!
• Not getting phone reception for five weeks is actually pretty awesome
• The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo is the best novel I've read in ages.  Admittedly, yes, I don't read much anymore except for medical journals (abstracts only!), newspaper sports sections and whatever words pop up on the screen of the playstation game that's on
• Five hours of flying is made all the better when you're served by an oh-my-god-you're-the-most-beautiful-thing-on-this-planet stewardess.  It is made even better when the next, torturous 15 hour flight sees you being looked after by a you're-so-hot-I-love-you-even-though-we've-just-known-each-other-for-3.6-seconds stewardess
• People need to stop listening to the negative media and go to Africa more.  Just avoid those ones with the civil wars and genocide...
  
• They really do say Hakuna Matata a lot!
• If you have a roof over your head, food on the table, and a job, then you have nothing to complain about.  If you wish to complain, then I dare you to do it in front of these African children....
• Africans (well, Kenyans and Tanzanians at least) are the friendliest people I've come across

Med student types (in a hospital)

Courtesy of an urge to procrastinate...

YEAR 3B MEDICAL STUDENT TYPES


The anti-proactive student - There are some med students that are more interested in their learning than a 12 year old boy in a sex education class run by a hot blonde teacher.  These students attend all their ward rounds, take histories and examine about four different patients, and generally don't get home until the sun has gone down.  You are the exact opposite of these students.  You do take a history and perform an examination, but only to one patient... and only once per week... and only at the end of the week.  And the only reason why you do it, is to satisfy the burning guilt within.  You successfully convince yourself that you've had a productive week of learning!

The choker - Some people are born to be cool and calm when things get pressure-cooker hot.  You, unfortunately weren't.  You know the anatomy of the heart and lungs back-to-front.  You know every possible sign and symptom accompanying every single disease of either organ.  You can perform a cardiac and respiratory exam in your sleep.  Yet, come morning ward rounds, in front of seven other people your senior, the consultant's simple question to you of "what are the signs of COPD?", can only be met with stuttering, nervous sweating, an eight-fold increase in your heart rate, and retrospective regret as to how stupid you were.

Mr/Ms Stabber - You're legally allowed to jab needles into people and by God, you're not going to let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass by.  Whilst half of your med student colleagues are still trying their third cannula on one of those fake arms in the practice lab, you've lined up your 25th cannulation on a real life patient, and it's not even lunchtime yet. And what's on for the afternoon?  Why, the 16 patients you've pre-organised to take blood off.  The pathology nurse either loves you, or is about two days away from taking out a restraining order out on you.

Mr/Ms Stabbee - You know trypanophobia?  You most certainly don't have it! You're probably the above type, stabbing away at unsuspecting patients just as they wake up.  But your needle fetish doesn't stop there. When you hear your fellow med student colleague across the room complaining about not being able to cannulate anyone, you're quick to offer your own arm for practice.  Wow, did your shirt just roll its sleeves up in anticipation by itself? That's amazing!

The specialist - Third year is all about being exposed to as many different disciplines of medicine as possible.  Not for you.  You already know you're going to be the world's best intensivist, so screw the dialysis or rehab rotation.  You're pretty sure that "ICU/CCU" is written down under your name on the timetable for every week. That place is your turf, and any other student that's going to be there is about to meet your fist.  Not only do you know every nurse there, but you even know what times they start and finish everyday.  Creepy much?

Theatre junkie - Let's face it. Surgery is where it's at.  Nothing says medicine more than a race against time to plug up that fountain of blood coming out of the poor seven year old kid.  Surgeons get to do all the cool stuff.  Whilst most of the medical lackeys are boringly ordering their fourth bag of saline for the day, the surgeons get to be the extensions of the hands of God.  You want into this!  That's why your second home is the theatre.  Whilst most others find standing in the corner of the operating room for about three hours as exciting as a party run by the Jane Austen appreciation society, to you it's the greatest way to learn.  Either that, or you're just trying to get out of being on the wards where you'll actually have to do stuff.  Well played.

Pen stealer - Pens are cheap inventions that are slowly being out-phased by keyboards and touch screens.  In hospital, however, the pen is more important than your eventual medical degree.  You need one. Informed consent that's not recorded down in some sort of note form never holds up in court.  Unfortunately for you, the reg/consultant has asked to borrow your pen.  This being the 11th time it's happened, you know you're never going to see that pen again.  But hey, it's all part of the game.  Some doctor steals your pen?  You just steal one off the nurses station.  Feeling particularly mean?  Steal one off your fellow medical student

The early bird - you like worms.  Don't get the joke?  Then you're obviously slow.  Good luck passing this year.  Anyway, you're the one that rocks up to every ward round in the morning.  You're so keen, you'd be there even if the rounds started at 4am. The problem is, every time the ward rounds are finished, you're left wondering why you even showed up.  You had no idea what was going on, you didn't learn anything and just about the only constructive thing you did was attempt to fetch bed 112's drug chart, only to find that it's nowhere to be found, and hence you now look like a bumbling failure by not being able to complete the one simple menial task the doctor asked you.  But that's ok because I'm sure you'll learn something useful on tomorrow morning's round...

Eponyms anonymous - You somehow know the fancy names for seemingly every disease known to humankind. Charcot's disease, Dressler's syndrome, Whipple's procedure, Friedrich's ataxia. You might know what they are, but not even the registrar has any idea what the hell you're going on about.  Berger's disease. Um... you get that from... um, too many burgers?

The articulately challenged - Half the reason why doctors are smart is because they sound smart.  What with all the big fancy words that they use, the normal Mr and Mrs Joe Blogs is sure to think that they're in good hands. Having the ability to reel off long medical terms with precision and ease is such an important skill to learn.  Terms such as "choledocholithiasis", or "spondyloarthropathy" or "endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography" should roll off your tongue like the tagline in a Broadway musical being sung for the 35th straight night.  Unfortunately for you, when you say those words, it sounds more like a tone-deaf 70 year old with laryngeal cancer singing Rebecca Black's Friday song.  Good luck trying to pronounce 'pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis' (I didn't make that word up. Google it).

The tie-wearer - All doctors wear ties.  Correction, all doctors over 40 wear ties. Infection control is usually a rather large annoyance.  I mean, who the hell washes their hands five times in total when seeing one patient?!  But they are good for one thing - they don't want you wearing ties.  Washing hands a bajillion times becomes moot when your tie dangles in front of your next patient's face and passes on some flesh-eating bacteria to them.  This is, of course, until some smartarse researcher disproves this with some quadruple-blinded randomised trial.  But who cares? That's not going to stop you from donning one of those neck-stranglers.  The older consultants wear ties, and you want to look like one.  Hell, you've even gone one better and donned a bow tie.

The model - You've seen the folly of wearing a tie.  It's not so much that it poses an infection risk.  It's because by wearing one, you don't get to look coooooool. Nothing oozes cool more than a skinny, figure-hugging $200 brand name open-collared shirt, rolled neatly to just below your elbows and slim trousers (that shows off your ass) with matching belt and shoes.  You've even considered strutting through the hospital with a pair of sunglasses on.  The corridor of the Gen Med ward is your giant catwalk and your name tag reads Dr. Zoolander.  For you, being a doctor means you should look good.  Actually, no.  For you, being a doctor means you should look smokin' code red on-fire hot.

The lunch scabber - You're a poor student that's swimming in the proverbial shit-pool of financial debt.  You could go get a job, but that would require working, and you'd rather be caught with your pants down in the corner of your bedroom than work for minimum wage behind a greasy counter with colleagues that are half your age.  That leaves one major problem, however. How are you going to pay for your day-to-day food?  Simple!  The lunchtime medical conference always has a free lunch.  What's that?? FREE LUNCH!  Absolutely!  Hang on, the catch is that you have to sit through a boring lecture?  Absolutely not, at least not for you.  After you're done scoffing down the free food like a hypermetabolic ADHD kid with a sugar-eating disorder, you switch on your elite secret agent mode. Peeking around each corridor as you go, you sneak your way out of the hospital leaving no trace of your presence.  So diligent is your strategy, that should you be spotted mid-escape by the man who is running the medical conference, you even have a contingency plan: run for your friggin' life.

Grey's anatomist - You're so deeply disappointed about how working in a hospital has turned out. Where's all the incest between doctors?  Why hasn't the intern slept with all his medical students yet?  How come I haven't slept with all the interns yet?  You've gotten into this doctor gig for one reason only - to live out the Grey's Anatomy dream.  Unfortunately for you, real hospitals aren't like that.  What, you mean we actually have to look after the patients?! But hell, that's not going to stop you.  Whilst the three others at your lunchtime table are keen to discuss how ulcerative colitis may lead to colorectal cancer, all you want to do is stir some shit up.  Have you checked out Dr. X's ass?  It's almost as hot as last week's "hot doctor of the week". Want me to set you up with that new hot surg intern?  Perhaps I can slip him your number if you like.  You don't want me to?  Oh, too bad, I've already done it.

Checklist lover.... or hater - Everyone hates that logbook.  That stupid list of things-to-get-signed-off is staring at you.  Put your ear to it.  No, really, put that book right up to your ear.  Can you hear that?  It's laughing at you.  It's mocking you for the amount of work you have left to do.  There's only two months left, and the only thing you've gotten signed off is one of the injections (and even then, you screwed it up somehow).  Much to your disgust, you're forced to actually show up on the ward and do stuff.  You've taken a cardiac history, and by 'cardiac' I mean the patient had a heart attack 14 years ago, and by 'history' you simply asked whether it hurt a bit.  That's not going to stop you from asking the intern or 5th year student, who is at the other end of the hospital, if you can get that signed off from the book.  The funny bit is, they'll usually do it.

The Benchmark - There is always one in every group.  He or she is the best medical student of the cohort, leaps and bounds above the rest.  You are this person.  You're the only one that knows about alpha-1-antitrypsin deficiency and its link with COPD.  You're the only one who knows every side effect from the use of sulfamethoxazole, whilst everyone else is still wikipedia-ing what it actually is.  You're the only one who can perform a full neuro exam in 49 seconds flat.  All the other students respect and admire you, and use you as the gold standard of progress.  If you don't know it, then sure as hell we won't!

The commoner - *PA announcement chimes* Code Blue. Student Common Room. Code Blue. Student Common Room.  What?! Since when was the student common room an actual ward?  Oh that's right.  Since you decided to spend 97.5% of your time there!!  Why would you ever come out of the common room?  There's food, comfy couches, and no consultant can ever embarrass you when you're in the common room!

The one who owns that little colourful Oxford Handbook of Medicine - ... Basically, everyone.


Alright, back to work :( :(

Shopping 101

Writing blogs was once cool. That was about seven years ago. Now there are much cooler things to do on the internet, such as facebook stalking exes, watching entire seasons of pirated TV shows in one sitting, or tipping off one's significant other after planting fake extramarital cybersex chat messages into unsuspecting victims' computers to teach them a lesson for not password protecting their wireless network. Call me uncool, but I choose to blog. And by 'blog' I mean totally neglect this thing until someone tells me to update it.

Of course, it helps that right now I am so bored I have half a mind to cut my toenails by biting them off with my teeth. Sure, I could do more productive things such as clean my room or save the world, but that requires the lifting of my eyelids, and that's the kind of energy that I would rather not spend during these last few days of holiday freedom.

Speaking of holidays, I was overseas this time around, chiefly for my cousin's wedding, and catching up with the cousins, but also to go completely ape-shit in KL and throw all my eighteen credit cards at the various shopping centres in a mad 28-days-later-rage-virus type frenzy of shopping.

I'm not a shopper. I rarely look forward to the day out at a shopping centre. For me, it usually just becomes an exercise of frustration of not being able to buy the shit you want either because it is about 300% more expensive than what you're prepared to pay, or they have about 73 shirts in size XL, but not in S or M. It's not that shopping isn't good or fun. A good dose of retail therapy can certainly cure all, but spending an entire day walking around the shops with nothing to show for it is as productive as convincing an Israeli and a Palestinian to hold hands and skip through an open meadow together singing Randy Newman's "You've Got a Friend In Me". In most cases, I usually end up having more fun in shopping centres working out the best way to fortify the building in the event of an eventual zombie apocalypse like the movies and video games have been warning us repeatedly, rather than the actual shopping itself.

So anyway, I was in KL and bought close to 10kg worth of shopping.

You see, when it comes to shopping in general, I usually wait for that roughly four-yearly trip to KL before I go nuts and take advantage of a ridiculously awesome exchange rate. I intended to buy quite a lot, but "a lot" was supposed to be about one third of what I actually bought all up. But as the greatest man to have ever lived, Ron Burgundy, once said, "Boy, that escalated quickly. I mean, that really got out of hand fast!" And that got me thinking. How did I end up buying so much, that even chronic shopaholic I-only-shop-at-Prada girls would be impressed? Simple. I happened to have stumbled over the most efficient way of shopping, and now I share it with you.

1) By far the most important rule to efficient shopping is GO BY YOURSELF. None of this 'but I need a second opinion on this dress' business. Mirrors were invented for a reason, and no one gives a better unbiased second opinion than a reversed image of yourself, you sexy mofo. Having other people shop with you only slows you down. If you must shop as a couple, then treat your shopping centre excursion like a swingers party and go your own ways for a few hours.

2) If the object of your desire is selling for a good deal, then it's probably the best deal around. Sure, there are about eight other multi-level shopping centres on the same stretch of 300m road, but none of those centres will have a better deal. How do you know this? Well that's because once you've bought the item, you're never going to look at the price of that same item in another shop anymore, aren't you? ... AREN'T you!....

3) The trip back to your car or hotel room is your last and only one. No trips to and from to drop off shopping bags are allowed. You're wasting time, and besides, the extra weight of shopping bags is good exercise you silly fat oompa.

4) Once you've bought something, keep it inside that ninth shopping bag of yours and forget about it. Trying to remember what you've already bought when buying future goods only brings hesitation. Hesitation is not your friend. It wastes valuable shopping time. Buy first, ask questions later.

5) Do not look at your receipts until all your shopping is done. In much the same way, do not try to memorise and keep a running tally of how much money you have spent. No one needs to know how much damage your bank account has sustained. Especially not you.

6) Use a credit card. You might pay extra fees, but at least it doesn't feel as bad as using your own money.

7) Buying multiple goods requires constant opening and closing of your wallet, and repeated retrieving and replacing of your credit card inside it. Wallets are subject to much wear and tear when used in this fashion, and will eventually tear like mine did. You are now faced with a difficult decision: Do you stop your shopping to make quick, temporary, DIY repairs to your wallet, or do you discard it altogether and hope your pockets make a serviceable replacement? The answer is neither. You buy yourself a new wallet, and soldier on.

Follow these golden rules, and you too can enjoy the joys of excessive goods, and excessive debt. Remember now, excessive = happiness :D

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.

To that girl who said Pink is "one of the most influential artists ever"

No.

Try:
- Elvis Presley
- The Beatles
- Michael Jackson
- Nirvana

Oh, and she did not create that song she performed at her Funhouse gig. I do believe you will find that Bohemian Rhapsody was created by Queen, and that someone should force you to sleep in an ice bath that is outside on top of a wind-exposed mountain somewhere on a freezing winter night for being such an ignorant douchebag.

The perpetual life cycle

Friday afternoons are a blessing, whilst Monday mornings are the equivalent of starting Groundhog Day with a kick in the testicles from pointy steel-capped boots laced with acid. At least, that's what all those Monday morning and Friday afternoon facebook status updates indicate. Yet even when the long awaited weekend arrives, the back of our minds are always transfixed on why it finishes too quickly. Essentially, life is the perpetual cycle of complaining about how quick it takes for two days to come and go, and then whinging about how slow it takes for the other five to pass by. Most people dream of the opposite, a two day working week followed by a five day weekend bender of chocolate and debauchery.

With the exception of those as socially inept as a 15 year old emo at a school social playing Pussycat Dolls, Brittany Spears, and Pink tracks all night, we go out on weekends and do the stuff we want to do. Watch the football, go out clubbing, play video games, kick out street lights of an entire neighbourhood and steal candy from babies. These are all the things that are exciting to us, and as the most used cliche ever tells us, time flies when you're having fun. In this way, the feeling that Saturdays and Sundays go by too quickly is our own damn fault, in which case we have no reason to bitch about it, or else we'd be bitching about ourselves, and all that does is compromise the very principle behind "bitching" - I am right, you are wrong, so go sit on that pointy fence over there and quietly rotate.

On the other hand, weekdays are not our fault, not unless you get a kick out of smashing your head repeatedly against the brick wall of boredom and repetition. The humble bread-winning day job is a necessity that, when you think about it, makes life five-sevenths shyte! Of course there are jobs that are an exception to this rule such as being Megan Fox's underwear, or being the ruler of the entire world. But even careers that we aspire to take, and the jobs we dream of doing tend to have its novelty fizzle away into a vacuous black hole of tedium. If time flies by when you're having fun, then time .... stagnates when ... um ... when it's boring and repetitive. Yeah I'm sure that's a saying of some sort.

That's where that wish for a longer weekend ends up sucking. Aside from completely melting an entire global economy, one that has been used to the five day working week since monkeys figured out how to use spears instead of bananas to throw at each other, the longer weekend just ends up being the new weekday. Sooner than later, you run out of fun things to do and all that free time ends up boring and repetitive. Eventually, you look forward to going back to work because it's the thing that doesn't consume your life.

Having to slave away for five-sevenths of the week is awesome because it makes the weekend all the more significant and special.

Actually no, screw that, I want a two day working week.

You're only 20 and that makes me sad

When some punk year 8 kid used to be a smartarse towards you, you could do anything to him short of picking him up by his collar and pounding him repeatedly over the top of his head with the spine of his maths textbook whilst taunting, "know your algebra, bitch!". That was because once upon a time, back at school, being three or four years older than someone came with a satisfying sense of authority. Perhaps it was the environment of a school setting, which lends itself to a system where age correlates with hierarchy and rank, or perhaps I was madly drunk on the absolute power that came with a tiny prefect badge and the stripes of a year 12 uniform. Whatever the case, it unfortunately never carried over into the real adult world. Instead, the feeling of authority and invincibility inherent with being surrounded by younger people is irrevocably replaced by the thought that you're becoming an old fart that is finding more and more about the world to whine and moan about.

Being 24 and quickly approaching 25 certainly doesn't make you old at all, but relativity can be a pain in the lower cheeks. When you go to a 21st birthday party where practically everyone is 19 or 20, it strangely makes you feel a lot more ... mature. When people are asking what you do at uni when you graduated almost three years ago, something definitely doesn't sit right within you. When the others talk about what they've been doing on their holidays you think to yourself, "holidays? wtf is that?!"

Likewise, they also make your liver feel much older. I like to think that I can hold my drink (for a skinny Asian guy). Except for that one time a couple of years ago on my birthday, I've never had to enlist the assistance of my friends to drag me to my front door whilst in a state of lifeless dystonia and apparent death. At the same time, I can't exactly drink a football team to alcohol school either. But when you see teens cringing agonisingly everytime they down a shot of what can only be described as blue death mixed with whatever the closest bottle is, whilst you happily shot it away with a straight expressionless demeanour that says, "meh, I've had worse", you feel strangely older than you actually are. Granted yes, I wasn't exactly sober by the end of the night, and I ended up being one of the early sleepers, clocking out at the toddler bedtime of 3am. But I put that down to chronic fatigue brought about by three straight weeks of staying up 'til about 2 in the morning watching insane nutjobs on the TV cycle around France.

Maybe I need to get some more friends that are older. No wait, maybe I just need to get some more friends, full stop.

On a slight tangent, isn't it funny how being 21 automatically makes you super cool? As arbitrary as it is, it's the magical number that officially qualifies you as an adult. Welcome. Join the club. Bring a plate of food. But if you're 20, you're immediately one of "them". I don't care if you're smarter or more mature than I am, you're still not 21 and you haven't earnt your wings yet. It's the same as when you turn 18. One day, at 11:59pm you're not allowed to drive by yourself and you are deemed too innocent to be sullied by the evils of alcohol, but when that clock ticks past midnight, all of a sudden it's all ok. Likewise, that one single second can make all the difference between being on the right side of the law and having your name share the same sentence with the word 'paedophile'.

Nerds dressing up

I'm a bit of a nerd. Even though I haven't been lured into playing World of Warcraft and forgetting to feed three kids because of it, I will not deny the fact that I'm a bit nerdish. The acronym 'lol' has weasled its way into my daily, everyday speech. I watch Stargate and then proceed to buy the entire 10 seasons on DVD. I take offence when people tell me to buy a Mac instead of a PC. And I tend to play videogames when I come home from work instead of watching crap vomit Grey's Anatomy.

I am also a coward. You won't catch me proudly displaying my nerdish tendencies. Why else would I live in denial and refuse to get my eyesight checked? For you see, the world can be divided into two groups. Most are a bit of both, to varying degrees, but at the end of the day, you're on one side or the other. In the blue corner we have the aforementioned nerds, wearing their out-of-date glasses, debating with each other on which is the better weapon between Star Wars' light sabres and Star Trek's phasers (oh c'mon no contest, light sabres win on its ability to decapitate limbs), solving squiggly calculus lines, and laughing uncontrollably at the word 'roflcopter'. In the red corner we have the jocks, lifting 100kg at the gym every second night before kissing their guns in front of the mirror, starting fights on the ground every weekend because they haven't touched the ball and are getting bored because of it, drawing penises on the blackboard before the teacher comes in because it's so damn funny, and chugging beer to help offset the water shortages.

If the world broke out into a massive war between the two sides, the jocks would burn all the villages and have their way with all the women before the nerds could even learn how to take the safety off the rifle. It's for that reason that I would happily feign disdain for my nerdy brethren, when the cool kids come by with their super hot girlfriends. I'd tell them that the kid over there with the glasses not only likes Star Wars, but can also recite the entire script word for word, before happily standing there watching the jocks pound the living crap out of the guy. Some people, however, choose to express their inner nerd, and to those people ... much respect. Good on you for sacrificing yourselves for the good of all us cowardly nerds.

And nothing says "NEEEEEEEEEEEERD!" *points finger at person* than those enthusiastic fans who go to movie premieres, book launches and sci-fi conventions in costumes. They have no shame. For them, shame is forgetting the colour of Luke Skywalker's light sabre. They won't get offended by what others say of them. They'll only get pissed off if you call them "that Asian girl Harry Potter kisses" instead of Hermione. If there's something remotely popular in a sci-fi or fantasy culture kind of way, you can always count on a brave few showing up proudly in a costume they spent six months preparing, or paying $300 for.

More power to them!

I thought I'd find a relevant picture to post up just for the hell of it. As I was searching, I came across this (from all4humor.com)













Classic!