I wash my hands (rerun)

I do, but not every one of my fellow student does the same. I was at the library studying and I went to use the restroom, there was another guy in there that I recognized as one of the second year med students. When I finished, I washed my hands. He did not, he didn't even flush the toilet, he left without washing his hands. That bothered me. Here is why.I wash my hands everytime I use the facilities. I never used to do it that often, but ever since I began my journey to become a physican I make sure to wash my hands everytime I use the bathroom, especially in public restrooms. Why? Is it because I know something now that I didn't now before, no. I knew before that I should always wash my hands, just like I know it now, its just that now, I am in training to become a professional, one that is held to a certain higher standard and needs to be a role model to his fellow citizen for many things, one of which is HYGIENE. How can I tell others to obey the laws of hygiene, at least while in public, if I don't do it myself. Am I wrong? Am I wrong for thinking the guy will make a worthless doctor? I could be wrong, its just that I feel so damn right.

Why half a lamb is better than no lamb at all

To make sure I don’t embarrass my friends, I will not mention the place nor the time of the following events and will only refer to them as Q (the girl) and J (the guy). Also, the following story is completely true, but most parts have been exaggerated or embellished to add some extra flavor.

It all began when I first found out that both Q and J are fellow country men whose parents emigrated from same country. I met J first, back in orientation and I met Q later on in beginning of block 2. I liked them both instantly and when I found out their common heritage, I knew that they belonged together, and it would be my duty to get them to fall in love and thus completely my dream of becoming a Hanuma.

I decided to approach J first because I knew him longer and better than I did Q at that point in time. As I thought of a perfect way to introduce the idea of Q as his future lover and wife, my mind came up blank, so I improvised and did the first thing that came to my mind.
“You’ve got the hots for Q, man!”
“What???”
“I know you like her dude, don’t hide it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
As you can see this did not work out too well, so I had to change my strategy, or rather think of a strategy. So I started to think, but it was hard, I had no prior Hanuma experience. “What would a real Hanuma do?” I asked myself. Fortunately for Armenians, there just happens to be a movie made by Armenia, titled Hanuma, which is about a Hanuma, doing her thing. In my desperate hour, I turned to this movie, for inspiration. After I finished watching the tape, I was ready to do some serious match making. According to the film, one way to set up a match, can be as simple as just introducing the idea, its like giving them the push that is needed. This time, I decided to approach Q.
“So Q, what do you think of J?”
“He seems like a nice guy.”
“Oh he’s nice alright, very niiiiice, right?”
“Ummmm, okay.”
Realizing I don’t really know what to say next, I started to nod my head and move my eyes towards the directions of J while moving my eyebrows up and down as I nod towards him. To my surprise she began to do the same eye moving, head nodding, eye brow raising maneuver. At first I took this to be great success and kept up the hinting glances and nods towards J on a daily basis. Q would always respond but only later did I realize that it was nothing more than Qs self-defense strategy in the form of sarcasm. I decided she needed more persuasion, so I approached her again a day later. This time I decided to be more direct.
“So, you know you and J are from same country, you should get married.”
“What???”
“You know, he comes from real good family, it be good match.”
“Listen, why you doing this? You want to make it really awkward for me to be in class?”
“Nooo, I just think you two would make a great husband and wife.”
“You are so racist, you think just because we are both from same country that means we only can marry each other! You need to stop embarrassing me! You either stop or else I won’t talk to you anymore!”
Well that didn’t go exactly as planned, but I’m sure she started to think about him in a whole new way, so I thought anyway. I decided to cut my loses with Q and shift my attention to J. This time I knew what I would say to him.
“So, you totally got the hots for Q, man.”
“What??? Are up to no good again?”
“Admit it dude, she would make a nice wife, right?”
“Yeah, I guess, but where do you think the vegas nerve is?”
“Dude just let E find it he loves that shit, I’m talking about Q man! She likes you man.”
“Oh whatever, shut up! Why don’t you help me tell the difference between this nerve and artery.”
“What? Who cares, I’m talking about your future wife here. She is from good family, I don’t know if your country does dowries, but I’m sure hers would be huge.”
“Can you pass the smaller scissors?”
“What the hell dude? Are you listening to me?”
“No, you’re talking out of your ass, you’re embarrassing me and Q, and you need to stop before you make it really awkward for us even to be friends.”
“Be friends? You need to stop worrying about being friends, and start thinking about how to get your parents and her parents to discuss wedding arrangements.”
“Enough, we need to go over the heart now.”
And so my efforts to bring two hearts together failed. Not only did I fail to make these two fall in love, my efforts backfired. I noticed the two were no longer comfortable around each other. For instance, every time they would start a conversation, I noticed they would always look at me to make sure I wasn’t doing no head nodding or eyebrow rising. Slowly their conversations would deteriorate and then it got worse later on when they would constantly argue. I didn’t know what to do to help, the damage was done, there was no going back, and today they are barely on speaking terms, all because of my failure as a Hanuma. Later after the year ended, I asked my father why I failed. He told me its because Hanuma is for Armenians, and every people have their own matchmaker. But I have my own theory. I failed because I was too liberal on this whole issue by approaching Q and J themselves. They are young and foolish and way too emotional. I should have acted more traditionally and gone straight to their parents, negotiated a deal and then collected my two lambs and then go make good horovats, which is Armenian for shishkabab.

What is Hanuma papa?

Those that really know Armenians know them to be (among other things) great businessman. Armenians are good at finding ways to make extra money outside their profession. My father is no exception. Back in Russia, he sold and rented VHS tapes, when we came to the State at one point he was operating as many as three different businesses; a shishkabab stand during Husker games, importing and selling Russian porcelain, and yes, even a dating service for Armenian singles that he called Hanuma.

Naturally I asked my father “what is Hanuma papa?”

He smiled and looking away with a look of nostalgia he replied “well my son, back in Armenia, dating was not as complicated as it is here. If your parents were having a difficult time finding you a suitable spouse, they would turn to the local Hanuma. Hanuma is a name given to a woman who is paid…no no son, not for that, she is paid to be what you call a matchmaker. A family will pay Hanuma to find them a suitable bride or groom. Hanuma will go around looking for available young men and women who are seeking a husband or wife and then she will introduce him. If it works out, she gets two lambs, if it doesn’t she only gets half a lamb.”

“But what does this all have to do with your business?” I asked him.

“My dimwitted son, I have named my dating service Hanuma because I will be making matches for single Armenians living in America who have a hard time finding someone to love. People will send me their photo and a description of themselves, and I will match them with someone else, send those pictures and descriptions and then they will decide whether to meet or not. For that they will pay me a small but reasonable fee.”

As I listen to him I heard my calling in life. That day I promised myself that one day I would be a Hanuma, just like my father. Fortunately for me, I was only 10 and I quickly forgot my promise, and didn’t remember it again until my first year of medical school, when I saw a perfect opportunity to be a matchmaker for two friends of mine, who were lonely, single, and although not Armenian, where also foreign. I told myself I will prove that I can be a Hanuma just like my father by making sure that these two fall in love and get married. In the end I proved to be a terrible Hanuma as my story will show.

To be continued…

The Facebook Got Me

You know that Gloria Estefan song, the one that goes “the rhythm is going to get you?” Well they should make another song, one about facebook that goes “the facebook is going to get you!” After years and years of fierce resistance to join the facebook clan, I have finally capitulated and signed on to facebook. Some questions might come up such as why was I so resistant and who convinced me to join in the end? Back when I first heard of facebook, I was resistant because I didn’t really know what it was. First I thought it might be a dating thing, and so I figured “well I don’t need any help in that department” then I thought it was some thing for popular people, and I didn’t feel like competing in that, also I didn’t see any point in it because I figured if I need to tell any thing to my friends I would just call them on the phone. Final reason is that most of my friends in good old Lincoln Nebraska were users of myspace, so when I moved to Toledo, I opened a myspace account because I figured it would be a great way to keep in touch with my friends.

What do I think of facebook? I love it. What a great way to keep in touch with people. I already go a hold of some of my lost friends from high school and undergrad. Three of my good friends that I went to college with, well they went to medical school in Nebraska, and I lost track of them. Well after I joined facebook I found them and now we can stay in touch, it’s awesome. Another cool part is that you can put how you know a person when you make them a friend. It was really cool when I noticed that Roman put me as his cousin. Niiiiiiiiiice! But the best part is that me and Marianna are both on facebook and we can put that we are in relationship with each other. Very niiiiice!

But there is a negative, as there is a negative to everything. Negative thing number one, anybody I ever knew can find me and request to be my friend on facebook. That means they can see how I look now, what I am doing now, who my girlfriend is, who my friends are, where I live. Well, there are people out there that I rather have nothing to do with, and this makes it hard to do, since it turns out to be rude to not accept people as your friend on facebook. Second negative, I noticed I am spending a lot more time on facebook then I am writing and reading blogs. First thing I do when I get on computer is check my facebook to see if anyone requested me as a friend, or if someone left me a message, or if my friends have any new pics, preferably with me in them making a fool of myself (…NOT). This is addicting, but I figure that its only addicting since I just started to use facebook. I am sure over time I’ll get bored of it just as the rest of you must have, I hope anyway. The End.

My minimi-preceptorship (rerun)

As most of you (people who read my blog) know, last week was mini-preceptorship week here at our school, so I went. My day to go was last wednesday, so I went. I put on my nice pants, yes it was nice, and my nice shirt, yes it was nice, and my nice tie, which was not so much. I also put on my white coat, because I had to. I still feel like I don't deserve to put on that coat as of yet, maybe when I earn it, but I don't feel I earned it yet, so as you can imagine I felt uncomfortable going to the hospital wearing my white coat. I get there and only then do I realize that they sent me to a pediatric urology office. You guessed it, it was all about weiner kids and their weiner problems, you know wetting the bed and stuff like that. So it was intersting. I was supposed to follow around a certified nurse, but she was kind enough to let me followe around some residents and doctors. Well, do I have a funny story for you. During one session with a mother and her two month old baby son, the doctor was explaining to the mother what was wrong with the baby boys little doodle, because it didn't develop properly and had to have surgery to fix it. Anyway, once he was showing the mother the problem, the kid decided it was time to use the facilities. Well the kid didn't realize that the facilities, in other words the diaper, was off. So the stream of urine went right at the doctor. Next thing you know, the baby was wet, the doctor was wet, and we were all laughing. "Well, it happens" said the doctor. I am sure it happens alot, I thought. That is why I will never be a pediatric urologist. End of story.

First posted on 12/10/06

10 things to survive year 1

Well, now that we are done with Year 1, its time to relect on what happened and what should have happened. Here is a list of 10 things that in my opinion help those dealing with stress cope with it...from those techniques that can best help those cope to those that have not proven very successful...

1. Make a friend

2. Make a wife - or husband

3. Play Xbox 360

4. "Befriend" a professor

5. Write a post

6. Make a comment on a post

7. Pretend to laugh, or joke

8. Make some exercise

9. Make some sleep

10. Study

The above 10 are somewhat alterable. If you have any other suggestions, please feel free to comment.

Asking questions is over-rated (rerun)

Over the last fall, I, like most of the people in the backrow, have come to realize that asking questions is over-rated. And not just asking questions from the backrow is over-rated, but for the backrow, other people in class asking questions during the lecture is also over-rated. First of all for us in the back row, it’s futile to raise our hand to ask a question about the lecture. The professors, they never notice us in the back, its as if to them, we don’t exist, its like we are an outer province that doesn’t get paid attention to and is left to develop on its on. If we even ever ask a question, we don’t raise our hands any more, that has long been abandoned. Now we just yell it out, as my friend Tahir does so well “Hey Dr. Yeasting, the decidua does what now?” Well, he doesn’t exactly ask like that, but you get the idea. Then the rest of the class thinks the backrow is rude and uncultured, but this is what the class has reduced us to, how else are we to strive in the back without resulting to less then proper manners. What the rest of the class forgets at times is that we are medical school students too. Just because we sit in the back doesn’t mean we are less medical student then the rest of the class. All medical students were created equal. Its in the honor code (I think). So don’t assume we are beneath you all, in fact, we are actually above you all, physically speaking that is. So we deserve the same amount of time as that silly first row in the far left, that averages one question per person per lecture. That’s just silly. I am sure that the rest of the class (not just the backrow) will agree with me when I say, 4 out of 5 times, the far left first row ask questions that have nothing to do with what we need to know for the exam. They ask the question, and you start looking through your notes, only to realize “oh wait that’s an extra-lectural question”. It gets to the point that whenever the far left first row asks a question, at least for me, that mean break time. I lay back in my chair, and relax and let the professor explain to the them why its this way and not this way and why sometimes it can be this way and then one time it is so this way that the other way doesn’t matter and so on. And when other people in class ask a question, a question that might be important, nobody in the backrow, can even hear it. Sometimes the professor just answers “yes that’s correct” and you’re like, “what? What is correct, what was the question?” But you don’t know what the freaking questions was because the professor doesn’t repeat the question, and you’re left confused, feeling sorry for your self. So the point, questions are over-rated. At least I think so. What do you think?

First posted on 12/1/06

A National Hero of the Greatest Former Country of All Time?

Drop What you are Doing...and Listen to me. I never asked you to do this, so just listen. For 38 seconds.

I was just on Wikipedia and a great event has occured...A man by the name of Hovhannes Bagramyan is being acknowledged for what he did for the country of the USSR. You must go on Wikipedia and read about him. I know nothing of him, except that he looks smart, and Armenian. Is that not enough?

PS I have been out-of-service if you will for the past few days. My trip to Florida was excellent and I have many stories to tell all of you. However, let's get past these few finals and then we will talk again. Adieu to all.

The end of a friendship

There is something that’s been on my mind recently and now it seems the only thing to do is to write a blog about it. How can I start this?

Sike! Ha-ha. Just kidding. I had you going didn’t I? Ha-ha. I’m just messing with ya. You all thought this was going to be another one of those “serious” blogs. Well, we had enough serious blogs as it these days; I’m not going to pull another one on you. Ha-ha. You might notice that the title of this blog doesn't make any sense compared to its content. Actually, this blog is not supposed to make any sense. If the poll on “what kind of blogs do you enjoy?” is correct, then people appreciate blogs about Elvis, but since the King started bloging recently, I figured writing a blog about Elvis serves no point. Therefore I went to the next most voted category, which turned out to be “nonsense blogs.” So here we are. You ever noticed how trashy our library gets on weekends? I swear, every weekend I get to the library, the trashcans are all full of trash. Sometimes it gets so bad, that it overflows, and there is no where to toss your empty bottle of soda-pop or your can of Red Bull. Speaking of Red Bull, isn’t it kind of freaky that those young Red Bull people keep coming to our school and hanging outside of our class rooms handing out free Red Bulls? I mean is this just plain altruistic generosity to exhausted med school students who need any extra source of energy they can get, or is there some kind of more sinister motive going on here? I mean what do they put into this stuff anyways, ever since they started handing out Red Bulls, I can’t stop craving this shit. I’m already on my third red bull today, and two weeks ago I never even touched the stuff. I guess the first step always is to admit you have a problem, well it aint my fault damn it, I can’t be held responsible when people hand out free red bulls. So what about the high gas prices these days? I mean shit, that sucks, I have to get gas tomorrow and I am afraid to look at the price. I guess May 15th is supposed to be gas boycott day, supposedly they boycotted gas for a day back in 1997 and the next the day the gas dropped 30 cents. Big deal right? Then it went up 30 cents gain the day after that. Screw you Big Oil, go eat a ****.

A word from your Godfather: The difference between a real gangsta and a wangsta!

Lately there has been much speculation about which blog is funnier or real and tensions have been escalating between the two groups. One thing true in the backrowballers website is "In the Back Row of medical school, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups." There are those who sit on the left side, who try really hard to be funny and cool, but they just come off phony and weak, these are the backrowballers. Then there are the real funny ones, the true gangsters, the backrowgangster. Let me tell y'all something about the backrowballers. Listen I’m from Detroit, and I know a baller when I see one, and I know these girls and let me tell you they aint no ballers. They fit more along the lines of future desperate housewives. In fact their leader, Mariam, by virtue of having written the most blog entries, is so not hip that she doesn't even know what a true baller is. Don't get me wrong, Mariam is probably a pretty intelligent girl and she already has the Webster definition of 'baller' already memorized but that's not what we are talking about here. How can you call a baller someone to whom I had to explain what 'brush your shoulders off' means?

Now let's take a closer look at the backrowgangsters. There is a Balkan Badass from Albania, an Uzbeki Jew who is part of the Russian Mafia, we got a direct descendant of King Xerxes who will bitch slap you back to Persia, an Armenian thug who shoots first and asks questions later, and one Pakistani Caliph Jamil who’ll cut your head off if you look at him wrong. Need I say anything else, these guys are true gangsters, real goodfellas. They are the real deal. No posers here. So to end this entry here's a few words of wisdom for the backrowballers, drop the act, and stick to what you know, Veronica Mars, shopping, and gossiping.

So backrowballers funny...NOT! But the backrowgangsters...I like!

An additional category has been added to the Blog Award Ceremony

My dearest apologies,

I forget to add a crucial category in the blog awards. The "best comment on a blog award." This award is really for all the little people out there who bring meaning to the blog, who truly are enriched and inspired by the wonder of blogging. This award is open to people who post blogs as well.

He beat them all in chess, but he lost in the end.

Caution, this is a long and serious blog.

I know that the Virginia Tech massacre happened a while ago, but there was something that I wanted to write about it, but I never got the chance to, until I started to think about it again today. Whenever these things happen, there is always shock and there is always grief about the victims and rage against the killer. It’s natural to feel sorry for victims, but what about the killer, should we be sorry for him, or hate him? I don’t know. Back when the pictures of the killer came out on the news, I remember seeing those pictures of him holding a gun to his head or pointing a gun or a knife, and I remember that the emotions that came to me were not rage, anger or hate. I felt sad. Looking at his face in the photos I saw hate and anger, but I also saw pain and suffering. I felt sorry for this man as I tried to imagine what could have caused this fellow human to become inhuman. I am not saying that I feel empathy towards him, I am not saying that there is anything that can excuse what he done, what he did was terrible. However, I believe we should not just concentrate on blaming him, or his parents, or whatever, we need to look around.

Something that bothered me during this time was how the media was glorifying what he did. “Greatest shooting in US history… biggest loss of life since…etc” was all over the news. You know, this guy probably murdered all those innocent people, because nobody ever gave him the attention that he craved, and doing this heinous deed he believed would grant him the attention he so desired or give him some kind of significance that he believed he lacked. Well, looks like he got what he wanted, thanks to the media, he was on every channel and was discussed and “analyzed” for days. This country will keep having their “Columbines” and “Virginia tech massacres” as long as people think they can get attention by committing these acts, and the media is proving them right.

This also reminded me of someone I knew in high school. His name was Joel and he was a real asshole, a typical delinquent, a bully if you will. Joel was pretty intelligent also, although he never worked hard in school, and missed most days of it. One time Joel and I were involved in a fist fight, but I still never hated him, I felt bad for him because I knew he had problems. One time I went to play chess at the chess club meeting (yes that does sound like a nerd thing to do) and I was losing to this huge nerd, when Joel showed up and started to give every nerd a hard time before he stopped by my table and started to help me, telling me which moves to make, in the end, with Joel’s help I ended up beating the nerd. After that, Joel played a game with everyone else and he beat all of them, then he left, he never came back to play chess again. Next year one day after the Columbine massacre, someone called in a bomb threat to our school. Later I would learn it was Joel, he was expelled from school and as far as I know, he was sent to military school (yeah because that’s would you do to troubled youths who call in bomb threats, right). I never saw Joel again.

Later on in my second year of college I heard from my high school friends that Joel was dead. He came back to Lincoln after military school and lived on the streets, involved in various gangs, one day he was murdered, shot in the chest. This news made me sad, because even though he was an asshole, even though he probably had a conduct disorder, for some reason I know that deep down, he was a good person. Rest in peace Joel. I guess the point of this blog is that I believe some people are born bad and some people become bad, those that become bad, they were once good, and can be good again, if only we give then a chance. Unfortunately most of them don’t get the chance, and then they either die or commit something atrocious.