Friday, October 12, 2007


So I'm lying on the floor the other day, getting mauled by Ella, and Jeopardy is on in the background. I'm kind of half paying attention and realize that I am questioning all of the answers correctly. I normally average about one in ten, so naturally I'm feeling pretty good about myself. About then is when I noticed that all of the contestants were little kids. I'm not talking Teen Jeopardy, this was Kids Week. These snot-nosed little brats can't even wipe their own butts, but they know more than I do. Now is a good time to point out that I wasn't getting all of the questions right, just more than normal. After that experience I made it a point to try and watch the rest of the week in order to make myself feel intelligent. On Friday, the finale, I was back to my usual one in ten correct, I'll be honest, I was a little frustrated. I would have heartily lost regular jeopardy, then double jeopardy started. I've heard that you can judge an individuals character by the way that they speak i.e., the quality of language they use. I'm not going to lie, I cleaned up during double Jeopardy and I let those little pukes know it. I'm probably the only person to scream at little kids (whilst they were on a television game show) and rub in their faces that I am smarter than they are. I also informed them that I could beat them up if it came to it. I know, I'm a classy guy, but what can you do?

On a different note, what's with the news in Buffalo?
Since we moved here a little over a year ago, we have heard about the possibility of a "Bass Pro Shop" opening up. I have no idea what makes this so special, but I would compare it to the hype around a new stadium being built in a real city. They have gone back and forth about whether or not is was going to be built no less than ten times. And every time they do it is the number one news story of the month. Most news stations give teasers about big world events or exclusive stories, not in Buffalo. The top story is about a fish store. Not once, not twice, but for several years. Apparently Buffalonians think it's the best thing since sliced bread. Yeah Buffalo.
HOWEVER, the last time I heard about this on the news they did redeem themselves a bit with the next story. Unfortunately it was not a local story, but it was about a teacher that decided it would be a good idea to staple a Post-It note to a fourth-grader's forehead. I don't even need to elaborate on that one.
I teach primary at church (surprising I know, but the church IS true), and I had an interesting experience today. You know how kids say cute little things? Like that church movie, "From the Mouthes of Babes." We had a combined junior and senior primary to practice for the music program. One of the teachers asked a question and one of the little boys repeatedly shouted, "I don't know what the hell that means!". He then told all of the other kids they sucked at singing. I thought it was funny. He's a surly lad.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Amazing Healthcare

After Erica delivered our child at the Millard Fillmore Suburban hospital, I did a little research to determine the qualifications needed to work there. Whilst searching I stumbled across this application form on the city's official website:
Needless to say we were unimpressed with the care she received. The first "Dr." we had contact with, a resident (which is fine), almost spoke english. He walked in the room and the first thing I noticed as he walked by was a mole the size and shape of Texas on his arm. I swear one of the hairs on it brushed my nose.
Now, I don't claim to be a doctor, but I am taking a pathology class in which we had to learn the ABCs of when a mole is possibly malignant (Area, Boarder, Color and Diameter). And that nevus is in serious need of attention. The large growth notwithstanding, this fellow seemed ok at first. Then he spoke and I couldn't understand a word he was saying. So we nodded and smiled and figured everything was ok. He then decided that he would do a little ultrasounding to make sure everything looked good. All kidding aside it was at least twenty minutes before he, and three nurses, could figure out how to turn the thing on. Turns out it was the big red ON button on the front of the machine.
The nurse told us he didn't normally work there and that was why he didn't know how to do anything. Oh, goodie, just the guy you want taking care of your pregnant wife. Fortunately, a different, english-speaking, resident (albeit a hippie) came to work with us. As my dear wife already shared, when Dr. hippie broke her water there were some minor complications, and she told us she wanted to bring in another doctor to get a second opinion. Guess who she brings back? None other than Mr Mole. So the two of them poke around for a while, finally settle on the fact that they have no idea what in the sam hell they are doing and decide to bring in another doctor.
I was excited at first when Apu Nahasapeemapetilon walked in because I figured someone had ordered us squishies from the Kwik-E-Mart and he was there to deliver them. Boy was I disappointed when it turned out he was the "real" doctor that was supposed to help. He was filled in on what they didn't know was happening and he called in a few other people to look around. This guy then scares the crap out of Erica and starts telling her that she might need a C-section, but they weren't sure yet and yadda yadda yadda. Ok, so we start thinking that it might go the cesarean way, next thing we know there are numbing her up and having me change in to scrubs. Somewhere along the way "we're going to monitor them for a while" turned in to "let's cut the baby out" without telling us. Fortunately Erica's real doctor came in time to clear everything up.
I won't even start on the nurses Erica had after the birth. How dare we assume that someone should respond after ringing the buzzer thing three times in two hours?
When we took Ruby in for her first check up the doctor left for a minute and in walks this nurse with a handful of syringes. So Erica asks if she is getting shots already and the lady says, "Yep." She continues to prepare whilst my wife and I are trying to figure out what is going on. Then Erica asked her if she was sure Ruby was supposed to get shots already. The lady said, "Yeah, this is Rhabada Shalamaka right?" we told her no, and she laughed and left to wander around the building looking for someone that would let her put needles into their child. I don't think I have ever met so many people with their heads in their rectums in so short a time. I love Buffalo.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

facial hair

I recently made an attempt at growing some facial hair. In order to give you an honest visualization of what it looked like (this picture is from last year's man-stache), I will post a few of my wife's comments.

First she informed my that my beard (that I thought was progressing nicely) looked worse than the 14 year-olds in our ward. While none of the boys would pose, I thought Hans Klopek would suffice. So I decided to appease my lovely wife and shave off the beard, leaving the sexy mustache as seen above. I was then informed that I looked like a "white trash, teenage mexican, Chester the molester ". I disagree.
As many of you probably DO NOT know, the mustache has a rich and illustrious history, dating back to 300 B.C. Due to discrimination and bigotry the American Mustache Institute (AMI) has been established to protect and promote this beautiful icon of Manness.
I could argue all day in favor of support of the mustache, but I will rest my case by presenting two of the most influential, and well-respected individuals of ALL TIME.
What Brother?! That's right, mustaches RULE!!

You may be saying, “Wait, thats a beard…he can’t be your example!” but you’d be a damned fool.
Chuck Norris doesn’t have a beard.
His mustache has overpowered the rest of his facial hair and claimed the entire face as it’s own.
And it deflects bullets.
And woos the ladies.
And cures cancer

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Public Service Announcement

Who knows what a hammer, a tape measure, and a football have in common? They are all dangerous. I'm not very excited for school to start on Monday, as I have enjoyed being slothful all summer long. It's not that I don't enjoy my schooling in dentistry. It's my abilities that I question. Which brings us to the three aforementioned objects. Namely the hammer, the tape measure, and the football. I have managed over the summer to injure my fingers with all of these objects. I wish I could say that each instance was the fault of another, but my own lack of coordination is to blame. A trait that is to be desired in a dentist.
First the hammer. Whilst assisting a fellow in the ward with the roofing of his house I managed to smash my thumb with a hammer. This was not the classic smash on the fingernail, resulting in a sore thumb and possibly the loss of a fingernail. I managed to miss the protective fingernail completely and hit just the side of my thumb, which proceeded to pop like a tomato and bleed profusely.
The second injury came whilst helping Brother Casper with his tree house. He was up in the tree working and I was cutting boards and tossing them up to him. The fine tape measure that we were working with decided it would no longer retract in to the casing. He needed the tape so I figured, "Hey, I'm a grown boy, I bet I can toss this the whole 8.5 feet into the air and he can catch it." The tape had about 5 feet of it that wouldn't go back inside, so I threw it overhand. Bad idea. Now, the important thing is that the tape measure reached its target. The unfortunate thing is that all 5 feet or so of exposed metal managed to slide through the skin and flesh of the index finger of my right hand.
The last, and most recent injury is probably the most pitiful. I would like to say that I got jumped by a gang of thugs and they stomped on my hand after beating me, or that I broke my finger on one of their faces or something of that sort. No, I got beat up by a football. I tried to catch the ball and thought that I maybe if I stuck the middle finger of my right hand directly in the path of the ball (as if I were pointing right at it), I might be able to catch it. Apparently that's not the way it is done. I think the end of my finger may have been broken, but as my father's son I couldn't justify going to the doctor so I went home and put some frozen peas on it and taped it to the finger next door.
Hopefully with three more years of dental school I can manage to retain all of my digits. For those of you impressed with my coordination and skill with my hands I'm taking applications for prospective future patients.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007


Have you seen these kids?

So I walk out into my backyard a couple of weeks ago and find that there are rocks all over the deck and yard. I said to myself, "self, where the hell did these rocks come from?" Hank (he's the old man from next door and a stud) came over with a couple of his own and was up in arms about how he was going collect all the rocks and call the mounties (I think that means police). I don't know what ever happened with that. Anyway, a few weeks later Erica hears something smack the side of the house, runs outside, screams at the kids she sees over the fence, runs back up the stairs and snaps this photograph of the guilty parties. My purpose in posting this today is that somebody will randomly come across this picture and recognize the culprits so that justice will be served.
I realize that it was rocks, not dumps, that they were throwing. But I like the quote.

My Very Own Blog!

My lovely wife and I have a blog dedicated to our family and our adventures. She handles most of the posting and does a fine job of it. Rather than clutter her efforts with my cynical childish thoughts, I thought I would make my own blog where I can complain, whine, and rant (the "Blog Stalking" post is a perfect example) without tarnishing her good name.