Doctor, Doctor…Gimme the News

Strange things continue to occur.

The first Monday after the CSU victory over CU, I had one of the most killer stomach aches I’ve ever known. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the shotgun beer-drinking technique performed with friends at the game, ritualizing our nostalgia. The symptoms hit a crescendo at around ten o’clock that Monday, highlighted by a sharp pain in my abdominal area. Leveraging the fine resources of WebMD, I put together a crackerjack diagnosis of appendicitis, centering around the symptoms of abdominal pain and being 29.

Lucky for me I had an interview that day at noon downtown. Nearly doubled-over in pain at the office, I decided to call my doctor to see if they could squeeze me in just ahead of my first face-to-face discussion with an interesting consulting firm. My first dial resulted in a busy signal. I thought it a bit odd for the line at a doctor’s office to be busy, but I chalked it up to either high call volume (it is the beginning of flu season), or technical difficulties. I waited a few minutes and tried again. I received the same result, that terrible tone that we’ve been trained to associate with disappointment since birth. I blew it off for a while and got back to work.

Twenty minutes later, I was back at it, dialing up the doctor hoping I could walk in and get him to tell me this is not an emergency situation. The prospect of calling a potential employer to tell them I’m sick wasn’t in the realm of appealing to me. I believe calling in sick to an interview is akin to telling them you’re not worth their damn time anyway. Unfortunately, my hopes were once again doused with disappointment as the busy signal mocked my plight. I was really getting frustrated. What kind of doctor’s office, a place providing care to the ill in a time of need, allows their phone to be busy, for whatever reason, for hours at a time? I could have a freakin’ alien in my stomach ready to pop out and start a global pandemic, and this guy has a telco issue? Give me a break.

With one more call I abandoned all hope of getting to the doctor ahead of the interview. This was a time to suck it up, regardless of what might be ruptured in my midsection. I got in the car and went downtown for the interview thinking I’d let it pass. And I did. I let my issue with the doctor pass as well. It’s one of those areas, such as shitty service at a car dealership, that gets me frustrated enough to talk about writing a letter, but not angry enough to actually do it. I think you’re with me here. A week or two passed since the incident, and I hadn’t thought a lot about it.

Then we got a voicemail from my father-in-law, surgeon general of WebMD hypochondria. Spend too long with this man and you’ll start believing you have MS, or smallpox. Just before his trip to Europe, he was experiencing some serious flu-like symptoms and wanted a quick once-over by his physician, our physician. Calling for an appointment, he continually received a busy signal. Not one to be discouraged by such trivial obstacles to good health, he saddled up in his car and drove over to the office.

Walking up to the door of suite 210, he saw a piece of paper taped to the door. This isn’t odd for a doctor’s office. There’s always some new HIPAA regulation requiring further clarification. However, this note was different. It said that the office had closed down, that patients are referred to the doctor down the hall, who should be able to get access to the doctor's medical records. No explanation was provided. No forwarding number or address given. Poof, like a Colts team in the night…he was gone.

So, today my research begins. There’s a story here. Doctors don’t just up and leave in the middle of the night without explanation. Yes, there was a period a year or so back when all of the other doctors in the practice moved out, leaving him with a large office to support, lease and all, but that doesn’t explain this sort of behavior. It’s not as if I missed a front-page story in the New York Times on how the fountain of youth had been discovered. Medical services never go out of demand, and a doctor could always move to a smaller office if necessary. Even more, a medical practice is no different than any other sort of business. Customer accounts have value, in that there is a cost to acquire them, and a benefit in having them. If his departure was a voluntary one, you’d think that he’d generate some sort of compensation for the referral of all of his patients. A sign on the door pointing us to “the guy down the hall”, doesn’t suggest anything along those lines occurred. Here’s a list of possibilities I’ve come up with:

His license was pulled due to some sort of gross medical malpractice.
He is running from creditors.
He had some sort of cataclysmic injury, or death.
He decided to join the Peace Corps.
He left his wife in the middle of the night for some Filipino floozy.
He found Jesus.
He found Jesus while on his own pharmaceutical samples.

Technorati Tags: Doctor Humor, Disappearances, Malpractice

Iowa Barbeque

I've had a nasty cold ever since I gave an old college try at alcoholism at last week's Colorodo versus Colorado State football game. That didn't stop my wife from guilting me into attending what has become a quarterly dinner party her friends from work throw. This evening was hosted by a couple we've known for a while, and billed as an "Iowa BBQ" on the Evite. Apart from the cold, I wasn't too thrilled to go to the event because I've never really been fond of this couple. The wife, Allison, is a bit obnoxious with her loud nasal voice, and the husband, Josh, can be best described as an "asshole". Pardon my french. Alas, I had to go because my wife had to go. And my wife had to go, because some good friends of ours had to go. Such is the domino effect of relationships in the world of adult couples. That, and having to send out invitations and thank you notes to facilitate eating food or watching television together are sadly the norm.

When we showed up to the barbeque, about half of the twelve expected attendees had arrived. After being called a "pussy" for not drinking beer at a party when I shouldn't have even been out of pajamas and kleenex's, I settled in on the couch with my water to check out the Nebraska versus USC game. The ladies all gathered in the kitchen, as is the custom, and surely spoke of all the ills generated by their husbands. Meanwhile, I had a spirited discussion with the guys over whether or not professional athletes deserve exorbitant sums for their services, which drifted to social responsibility for poverty, and oddly to whether or not going to war in Iraq was a good idea.

A solid spread for dinner was provided, including burgers, chicken, salmon, corn, and macaroni salad. I used a story a guest told about his toils working at McDonalds to start a round-table discussion on "the worst job you've ever had". Apparently he was forced to compete in a grill-cleaning competition, from which he came away with a less than prized trophy. It was actually a lot of fun. The male host took the cake with his job at a meat-packing plant. Of course, he relished providing the details of his chitlin processing experience as we ate.

But I didn't write this post to give you a bad three paragraph episode of "Thirty Something". That was way too boring in it's first and second iterations (yes, "The Big Chill" sucked). When brownies and cake had been enjoyed by all, and the party was seemingly coming to a close, was when this story took a turn for the awkward. For, apparently there is more to an Iowa barbeque than good food and good drink.

Breaking up the small talk that had developed around the dinner table, Josh and Allison walked around making sure that each glass was full. The effect was such that a toast seemed to be in the works. Sure enough, Allison took a nervous stance in front of the counter, and was joined by her husband Josh as she started out with, "Okay, everyone, Josh and I have an announcement to make...". You could feel the anticipation in the audience. From roughly age 23 to 35, such moments are common, those ages being years of engagement, matrimony, and, of course, pregnancy. And that is the exact logical progression you could see wending its way through each person's mind, as the opening comments of the announcement were made:

They were already married, so an engagement was obviously not in play. So it must be she's pregnant. But wait, Allison's holding a glass of wine. Wow, if she's not prego, what the hell could this be all about? They did call this an Iowa bbq, and they are head to toe adorned in Iowa Hawkeyes paraphenalia. That must be it.

"Josh and I have been thinking about this for a while now, and...". If I had been friends with this couple, the suspense would have been killing me by now, but instead I thought, "Okay, so they're moving to Iowa. I guess I don't have to come to another one of these damn bbqs again. Sweet. I wonder if I can get home early enough to watch the late Sportscenter?". I suppose many there thought differently, and did have a little imaginary drum-roll humming at this point.

"Josh and I have been thinking about this for a while now, and...we've decided to get divorced." There was more shock and awe in that room than in all of the first month of the war in Bagdhad. Even more, there was silence. Allison continued, "We've been in counseling for eight months now, and we just decided this was the right decision for us." Silence. "We decided to have the barbeque because I didn't want to just send out an email to all of my friends." Silence.

Why the hell am I here? This is bullshit. I'm sick as a dog, I hardly know these people, and here I am feeling more uncomfortable than I ever have. And WHY ISN'T ONE OF HER FRIENDS TALKING? Break the fucking ice for god's sake. This is pure needles in the eyeballs here.

Josh started in, "We've been together since we were sixteen, and it's just going to be better this way. We had some issues that honestly should have been dealt with before we got married." "Our counselor told us she could tell we weren't going to make it in the first month, but took our money anyway," Allison added with a chuckle.

They seem super relieved, but the faces on those around the table tell me the sentiment isn't shared.

"And we didn't want to tell everyone before dinner and then have anyone say, 'Wow, look at the time, gotta go now.'"

Ouch, there goes Sportscenter.

"Well, if this is what you two want, then congratulations I guess," one of the female guests blurted out nervously.

Finally.

Unfortunately, things deteriorated for the happy un-couple as the night went on, and the booze continued to flow. Comments such as, "Well, the dog listens better than you do", and "I guess it's imaginary, kind of like the blow jobs I've been getting," certainly made us all comfortable with the situation. The whole freaking experience was odd, but I suppose we all learned a valuable lesson. When dealing with an Iowa barbeque, you can be sure that in addition to burgers, mental agony and divorce are on the menu.

I left the party thinking that if I replaced Iowa with New York City in this situation that this thing might just take off. I can see it now plastered across the pages of GQ and Mademoiselle, "The Divorce Party: What better way to usher in bachelorhood...again?". Hell, everyone's doing it. The only question now is who to invite.

Technorati Tags: Divorce, Iowa, Barbeque, Dinner Party, Friends,
Awkward

The Hype Machine

Continuing the practice of bringing you the most exciting new tools on the information super-highway, I bring you "The Hype Machine". This incredibly cool site crawls a number of music blogs, and aggregates the content by band in a convenient list format. Search for a band, see entries from the blogosphere, and select to listen to the posted track, buy it from amazon, or iTunes, or read the blog post that inspired the listing. What could be cooler? Check it out

Note: Tourfilter has just added Hype Machine listings to each band homepage.

Technorati Tags: Hype Machine, Music, Bands, Technology, Sites, Blogs

Clever Advertising

While I believe that drug prevention advertisements are completely useless (in fact I think they may even promote druge use), I have to say that the Office of National Drug Control Policy has come up with a clever device in their latest series of ads. The "my anti-drug" series, at least focuses on the source of drug abuse, self-esteem, rather than on wasting everyone's time trying to scare kids straight with unrealistic scenarios, but I still think they're worthless. Pretty much, they're created and placed so that parents will think the government is at least doing SOMETHING.

Anyway, what strikes me in viewing these commercials is the typeface they're using. It's a free-hand type, housed within what is obviously the suggestion of a form. I suppose we could assume that this form look is meant to suggest that each of us has the ability to fill in whatever answer we have to the question of "what is our anti-drug?". That would be too simple though. I'm giving Madison Avenue more credit here. I believe the aim of this format lies in the occassions in which we must fill out forms. It's always a setting of formality. If I'm filling out a form, 90% of the time I'm either applying for a job, or interfacing with a government entity. In either case, any association with drugs is a bad thing, and I'm certainly not in that emotionally relaxed state in which I'd use drugs. The suggestion of a form, a tool of an orderly, and obedient society, is the perfect subliminal message to send to possible drug-users.

Technorati Tags: Anti-drug, Marijuana, Drugs, Advertising

What Quiet Guy In Accounting Does On The Weekends

Think you know that co-worker sitting in the cube across the way? I bet you think that they seem pretty reserved. Your impression is that they lead an incredibly mundane existence, mowing the lawn, going to church, and eating Uncle Ben's instant rice pretty much sums it up. I'm right there with you. I've made this mistake many a time, only to have this image shattered in an instant when the office is illuminated by trance music coming out of a cell phone. We're not talking one of the default choices here. We're talking, this person went to a rave, did X, totally lost their musical compass, felt compelled to download this track, and make it their ringtone. Of course, they never anticipated such a dramatic outting of their personal life, thirty seconds of music undoing years of hardwork crafting a workplace mask. "I always have my phone on vibrate at work. It won't matter" was the thought when they made the selection. This singular lapse results in embarrasment, and even terror for the owner of the phone playing "Symsonic (Sexy Spinners Remix)".

Technorati Tags:Office Humor, Raves, Bands, Ring Tones, Ecstacy, Embarrasment

Insecurity @ The Disco

Am I the only one who doesn't understand the current Panic @ The Disco craze (read fad)? From what I can tell, this band is the latest manifestation of the "artsy pop band". Artsy because their style has a SLIGHTLY off-beat quality to it. Pop, because 90% of each song is really just like the rest of the top 40. This type of band is broadly appealing, and notable, because it provides "fans" a cultural marker to project what listeners think of as desirable personality traits. To their peers, saying they're a fan of Panic @ The Disco immediately communicates, "I'm original enough to like offbeat bands". While this sort of psychology underpins much of music-buying behavior, and much buying behavior for that matter, this genre holds a particular irony, in that the fan is attempting to communicate that they are not a run-of-the-mill type of person, while citing a band that is wildly popular.

A contrary point of view may be that these people just like the music, and that's all. It's possible, but I think it's more likely that those who truly enjoy the music for the music, and not for its symbolic quality, represent a very small portion of the whole. I say this because there is an ENDLESS supply of bands who sound like Panic @ The Disco. However, it's only Panic @ The Disco that enjoys such a level of success. My conclusion is that at some point, this band was tagged by the music community as culturally relevant, and somehow more original than it's peers. The result, in many cases, is that once this distinction is digested by the masses and not just by the few, those who originally propped up the band as a dedicated base fade away, having their own issues of musical personification.

So, perhaps I understand the Panic @ The Disco craze completely. I'm just dissapointed that my radio won't stop playing music that is popular simply because people are so painfully insecure.

Special Exercise 1: Ask five insecure friends who their favorite band is and a) tally those who select a band that falls in to this category, and b) name Panic @ The Disco.

Special Exercise 2: What is your favorite band? If you had to think of how your answer would be judged, you would have answered that same question with Radiohead eight years ago, and I'd be willing to bet you have a Jetta in your garage.

Technorati Tags: Panic at the Disco, Pop Culture, Image, Fads, Alternative, Alt-rock