Baby, Baby, Baby I'm Gonna Leave You, I Said Baby, You Know I'm Gonna Leave You

Well, I've waited long enough I guess. I wanted to make sure I told my parents and classmates before I went completely public with this. Mike's known about the possibility of it for about a couple months.

After this semester, I'm leaving medical school.

While I'm not thrilled about it (and the incumbent financial issues), it's what I feel is best in the long run. There are several reasons why, but I'll give you the three biggest, in no particular order.

First, after spending this much time on the inside of the medical establishment, I've gotten a much better look at how things are. And I have to say, they don't look good. I still love the field, and the idea of it, but the passion to become it has faded as the reality of what it entails has set in. And with the way things are going politically, it appears to only get worse. Now, I'm not saying that the political moves were wrong, I'm just saying they're wrong for me in particular. Essentially, they make doctors glorified mechanics, but with worse hours. I don't think the demands, nor the compensation are going to get better any time soon, and I'd rather not live that way.

Secondly, I'm having to put everything I have into studying, and still struggling to be middle of the pack. I don't ever want to be known as "struggling to be middle of the pack", especially in my profession. That's just unacceptable to me. I believe I've got it in me to be the best, or at least among the best, and if my best efforts aren't landing me there, then maybe I should not be trying to get there. To go along with this, I decided to set a standards bar for my classes this term. If I gave it my all, and couldn't get A's, then it was time to look elsewhere. Not to be a knock to my classmates, but I don't think they're so much smarter than me that I can't achieve what they can. After two months of busting it, I can tell you I'm not going to be getting A's. I've run the numbers, and it's just not there.

Thirdly, I may be the last to recognize this, but maybe I never was supposed to become a doctor at all. I'm not saying I'm not capable, because, well, I am. But if I was supposed to become one, the path wouldn't have been as rough as it has been. When you score in the top 5% of the national entrance exam, but get turned down by 100% of the national schools (twice), something's not adding up. When you try to get experience by working as a paramedic or a CNA, and neither work out, maybe you're not supposed to be a health professional.

So, yeah. I've had to let this dream go. I've spent the past ten years wanting to be a doctor, pushing against and through every wall, and making it all the way to medical school, but enough is enough. It's just not for me. I'm for it, but it's just not for me.

In December, I'll pack up and fly home for good. I'll spend Christmas there, and start moving on. The plan is to go to Utah and land a job in the financial sector, with aspirations possibly towards an MBA, but we'll see when we get there. I do, or at least did, well with business matters and feel that I can both excel and provide for myself and family in that arena. To be perfectly honest, I'm not trying to focus too much on it because I still have to get through this semester. I'll finish out these classes, and leave as a student in good standing, academically and otherwise. While I will be sad to say goodbye to all the friends I've made out here, I've got to do what's best for me in the long run.

I sure hope this is it.

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Cause I Want It All Or Nothing At All

Reading my friends' blogs, it's always feast or famine. Either I get a new post, or I have to continue starving. Today, I got all sorts of excited. I was going from friend's blog to friend's blog and was stoked to continually see that people had put in updates over the past day. Usually they come spaced out about once or twice a week, so this was an exceptional treat to have so many all at once. Now, maybe I'm a little slow, but it wasn't until about the third picture of someone's child dressed up as a pirate or a giraffe or a ladybug that I realized why every friend that I have who has spawned was wanton to post something.

That old Halloween sneaking up again. For the most part, I enjoy holidays. Big fan of Christmas and Thanksgiving. What's not to love about days revolving around large meals and taking the entire day off to do nothing besides eat those meals, and talk about other great meals? You give me a reason to sit down in front of food, and I'm your best friend. Here on the rock I take the missionaries out to dinner about once a month, not necessarily because I feel like I'm doing a good deed, but mostly because it gives me a legit reason to sit down to a nice steak dinner. (Side note: Here, they don't take a dinner break. Not kidding. They just take their lunch around noon, and work until 9:30. Blew my mind. And now I know why I wasn't called to this part of the world.)

Which brings me to Halloween. I struggle with this holiday as an adult. It's not a big meal type of holiday, it's more of the appetizers and dip type of holiday. Not that that's a bad thing, but it does knock it down a peg in the holiday totem pole. The other issue I have with it is dressing up. If you know anything about me, it's that I rarely do anything half-way. It's my greatest strength and my greatest weakness. So, if I'm supposed to dress up on Halloween, I either want an outstanding outfit, or nothing at all. I'm not the guy who shows up wearing cleats and a polo shirt and says he's a rugby player. I don't wear a red shirt and grab a plastic pitch fork and say I'm the devil.

I join three other friends, buy suits and sweater vests, wigs and glasses, and memorize catch phrases so we can recreate the Channel 4 News Team from Anchorman (I was Brick Tamblin, and I think I ate your chocolate squirrel). I do grow out a beard, cake it and my hair with flour, and make three dozen cardboard medallions so I can go as Alfred Nobel (It was right after Obama won the Peace Prize after being in office for a couple months. I figured since the actual committee had decided to hand them out willy-nilly style, I would help them out). I swing from the heels my friends, and sometimes I connect.

However, if I can't come up with a solid idea, I don't dress up. At all. This Halloween was that situation. I only had one decent costume idea, and it was to go as a WWE wrestler. I mean, when you already have a championship belt, the costume doesn't take much more. But again, if I was going to do it, we were going all out, and yes, I'm purposefully using the phrase "all out" to describe a wrestling costume. I'm talking black boots, black knee pads and a black speedo. That's it. And if I had the speedo, I just might have done it (Your retinas just sighed, relieved that there won't be pictures of said outfit). But I don't. So instead, I just put on a nice shirt and jeans, and went out for the night.

And you know something, Halloween was just as much fun not dressed up as it was dressed up. I knew this in fourth grade when I figured out that as long as you wear a baseball cap and a glove, people will still give you the candy. You didn't have to put on a Spiderman leotard and layout a mascara spiderweb on your face. Just put two items together and watch the bag fill. (Side note: Reading from Jake and Holli about how Carder went to town eating his candy and it reminded me about how cruel/genius my parents were with this scenario. They'd let us eat as much as we could that night. Never went to the point of a refund, but many years felt that it would be a relief if I had. The next day, we were allowed to pick 30 pieces to keep. That's it. Toughest draft ever. The rest went into a huge bowl and was taken into my Dad's office. That one act single handedly staved off diabetes.)

Somehow I forgot that no one really cares whether you made a working Optimus Prime costume that actually transforms, or just put on a flannel shirt, messed up your hair and carried your loot bag on a stick. I'll never know how I forgot that, but I remember that lesson now. So next Halloween, you can expect one of two things from me. You'll either get the best costume in the room, or no costume at all. Feast or famine.

Word.

Talking About What It Might Have Been, Thinking About What It Used To Be

Ok, so I started writing a bucket list the other day. I got about ten items deep, and thought, 'this is boring for me to read, and I'm the one who is actually going to do these things.' Now, instead of a bucket list, I'm going to make the list of things I don't think I'll ever do before I die. (Aborted bucket list included at the end)

Beyond the obvious ones (be convicted of anything requiring jail time), I feel like I have a decent list of things that I plan to never do. So, in no particular order, I plan to never:

Watch Avatar or Zoolander. Avatar because I hear it's all about how stunning the visuals are. That's not enough to draw me in for 2+ hours. The Zoolander abstinence started out as a promise to a friend's mom, but now I don't think I'll watch it for two big reasons: 1) everyone has already told me all the truly funny parts, and 2) why bother with it? Made it this far and my life's been pretty good. I don't think learning about the less than funny parts will make it any better.

Pass on dessert. I will however decline seconds on dessert. Sometimes. Rarely.

Watch 'Lost'. Ship sailed on that one a long time ago.

Buy another hat to wear. As a souvenir or for a team I will, but I have two that I like to wear. One's light, one's dark. I don't see a need for a third.

Purchase a set of cleats. I just bought a pair about year ago. Fact: My shoe size isn't going to change in the next 25-30 years. Fact: After that time, I don't think I'll be playing things that require cleats.

Get in a sun-tanning bed. I've talked about this. I'm 0 for 10 in positive experiences with these things.

Join Twitter. Too much pressure to be witty every hour on the hour, not to mention the entire twitter-language that I would have to learn. Plus, I do enough following with Facebook and other blogs.

Read 'Harry Potter'. See 'Lost', although I'm not sure which one would actually take more time.

Perform the Macarena or any other line dance aside from the Electric Slide. Can't let that one go.

Climb a mountain. No thanks. Requires a bit too much prep work, not enough return. Maybe hike to the Y, considering you can drive half the way.

It's so played out, it's ridiculous, but for kicks and giggles, and I'm going to put out a bucket list. The scariest part of all this is that if I actually put it down, the odds of me doing it move to about 92%.

Attend a game in every baseball stadium. Ideally, I'd go on the dream summer road trip of 30 stadiums in 30 days, but that window is closing fast.

Spend a week in Greece. I've never seen an ugly photo from this country, and the history there is bar-none.

Bungee jump. Would go tomorrow if anyone else wants to come. Just don't want to do it by myself.

Write a book. Easily, the hardest of all the things on this list, mostly because I would never think it was complete.

Learn the piano. If 7 year olds can play it, I think I should be able to figure it out. I'm not talking concert pianist level here, but I want to be able to knock out the majority of the hymns. That, and understand why I need three foot pedals. I know one makes the notes longer, but I can't figure out why I would need 2 more?

Throw out the first pitch at a professional baseball game. I will be bringing the heat, from the slab.

Visit Oregon, Michigan, Maine, North Dakota, South Dakota, Rhode Island and Alaska, otherwise known as the only states I'm yet to visit. Out of all of them, the lowest percentage shot has to be Oregon. The only sports team they have is the Trailblazers, and I don't really care about basketball. It's tucked in a corner, so I would almost have to make a trip solely to go there. Slim odds.

Word.

We Can Dance Until We Die, You And I, We'll Be Young Forever

Have I said how much I love a good analogy? I love them so much, I often have to pause just so I don't speak completely in them. If pressed, I think I could go three days where at least one out of every three sentences was a metaphor, simile, or part of an anecdotal analogy. And the more rustic the better.

Jared also is a big fan of the metaphor. One time him and I went to eat at Tucanos. If you're unfamiliar with the place, or Brazilian grills in general, then go out at night and pick out a star. It will stop shining because of you. Essentially, they have people bringing you delicious meats on skewers, non-stop. My salivary glands are producing as well. Well, after gorging ourselves, we were walking around trying to remember a fitting metaphor. When we couldn't come up with one, we called his mom. It should be noted his mother was born and raised, and still currently resides in Arkansas. Jared asks her "If you just had a big meal and wanted to say you were full, you would say you're fuller than..." and without a moment's hesitation, she's finishes with "a tic." As though it was the only answer.

These are the lengths I'm willing to go to find a good analogy. So, I was making some brownies today (you ask 'why', I ask 'why not') and before putting the bowl in the sink, I took a long drag with my finger and licked the batter. Even caught a walnut (of course I put walnuts in my brownies). You want to know the first saying that came to mind while enjoying that sweet delight, 'Old bird-dog can still hunt'.

Which got me thinking. What are some of those critical things that I refuse to let go by the wayside? I mean, by all accounts, I have no business licking un-cooked batter. I know what's in it and I certainly know the hazards implied. Doesn't stop me. Doesn't even slow me. It's one of those primal kid-like reflexes that I have managed to retain. Of course, I went on to think of other things that maybe I should have stopped doing, but have no desire to. Here they are:

• Lick cake/brownie/cookie batter from the bowl
• Play that crane game in the walmart* entrance
• Read comic strips like 'Zits' even though I'm probably closer to the parent's age, than the kid's
• Eat ice cream out of a mini baseball helmet (or dippin dots. Marty brought them back from the future)
• Buy a pack of baseball cards. Still do it at least once a year
• Play with anything involving a remote control that isn't a TV
• Cannonball into a pool (I think I'm actually getting worse)
• Try out the baseball speed gun at ballgames
• Consider 3-4 donuts and a glass of milk a well-balanced breakfast (or lunch)
• Turn the radio up when Amy Grant or Paula Abdul come on
• Watch 'Boy Meets World' (just watched the one where Topenga moves to Pittsburgh. It got a little misty around here)
• Use the term 'Dude'
• Walk down the 'Hot Wheel' aisle, and imagine massive track sets designed to launch the car
• Wear black every August 12 (If you don't know why, type 'MLB August 12, 1994' into Google)

In my defense, this list is much shorter than the one I probably could have made two years ago.

Word.

I Dreamt I Was Dreaming I Was Wired To A Clock

10-2, 10-2, 10-2, and 10-2. Those are the regular season records for BYU during the last four seasons. And I'm genuinely afraid we might match those combined eight losses, just this season. We're already at 4, and with TCU and Utah still to play (on the road for both, might I add), that makes 6. Scary isn't it?

What's more scary is that any loss beyond those two disqualifies us for a bowl game. We've made a bowl game every year since 2004, the last of the Gary Crowton years. By the way, since the mission essentially blacked out the 2002 and 2003 seasons for me, I always felt like the BYU faithful turned on him awfully quick. For me, he went 12-1 his first season and everyone loved him. Everyone? Everyone. There were the stories about how he was really gearing the guys up, how he was making the team more unified than ever, how he had the complete respect and trust of all the players. Things looked great. And then next thing I knew he went 5-6 (Who schedules 11 games) and everyone (everyone? Yes, everyone) can't wait to can this guy. Even my friends who had missed the same seasons I had, suddenly thought this guy was at best, on par with a three-year-old. It never made a lot of sense to me. Looking at it historically, I understand why he was canned. You take a program that historically at least makes bowl games and often wins their division, but instead you miss bowl games three out of four years, with the only bowl game being your first year? Yeah, they'll be calling for your head. I understand that. I just never understood why there was so much venom behind it.

What scares me is, what if Jake Heaps isn't the 'next McMahon', and what if Riley Nelson isn't the same after his injury heals? Could the fanbase turn on Bronco? Could all the things that now make people talk about him in Parsegian-esque reverence, become viewed as foibles and weaknesses? I like Bronco. I think he's a fine coach that is facing a tough season from injuries and unforeseen complications (Unga, I'm shaking my head in your direction). The firing of the D-coordinator after last week's loss, while not unjustified, could certainly be viewed as Bronco trying to show that he'll do anything to stay above the fray. The departed claims to be a scapegoat, and I'll co-sign that. He as cut loose after a fourth straight loss. But why not the Offensive coordinator? The Cougs are currently 114th in scoring. There are only 120 teams. While their defense is not spectacular, it is noticeably better (88th). I don't have any solid theories on this, but it does seem interesting.

Either way, I'll be watching the game today. I'll track down some online feed and stream it onto my tiny rock. And if they win, I'll do it again next week. But the second they become bowl-ineligible, that's when I switch to radio only. Except, of course, against Utah. I clear my schedule for two games each year. BYU-Utah and Miami-FSU. And tonight is Miami-FSU. So if you need me tonight, make sure to call me before 8pm. Or be prepared to wait until 11:30.

Word.

And This Is The Moment That I Live For I Can Smell The Ocean Air

There are only so many truly great days a year. Most of them are known a long ways off. I know that every Christmas is going to be fantastic. Any day associated with bite-sized desserts being consumed all day long, relaxing around the house and catching up with family and friends is going to be a very good day. And you can't say enough about a tootsie roll bank.

But today is one that just kind of happened. Among my passions, baseball is far away the chiefest (I guess that really is a word). If you don't know this by now, then I'm genuinely surprised you know how to read. This season was an up and down affair for my beloved White Sox. We started out slow, caught fire right around the all-star break, and then fizzled out as our bats and bullpen failed us. We still had hope with three weeks left, but then we decided to lose 9 straight. Can't really bounce back from that. On the brightside, if you would have told me in April that we would finish with 88 wins, I would have taken it. I also would have assumed that would have been enough to win the AL Central, but this year it wasn't.

Which brings us to one of the reasons why this is a most splendid day. Today starts baseball playoffs. The best of the best, where every game counts. I love it. Every year I look forward to October, primarily for this reason, and this year seems to be excellent. So many great storyline for this year. The Yankees, not only trying to repeat, but to get one for their belated GM Steinbrenner and 'the voice of God' Bob Sheperd, who both passed away earlier this season. The Rays, trying to show that you don't need a 9 figure payroll to win it all. The Rangers, the only team left without a playoff series victory, trying to make a name for themselves. The Twins, pressing forward without former MVP Morneau, proving to their fans that their tax dollars are not being wasted on the new stadium. The Giants, making their first trip back to post-season play since 2003. The Reds, with an even longer stretch of futility, but sporting the most valuable player in Joey Votto and the most electrifying in Aroldis Chapman (105.1 mph? That's insane). The Phillies, fighting to remain among the elite.

But all of those pale in comparison to the Braves. Bobby Cox's boys gave him a gift by grabbing the last playoff spot on the last day of his last season. Now he gets one last shot at the big tamale. His team is spearheaded by youngsters and rookies, and might just have enough momentum to go deep into the month. I'm usually not one to encourage rooting for the Braves because I feel they're partnership with TBS created an unnaturally large fan base. But this year, if you don't already have a horse in this race, feel free to back the Atlanta nine.

Beyond the playoffs though, today starts one of my other passions. The dawning of a new season of MTV Challenges. This year's is a new variant: Cutthroat. Sounds pretty impressive. Personally, they could have named it the mud and I would still watch it tenaciously. And if you aren't watching these shows, then you truly are missing out on one of life's great joys. Hard-core athletic competition, high drama all the time, and beautiful people everywhere. What's not to like? And they're bringing back Chet, the Mormon. He's marginally stronger than the strongest girls, but that doesn't mean I'm pulling for him. I don't think he'll win, unless his team is stacked, but here's to hoping.

Lastly, today is amazing because it's my good friend Raechel's birthday. Congrats. Sorry I can't be there to celebrate with you.

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My Life Gets Kind Of Boring Need Something That I Can Confess

Go a week without seeing the sun.
Think I should let my hair grow out.
Buy a Celine Dion album.
Turn down a dessert.

Those are a few things on my list of: Things I'll never do again. It's not necessarily a Murtaugh list, because I'm not banning them due to old age. I'm banning them because they're just horrible ideas. And now, you can add "Go to a tanning salon" to this list. I visited one of these establishments while I was in Utah. The reasons were obvious. Despite living in the Caribbean, no one short of the Stay-Puft Marshmallow or the Michelin Man were rivaling me in pasty-whiteness. And it wasn't even like I had a farmers tan. I was ghostly from head to toe. On top of this, I knew there was a boating excursion on the weekend, so I figured I should at least put forth an effort to look like I lived in a place where a beach was no farther than 15 minutes away at any point.

So I went to the tanning salon one afternoon. I had been before and remembered that at least once I got a mild sunburn so this time I was just going to do whatever the girl behind the counter said first-timers did. Why I believed that this girl who had been working for only a couple weeks, and really only had to know the subtle differences between the four different types of beds (Who knew they were 4 types? Why is suntan bed research getting funded?) and possibly the lotions prominently displayed, would know the precise service to maximize my results, I'll never know. But I figured whatever her experience was, it was more than mine. So she tells me that for the best returns, the first timers take 7 minutes in the "Ultra" bed. Now, I liked the idea of the Ultra bed because it reminded me of Fleer Ultra baseball cards, which were the coolest when they first came out. I told the girl that that sounds like a plan. She asked if I knew how to use the bed.

Now, I should tell you that the last time I used a tanning bed was a couple years ago. back then, they were simple. You laid down and closed the lid. That's it. This thing felt more like a video game. I had speakers playing radio stations, and could even have plugged in an iPod if I brought it. I had buttons controlling fan speeds. There were different bulbs just for my face, a voice command telling me about the bed, and the plastic was extra wide and ergonomically contoured. I felt like this was the bed that Judy Jetson will likely use to maintain her color. It did everything but ask me if I had been working out lately. (No, I hadn't. However, I have started. No lie.)

I rode out the seven minutes, having cool breezes keeping my brow only slightly damp, while Kenny Chesney told me about the boys of fall. It wasn't bad at all. I still hate those stupid eye things because they feel ridiculous and uncomfortable, but beyond that, a pleasurable experience. Then the next day came. And the sunburn was there. For unknown reasons, only on my left side, but from torso to thigh, I was pink. Not pleased. Thankfully, it wasn't so bad that I was non-functional. But it was a nuisance I had to deal with for the next couple days. Growing up in Florida, getting sunburned was almost a summer tradition. But over the years, I like to think I've gotten smarter and have begun installing impediments. And then I go and do something like this.

Never again. Never.

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