Sikeston, MO

I spent the Memorial Day weekend at home up in Missouri with my parents. I had a terrific time hanging out with the family, especially my niece and nephew, the most beautiful small children currently on the planet. I was going to do my first remote post from there, which I was very excited about, but my parents' computer recently died a violent death so I had to wait until I got back home.
Where in Missouri you might ask? I never mention the town because 99% of the population has never heard of it. I went back to a little place called Sikeston, where I spent the first 18 years of my life.
There's not much exciting about Sikeston...except everything! If I might, let me indulge with a brief portrait of my hometown.
Sikeston is in the southeast corner of the state, about 20 miles west of the Mississippi. Drive 2 hours north and you'll be in St. Louis, drive 2 hours south and you'll be in Memphis, drive 2 hours west and you'll be in Deliveranceland. It is tabletop flat: From the interstate overpass at the edge of town you can see for miles and miles.
Sikeston has about 17,000 residents. For a small town, however, Sikeston is known for a great many things. For instance, here is a list of famous people who once called Sikeston home:

Excited yet?
We also have the Cotton Carnival, which is held the last weekend in September. There's a crunk carnival, parade, and the crowning of Ms. Cotton, Ms. Cotton Carnival, Little Ms. Cotton Carnival, Little Ms. Cotton Boll, Miss Cotton Bale, Miss Sikeston, Mr. Boll Weevil, and countless other pageants. In May we have Springfest, which celebrates Spring, or something, and has no pageants. The carnival is also a bit more trashy.
No trip to Sikeston would be complete without a visit to Lambert's Cafe. In Nashville terms you could describe Lambert's as a meat and three, except the dinner rolls are thrown at you from across the restaurant. Nothing's funnier than seeing a big hot buttery dinner roll knock some small child unconscious. The food is delicious, and its probably the only restaurant within 100 miles where you'll have to wait more than an hour for a table.
We didn't go to Lambert's this weekend. The locals rarely do; it is mostly all tourists these days. We mostly hung out at home, grilled out on the back deck on Saturday night, and played with the kids. It was a good weekend. It is always good to get back up there. However, like the old saying goes, "Its a nice place to visit..."

Goodbye Pamela, Hello Emmylou

Wow, you just never know who might be reading your blog, like, say, the wonderful folks down at PETA. You see, apparently they read my earlier post complaining of a billboard featuring Pamela Anderson imploring me to avoid KFC because of their mistreatment of animals. To recap, hypnotic breasts aside, Ms. Anderson has done nothing to warrant her place as a moral or ethical authority. If I wanted celebrity ethical advice, at least give me a celebrity I might respect.
PETA heard my pleas, and God bless them, they answered. Driving home from work today I saw a new PETA billboard, same basic message (KFC of the devil, save the chickens), however, new celebrity spokesperson: Emmylou Harris. Emmylou does not have mesmerizing mammeries (that's a fun phrase to type). She is, however, one of my favorite musical artists, has a wonderful voice, and is a great songwriter. I very much respect her as an artist.
So now I can hold my head high and avoid KFC with pride. Emmylou told me to. I can hear her sing it to me:

Their chickens get debeakin'
So that Colonel you best be leavin'
PETA knows its true
So you just listen to Emmylou

Those hens die in such misery
Be they original or extra crispy
You know PETA says its true
So you just listen to Emmylou

Besides, there's much better fried chicken to be had around town (Prince's Hot Chicken Shack, anyone?). If only celebrities could be there for all of life's little problems, giving advice, dispensing wisdom, allowing me to bask in the warm glow of their omnipotence. What a wonderful world that would be.

Personally, I'm allergic to the salad tongs...

Don't quite feel up to an entire story tonight, dear children. So I thought I'd share a couple of the more glamorous aspects of my job.

1. Patients allergic to sanity. Asking if a patient is allergic to anything before taking them back to surgery is routine. Its one of the many things I do in order to ensure that the patient is still alive at the end of surgery. This helps my self-esteem, and is generally good for the patient as well. One or two medical allergies are common. However, a few weeks ago when I asked this question I was given a piece of paper, single-spaced typed on both sides with all the margins penciled in, of the hundreds of allergies that this patient had. Here are some of the things she was (allegedly) allergic to: 1. All antibiotics 2. The Sun 3. Copper 4. Silver 5. Hard candy 6. Mormoms 7. Vibrations and loud noises 8. October 9. Morphine 10. A mother's love. The sad part is that I'm only making a couple of these up.

2. Objects that should not be in places where they do not belong. One of the more fascinating aspects of my job is being called in late late at night to remove something from some body cavity where it has no business being. Since our hospital is in a not-so-great part of town, we are a hotbed for all kinds of disturbing late night extractions. Two recent examples include salad tongs and electric nose-hair clippers. The most amazing thing is that these incidents are always accidents.
How did that nose-hair clipper get lodged in a place eversofar from your nose, sir?
Pure accident, I swear. I must've fallen on it. Yes, that's it. I fell on it.
Life at 2 am does not get any better than this.

Italian Travelogue Part 3: Cinque Terre/Lake Como

Sunday was the day we split up. My friend Brant was heading for Venice and Verona, while I was heading northwest to the coast at Cinque Terre. It was going to be about a three hour train ride from Florence.
I sat down in my seat and got my Ipod out of my backpack. I was trying to untangle the headphones when the man across from me leaned over and said: "Got yourself an Ipod?"
Amazing deduction, Captain Obvious, is what I thought. "Yes I do," is what I said.
Stupid tangled headphones. If they hadn't been tangled I could have been enjoying Over the Rhine (great Sunday morning traveling on a train music) instead of talking to C.O. here.
"Had nothing but trouble with mine," he said with disdain.
"Never had any trouble with mine," I replied, desperately untangling, my borderline antisocial disorder kicking in.
"Never worked. Always froze up. Trouble."
"I love mine," I said, probably a bit defensively, "Works great."
"Trouble."
The conversation continued in this fashion for several minutes. C.O. pointed out the various flaws, while I zealously defended my precious Ipod. Fortunately this man was traveling with family, and due to lack of seats his mother had had to sit a few rows up the train. I pointed this out to him.
"I don't mind switching seats so she can sit with you all. I'm traveling alone."
So tactfully I was able to move away from C.O. The train was pulling out of Florence and I sat back to listen to my music. And my Ipod froze up on me. Nothing had ever gone wrong with it until that very moment. C.O. had cursed it. I turned around to look at him. He was looking at me with a I told you so look. I hated him.
Anyway, it was on to Cinque Terre. Cinque Terre is a group of five fishing villages hugging the rugged coast of northwest Italy. Since I had been there last it had been turned into a national park. The coastline is so rugged here that a couple of the villages were up to very recently inaccessible by car. When the train was built they cut long tunnels through the mountains so a couple of the stations are underground. A hiking trail high above the sea connects the five villages. It is absolutely beautiful. I hope that any future honeymoon takes place here.
I only get to spend two days here. I lay on the beach in the morning, and hike the coastal trail in the afternoon. Somehow I am able to resurrect my Ipod so I can listen to music again. I also finish my book, All Quiet on the Western Front, which really isn't a beach book at all.
On Tuesday I hop a train and head north to Lake Como, another absolutely beautiful locale at the base of the Alps. I meet up with Brant there. We're staying in a little village called Veranna, which sits across the lake from Bellagio. Apparently George Clooney has a house there. They filmed the stupid stupid love scenes from Attack of the Clones there, too.
Other than hiking up a mountain to see a castle, no real physical activity takes place here. The second week in Italy was less sightseeing and more relaxation. There was also more adjective-defying food. Sadly, after two days it was time to head for Milan to catch a flight back to the States.
Again, quite possibly the best vacation ever. It is my goal to return once a year.
By the final count, I had taken six rolls of film. Brant, my history buff Itinerary-carrying friend had taken somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty. He had also spent several hundred dollars on souvenirs. I had spent approximately five. I can always buy more next time.

Randominity

Pamela Anderson v. Colonel Sanders: Found another disturbing billboard the other day, this one here in Nashville. Its a message from PETA activist Pamela Anderson imploring us not to visit KFC because they allegedly are inhumane to their chickens. Its not that I'm a fan of KFC. I can't remember the last time I ate there. Though its wrong, its not the torturing of chickens that bothers me. Its that PETA thinks that Pamela Anderson is a role model that should be giving me ethical advice. I don't see Pamela Anderson and ethics or morality in the same sphere. At least try to find a celebrity I might respect. Throw Morgan Freeman up there. Or Bono. But Pamela Anderson? Pamela Anderson's greatest contribution to western culture was running down the beach in slow motion. And yes, those breasts were hypnotic. However, it does not qualify her to be a moral authority. It makes me want to take a bucket of Original Recipe and eat it in the lobby of PETA's headquarters.

Huzzah for Saturday: What a great day Saturday was. First I attended Nashville's premier social event for the first time, the Iroquois Steeplechase. A group of friends and I spread out blankets on Poor Folks Hill, had a mad crunk picnic (from the first post, see how it all ties together), and made fun of well-dressed women in freakish hats. There was horse racing, too. It all went well until God decided to break His promise not to destroy the Earth by water again and the rain fell down. We were soaked in our Sunday best, but that made it more fun. Umbrellas were futile.
Then that night we went to see Patty Griffin at the Ryman Auditorium, my all time favorite place to see a show. We were on the 5th row, and she was singing maybe 10 to 15 feet away. I think there were tears of joy on my friend LB's face.
"I could throw my gum and hit her." she said with naked emotion.
We didn't throw gum at her, but did enjoy an incredible show. She has a fantastic voice and is one of my favorite songwriters. If it weren't for U2 lurking in October, this might have been the concert of the year.

Italian Travelogue Part 2: Florence

Florence is my favorite city in Italy. I had the very good fortune of spending a semester there during college back in the day, so arriving in the train station was a bit of a homecoming.
Rome is nice, but it is also huge and sprawly. Florence is compact, and seems more refined. Its history is not the millennia of Rome's, but is more a history of culture. Rome is columns and Pantheons and colisseums. Florence is Da Vinci and Michelangelo, Galileo and the Medici's. It also contains arguably my favorite building in the world, the Santa Maria Del Fiore, or the Duomo.
The Duomo is massive and stupidly ornate. It sits in a relatively small piazza, so it is difficult to take in the entire structure from one viewpoint. You are walking along the city's narrow, winding streets, round a corner, and there it is: Domination, massive, and beautiful. The accompanying campanile, or bell tower, is open for the first time that I've been there. 431 steps of angina-inducing fun followed by a breathtaking view of the entire city.
We spend 4 days in Florence. Same pattern as Rome: 1. Sightsee 2. Nap 3. Dinner 4. Coma. We see the Pitti Palace and the Boboli (named after the pizza crust) Gardens. We visit the Harding villa outside of town. Still can't believe I got to live there for 3 months. We see the Uffizi and the Bargello and walk the Ponte Vecchio.
We go to the Accedemia to see Michelangelo's David. Like the Sistine Chapel, this is a masterpiece that requires a lot of time to sit and stare. Unlike the crowded Vatican, however, you are able to do that here.
Friday we take a road trip (on a train) to see the Tuscan equivalent of Pigeon Forge or Branson: Pisa. This is not because we saw the Medici Family Jamboree. Pisa is Italy's tourist trap. Take train. Get on bus. Cross town. Take picture of crazy leaning tower. Pay stupid amount of money to do so. Buy tacky souvenir. Go home. The cool thing was that you can go to the top of the tower now, since it was reopened back in 2001.
I must again mention the food. The glorious glorious food. Brant's Florence guidebook could do no wrong in recommending restaurants. If you go, you must eat at Mario's for lunch. They are only open from 12 to 3. We went the first day and ended up eating lunch there all four days. Cheap food. The day's menu written in pencil and taped to the wall. Community seating. By day 2 Mario knows you by name.
Trattoria Za-Za, conveniently located next door to Mario's, provided me with the Best Entree Ever. Thinking about it reduces me to a Homeresque drool. It was a huge steak, cooked perfectly, covered in this crunk cognac and peppercorn sauce. If I were a restaurant critic I would say that "every bite was like being punched in the mouth by ecstasy."
I'm actually drooling on the keyboard. What a mess.

The Dark Side of Children's Literature

Way back in the days of e-mail's infancy I got a forward from one of my best friends listing the following proposed children's books, that for one reason or another, never made it past committee. It has sat in my in-box all of these years. Occasionally I'll dig it out and forward it to a few friends, but here it is for all to love and appreciate. Apologies in advance for those that cross the line. Unfortunately I can only take credit for a couple of these. Guess which ones and win a fabulous prize. Feel free to add your own titles.

1. You Are Different and That's Bad
2. The Boy Who Died From Eating All His Vegetables
3. Dad's New Wife Robert
4. Fun 4-Letter Words to Know and Share
5. Hammers, Screwdrivers, and Scissors: An I-Can-Do-It Book
6. The Kids' Guide to Hitchhiking
7. Kathy: The Girl So Bad Her Mom Stopped Loving Her
8. Curious George and the High-Voltage Fence
9. All Cats Go To Hell
10. The Little Sissy Who Snitched
11. Some Puppies Can Fly
12. That's It, You're Going Up for Adoption
13. Grandpa Gets a Casket
14. The Magical World Inside the Abandoned Refrigerator
15. The Pop-Up Book of Human Anatomy
16. Strangers Have the Best Candy
17. Whining, Kicking, and Crying to Get Your Way
18. What's That Sound Beneath Your Bed?
19. Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will
20. Pop! Goes the Hamster...And Other Great Microwave Games
21. Mommy and Daddy's Little Accident
22. Where Would You Like to Be Buried?
23. Eggs, Toilet Paper, and Your School
24. Why Can't Mr. Fork and Ms. Electrical Outlet Be Friends?
25. Let's Find Daddy's Gun!
26. Daddy Drinks Because You Cry
27. Divorce? You Bet its Your Fault
28. The Big Book of Shiny Sharp Things With Which to Run
29. Yes Virginia, Clowns Are Evil
30. Nothing's Yummier Than Mommy's Pills

Italian Travelogue Part 1: Rome

Best vacation ever. The official results are not in yet, but I think we have a new winner. The first three days in Italy are spent in Rome, where the sense of history (or better yet, History) suffuses everything. I am traveling with my best friend from graduate school, Brant, who is himself a self prescribed history buff. On the train from the airport to the city he shows me his Rome itinerary. It is four pages, typed, and organized according to location, time needed to appreciate, and admission fee. My planning for the entire trip consisted of renewing my passport and getting plane tickets. I left it pretty open from there, so once we check into our hotel we are officially on The Itinerary.
We see the Piazza Della Republicca, the Trevi Fountain, and the Spanish Steps, and then do lunch. That is approximately 3% of the day's itinerary, but jet lag catches up to me in a big way so I send him on and I go back for a nap. After dinner (soon to become the best part of the day) we head over to the piazza of St. Peter's, my favorite place in Rome. Pope Benedict XVI had been inaugurated earlier in the day, and the square was still full of the faithful. We tried to get an audience with the Pontiff but was told he was home watching Arrested Development.
Monday we keep successfully to The Itinerary. The day is spent exploring the Coliseum and the Roman ruins. I take a nap in the Circus Maximus. Where there used to be chariot races and mass killing for entertainment is now a peaceful park. If each vacation day can consist of at least one nap I am a happy camper.
Tuesday it is back to St. Peter's and the Vatican Museum. The Vatican was way too crowded. They should only let 20 people at a time into the Sistine Chapel, enforce a no-talking policy with the threat of violence, and let you linger as long as you want. You simply cannot take it all in crowded shoulder to shoulder. It is simply too beautiful and overwhelming. It demands silence and reflection, and unfortunately there were way too many tourists for that.
Tuesday's nap is back in the hotel. Our Rome hotel is very basic, having only 3 requirements: Air conditioning, two separate beds, and a bathroom not shared with every other hotel guest. Here that's pretty much a given. Over there, not so much.
Already a pattern has emerged that will carry us through the rest of the trip: Sightseeing during the day, afternoon siesta, and then dinner. God bless Brant. He shares with me a characteristic to let the budget go out the window when eating out. Restaurants in Italy generally do not open for dinner until 7:30 or 8:00. Then we would have a good old-fashioned two course Italian dinner (plus appetizer and dessert). That lasted about 2 or 3 hours, leaving just enough time for gelato before collapsing into a food coma. I'm pretty sure gluttony is one of those don't-apply-in-the-21st-century sins. I hope so. I have not eaten that well in like, ever. If we hadn't had to walk everywhere I'd be about 250 lbs by now.
Brant was happy. The Itinerary was satisfied. I was happy. I was getting my naptime and stuffing my face. Life is good.