I remember apocryphal stories of pan-resistant E. coli at one of the ICUs I did my residency at. You had to wear outbreak suits to get in and out. I never figured out how they managed to end the quarantine. I can't imagine that every patient in that unit died….

Ayn Rand, Rand Paul and Paul Ryan walk into a bar. The bartender serves them tainted alcohol because there are no regulations. They die.

While I am not a parent, my job does require me to regularly counsel parents on how they treat their children, and I try to make recommendations based on the best available evidence….

The American Dream is officially dead (which is probably for the best, to be honest.)

Bill Cosby makes me think that the reason why some PoCs turn to respectability politics is that they're secretly terrible—possibly quite monstrous—people who want to convince other PoCs that if they get called out, it will make the whole race look bad, so it's in everyone's best interest to never call them out.

Imagine an updated version of "Fight Club" where instead of blowing up buildings, Tyler Durden merely creats a botnet that automatically creats hundreds of billions of fake accounts with emojis in their nicknames based off stolen identities, and Project Mayhem's only responsibility is to answer phones and pretend to be the people whose identities were stolen… (I think I may have thought too hard about this….)

I switched radio stations and it was in the middle of playing the song that ﾐA彡 and I danced to for our first dance at our wedding reception.

Air Bus • The New Yorker • 2015 Jun 1

An NBA Player Is Missing the Playoffs Because the NYPD Broke His Leg—Why the Sports-Media Silence? • The Nation • 2015 May 22

chewing on the frayed ends of old, worn threads
of choice, of chance, of fate, of hope, of dreams
wondering where my free-will ends, this cup
passing, where destiny begins, takes shape
takes form, did it not matter, or do these
things still shift, still split, still slip, twist, and bend
this far out, this late in the game, now in
overtime, with seconds to go, and still…

It’s definitely summer now.

I have this agonizing sense of dysequilibrium.

I hope against all hope that I remember this simple fact the next time I am faced with extreme crisis.

I think I probably wrote this somewhere else before, but I always find the month of May filled with possibilities. I have always identified it with the end of the academic year, with graduations, with confirmations, with Pentecost. The point of transition, the time when the old order slows down, and the hint of new beginnings tantalizes.

It’s all so simple, and yet….

I can’t stay/And keep living this lie/I finally found the strength to say goodbye/I’m on my way/Nothing can change my mind/I’m leaving behind what we had/Yesterday

A rather heavy-handed analogy. Impressions of an evening wobbling out of control.