Wednesday, September 30, 2015

Duolingo: I've finally finished my Portuguese skill tree!

After taking a month off during inpatient family medicine, I've finally completed the entire tree.
Most individual skill sets are not gold anymore and the percentage thing on the right of the screen tells me I'm at 48% fluency, but still. Go me.

I've really noticed the change in my everyday fluency. When I get Portuguese-speaking patients, I can get a history so much easier. I'm still at the stage where I understand more than I can speak, but that's still incredibly helpful, both for me and the patients.

My current goal is to go back up the tree and gild it before starting another language. I'm eyeing German, Russian, and Italian next. Italian because I tried to learn it in high school, and German and Russian because they both sound cool in movies.

But patience is key. First, I have to improve my Portuguese skill tree. I'm hoping to read Veronika Decide Morrer in Portuguese sometime next year.

Hey, if I can teach myself Russian before I die, I'll be able to read Notes from Underground in the original language. Maybe even write a blog post about the differences.

Which reminds me, I need to read La Fiesta del Chivo in Spanish before I forget how to read and write in my native tongue.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

Flash fiction - Polka Dot Legs

This is one of my earliest short pieces, very loosely inspired by a disease I had when I was young. Dengue. There won't be many similarities between the symptoms/treatments in that wiki article and what I very briefly describe here. I let my fantasies get the better of me. 

The mosquito I describe is based on the Aedes aegypti. I can't find a picture of more than one, but I remember them making pretty polka dot spider webs.



A handful of billion years after the universe began, a bloody plague harrowed a sunny island floating in the Atlantic. Though the little island’s inhabitants feared it was the end of times, the plague was more of a sneeze in the grand scheme of things. Only one hundred and nine people died. It didn’t even affect the entire island; just a slice of the northern half, and only because the climate there was perfect for the tiny Ilydes mosquito.

Only a little girl with wavy brown hair and long legs grasped how little the fever mattered. Her family called her Iadis, mostly when they were trying to find out where she was, though they generally preferred her far away. While Iadis’ neighbors despaired over funeral plans, she prayed for the summer to end so she could go back to walking barefoot without burning the soles of her feet. The ground got too hot in the summer during early afternoons.

It was the sun’s fault that Iadis found a Ilydes nest, though it was certainly Iadis’ fault that she got sick. Her aunt Ida, a harried, stout woman who didn’t have time for orphans in the first place, had warned Iadis to run away from mosquitoes and to wear the bug repellent that the city people had brought to their village.

But Iadis hated to be sticky, so she refused to wear the bug repellent and wandered all over the farm in sleeveless shirts and a short skirt. While burrowing into shade to protect her bare soles, she found the Ilydes nest.

Ilydes mosquitoes liked it moist and hot, so they clustered at the trunks of large trees after rainy days to drink from the soaked bark. They were flimsy, like all mosquitoes, but their legs were long and decorated with black and white polka dots. While feeding, they stood close together and made the prettiest, spiderweb-like sheet.

Iadis hated spiders. There was a pregnant one living in a corner of the tiny room she shared with her younger brother. Every night Iadis stared at the fat, white egg under its belly, terrified that it would eat her, but envying its gorgeous, shiny web. The spider knew better than to pick a fight with a human, of course, but it did envy Iadis’ long hair. Rather, it envied the individual strands because they looked tougher than any spider web she would ever produce.

Harmless, pregnant spiders tortured Iadis every evening, but pretty mosquitoes carrying a fatal disease didn’t faze her. She reached out for the web, thinking that it would look so nice blanketing her forearm. One, or perhaps several of the mosquitoes bit her. 

Though she’d been the one to disturb them, Iadis wiped them off her skin, killing several in the process. She glared at the polka-dot web, considered destroying it in a fit of spite, but settled for going on her way with an indignant huff.

Iadis went about her habits, skipping the day away and chasing cats, without a care in the world. One of her cousins was vomiting blood in the clinic a few miles south of the family farm, but he always pulled Iadis’ hair and tried to steal her food. She wasn’t worried about him.

(He only pulled Iadis’ hair because she kept laughing when another cousin of theirs called him Clucker-Chicken just because he was too afraid to go to the latrine alone at night, but Iadis would never grasp why that would bother him. As for the food, there just wasn’t enough of it sometimes, and Iadis wasn’t the type to curb her appetite.)

Iadis wasn’t bothered until the next night, when she didn’t manage to finish her dinner. She gave most of it to her little brother, who she liked best in their family because he was hers. Iadan had many cousins, aunts, uncles, and four different grandparents, but he only had one sister just like Iadis only had one brother.

Unlike Iadis, Iadan didn’t think that was so special, but he did like being the only one Iadis shared food with. She was the best tree climber of them all, and could get the juiciest fruit in the tallest trees.

The second morning after Iadis disturbed the Ylides nest, she couldn't get out of bed. Her world was spinning to the right while her head spun to the left. Iadan was cuddled on her back, as was his habit, and every time he shifted on their shared bed, Iadis wanted to barf. She would have pushed him away, but just the thought of moving made her want to cry.

Iadan was used to his sister’s finicky moods, so he got out bed without bothering her and joined their cousins games. Only when the sun was in the middle of the sky, the time Iadis liked to go fruit hunting, did he remember to go check on her. 

He found her on the edge of their lumpy bed, her head hanging a bit off and a pool of coagulating blood on the floor. Iadan almost screamed, then ran for one of their aunts.

Iadis’ aunt did her best to clean her up, then sent one of the older kids to the one house on the village with a phone to call her husband at his factory job. Without a message, he might not know to drive straight home after work to take Iadis to the clinic.

Though Iadis was far from the nicest kid at the clinic, she was the prettiest, and all the bleeding left her too weak to be nasty. The nurses doted on her, kept her thick hair clean of blood, and always knew when she stopped breathing. They never left her without fluids and when it looked like she’d thrown up too much blood, they convinced the doctor to test her cute little brother’s blood type. 

Iadis and Iadan were a perfect match.

Iadan didn’t care about needles, but unlike his sister, he’d been paying attention to all the people dying in the village. They all died because the mosquitoes sucked their blood, and suddenly a bunch of adults he’d never seen wanted to take his and give it to Iadis. 

Luckily for Iadis, her little brother was afraid to say no to adults, so he stuck out his arms and cried into their aunt’s skirt even though he only felt a little pinch when they stuck the needle in.

With Iadan’s blood, Iadis recovered in a matter of days. The nurses enjoyed a morale boost when they found Iadis cuddled with Iadan the night before they were both sent home.

A week after coming home, Iadis ran into another Ylides nest on the same tree bark. The polka dot web attracted her attention once more, and she crouched to take a closer look. At least, she knew better than to physically reach out for it.

Friday, September 25, 2015

My arm is killing me

According to my PMD, I somehow managed to sprain my shoulder while reading. It's my right shoulder too and the only position when it's mildly pain free is completely uncomfortable for me. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to be of any use at work tomorrow.

ETA 9/27/15: the shoulder is better, or at least numbed under a mountain of NSAIDs. Still can't raise it over my head without pain. Not sure how I'm supposed to go to the gym in this condition.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015

I binged watched Mr. Robot



Full disclosure: I am the most gullible movie/TV viewer ever. I can't say why, but sometimes I wouldn't pick on even the most obvious Shyamalan-esque plot twist ever. And did this show pull a plot "twist" - and one that was probably super obvious to everyone who wasn't me. Elliot even asks the audience (his "imaginary friend") ". . . you new all along, didn't you?" when the twist is "revealed".

And now, I will spoiler this entire thing under the cut. For anyone who might be both reading this and considering watching, I hear that spoilers can actually enhance the enjoyment of a TV show.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

First novel 50% done

A writing blog is as good a place as any to commemorate the accomplishment. The first half of the first draft of my first novel is officially written!

Tuesday, September 15, 2015

Mr. Robot - First TV series I've tried in a long time


I submitted my residency application today (thirty programs, all in the East coast) and to keep myself from obsessively combing over it to find typos I can no longer do anything about, I started watching USA network's Mr. Robot. I don't remember where exactly I heard of this show, probably somewhere on tumblr, but I have to admit that the first two episodes have been. . . interesting. I haven't yet decided if it's good, but for whatever it's worth, I want to keep watching.

The poster to the left is probably the coolest I've found, but I'm not sure if it quite captures the earnest nihilism of the series. The main character, though sympathetic, strikes me as someone very young. Elliot seems to be forever trapped in a teenager's angsty spiral, raging against the lack of individuality he sees in other people. If there's one ray of hope in him, it's in that he seems to believe people are not to blame for their tedium. To him, people refuse to see that they have no true freedom because it would be too painful, thus they anesthetize themselves with meaningless "choices" (Pepsi or Coke? McDonald's or Burger King? Blue Cross or Blue Shield?).

I know. You've probably heard the exact same argument verbatim from several teenagers. But like I said, the show is juvenile. Google tells me this actor (Rami Malek) is thirty-four, but he's got the disillusioned twenty-something flair going like an art student getting kicked out of a frat party for bringing everybody down with pseudo-intellectual Nietzsche quotes. Though in all fairness to him, I haven't caught him literally quoting Nietzsche yet.

It might sound like I don't like him, but I wouldn't still be watching if I didn't. This character is designed to be likable. He exposes a tor pedophile with his mad hacking skillz in his very first scene. He stands up for the pretty girl he worships from a semi-distance when a creepy sexist executive type shuts her out of a business meeting. He rescues a dog from its abusive owner. He chases away his therapist's cheating douchebag boyfriend. He turns in his drug dealer when the bastard rapes the girl who'd been providing him drugs even though it means he has to go through withdrawal.

So how can I not like him just because he goes on tedious rant after tedious rant every episode? He's a hero.

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Flash fiction - Central Pallor

This is one of my first attempts at creative writing. At the time, I was studying and sketching red blood cells. I had some great critiques for this short piece, but I seem to have lost them. This work is thus posted in its unedited glory.

Bones do more than give humans shape. They create the substance keeping their soft, fragile bodies alive. Among the components of their legendary blood is the humble red cell, cannibalizing itself almost from its conception so it can deliver oxygen and pick up waste. Bone marrow packages the proteins, iron, and vitamins needed to push them out into the blood vessels, sparing energy only to give them extra skin. Their nucleus (the closest thing a cell has to a mind), the marrow takes from them before sending them out into the world.

Soon, the red cells rid themselves of as most luggage as possible to survive. All fancy proteins most go, until there isn’t enough of the red cells left to fill up their skin. It’s for the best. They’ll need to squeeze themselves into sleeker and sleeker cords if they want to sneak into the thinnest slits in the human body.

The first time they reach the lungs, instinct forces them to gorge themselves with oxygen as quickly as possible. They cannot learn to work without the drive of a starving man at a steakhouse, so when humans run and their hearts pump faster, and pressure pushes the red cells through the lungs quicker, they still come out the other side replete with their prize.

To the rest of the body they go, and when they reach spots burning with acid, something they do not understand jerks their oxygen away from them. They pick up fire, praying the pressure that delivered them to their thieves will take them back to the lungs. There, they bathe in oxygen and lose the burn.

The cycle goes on. Pressure forces the red cells through the body’s close circuit of vessels, mindless of the branching roads. The red cells are slammed against segmenting arteries, and pieces of their skin are sheared off.

And sheared off and sheared off, until they can no longer squeeze through thin slits.

Then comes the spleen. The red cell hunter.

In its pulp, the vessels get thinner and narrower, ending on a tight bend that only the younger, sleeker red cells can squeeze through. The older ones, worn down by impact after impact against blood vessel walls, get stuck.

Garbage men, also made by the clever bone marrow, finish them off.

Scavengers pick up their proteins and iron, the hands that grabbed their beloved oxygen, and take them back to the bone. There, the marrow uses the red cells’ remains to create a new red cell.

The cycle starts again.   

Monday, September 7, 2015

Exercising and building habits

A friend of mine is trying to make going to the gym a habit, and we had an interesting discussion about it. I have a somewhat hectic, unpredictable schedule (don't we all), but I've managed to keep exercise more or less a part of my life for years. There are weeks I stop going (these last two for example, I've only been to the gym once), but I've always known that the moment my schedule settles, I'll be right back to exercising. People ask me how they can become that "disciplined" about it.

The "secret" is that it doesn't take discipline at all. It takes a rather simple set of guidelines.