How to spend a weekend without cracking a book

Surprisingly, I'm able to get by an entire weekend without studying. Most recently this consisted of...

• Home fellowship group at Andy & Anna's on Friday night. Andy was back in town from Abu Dhabi.
• Running with Ezer in the park Saturday morning. We waited for Andy to join us for about ten minutes at the 72nd Street entrance, but unfortunately he was kept up at night by Montezuma's Revenge.
• Visiting the small but quaint Inwood Farmer's Market with Adrian and Wendy. We let Max play in the nearby dog run in Inwood Hill Park afterward.


• Visiting the new Greek and Roman exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum with my mistress home fellowship group--Dustin, Mavis, Mauricio, Carrie, and Cindy.
• My first trip to the Metropolitan Opera to see Puccini's Turandot with Hansen and his friend Bori. I've seen a number of operas, but have never seen so many "stops" pulled out for a finale! (I suppose when The Met wants to wow its guests, it has the ability and the know-how to do so!) The highlight of the opera was the haunting voice of Liping Zhang, singing the part of Liu. Her arias, though not as intrinsically magical as Nessun Dorma, were exquisitely sung. So much so, that when I considered buying one or two on iTunes, I was disappointed by the recorded arias themselves. I think it was simply her voice that infused the music with energy and crystalline beauty.

• Church and nursery duty on Sunday.
• Blind date Sunday afternoon. I thought meeting for lunch would be a casual first date, but unfortunately that didn't work out because of our schedules. So we met at 5:00 at Columbus Circle. I'd brought some things for a picnic in the park, and was later told by some of my lady friends that a picnic in the park is not a casual, low-pressure first date. Oops.

----------------------------------

This post is sponsored by the words Montezuma and crystalline, and the number 72.

Marathon update

I ran ~13 miles (a half marathon!) with Ezer today in Central Park. Goal D4 is accomplished.

We ran about 1.2 miles to the park, and then two big loops of 6.2 miles each. The hardest part of the run was about 7.4 miles into it, just as we were beginning the second big loop. A number of factors converged to make this stretch remarkably painful, primarily in a respiratory sort of way:

• Psychologically, I realized I was only at a half-way point and still had a large loop left to run.
• This stretch is one of the steepest uphill parts of the loop in Central Park.
• I had a little remaining upper airway congestion from the week before.
• Being half-way, I decided to eat the high-carb chocolate gel packet Ezer had given me, making breathing very difficult.

The end of the run, however, was marked by a sense of exhilaration that comes naturally after a run (endorphins?) as well as being happy to have run farther than ever before.

Death of a cellist

Mstislav Rostropovich

1927--2007

New York Times article here.

Spring has arrived

I looked out my window yesterday and was surprised to see tiny green leaves on the trees in Fort Tryon Park. Within just a few days, spring has come. No longer will I see bare wintry branches in the park. Even down in the courtyard, the grass suddenly seems greener, and the daffodils have been joined by a host of smal leafy plants. (Some of that is probably attributable to the lady who gardens here, and not just the recent arrival of Spring.)

After work today, I went home and changed before heading down to Columbus Circle to begin another tour of Central Park. 6.2 miles, 52 minutes. The park today, Thursday, April 26, was amazing. I hesitate to describe it because I know my words won't be sufficient. It was like taking a jog through a beautiful postcard. The weather, of course, was close to sixty degrees, and the afternoon sunbeams slanted in over the rooftops along Central Park West. The redbud, cherry, and dogwood trees were blooming. Faint floral scents were in the air (except for in the southeast corner where I smelled the horses). Yellow daffodils were still blooming, as were the tulips and yellow shrubs. A short detour up on the Reservoir path granted me sweeping views of the skyline over the still blue water. In short, it's hard to imagine a more perfect running path. Today, perhaps as never before, I appreciated this jewel in the heart of the urban jungle of New York City.


(I found these photos of the park on the internet. They capture a bit of what the run was like, only it was beautiful scene followed by beautiful scene for nearly an hour!)

Marathon Milestones

Speed Goals
-------------------
S1 4 miles in 32 minutes (done)
S2 4 miles in 30 minutes (done today with a time of 29:17! Granted, it was on a treadmill)
S3 4 miles in 28 minutes
S4 6 miles in 45 minutes
S5 8 miles in 60 minutes

Distance Goals
-------------------
D1 4 miles (done)
D2 6 miles (done 4-19-2007)
D3 8 miles
D4 10 miles
D5 14 miles
D6 18 miles
D7 22 miles
D8 marathon

Isabella

Here's a couple pics I was referring to in the second post from Charity's visit. This is my nearly four-year-old niece Isabella. I love her big, if sometimes forced, smile.

Another post-call day and a running milestone

Another excellent post-call day. I got a few hours' sleep on call Wednesday night, which was enough to make the day enjoyable. After grand rounds, another resident gave me a ride down to Columbia where I have an associate membership at the fitness center. I worked out for about an hour and took a short nap on William's couch before we headed down to the Upper West Side for lunch at Harry's Burritos and a walk in Central Park, lattes in hand.

I spent the afternoon doing miscellaneous things at home and took another walk in the beautiful, almost even warm, afternoon sun in Fort Tryon Park. After noticing a girl napping on a park bench overlooking the Hudson, the temptation was too great. I folded up my sweater for a pillow and took a fifteen minute snooze on a nearby park bench, though not the one next to the girl. That would be weird.

The day ended with another run with Ezer in preparation for the Marine Marathon in October. This was my first time to do the entire loop in Central Park. (We ran not the square outer streets, but the winding road that approximates the perimeter.) I think my marathon training goals will focus of course on increasing distance on longer Saturday runs (10 and 15 miles will be natural milestones) as well as increasing my speed on shorter runs. (I'd love to get my 4 mile time back down to 28 minutes. So far this spring I haven't done 4 in under 30.) Will keep you posted.

I found this helpful map too.

Charity's visit II

I made the error of not posting some of the better pictures from the January visit. Mea culpa! I want to share a few more, along with more commentary than you want.


Riverside Church in Morningside Heights, viewed from the east on 121st Street. The tower is huge, and it has plenty of functional floor space. The cathedral is built in a neogothic (?) style, but uses modern construction techniques; i.e., steel beams. The tower itself reminds me of Saruman's tower in the LOTR.

Clearly I overlooked this artsy shot. Sarah once again made good use of a shortened focal length. The fresh green leaves, representing new life, are a good picture of grace, and I like the contrast between the delicate flora and the cold stone from which this 42nd Street building is constructed. There's a nice strong diagonal symmetry here too, along with a couple vertical stems and tree trunk and a horizontal edifice line. The various surface angles lead to interesting light/shadow interfaces.

Charity, feeling at home in my kitchen.

Charity preferred this shot of her and Sarah. I agree that it is a better picture, but I like the one from the previous post because Charity's smile reminds me of Isabella's smile when she's working just a little too hard!

Today's analogy

I had this realization recently about some words that are occasionally confused. It's not entirely precise, but perhaps generally true:

Flaunt is to blatant as flout is to flagrant.

Charity's visit

My younger sister Charity and her friend Sarah came to visit in January for a spur of the moment weekend trip. It had been several years since Charity had been here, so it was fun to show her the city. They came at the tail end of my ten days of running a NYC hostel. Company on consecutive and overlapping days included my cousin Andrew, a friend of Scott's from UVA also named Andrew who was doing a week of research at a library in Harlem, a friend of a friend of Clay's, and lastly, Charity & Sarah.

The following photos are courtesy of Sarah.

The view of Manhattan here is absolutely thrilling. This is why I always try to get a left window seat when I'm flying into LaGuardia. The flight path more or less traces the East River going northward. The United Nations building can clearly be seen along the river, and in the middle of Central Park is the Reservoir, which Ezer and I ran around a couple times last week.

Sarah's artful eye caught this bright railing. (In the strictly figurative sense.) I walk past this every day and had never noticed how interesting the yellow paint is. I like how she made a short focal length so that the background of my subway stop is blurred.

On Saturday evening we walked around Times Square, Ninth Avenue, Rockefeller Center, and then up to Serendipity which we eventually bailed on, eating instead at an inexpensive-yet-good Asian diner. Here Sarah caught some condensation in the cold night air in front of Radio City Music Hall. A yellow cab happened to be driving by.

Charity, me, roommate Clay, and Andrew W. One of Andrew's funniest comments was made after we spent thirty minutes speed-walking around Times Square trying to get rush tickets to a show. We were too late, having left my apartment spontaneously after someone tossed out the idea around 7:00 PM after we'd been sitting around the dining room table talking. Andrew said, "I wished I hadn't talked about my research so much."

Charity and Sarah. I'm not sure where. Charity needs to work on her scarf tying a bit.

Charity and me at the Magnolia Bakery. I can't tell if she's holding a cupcake or a little roach with a cotton swab on its head. Probably a cupcake.

And my favorite picture: me and little sis' on the subway.

A Little Pizzazz

The art of capturing the audience with the title and subtitle

I've never heard formal teaching on this topic, but I've noticed how newspapers and magazines often make use of both a title and a subtitle. As a result, I've developed an intuitive sense of how most writers use these features. It seems that a title is used to catch the eye. (In the case of this entry: "A Little Pizzazz.") Anything to spark the reader's interest. Commonly, the subtitle goes on to clarify, especially when the title scintillates to the degree of obscuring what the article is really about. An example of title/subtitle from a recent issue of The Economist:

Taming Leviathan: These are both the best of times and the worst of times for the American-Jewish lobby.

The article is accompanied by a dapper illustration of a sea monster tossing about rowboats filled with men in dark suits. This fits the paradigm nicely: the subtitle should not bore the reader, but rather encourage her* to read on.

Perhaps better to have no subtitle, however, when the subtitle in mind is about as sexy as oatmeal. Case in point, from the same issue of The Economist:

What price carbon?: Britain and the EU have learnt from some green-policy mistakes, but not from others.

Tantalize, this subtitle does not. It reeks of balance and fairness. It bores in its stated attempt to see both sides of the issue. And whereas the title should at least provide a little spice for the eyes, the question form serves only to confuse the reader. Thumbs down.

---------------------------------------
* Usually I'd revert to classic English rules and use "him" when referring to a person whose gender is unknown. "The doctor said to his patient..."; "The pilot made his announcement..."; "The principal asked the student to step into his office." However, I thought I'd mix it up sometimes and try "her" on for size. "The nurse picked up her uniform from the cleaners."; "The flight attendant enjoys her job." Feedback in this area would be appreciated.

The PACU Pager

In the world of anesthesiology, the pager generally functions in non-patient management roles. I might return pages to hear people say things like, "Hi Jonathan, this is Nina in the Education Department. We just need you to sign your contract for next year," or "Jonathan, this is your team captain for tonight. Do you have any dinner preferences?" Typically I receive one or two pages per day.

Not so carrying the Post-Anesthesia Care Unit (PACU) pager, as this week has shown. The mornings typically start a bit more slowly--as is evidenced by my writing this post. (I've already worked on the crossword.) By ten o'clock, however, the pages really pick up, and it's possible to go non-stop until the evening team captain takes over at four o'clock, or five o'clock on Thursdays.

This week seems especially busy, as several surgical floors and ICUs have censuses nearly at capacity. Then, the PACU becomes more of a step-down unit. Yesterday's special experiences included

• The angry, paranoid Dominican women with a deep venous thrombosis (DVT) and pulmonary embolus (PE), who's already had a fasciotomy for compartment syndrome in her leg and an IVC filter placed to try to prevent future PEs. She's been camped out in the PACU for days. The day before her breathing rate and work of breathing had increased, though she maintained her oxygenation. Her fluid intake was two liters greater than her output for the day, her lungs sounded "wet", her CVP was elevated, and her chest x-ray was consistent with fluid overload. Even though she didn't have a history of congestive heart failure, I gave her a small dose of Lasix, which prompted increased urine output and eased her breathing. I clearly documented all this, yet I still got the impression that the surgery resident thought I was nuts for giving Lasix and not more fluid. (?) Fluid management in the PACU seems to always be a point of contention between surgeons and anesthesiologists.
• The same angry, paranoid Domincan woman once again, yesterday, began her difficult breathing. In discussing it with my attending, we considered she was having repeat PEs even though she was anticoagulated. In addition, perhaps her paranoia could be related to her withdrawal from her ordinary 5 daily beers. I talked to the ICU fellow and requested that she be transferred there. The ICU is a much more appropriate place for her than the PACU, especially since I can potentially be covering 40 patients at once. Of course, the ICU resisted accepting this patient until her troponin level became elevated, evidence of heart strain and damage (perhaps secondary to her pulmonary emboli).
• Another Spanish-speaking woman with atypical post-op chest pain (after a shoulder arthroscopy). Being a nurse, she insisted that the EKG I got wasn't a good once since they forgot to put a lead on. (My paper copy showed all the leads. Still trying to figure that one out.)
• A woman with a history of post-op hypotension with chest pain. Given that it was nearly five o'clock, we got an EKG, labs, and called the primary team to admit
• A woman with a history of chronic pain killer use who demanded intravenous Demerol (a medicine better at producing heroin-like euphoria than actually helping with pain).
• An Asian man with asymptomatic bradycardia down to 30. Once again, get an EKG, contact the primary team and recommend admission and cardiology consultation.
• A young woman with a history of Wolff-Parkinson White ablation with tachycardia, flushing, and chest pain after a slow infusion of Vancomycin (an antibiotic which, if given too quickly, causes "Red Man Syndrome" of hypotension, tachycardia, and flushing). Fortunately everything resolved, but we still got a cardiology consult in the PACU. It came out later that she'd had this same reaction before with Vancomycin. It might have been helpful to tell us that before!
• A middle-aged British woman with persistent hypotension on a phenylephrine infusion despite what appeared to be adequate fluid resucitation.
• Doing various blood draws and starting IVs when the nurses can't do it. Sometimes I get the sense they don't try very hard.

Part of what makes the experience memorable is not just the patients, but the way the nurses contact us. There are three main PACU areas on two different floors. I will try to sweep through and ask if anyone needs sign-outs as long as I'm in the area, but without fail, several times a day I'm paged back to an area I just left for a sign-out. I feel better that other residents have this same experience.

For some curious reason, the pager is programmed to give me two pages for every one page sent. When the arrests/stat-intubation resident handed off his pager to me (which I carried from 1600--1700), I got four pages for every one page sent. (Both pagers receive PACU calls as well as stat-intubation calls). At one point during the hour two nurses must have paged me at once from the ambulatory PACU, meaning my pagers rang 8 times within a minute.

All that to say, it's been a different perspective on anesthesia care. I like the mornings. The afternoons go fast, and they aren't so bad as long as I'm doing PACU things rather than ICU management or nursing tasks. But it will be nice getting back to my ordinary relationship with my pager in another week or so. "Sure Nina, I'll be by to sign the paperwork," and "How about Indian food tonight?"

Security at LAX

Returning from LAX to JFK a couple weeks ago after Nicolle's nonwedding, I was attempting to go through security when, after glancing at my boarding pass, a security member redirected me from one set of escalators to another.

Waiting in the much longer line, I realized that the shorter security line was for first and business class passengers, whereas the much longer line held us economy folks. After a ten-minute wait, the bourgeois line snaked us past another female agent who, after confirming that a passerby was about to miss his flight, might, at her discretion, redirect the tardy passenger into the first-class area. Although I generally wouldn't consider myself a populist, this incident may have converted me. It seems grossly unfair for two reasons.

Primarily, the designation of first class versus economy class is one of the airline, not the airport. Although the lines to check in at the airline's counter are shorter for Admiral's Club and sundry chihuahua-and-Gucci-toting and fur-trimmed passengers, I say they've earned it by paying several times as much for their ticket. Of course they get to lounge in plush pre-flight accomodations rather than sit on a vinyl chair near crying toddlers at the gate waiting area. Sure, they recline in generous leather chairs (with built-in electric massage) and sip mimosas on board before Boarding Group 5 gets to cram our luggage into the overhead bins and fight for the rare paper pillow and thin blanket. But fair's fair. They've paid to be treated like royalty.

But the airport itself should be an egalitarian institution. Security standards mean everybody has to remove shoes. First class passengers are all familiar with quart-sized plastic bags and 3 ounce rule . The Starbucks near Gate 38 doesn't have a shorter line for first class passengers. There's no special taxi queue at LaGuardia for the few returning from the summer home in the Alps. Airports are paid by airlines for use of the gates and renting space. So why would airport security offer shorter security lines to first class passengers?

The second reason is that even if the airport is slave to the airlines' coffers, the airlines should still make an attempt to maintain the dignity of economy passengers by not flaunting first class privileges. The Admiral's Lounge is discreetly tucked away. The curtain is demurely closed between cabins before the filets mignon are rolled out. I applaud all of this. Maintaining two security lines, however, serves only to increase the ire of passengers with already frazzled nerves* and grow resentment toward the first class passengers.

Settling into my seat on LAX's tarmac with my knees snug against the backrest of the chair ahead of me and wondering if my neighbor would hog the narrow armrest, I did realize, with no uncertain air of moral superiority, that economy class passengers have a much smaller ecologic footprint than first class fliers. That seemed to help.

--------------------------------
* Just to clarify, I did not have frazzled nerves. I arrived at the airport well in advance, and in fact was able to hop on an earlier flight back to JFK. Punctuality is a virtue..

This is good to know

I knew that ever since beginning to read a British news source which I will not name here, I've become increasingly confused about placing my periods and commas with relationship to the quotation marks. It used to seem black and white (The comma always goes inside), but more and more these days, logic tells me to place it outside.

For clarification, see this article, apparently written by a teacher of grammar. Grammartips.com has to be reputable! Apparently the British and Americans differ with respect to the placement. The American convention has interesting historical roots, but you'll have to read the article to find out more!

Another pet peeve

This is in response to Dr J's comment on my Jonathan 2.0 post.

Often as I'm getting off the subway on a cold morning with my mug of hot tea, soon to begin another day's work at the hospital, enjoying the remaining fleeting minutes of tranquility and peace; I find myself dodging would-be passengers flying down the steps trying to catch the subway I just left. Besides being dangerous (I read an article about a guy who tripped on the last step as he ran down the steps and fell onto the tracks in front of an oncoming train) and rude (they could very well cause me to spill my tea), the greater offense is that these tardy passengers destroy the last remnants of my morning peace.

Never run down the stairs to the subway. Just watch the doors close as you walk down, and think to yourself, "I should have given myself more time to catch this train. Here I am reaping what I sow. At least all is right with the universe." And please, stay to the right so that I can ascend in peace with my Earl Grey.

Two things to ponder

From an article in last week's Economist about the general sentiment of Europeans toward the EU:

Nobody has a good word for apathy. Arnold Toynbee, a historian, thought it defined the penultimate stage of decadence. Civilisations proceed, he said, from bondage to spiritual faith; from spiritual faith to courage; from courage to liberty; from liberty to abundance; from abundance to selfishness; from selfishness to apathy; from apathy to dependency; and from dependency back to bondage. Apathy is also anti-democratic: democracy requires the informed consent of the governed, and will not last if voters can't be bothered.

Although the article was written in reference to Europe, I couldn't help but think about America's history. Although much has changed for the better throughout our short 225-year history, my intuition tells me we are settling our large-waisted selves onto the sagging sofa of apathy, from which it is difficult to reach the generous bowl of chips and guacamole resting on the coffee table of abundance. In other words, I would pin our civilization somewhere between selfishness and apathy on Toynbee's degenerative timeline.

It's almost laughable to think that America in 2007 demonstrates, more than ever before, such socio-political virtues as courage, tenacity, humility, wisdom, and compassion. And strangely, this couch isn't as comfortable as I first thought, but I'm too lazy to get up.

My second thought is the strange parade of celebrities who of late have made inexcusable and unquestionably racially insensitive remarks (I'm thinking of Mel Gibson, Michael Richards, and now Don Imus) who have then, after profuse and sometimes ambiguously sincere apologies, are then pulverized by cultural leaders via media coverage. Interestingly, this particular trio comprises three white men. The race and gender of the offender, however, are irrelevant to the pattern.

I read these comments by various players on the Rutger's basketball team on CNN.com.

• Don Imus "has stolen a moment of pure grace from us."
• "We are highly angered at his remarks but deeply saddened with the racial characterization they entailed."
• "We were stripped of this moment by degrading comments made by Mr. Imus last Wednesday. What hurts the most about this situation is that Mr. Imus knows not one of us personally."
• We just hope to come to some type of understanding of what the remarks really entailed, his reasons why they were said."

The strange thing to me is that these comments would seem appropriate if the offensive remarks came from someone close and well known. Is it unreasonable to suggest that one could just ignore rude and racist remarks? Is it true that responding with dignity rather than victimization (or not responding at all) would let the focus fall on the offender and his ignonimy? Is there any room to give a person the benefit of the doubt that his apology is sincere?

My favorite comment is the third. Why does the impersonal nature of their relationship lead to more and not less hurt?

Might I even suggest, without being accused of defending Mr Imus, that the reaction to this situation might be seen as more about punishment than reconciliation? To the women of the Rutgers basketball team, I say: Good work this season. You did well. And ignore the comments of those whose minds are smaller by far than your achievements.

Addendum
-------------------
My friend Ezer shared with me an article by Gwen Ifill in the NY Times today. I appreciated her perspective. A couple interesting things she wrote:

"I’ve been working in journalism long enough that there is little danger that a radio D.J.’s juvenile slap will define or scar me." This is what I was getting at by ignoring the comments. Rise above them.

And secondly, "So here’s what this voice has to say for people who cannot grasp the notion of picking on people their own size: This country will only flourish once we consistently learn to applaud and encourage the young people who have to work harder just to achieve balance on the unequal playing field." I think she's right in implying that Imus isn't picking on people his own size. The Rutgers girls stand far taller than he.

NYC American food

Where is Jonathan's favorite place to get American food in NYC? That would have to be Toast.

I've written about this restaurant before. If only I lived a little closer to it, it would be the ideal neighborhood restaurant. You can go for brunch. You can go for drinks. And their meals are both inexpensive and delicious. As one reviewer puts it on www.menupages.com, "My goal this year is to become a regular at Toast, so that when I walk in [to] this great bar / [restaurant] -Phoebe and Alex and Lex and Suzanne...all shout my name..." Another reviewer writes, "It's unpretentious. They don't try too hard, but on the other hand they don't try too hard not to try too hard."

From reviewing my Gmail calendar and from memory, I can recollect at least twelve times I've been.

July 2006--Dinner with Clay and Zach
July 2006--Brunch with Zach and Emily
November 2006--Lunch with DavidO
November 2006--Brunch with Mom and Dad
December 2006--Brunch with Choir
January 2007--Drinks with William
January 2007--Dinner with Dustin and Mauricio
January 2007--Drinks with Justin
March 2007--Dinner with William
March 2007--Dinner with Justin
April 2007--Dinner with Dustin and Dustin
April 2007--Dinner with Justin and Clay

I suppose I'm pleased with this track record. I'll see if I can go every month this year. My favorite dishes include the Buffalo chicken salad and the Eggs Benedict. A $3 beer at happy hour is easy on the wallet.

There's another restaurant up on 181st called Jesse's Place which rivals Toast in atmosphere. Cozy, dark, and half-way below ground with lots of rich stained wood. However, the service is slower, the atmosphere isn't as lively, it's just a tad more pricey, and whereas I have several friends who live close to Toast, I don't know anyone else in the 181st Street neighborhood. I've only been a couple times, but both times the food was delicious. Turkey burger, and lamb kabob.

And then there's the Chelsea Grill. Owing to its location on Ninth Avenue and 45th Street, it will never be my "neighborhood restaurant" as long as I live in Washington Heights. However, it is a good place to take guests to if we happen to be in the Times Square area. The funny thing about visitors is that they they like to be tourists ("Let's see Times Square!") but they also like to ape "real" New Yorkers. So when I give them a choice between eating at Bubba Gump's Shrimp on Times Square, or walking over a couple blocks to Ninth Avenue where "normal New Yorkers" eat, they'll always choose the latter.

I've been to the Chelsea Grill at least four times. I've had one of the best burgers ever there, and their Bartlett pear salad consistently impresses. Their prices are fair, and the atmosphere is that of a slightly upscale and smaller Toast. The best feature of the location is a glass garage door at the front of the narrow room that opens up to the sidewalk when the weather is nice.

One last thought: I've noticed New Yorkers love eating outside. Whether the weather is 50 degrees or 90 degrees, you'll see diners happily munching and talking in sidewalk cafes. Wish more cities were like this!

Vanity and opacity

I was just looking over yesterday's post, and I had a sudden realization that a blog can be a very vain thing. My blog is infatuated with my life. It's all about me. I guess it is nice to be a superstar, but here I am once again writing about my own thoughts. Ah well, still, perhaps, better than regularly emailing every post out to a long list of family and soon to be former friends. As it is they read by choice.

I ran across an interesting letter in this week's Economist, which I will now reproduce in full for the purpose of offering commentary:

"Sir--I believe your obituary on the "death" of "Jean Baudrillard" is in error (March 17th). Sub-Lacanian theory would presuppose that the signified "Baudrillard" is merely a new-modernist capitalist paradox and "death" is a sub-textual patriachalist paradigm interpolated through a post-colonialist hermeneutic.

"As such, as Sontag states, "society is dead"; the signifier is merely replicated as a series of pre-cultural totalities implying post-Foucaultian absurdity. A Derridean reading would suggest that Murphy's mythopoetic reality is a more appropriate gesture to assume."

Thor Halland
Pattaya, Thailand

My commentary: Most pieces are written to communicate ideas. That is not the case here. But I do like the term "mythopoetic".

How to spend a post-call day

0630 Roll out of the call-room bed so as to be changed and leaving the hospital by 0700.

0700 Leave hospital. Pick up amNewYork on the way out. Work on the crossword puzzle on the subway.

0730 Arrive home. Start another crossword puzzle.

0800 Eat breakfast: yogurt, pomegranate juice, Trader Joe's low-fat granola

0830 Work on home network between Clay's and my computer to transfer gigantic iTunes files (namely, six episodes of The Office purchased by me) from his to my computer.

1030 Succeed at transferring files over the new wireless home network.

1035 To Target in Marble Hill. Start third crossword puzzle on the subway.

1105 Purchase two 6-packs of new socks. I'd forgotten that putting on brand new socks is one of my favorite of life's "little pleasures." Finding money in a jacket pocket during the first chill of the fall is another.

1200 Meet Justin at Columbia's Dodge Fitness Center

1330 Email

1415 Sit on steps in the pleasant afternoon sunshine in front of the Low Library. Finish third crossword puzzle; read The Economist.

1500 Stop by Chase bank to buy quarters.

1545 Laundry

1830 Meet Dustin Michael C____ at Toast with his friend from the Manhattan School of Music, also named Dustin Michael.

2015 Movie at Lincoln Center.

2300 Crawl into bed.