Busman's Honeymoon*

Okay, so more randomness....

I just watched "House" and "3 Lbs.".

Watching Stanley Tucci operating on a basilar artery aneurysm is more fun than watching Hugh Laurie go through simulated withdrawal, but not by much. As friend Lisa says, "HL could create a need for forearm porn in any woman." Tucci doesn't have that gift. Plus, he's too short to be a neurosurgeon.

Aside from that, and the whole "neurologist sleeping with her patient" thing, because everybody knows neurologists never get laid, and aside from the piano in the lobby (ripoff from "House", anyone?), and aside from the blue coats the residents wear...well, it's pretty much where I work.

So much so that when the patient said, "You're a terrible doctor" and the neurosurgeon replied, "Yeah, but I have steady hands, and that's all you should care about" I gasped in recognition.

More so at the lobby. That was really, really creepy. And the OR registrar.

They're following me. They are.

But neurosurgeons don't associate with neurologists. The surgeons are too arrogant, the -ologists are too flaky. Plus, they don't speak the same language.

Anyway. Fun show. Good for popcorn and entertainment value, and they're not trying to Deepen the Characters the way they are on "House".

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When are we gonna have a show in which nurses aren't invisible?

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Mom and Dad bought a house in Seattle. They discovered (on the cusp of the housing boom, their luck) that the house was too small to house all of Dad's books. So they bought another.

Then Dad remembered that the winters in the Pacific Northwet are really rainy. And dark.

So, instead of investing in a lightbox and some Wellbutrin, they found a place in Mexico, Land of Manana.

They've just gotten back from a couple of weeks of Manana. I'm wondering if they've regretted...wait, no. I'm wondering *how many times* they've regretted not getting a lightbox and some Wellbutrin.

Dad, always the optomist, said, "My Spanish sure got a workout."

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I hurpled along (yes, Virginia, "hurple" is actually a word) on the treadmill today for a half hour while watching ABC news and discovered deep within myself an urge to be a Roller Derby Queen.

Well she might be nasty
She might be fat
But I never met a person
Who would tell her that
She's my big blonde bomber
My heavy-handed Hackensack mama

Think of it: I could wear a black unitard with the spinal column on the back, and a helmet with a brain on it.

Well, she's five foot six
And two-fifteen
My bleached-blonde mama
With a streak of mean

It almost, *almost* works.

'Cept I gotta learn how to skate.

*Apologies both to D.L.S. and J.C.